Day 4: Fort Stevens State Park to Nehalem Bay State Park, 43 miles

Something my mother said the other night gave me great pause.  The travel trailer was security: if they ever got kicked out of a church, there was some place we could live.


Rolling along these miles, I am trying to understand how it is that I feel more at home out here on the road, more connected and grounded than when in my hometown, Corvallis.

It dawned on me:  I am a gypsy.  I was raised in an itinerant minister’s family.  We were gypsies.  Dad was preaching the Good Word, more than occasionally heaping burning coals on the heads of hypocritical parishoners, after which invariably the family would pick up roots and move to another church, to another hometown.  The gypsy life.

So that’s it.  Out here on my tour, I am a velo-gypsy, rolling on from town to town, relishing the new vista, new faces, new places to land, to camp.  But not setting down roots, for tomorrow a new journey lies ahead.

How delightful too when the weather is perfect, the road has new blacktop, the landscape bears stunning views of rock and sea and deep blue sky.


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