Conversation drifts from adventures to route planning to school to snow.
Five days and no set schedule = Heaven. Land Ahoy! Claire sees lights, we see good times. Oh, another ferry, but first - Norway. What? Norway in the middle of Washington? Poulsbo? Coolsbo.
I can fly Jack, I can fly! Pulling in on a spaceship smooth sailing until Mia begins the sound effects.
Pouring coffee into tea is an easy mistake when you're blonde. This hot chocolate isn't warm enough. Drink fast, too fast, full. Baileys warm? Hmmm.
A troll lives under the bridge on Troll Ave. He's crushed a VW bug in his troll hand. Susie sticks her head up his nostril as punishment. Punishment for whom, Mia wonders.
Alarm goes off at six in the morning. The coffee shop will be closed tomorrow for reasons that are none of your business.
We've caught up with the rain, turn around to stay dry. Gumboots are life preservers in a puddlesome world. Bye boys, perhaps we'll see you on the way back home from this obamanation.
Yurt. A dry oasis in the middle of a soggy forest. Maybe one will be available. WE can eat yogurt and dessert in the yurt. Or something.
All hoodies should come with thumb holes. Wait- what city is this? No way we're in Portland already. Oh no! We're in Portland, we don't want to go to Salem, that's South! Exit exit exit!
Saturday Market in the rain. Torrential downpour. Fork ring, forking awesome. try the cashews and kettle corn, sorry sir we'll come back later. Not. Get lost trying to find Mia's art school, so, kids aren't allowed coffee but adults are? That means us, I think. Drink up. No milk, sugar cube tastes square. Don't be a square, sugar.
So, you're saying there are no yurts? My life for a yurt! What's a team awesome bike gang to do? The tent is home, and sweet. Home sweet tent.
Here comes the sun... just kidding. No sun here. It's alright, we'll go for a hike. Rubber boots. Dry and clammy when schmucking through mud and guck. I have a chocolate headache, eat no drink more wine - no I want water help.
Drink chocolate water after a long walk down the beach. It looks like someone dumped laundry detergent in the water, it's like the world's biggest bubble bath. Shut up Babushka. Is peeing contagious? It seems like I do it more often when I'm around you Susie, Mia cries.
If I ever see a picture of a box of crabs- I'm taking a picture of it, I swear! Are you certain you want a picture of a picture of a box of crabs, really?
Tillamook is way down there, did you realize it's only 8:30? Bed time pretty much. After last night at least.
Wind burnt cheeks and organic supper. Are jet puff marshmallows organic? Scratch that. Land of the Goonies... Haaaay you guys! None of us have one eye bigger than the other thank goodness.
The motel room is a mixed up mess of gumboots, wet and dry clothes and girls. We ran forever this morning. All the way to the spit, two hours seemed like two minutes in howling wind and stationary driftwood.
Rock hard loaf fortunately doesn't taste like rocks. My teeth thank you, sir.
I'm full of mystery... and botulism - says the tin can with a missing label. Yum, I wonder what botulism tastes like.
The sisters went surfing so Susie and I are left with time and potential adventure. Caffeine, locals and a carefree girl working in the book store. For some reason I feel the urge to buy a book every time I enter a bookstore. For the sake of my wallet I should probably stay out of them.
Of course I bought the Elements of Style book. Of course. I'm pretty excited now that I've finally got concrete proof that nauseous means sickening, and not sick-feeling. Take that, all you haters! Hate on, haters. Take a sip of some more haterade, why don't you. Nauseous. Now I feel nauseated.
We bought a dragon kite to fly, haven't had time yet and it may not survive the journey. Too windy for the frisbee too, bummer. The lady workign the front desk at the sunset surf motel is a living (barely) breathing smoking poster girl. Like you see her on a poster and you'll never smoke, ever. She also keeps some pretty interesting company. We got back to the motel to see her int he back room with a tall, rather Alfred-Hitchcockesque character, freaking out at her, his bottle of booze cleverly disguised in a paper bag. That's legal here in lovely Manzanita.
