As it turns out there is a whole lot of rain and cold air down that road and it got steadily worse as the day progressed.
Rolled down the hateful I-5 to Olympia and was happy to get off that 12 laner and begin exercising my steering apparatus for the first time. About an hour into the freeway my left arm went numb and felt oddly disembodied. I thought I was having a stroke! Pulled off the road, shook it, did pushups on the shoulder of the freeway, drank water, ate an apple and tried to shake it loose. I realized that I had put so many layers of shirts and sweaters on under my jacket to keep warm that the circulation was being cut off!
Hwy 8, 12 and 101 at the southern neck of the Olympic Peninsula winds through rainforest and marshland. Even the birds seemed to think it was too icky to land and walk around on. There is still very little evidence of spring here. The only green to be seen on the big deciduous trees is a heavy crop of moss. Naked branches thrusting to the road seemed like witches’ fingers casting a hex on lone motorists. I felt like Ichabod Crane! The shades of grey and pale brown were so muted I thought someone should Photoshop the scene and crank up the colour saturation a notch or two. But I finally started to see the art in it just as it started to be replaced by rugged coastal scenery.
Crossed the big bridge across the mouth of the Columbia to Astoria, Oregon. What a mother of a bridge! It is over 6 km long!
Rain was heavy at times, puddling up on the road surface. Wore my raingear over top my leather jacket and chaps. Latex gloves in a startling shade of mauve kept my hands dry and eye-catching but not particularly warm.
The forecast is more of the same for the remainder of the week, so my plan at the moment is to put Oregon behind me as quickly as I can. California seems warmer and dryer from the looks of it. I must say that the stormy Oregon coast is something to see if one can peer through the fog and catch a glimpse. I reckon it will put on a show for me tomorrow.
As I was running out of gas (both literally and figuratively) I happened upon a humble but funky little roadside motel just 25 miles north of Tilamook that offered a ripping good deal. I am its happiest and its only resident. I am drinking pots of tea with the heater and fan cranked up to dry my soggy duds while blues is streaming over the WiFi. Sublime! Next I will do the stretching excercises that Sandra the R.M.T. assigned me for correcting the egonomic damage that sitting in one position for extended periods has exacted on my old body. Long miles today and I am not yet game fit.
