A ride in the park

Friday, May 27th.
Medford OR to Ashton, OR.

Easy ride. Twenty miles of bike path connecting the cities north-south.

The community put a mail box on the bike path containing a journal.

'Why are bikers so unhappy and rude?' To prove that they are better than you.

Ashton sounds like it would be a dirt town, like one under the eyes of Dr. Eckleburg. But it's more posh than I expected.

Kind of like a New Hampshire coastal tourist town, where you get a mix of ragged locals and upscale boutiques for out-of-towners.

There's a University of Southern Oregon here. That helps.

I slung hammock, unwound blowing flute, and napped. It's a rest day. My knees need to rebuild cartilage. I've been feeling bone rub on bone.

Morning camp. Empty lot near a small airport.

I'm proud of choosing these sleeping spots. It was unimaginable to me how to find places to sleep.

Plus, look at the street address of East Bumfuck. The corner of 'Cock or Butt' and 'Leer'.

At night, I hold my phone as a front bike lamp. When I move the phone behind my handlebars, I cast a huge-normous shadow of my handlebars all over the road. (Not visible from the source of light taking the picture.)

What could be more visible than that! I think casting long shadows is the safest visibility, better than shining a dinky little light.