Day 18: Fort Bragg to Mendocino, 10 miles
The church my father pastored in 1963 celebrated it’s 125th anniversary. I was given a spot at the pulpit to share a letter my father sent with me. A bit awkward at first, then I relaxed and told the stories I’d been given, along with an excerpt from the 1987 anniversary pamphlet. I also read from Ecclesiastes, “There is a season…” and asked for prayers for Zach’s family and friends.
I stayed on for the lasagna potluck, and to talk with the members of the congregation. One woman remembered her grandparents camping with my parents at Camp 7, up the Skunk railroad. Another recalled the musical skill that my mother offered, something they really appreciated.
Then I bid farewell and cycled off, to make camp in Russian Gulch. I found there would be a reggae show at the Caspar Inn, but wasn’t sure I was in the mood. Then I rode on to Mendocino, a quaint New England styled town overlooking the scenic coast with a higher-than-normal per capita of European import cars.
Having more time now, the rush off, I pulled out my journal, and struggled with the blank page. What to write. What to feel. Oh, that. And that… Which, if I wonder again, is why I went on this trip. To remember…