8/8 ~ Silt Coos and the BRIDGE

1995 USAIDS 5,000
(20th Anniversary Pictorial Ride)
Post #52:  
All good things come to an end.  Our final time in Oregon included a day and a half at Silt Coos Lake Resort.   We were stuck for 2 reasons: too much rain and too little travel money.  (Each picture has more story.)

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Picture #121

We relied on the kindness of strangers, during most of this incredible journey.   Back in 1995, during the AIDS pandemic, especially with my face plastered on the front page of the Oregonian, all we needed to do was ask, and it was received.   Silt Coos Lake Resort was no exception, thanks to Sue, the manager (Upper L) and Devon, the owner (Upper R).  They supplied us with a place to set up "home".   Before departing, Uncle Bill (not seen) took this picture of new friends we made (Lower L to R: Dantina, Donna, Carl Lebman, me, Aunt Bea, her granddaughter Beatrice, and JJ.  (Picture from August 8, 1995)
 — with Sue, Manager, Donna, Visitor, Lebman Carl, Devan, Owner, Aunt Bea, Visitor, Beatrice, Granddaughter and JJ, Visitor

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Picture #122

While in Silt Coos, it rained like there was no tomorrow!   Cleaning up the muddy mess required a hose. (Picture from August 8, 1995)

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Picture #123

And while I was working, cleaning up and packing up our tent "home", Carl Lebman was working double-time, doing another cut-a-thon, from our picnic area. Hey, it was gasoline money, badly needed! You can tell from his expression, it was less than ideal working conditions, lol.   So, this is what he closed his hair salon for--to cut hair in the open air?   (Picture from August 8, 1995)
— with Lebman Carl

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Picture #124

Aunt Bea bought tee shirts for the lot of them, to help us out.   And you can tell, Aunt Bea had filled my belly with flap-jacks, for the ride. How could we ever forget her?   But, by that afternoon, when I decided on a downward, beautiful slope, to switch places with Carl Lebman, to give him a thrill, I'm sure he momentarily forgot about Aunt Bea, and all of Silt Coos.   Little did I know that it was only a short hill, down, then 3-miles upward, with no place to pull over, not even before the BRIDGE.  You know 'Murphy's Law', if something will go wrong, it will at the worst possible moment.   I knew Carl had a fear of heights, and I swear, I didn't know about the BRIDGE.  There was nothing we could do, he had to ether cross it, or jump it--not just any bridge, mind you, it was the Thomas Creek Bridge, the tallest bridge in Oregon.  Carl rode the bike, right down the middle of the bridge, barely missing a head-on collision with an 18-wheeler. There was a clearing, just beyond the bridge, so I pulled over to wait for my pal.  He was purple, by the time he got to me, and shaking like a wet Chihuahua on a winter morning.   I was rolling with laughter, when he asked, "how far down was it?"  Carl, it was so far down, I couldn't see bottom!  That was the end of his biking, for this trip.   (Picture from August 8, 1995)
— with Lebman Carl and Aunt Bea, Visitor