In Fort Bragg the nimbostrati clouds were settling in. Anticipating the rain I was hesitant to set off, but I never got anywhere by staying put, so I left Fort Bragg. I tracked the 8 mile gap between Fort Bragg and Mendocino for the third time in three years, this time heading back towards SF again. It wasn't long before the rain started up again. I put my head down and counted down the seconds to Mendocino, where I new at least I could grab some dinner food for the night.
In Mendocino, I aimlessly stared at the fluorescently lit stacked shelves of neatly lined food products at the Harvest Market grocery store. I was at a loss. My mind was fried from the stress of quitting that morning and the ceaseless rain. I stood at the end of an aisle looking lost and desperate. "Is that your Surly outside?", I slowly turned to see a man, maybe about my age, maybe a few years older in a loose fitting cloth poncho and loose fitting yoga pants. "Yeah, it is," he stammered and responded, "that's awesome! I want one just like it." Even with a fried brain I am always in for these conversations, and this would turn out to be one worth having. After a brief discussion of biking and my plans, he invited me to a local abalone cookout in town. Needing the pick me up of some tour magic I agreed.
We picked up ingredients and went off to his place, where a Highway One hiker, a heavyset surfer local, and a clean looking hipster were all joined to help in making the salad. It was here I realized what I was getting into when we stood in a circle, joined our hands and the hipster looking dude began saying an ultra hippyish grace for the food, yikes, but hey, I was there for the adventure.
Things got even weirder, as I went from the hippy crowd to the older artist crowd at the actual cookout at a local inn. Elderly women in fine attire were drinking wine, that seemed too fine for me, while I was in wet muddy clothes, thankfully I had an excuse and my hippy friends were sharing my attire. We had arrived late and so we only listened to one song of the Latin band playing before food was served. It was abalone, now here is where I'm going to talk a little politics. I originally went vegan for environmental reasons, then followed by ethical reasons, but abalone is weird. Abalone is not commercially fished, therefore it is not very environmentally impactful and then how sentient are shellfish really? Being in the moment, I decided to go for it and had some abalone tacos; glad I did, they were incredible.
The conversations spun and wove, people asked, people were confused, people looked down on my traveling lifestyle (let 'em, whatever), then someone was impressed and wanted to help. His name was Oasis, a 73 year old hippie, who looked hardly a day over 60. He worked at the massage parlor next door, which also had a hot tub. He invited me into the hot tub and recommended I sleep on the porch of the massage parlor. I nabbed my things and did exactly that. Somehow in that rough long day of quitting, then riding in the mud, feeling utter defeat, I somehow found solace in a hot tub and a dry place to sleep. And as the rain fell that night I could feel the stress slowly drip away. I was touched by tour magic and glad to be out of that awful camp that I had found myself in.
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