Last weekend, Preston and I went to the coast. We drove over to Long Beach Peninsula, having heard that there was surfing possibilities there, and we wanted to check out a new part of the country. On the way there, we stopped to get gas in Raymond, and Preston shot a couple quick shots of an interesting coastal road block. Here is the truck, and presumably the driver of the truck having a little chat with an officer.
If you look closely at the top of the truck, you will see…
…why yes, those appear to be fish parts. And there seems to be a tarp missing from over the top of the fish parts. Which meant that when the driver of the truck had to apply brakes suddenly at the intersection, a big ol’ glop of fish parts went belching out over the road. Traffic was backed up while the tractor came and scooped all the fish parts off the road. Here, a deer sculpture oversees the process (which occurred in the "Raymond Metal Sculpture Corridor").
Fortunately, we were headed the other direction, and bypassed the resulting traffic jam at the intersection of Hwy 101 and Hwy 6. Unfortunately, we seem to have heard wrong about surfing on Long Beach Peninsula. All the beaches were posted with big red "Dangerous currents! Do Not Swim!" signs, and all the locals scoffed at the idea of surfing there. It was a cute little tourist trap, but not what we were looking for. But we were hungry, so we stopped at the Pilot House Restaurant and Lounge in the town of Ocean Park. At first, we almost didn’t go in, it looked so small and, you know, diner-ish. But we decided to brave it. There was one other customer in there, having coffee, and one waitress on duty. We asked the customer if he knew when the little festival downtown would be ending, and that was all the encouragement he needed to tell us stories for the rest of the meal. He was from Hawaii originally, so he joined everyone else we had talked to in his scoff at the idea of surfing there. But he and Preston quickly discovered their mutual dirtbike history. John was the guy’s name, and he used to race endurance motocross, sponsored by Ducati, back when Ducati used to make dirtbikes (which, according to Preston, was a VERY long time ago). "I wasn’t really that fast," he said. "It’s just that no one else would ride the Ducatis, so they let me do it."
On our way out, I asked if I could take their picture. They acted appropriately shy at first, but then the waitress came over and sat on John’s lap. "I’m going to sit here and get you in trouble," she teased. Here they are. Their names are John and Sheryl.
Finally, we gave up on the Peninsula and headed for Westport. By the time we got there, the sun was setting. It was a beautiful day, and the surf looked fine to me, but all the surfers were hanging out on shore. Not even one of them was out in the water. Preston walked out on the jetty a ways to scope out the situation, while I entertained myself taking pictures of these pirate ships staging a mock battle in the bay. They were firing cannons and everything.
And I took a quick shot of these tracks in the sand. Can you guess what made them? You can click on the picture for a bigger version.
And at some point on the trip, we stopped at a cool little campground, where I took this self-portrait.