The wetness is so pervasive and the fog so penetrating that I can’t see where water stops and air begins. It is like riding through a pound-cake, and after 72 miles and almost 5,000 ft of climbing yesterday my legs certainly agree. I am considering turning west and riding to Hawaii. At this point I have already developed gills and a unique swim stroke called pedaling that should make the crossing easy. Since we are melting our ice-caps and glaciers and inundating our lands with ocean, then my new evolution of gills should be highly prized in my quest for a future soul-mate. The only dry item I own is the top of my sleep-mat. My tent hasn’t been dry for the better part of a month, and is now so saturated that I might as well be sleeping in a kiddie-pool. I often ponder whether or not I should try wearing my jacket inside out, or better yet, when in Cali act like the Calis, maybe just ride down the coast in board shorts.

To top it off, I had a great confrontation with a State Parks employee this morning who was hounding me about my decision to set up my tent (at dusk) before paying the $3 hiker-biker camp fee. I was one of two people staying in a 100 site coastal campground, but it was still paramount that I register and pay first before setting up camp. He alluded and threatened a $350 fine, and said that disrespecting park rules and arguing with park employees was a sure way to get a fine. I’ve never expected the southern CA to be anything like our northerly CA neighbor (implying Canada), so being met with a fraught person and having an inane conversation in the morning drizzle just seemed par for the course. He seemed to be trying to be the straw that would break the camel’s back, but fortunately for he and I, he was merely a feather, and I am not a Camel, otherwise things could have turned sour.

I here they make a good IPA in Lagunitas (actually I know they do), so that is where I am headed. Three more days of this might make me very thirsty.

Oh, I almost forgot: Redwood trees are very tall and mesmerizing. Night in a Redwood forest is one of the darkest places I have ever visited. The trees seems to exhale fog, and drip the ground into a mushy mess, all part of the slow work of decomposition and again life. Sometimes I think I am also taking part in this soggy process of decomposition and will soon return to the soil and support a stout Redwood hundreds of feet tall and afraid of the rain.