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January 31, 1997
Dawn - Oxnard beach, Southern California
31 Jan 1997:
We wake with the dawn as usual, no idea of the real time as 'real' time has no relevance on the road; our days and nights begin and end with celestial bodies like the sun, the moon and the stars - the most 'real' time keepers of all.
Last night we blundered through the dark to find this spot (see photo 1) on the beach to sleep. The only criteria at the time being somewhere dark enough so we became invisible to anyone intent on relieving us of our gear. The last few nights we have slept on the beach - its free, secluded and apart from the sand that gets everywhere (and I mean everywhere!!), its great to sleep with the ocean murmuring sweet nothings in your ear, then wake to crashing surf, delicate pink first-light and a half crescent of moon still suspended in the sky. Then to run naked into the ice cold ocean. Incredibly invigorating even though one half of you is in total revolt at the idea of getting out of a lovely warm sleeping bag into freezing cold water. The other half knows better though; this is the intuitive half that doesn't seem at first to know best, but always makes the better decision if trusted with blind faith.
The first wave that hits reminds me that I am live - YES, REALLY ALIVE !!!!. The next hits me in the chest and punches the air out of my lungs, forcing me to gasp for precious oxygen - the same as those first few breaths taken at birth. In a sense it's a reminder of that unique miracle - of being alive on this planet; an experience we all undertake, but which few truly appreciate.
One dunking is enough - there's a limit to how alive I want to feel at this time in the morning! I stride out of the water feeling like a freshly baptised viking beach warrior - naked of course. At the same time a gradual sensation of all round glow and warmth spreads throughout my body. I run the last 100 feet back to the sleeping bags to avoid being laughed at by two old ladies with their yappy little dogs that are advancing up the beach. Hopping on one leg...still dripping wet...struggling to get sand encrusted feet through my bicycling shorts...a disastrous exercise. I should just assume that the ladies have seen it all before (which they have) and lay out to dry all exposed in my own time Four months in San Francisco has made me too damn PC for my own good. Oh well - it'll be an interesting day biking with sand grinding away in my bike shorts.
Jenny has a cup of steaming hot English tea on offer by the time I get back (we have to have the bags specially imported from the UK). The seagulls are flocking around us like hyenas in the hope of snagging some of the left-overs from our supper last night. A couple of them execute low bombing runs over our heads - perhaps as a decoy for the ground forces to sweep in and secure the bread and mayonnaise, perhaps purely as intimidation. They remind me of the sceaming, squabbling gulls in 'Jonathon Livingston Seagull'. Ollie lobs a sandal in the air - the gulls mistake it for a juicey 10 oz stake and they all scramble for it - only to find 30 seconds later they're fighting over a smelly old shoe. It provides some entertainment for a while. Enough any way to keep our minds off Carole's porridge that seems to be an interesting blend of oatmeal, water and - guess what - SAND!!!
Jason
Posted on January 31, 1997 5:43 AM