Going Coastal, Part II

  Said my goodbyes to my brother Wes and nephew Cole around noon. On a whim I turned west toward Lincoln City, Oregon. Now I've spent some little time in and around oceans but standing on the beach I had the feeling that if I wasn't in Heaven I could certainly see it from there. This photo hardly does justice to the natural beauty you find along this stretch of the Oregon Coast.

 But I had spent enough time admiring the scenery and needed to make up some time. Turned east and picked up I5 outside of Corvallis heading back south. The previous night I had passed through this country in the early hours of the morning but missed the loveliness of the countryside in the dark. Alone with my thoughts and some great music from an NPR station I drifted in sort of a daze through the twisting upgrades and downhill runs through Canyon country between Eugene and Medford; passing trucks and getting passed in turn.
  Finally coming out of Medford on a long downhill grade I came out from behind a hill to the sight of Mt Shasta, upper slopes on the northern face still with snow, reflecting the golds of the late afternoon sun. Lenticularis clouds like funny caps glowing in the fading sunlight.

Mt Shasta photo courtesy of summitpost.org
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                

  For the next hundred miles or so Shasta grew to dominate the landscape. Unfortunately  I wasn't able to enjoy it as much as I would have liked. Some rich jerk in a brand new black Mercedes started playing bumper tag, you know getting right close behind than zooming around me just to scare the crap out out me. I pulled over a couple of times hoping he would leave me alone but he was always waiting a few miles down the highway. I was never really in danger but it was annoying as hell.
  Shortly after crossing into California I decided to stop into the next rest stop to give my suffering neo-bladder a break. From that stop in Weed, California, (How can you make that up?) Shasta was very close. I was just miles from the base. All I had was my cell phone camera to catch this majesty. I snapped a few but none of them did justice to what was right in front of me.
  As I left the restroom a car door closing caught my attention. It was the black Mercedes of course. It quickly drove off as I approached. I noticed my front tire was flat. Screaming curses I examined the tire to see that it had been deliberately cut. No doubt the mysterious driver of the Mercedes. I dug the donut tire out of it's compartment, pulled off the flat when the Mercedes pulled up right behind me. With tire iron in hand  I went to the car intent on doing damage. To my surprise the passenger side window came down and the actor Bill Murray leaned over and said "no one will ever believe you" then burned rubber flying out of the rest stop. But not before I got one good whack to his roof with my tire iron.