A Dose of Reality - Day 28 – 38 miles

I reluctantly checked out of the hostel and said my goodbyes and thanks to Larry. I took a scenic route out of Bandon along the coast, stopping at the harbour inlet to watch terrifying looking waves from the jetty. The coast heading south from Bandon is peppered with large, impressive sea-stacks.

The next 30 miles were quite boring. Nondescript road with forest either side, blocking any possible interest. The ride seemed purely functional today. Just a way to get further south. This all changed a few miles from camp. The road hugged the coast again and gave a spectacular descent toward Mount Humbug. I whooped with delight. This was exactly the kind of riding I'd been hoping for when planning this trip.

I met Kate at Mount Humbug State Park and we set up camp. Beth and Brian arrived not long after. A little later I returned from a rather lukewarm shower to find a strange awkward feeling at camp. Another camper had arrived. He appeared to be homeless and was quite severely mentally ill. He was large and talking loudly, at first we were all quite threatened by his presence. Normally State Parks are the kind of place you can leave your valuables unattended and not worry about your personal safety. Nobody was sure tonight if we had anything to worry about with this guy being around.

I began preparing dinner. The homeless man approached me and asked if I had a tin opener he could borrow. I gave him my Swiss army knife. My first worry was that I'd never see it again. This was quickly followed my the more significant worry that I'd just handed a potential loon a knife. I extended the tin-opener attachment and asked if he knew how to use it. He said yes but I had the impression he didn't really understand so I offered to show him. We walked to his campsite. He had no tent, just a light sleeping bag on top of a couple of bin bags. It was already quite cold so I was shocked to see his bed. He told me he thought he'd sleep really well because he'd been gathering some firewood. I began opening his tin for him. He hadn't seen this tool before and was quite impressed. I asked him where he'd travelled from. He gave me a rather confused list of places he'd visited: British Columbia, Yukon, Alaska, Seattle. From his pocket he produced a wallet and offered to show me proof. He showed me an $80 fine he'd received in Seattle for drinking in public. He tried to piece together other fragments of paper from his wallet. It was difficult to tell what they were as they were quite disintegrated. I opened another tin for him and left him to his dinner. After spending some time with him I could see he was unlikely to be a threat. He was gentle and seemed quite harmless.

An hour or so later he approached me again and tried to talk to me. It was impossible to understand what he was talking about. He would repeat words like, highway 101, Yukon, domestic violence, millions of dollars, government surveillance over and over. The words were spoken clearly but he seemed unable to form sentences properly.

I sat down and tried to read my book. I couldn't concentrate on it. All I could think about was that sleeping bag on the ground and his meagre meal. It seemed unfair that I'd been having such a great time this last month, living my dream, while he was living such a difficult life on the fringes of society. I could do nothing other than go to bed.

It was cold in my tent. I hoped for the man's sake it wouldn't rain tonight. I slept badly. The cold kept me awake even in my expensive tent and sleeping bag. It was unimaginable to think what it was like for him, lying nearby in the open on those bin bags.