We Reach the Sea

Today was yet another full day for the crew of the Hotspur Two, and we added a crew member in the person of Nancy Nichols, a friend from home who is spending two weeks at a writer's retreat here at Point Reyes. Our scheduled pick-up of Nancy was delayed by some routine maintenance and a little chit chat with two Vassar College seniors we met on the way. We are on California time now, however, and we got on our way to complete our appointed rounds - and for now, with our speedometer working.

Our first stop was in the village of Point Reyes Station, to the shop of Marty Knapp, a photographer who has captured Point Reyes and surrounds in black and white over the past 20 years. Marty was expecting us and our little woody wagon, and we did not disappoint. We introduced, chatted, laughed, admired, kicked the tires, and, after checking the lighting conditions, left with a few photographs. Marty Knapp's body of work is superb, and Marty Knapp, the person, was warm, welcoming, and genuine. We were pleased to meet him, and I suspect our paths will cross again.

We left the village with a scone, a muffin, and a plan to react the sea at Limantour Beach in Olema, which is just south of Point Reyes. And reach the beach we did, after a winding, hilly road that had us up and down grades advertised as 17% on the warning signs intended for trucks and little woody wagons like ours. We doffed our sandals New England style, when the path turned to sand, and we crossed through the dunes to the beach. The sand was hot, the sky clear, and the wind gentle but firm, and we approached the shoreline. I waded in and decided that yes, the coldness of the Pacific was good reason for people not to be swimming. I uncorked the bottle of water I had filled with water from the Atlantic Ocean 22 days ago at Carson Beach in South Boston, and I made room in the bottle for the Pacific to join the Atlantic. The two were wed with Madeline and Nancy as witnesses, and we laughed at the pomp and circumstance of the ceremonial end of our journey.

The journey hasn't ended there, of course, and we were shortly on our way to Five Point Stables in Olema, for a two hour ride through the hills. I rode Delilah, a Belgian Draft Horse, who managed quite well with both the hills and a periodic trot with me on her back. Whoa, Delly! The trail was a bit dusty at times, and our guide was a bit less than surly at others. Our trail mate Marco, a great Italian rider who has moved to Hercules, CA, to work for a few months, saved the day. And we helped make his day by putting him in the driver's seat of our Model A.