Good Tidings

Story by Lukas Ferrenburg

The mist hangs in the air, like someone is burning a large brush pile. Calm wind. Most people head to the Oregon coast to escape the heat, and enjoy some of the most beautiful rugged coastline the world has to offer. However, I’m there for a very different reason, tide pools, and according to the tide charts today is a massive minus tide. As I slide into my rubber boots I take a look around, there’s nobody here, perfect. I begin my ascent out towards the crashing waves. I pass millions of giant green and aggregating anemones. I climb over rocks being careful not to cut my hands on the barnacles or crush all the encrusting mussels living on the rocks. Closer and closer I make my way to the furthest point I can possibly go. 

It is in this algae covered environment that I find myself slowing down and freeing myself from all the stressors the world has to offer, a certain solitude that only the sound of the wind and the gentle caressing of waves against the ancient stones have to offer. I crouch down near a single pool looking at every single crack and crevasse, for minutes on end, and then I see it a flash of fire orange and electric opalescent that is the Opalescent Nudibranch (a fancy word for sea slugs) and suddenly my heart starts racing and a rush of adrenaline courses through my veins. “Look how awesome this thing is!” I yell out to friends. Suddenly it seems like I’m no longer on the Oregon coast because I’m looking at some animal that looks as if it belongs in some tropical paradise on a coral reef, and I should have a fruity drink mounted in my hand. Moments later my jaw drops, I see a grotesque tiny blob, the size of your thumb, climb across the rocks and into a pool. I quickly move towards it and peer into the pool to find a baby Giant Pacific Octopus (the largest octopus species in the world).  A truly rare find, “excited in awe phrases” and hi-fives are given all around and huge child like grins are on everyone’s faces. Other highlights include a Red-Eyed Medusa (a jellyfish with red light sensing organs above each tentacle) drifts erratically, pulsating its bell in a “1…2”rhythm, propelling it in a random direction each time. Tide pool sculpins dart back and forth as you walk by, anemones close their tentacles around mussels pried off the rocks from the crashing waves, hermit crabs scurry away as fast as possible as your shadow projects over their pool. All in all, a great day celebrated by cracking a few cold ones in the parking lot and reminiscing the days “best finds.” 

This is the way tide pooling often goes; there could be nothing or there could be something that will blow your hair back, you never know. Much like Christmas morning every pool is a present. Some of those presents are the wrapped socks you’re almost guaranteed, which represent tide pools filled with the cool but ever so common animals such as anemones, and urchins. Other pools are like unwrapping that Nintendo 64 you got during the Christmas of 96, meaning some wild flamboyant animal from the depths that few people have ever seen, let alone even know they exist. 

Some of the most amazing animals I have ever seen in my life are in tide pools. My personal favorites are nudibranchs. You wouldn’t think that marine slugs would be all that interesting, but they’re some of the most beautiful animals this world has to offer, and virtually come in every color the human eye is capable of seeing. I’ve seen baby giant pacific octopuses just hanging out in the open.  I’ve seen bizarre fish, worms, crabs, and even a family of otters residing behind a rock outcropping and gorging themselves on tide pool sculpins. All of these life long memories I have made would have been missed if I hadn’t slowed down to take a long look at things. It’s almost as if the ocean has pulled back its curtain of mystery and given you a slight peek into the treasures that she hides in her belly that few have ever seen. 

Fortunately and unfortunately, having no crowd is usually the case when it comes to a tide pool session. To be honest it has always baffled me why so little people are out exploring the pools, especially considering how accessible all the public rocky shoreline Oregon has to offer.  Even if there are people out there, it usually seems like they are in a hurry, or bored assuming there’s nothing but anemones, urchins, sea stars, barnacles, and mussels. They may just ignore the tide pools altogether, waving their selfie stick aimlessly and ask what I’m looking at in passing. Not to say that there is anything wrong with any of this. How you enjoy the outdoors I feel is on an individual level. However, I can speak from experience that there is so much more these pools have to offer. If you can take the time to slow down, which is becoming increasingly difficult in todays fast paced information overload world, I can guarantee you’ll be extremely rewarded. You may possibly make life long memories, finding solitude, and maybe even catch a glimpse into the secrets the ocean has to offer. I encourage all of you to check a tide chart, choose a nice summer day, fill a cooler with your 6-pack of choice, and most importantly take your time out there, the memory of a lifetime could be waiting out there in a pool and you don’t want to miss it. 

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The Inspired Ride

Artwork by David Powell // @david_rollyn

Story by Morna Powell

Finding inspiration is a journey. Sometimes the journey takes you on a long toilsome path, twisting and turning, and sometimes it’s as easy as opening your front door and finding it on the porch. When you base your well-being on inspiration, you’re likely to meet both scenarios. 

For my husband David and I, finding inspiration is getting deep into nature with a good cup of coffee by a fire, warm summer evenings, a few thrills, and a good conversation. David is a self-employed graphic designer and illustrator. I follow behind with our dog, Trout, doing background tasks like keeping the business tidy while David focuses on his clients and staying centered. We spend our days waking up slowly and working late, taking time to laugh, sip our coffee, and move throughout our day consciously looking for inspiration. We travel part time in our van, Moby, and live in a small apartment in St. Paul, Minnesota, where our family and friends reside. 

Finding inspiration from our moving home feels like a dream. Our backdoor leads to wondrous places and we feel spoiled rotten getting to wear the same clothes daily, smelling like salt water, sweat, and dirt. 

As breezy as all that sounds, we’ve waded through some difficult times, too. When we were first married, we both worked jobs that wore us out mentally and physically. David went to school during the day and at night he worked at a machine shop. I worked full time at Starbucks. We questioned daily why we worked those jobs, but we always came to the conclusion: We work hard so we can climb, draw, surf, and dig into our hobbies. And on our weekends, we were free. Free to discover … or just sleep. 

A couple of years later, we find ourselves in the Mojave desert after dark, strapping on our climbing shoes to climb a crack in the light of the moon. The wind is howling through the massive boulders, but the lingering warmth of the sun still touches our fingertips as we climb. Inspiration found us that night in the dark, and it also found us driving through Portland amidst traffic and heat with the beautiful shiny buildings towering overhead and the smell of food trucks. 

To feel inspired, you have to allow yourself to be fully immersed in the impermanence of your situation, good and bad. 

Live Fast Die Slow

Racing Mopeds from Seattle to San Diego

Story and photos by Carrie Schreck // @rehabforcandy

“Officially, it’s not a race,” says James as he yawns. We’re on an all-night drive to Seattle from L.A. in a rental van. It’s just before dawn. We’re on our way to the starting line of the Pinball Run, an epic endurance challenge spanning 1,800 miles of coastline roads from Seattle to the Mexico border. James takes a swig from an enormous energy drink and tries to make himself comfortable behind the steering wheel. He laughs a tired laugh. “But really, who’s spending two hours on the side of the road swapping an engine if it’s not a race?”  

The Pinball Run is in its third year as James and I drive northbound. Like other endurance challenges, it involves roadside fixes, mechanical know-how, and a chase team. There’s a start line each morning and teams have 24 hours to make it to the day’s finish line. But unlike its big brother, the legendary Gumball, the Pinball is strictly mopeds-only. Slow, noisy, pedal-powered mopeds, 99 ccs and under. The rickety moped strapped in the back seat is James’s hopeful winner, set to compete against 19 others. It’s a Tomos LX, dingy-faded blue and dented. 1,800 miles, eight days, 42 mph. If you think that sounds crazy, it is.

“Chances are, you’re going to fail,” he says. He’s right. Mopeds are not known for their reliability, and per the rules of the race, you must repair your bike where it stops. In past races, support teams have brought extra engines, tires, carbs and plenty of tools. The event attracts the weekend wrencher — someone who knows two-stroke engines top to bottom. Some teams custom-fabricate parts or do secret mods. Preparation is months in the making and competition is friendly but heated.

“What’s the difference between your support team this year versus last year?” I ask. “That I don’t have one,” he laughs. This will be James’s second Pinball, but it will be his first race solo. “My team had to back out last minute. I decided I needed to do this one myself.”

Mopeds have a sort of loyal following that has created a close network of friends — a family of sorts through which we have gained and lost dear friends. “David got me into mopeds. He loved to ride ...” James muses. He has a boyish face. Small scars web across his lip and chin. “One night we were stopped at an intersection on our bikes,” he continues. “Light turns green, lady runs a red, nails us both. Hit and run.” David died instantly. James was left for dead.

After the accident, what was left of James’s and David’s bikes were left in a box. After some time healing, James dusted off the parts and began to build them into a new bike, a tribute to his friend. “I scavenged everything that was sentimental. The tank is all dented. I took some bolts from the shocks. I even went back to the scene of the accident and got little bits of mirror, washers … whatever I could find.” He rebuilt the bike strapped in behind us piece by piece. The remaining spare parts he’ll carry with him for roadside fixes. “The bike’s motor from that accident actually survived. That’s my backup motor. It’ll be my secret weapon.”

In Seattle, we meet the other competitors prepping bikes. Many have mods for comfort or convenience like two gas tanks or sissy bars. Eleven teams have converged from as far away as Boston. Support teams are also arriving with chase vehicles that range from a 2-door hatchback to a ‘90s prom limo. “In the end,” says a racer as he changes the limo’s brakes, “we did the math and renting a camper cost the same as buying this limo. It was an obvious choice.”  

The limo has style, but the camper may have kept them more comfortable since the eight-day challenge includes several nights of camping. One team outfitted a school bus with bunks and a portable shop. Matt and Mike rented a Penske moving van, Jake and Ashlee are using a Prius. James negotiates space for his extra parts amongst the other teams.“I’d do anything for that guy,” says Jake, another racer. “If I had to turn around and drive 30 miles to bring him gas, I would.”

Pinball is informally organized. It’s self-sanctioned and there are no sponsors. There is a daily starting line and finish line, and each team’s time is recorded and added cumulatively. Each team will strategize their best route. Since the bikes are small and slow, every extra mile counts. Racers are also required to run an app which tracks location and speed. There’s a modest purse at the finish line and some trophies, but that’s all. If you’re here, it’s because you love to ride.

The next morning, 19 hopeful bikes gather at the starting line. The race starts with the wave of a flag and the small crowd cheers. Today’s ride will end in Portland. The bikes slowly inch away from each other as navigation strategies are put into play. Of the 19 that started, only 15 make it to Portland that afternoon, removing four from the competition. Along the way, those who receive a DNF (Did Not Finish) pack up their bikes and continue to follow the caravan. Some continue the daily rides as non-competitors. “Even if we don’t win, I just want to say that we went all the way,” says Ashlee, looking defeated next to a bike in pieces. She and teammate Jake accept a DNF on day four. “We’ll replace the transmission tomorrow and keep riding. We’re just out of the race.”

Days one and two see James competing strong. He manages to make the top seven each day and his spirits are high. After day three, his chances begin to fade. His position isn’t improving and his speeds are low. On top of this, he finds himself in the middle of a controversy over some interstate travel, earning him a penalty and possible disqualification. “I don’t care, I’m doing this for the memory of my friend.” He musters some determination. “I”m not giving up.” He’s frustrated and trying everything to inch forward in the race, even creating temporary cardboard fairings to cut down on his wind resistance. 

Day five is the toughest day for James. Engine problems plague him all day. Tensions are riding high with him and a team that wants him disqualified. It’s a low point for him. Then outside of San Louis Obispbo just 20 miles from the day’s finish line, James’ moped breaks down. His phone is out of service and he doesn’t have the parts he needs. It’s pitch black. Unwilling to give up, James starts to walk the bike toward town, toward the finish line. After an hour, Jake’s team locates James and lends him the necessary parts. It’s been an exhausting day and an exhausting week. 

On Day seven in the late afternoon, six of the 19 original mopeds make their way one by one across the Coronado bridge in San Diego and reach the finish line. Jay, another solo rider, takes first place. The other bikes make their way in, including Jake and Ashlee, covered in road dirt and smiling. Coming in very last was James, whose wife and daughter are there to greet him. It’s a happy reunion. “It’s important for me to do things like this race,” he beams. “It’s important for me to show my daughter that life goes on. You should enjoy it while you have it.” 

There’s a small awards ceremony, trophies, and the grand prize money. The energy is high but exhaustion catches up. One by one we say goodbye. Teams pack up vans and suitcases to head home. No one did this race for money. It could barely be said there’s even bragging rights to be had. But it was a great adventure with great people. For James, winning wasn’t really the goal. “I was inspired to do this for David, for all the friends we’ve lost. Doing things like this keeps their memory alive.” 

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