Oct. 28, 2009 - The Pacific Coast! Ruby Beach

Following the Hoh River valley west this morning....then, hearing the roar of the surf,   feeling the thumping of waves collapsing onto the beach, the smell of salt and wet cedar; I crest the cliff above Ruby Beach, looking out through the forest to the Pacific Ocean below; The sea grey-green, churning and foaming, slashing against the outlying rock formations; Massive sea stacks topped with little clusters of spruce trees to the north, long seperated from the land; Smaller rock formations orphaned along the sand beach; stacks of driftwood piled along shore.

I've reached the wet edge of the North American continent, a milestone. Through southeast Alaska and British Columbia, I've travelled the straits and passages bounded to the west by islands. At last, here is Il Mare Pacifico in all her restless glory.....

Rolling south following heavily wooded coastline, passing shallow sheltered coves and inlets, stretches of open beach;

 "The Big Cedar" in Olmypic National Forest, just north of Kalaloch Lodge.

Today was one of those days that fools you:  In the early part of the day, pleasant weather, scenic coastline, spectacular sections of the 101 Highway wrapping down the Pacific coast, even some hazy sunshine after lunch.  

 An hour later, I'm headed inland on a steady uphill grade;  Clouds pressed down over the hilltops, a misting rain falling, my glasses constantly fogged and spotted with water drops. Logging trucks scream past me one after another - big thundering terrors with tandem trailers loaded high with stacks of massive timber. Their size and speed creates a terrifying air-suck, which might rip the bike out of my hands.  

Huge areas of clear cutting surrounding the National Park and Forest land boundaries. Watching the endless parade of logging trucks racing back and forth across the peninsula, I wonder how there could be any timber left here?

A little after 5:00 PM: "Pfssshhhhh.....", a flat tire.  Seems a fitting end to the day, somehow.  I dismount, hauling the bike down an old logging road, away from the main road, and pitch for the night.