9/19-21: Portland, San Diego, Santa Fe

The ferry ride to Seattle was surreal. When I called Shalain and gave the all-clear to purchase the ticket, it finally hit me that this intense phase had ended, and it a couple days I'd be back in familiar surroundings, being mauled by my cats. Nagging regrets lingered, but I was OK with it. I was mentally spent, needed a break, and would see some interesting (and new) parts of the country on the way.

Wendie's predictions were in fact accurate. I got to see some of the city, albeit from the backseat of a cab, and was surprised at how much I actually liked it, reminding me a little of both San Francisco and Denver. The $8 cab got me to Seattle's shithole Greyhound terminal with 45-minutes to spare, and before I knew it I was nestling into a window seat on a nearly abandoned 1:15 bus and riding right back down I-5 toward Portland. I had honestly hoped that I would meet some interesting people, but all that was offered was another backpacker... with a demeanor that made me want to beat him. Rather than petty violence, I settled for my Mp3 player. Following stops in Tacoma and Olympia, I found myself back in Portland for a 90-minute service layover.

Portland felt much different from this vantage point! As I crossed the Willamette into the western section of downtown, I gazed at the river and laughed out loud at the realization that only a week ago, I was boating beneath this same bridge with Andre. Now, I was re-entering the city less a conquering vagabond- via the least glamorous mode of travel I could think of other than the back of a patrol car! It was quite odd! Despite my time there, this was the first I'd seen of the bus station, and was rather impressed: it was the Taj Mahal compared to Seattle! Clean. Modern. Didn't smell like pee. I considered calling some of my new friends while I was there, but it felt like overkill. What was we going to do with an hour? I settled for a short walk, a pack of cigarettes, and putting a charge on my phone. Leaving Portland on I-5 south took me within sight of the Oregon Yacht Club, and Andre's house. I hopped across the aisle to take one last look at the floating home, the Master Craft, and the spot that had held so much intensity the previous week. Believe it or not, it was more nostalgic than August when I retraced the route I had traveled in Idaho more than a year ago.

The sun sinks early out west, and soon enough I was sleeping the rest of the birthday away. Aside from a quick stop in Eugene, the rest of the night... and most of the trip to LA... was the standard Greyhound experience. We passed into California and I remember hearing an announcement for Redding but didn't bother to open my eyes, let alone get off the bus. Sacramento was my first transfer, early Sunday morning, and being spoiled by the empty vessel ended abruptly with this over packed Los Angeles express!

Central California is nothing to fawn over, however once you get near LA and begin crossing the mountains, it becomes quite gorgeous. The western side of the California mountains (the areas that will be swallowed by the Pacific) have always exceeded my curiously low expectations... with the exception of the Los Angeles cesspool. As we passed through Hollywood, I began to see familiar, iconic sights and signs... like the Capitol Records building and Melrose Place. Now, that's some culture!

The 3-hour LA layover was the part of this particular bus trip I was dreading! The last time I bused through LA was when I was 14. We had all of our luggage stolen from the downtown terminal during the layover. I naturally assumed (since it was Greyhound) that little had changed and we were headed back there. I was pleased when we bypassed downtown altogether and pulled into what can only be described as a "compound" on the south side of the city. The terminal is the most secure I have EVER seen, complete with cameras, fencing, razor wire, automated bus gates, and a security checkpoint that is closer to airports than Greyhound... which generally has NO security whatsoever. The LA station was quite nice after all!

The highlight of the ride same in San Diego and was a nice elixir for the mental upset I had experienced about ending this early. I finally got to meet my friend Amber. I had called after leaving LA, told her my bus was stopping for a short time, and that if she was free it would be great if she stopped in to the bus station so we could finally meet face-to-face. Amber happened to be downtown having dinner, and walked in shortly after the bus arrived. It was nice to see an actual face, and we quickly discussed possible, theoretical travel ideas down the road. I was curious to see if the vibe was the same in person as it had been via Couchsurfing and email. Indeed it was, and the possibilities of someday traveling with her seemed encouraging. San Diego and I seemed to agree with each other. It was one of the last cities that I had never seen, and wanted to. Although I didn't get a chance to explore, I liked what I saw and want to return... soon!

Sunday ended on an interesting note in Calexico, California which, as you can no doubt guess by the name, is ON the Mexican border. I assumed we would get within a mile or two, but the stop was literally within sight and a stone's throw of the checkpoint. Looking for ways to entertain myself, I took a small amount of joy in that I had essentially gone ocean-to-ocean and border-to-border since April. This little side trip was also practical & useful because it was quite close to the Salton Sea, Niland, CA... and Slab City. Chris and I have discussed The Slabs numerous times as a possible joint-destination over the winter and this gave me a chance to see the landscape first hand for the first time. I was also privy to numerous Border Patrol ID checks. Along I-8 and I-10 close to the border, Border Patrol will stop the bus, come aboard, and demand immigration papers/ ID. They also pull random luggage from beneath the bus and let their dogs go to work. In addition, the highway was blanketed with Border Patrol SUVs shining spotlights into the desert hunting illegals. It was a bizarre experience, but in retrospect should have been expected.

Soon after Tucson finally came New Mexico, and Las Cruces for my final transfer and the last 200-miles up I-25 to Albuquerque. I slept the entire way, but only after learning my father was nearby in Alamagordo on vacation with his RV. I found it richly ironic that someone I had never met before would meet up with me (Amber), but my own father wasn't approachable. It was a quick, bitter realization, but an important one. I believe that book finally closed for good when I came up with a new moniker for him: Ward. As in Cleaver. Daddy of the Year!

From Albuquerque, I caught the New Mexico Rail Runner commuter train for the last 60+ miles to Santa Fe. This was the first time I had ridden it and highly recommend it to anyone traveling from Albuquerque to Santa Fe. Greyhound had appeared to eliminate their stop in Santa Fe, but I was happy to wait the extra hour to take the train! We later discovered that the bus still stops here, but there are no schedules listed on their website. That's fine, maybe having to take the train to Albuquerque will keep me off Greyhound and out of Denver?

I finally arrived home at around 6:30pm on Monday, 52-hours and a world away from Seattle. What happens next was anyone's guess but along with quiet, yet frantic decompression, the preparation began almost immediately.

9/15: Portand to Seattle, WA

Andre had Cody and I up and running early on Tuesday morning, determined to get out of Portland at a decent time. The tone of the day was again set immediately by an impatient Andre. It had long become quite evident that two Andres inhabited his body, and the thoughtful, patient Andre from the night before was again replaced by the agitated, terse, driven Andre. The two of us loaded the Range Rover while Andre tied up loose ends, and by 9:30 or 10:00 we were saying so long to the floating home and on the way downtown to the Mac store so Andre could purchase an apparent necessity for Cody's new I-Touch.

I had decided to take Andre up on his offer of the previous night and ask him to drop me off in Port Townsend, WA. Port Townsend is a bit of a difficult destination from Seattle and I-5 being, as Chris describes it, across Puget Sound from Seattle and on a sub-peninsula of the Olympic Peninsula. Somewhere along the way to the downtown Mac Store, Andre curtly asked me what I "had decided," and when I responded with Port Townsend, he was visibly irritated that I would have the nerve to take him up on a seemingly easy offer the night before. Oh, the humanity! He made it clear that, today, the three extra hours were of vast importance, and that if I wasn't going to Vancouver he'd be dropping me in Mukilteo. The loaded question on the tip of my tongue: "So, Astoria's out of the question, then? Why even bother to fucking ask?!?"

I had had just about enough of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Sitting in the back seat, I began to reminisce on the weekend and particularly at the Gale Force of Talk that had produced little wind in the sails. I was still in Portland, however, and free to disembark the USS Andre whenever I chose. At least I now knew where I would be resuming my travels: either downtown Portland, which would mean that my boat hitch with Andre and Cody the previous Thursday would have in fact netted a NEGATIVE 15-miles. Or, it would be the mythical Mukilteo north of Seattle, and presumably within range of Chris and his sister that night. As we approached downtown, I was weighing the pros and cons of each. The choice was far from obvious, and there was a significant problem: Hitching in Washington state is expressly verboten, and Port Townsend is not exactly in a geographic location flush with truck stops.

At the Mac Store, I learned that we were in the same building as the Portland Transit headquarters, meaning from here I could easily navigate the prolific public transit system and at least return to the bus stop where my return east from Portland had resumed from Dave's in 2008. This would put me back on US-30, and on course to Astoria once again. Yet, this would mean missing Washington State, unless I crossed at Astoria. To be honest, I'd never had much of a draw to Washington and had mentally crossed the state off as I progressed through the Dakotas, Montana, and Idaho the weeks before. I had connected with Chris in Boise, and there were no indications as to why I should go now. In fact, he had indicated that things there were "tense." So, why bother? Good question, and I have a pathetic answers.

Believe it or not, I heard my nephew Brad's voice in my head urging to to go to Washington, since I would be "right there." I had to confess, he was in a sense right. Excluding Washington, I had now visited every state not in New England, and having this single stray state out west would bother me! The mental ping pong continued as Cody collected his dire essentials. I exited the store to examine the bus routes posted outside, then to pace the parking lot knowing I had to decide NOW. Had his shopping taken just two more minutes, I likely would have acted differently, but in Andre's push to get moving I resigned to go with the established flow and try my luck in Washington. The deciding factor was that it would be terra incognita, and if I went toward Astoria I was sure to be retracing 2008's steps... again... this time down highway 101. Washington it would be. A fateful, rushed decision to be sure.

When Cody emerged with another item or two beyond the advertised life saving accessory, I found it amusing that Andre was no longer concealing his irritation with the Mac Store charade. When we stopped for cigarettes and coffee before departing Portland, Cody's credit card came to light and Andre tellingly (and snidely) asked, "I thought you didn't have any money?" My impression was that he was growing weary of being milked. At least THIS Andre was!

Once on I-5 and heading north, I completely disconnected. I was watching Oregon fade into the rear view mirror, not paying particular attention to anything going on in the front seat. I was quite happy to be moving on... somewhere... and fondly remembering, again, 2008's Two Day Rule! Crossing the Columbia River into Washington was not as much a sense of accomplishment as a checking something off the to-do list. I wished I were more excited about finally getting here.

Andre had not had time for breakfast, so we stopped at a Denny's about an hour past the border for lunch. I called Shalain asking her to play the role of research navigator because Andre had specifically said that he was going to dump me at the Mukilteo exit ramp. I needed to know how far Mukilteo was from I-5, among other things, and she outdid herself. She called back telling me that once I took the ferry from Mukilteo to Whidbey Island, there was a free bus all the way, 40-miles or so, from Clinton to Coupeville. In Coupeville there was another connection that would literally drop me at Keystone Harbor and the Port Townsend ferry. I was becoming quite impressed with Washington's transit/ ferry system, and I had yet to even see it!

After lunch, Andre began to feel the lack of sleep, and since Cody had no license and was Canadian, he chose the lesser of two evils and asked me to drive. Before I knew it, we were through Olympia and Tacoma, and I was zipping along in Seattle. Not only have I not had a particular interest in visiting Seattle, it could be said that I've had a peculiar and acute aversion to it. I've listened to innumerable hippies proclaim its "progressiveness," and after Santa Fe, took that as a sign that despite the legendary WTO riots I would hate it. Finally driving through it did nothing to change my mind, even though The Sage lived in Seattle for a long time and loved it. Was I being a bit unfair? See what hippies do to me?!?

Chris had mentioned Mukilteo in an email the night before detailing specifics of how I could get from I-5 to Port Townsend. "Mukilteo?" I wondered. What the hell is a Mukilteo?" Andre explained that it was a little town north of Seattle, and he too assured me that I'd be able to utilize the ferry system to get to Port Townsend. This quaint little tourist trap is less than a half- hour from Seattle, and in fact could be considered part of the outer fringes of the Seattle sprawl. Andre was in better spirits after his nap, and thankfully decided to look for a place to Internet here, meaning I wouldn't have to walk the busy, 5-mile divided highway into town. We stopped at a grocery store where I used an ATM and learned that there was in fact a bus stop across the road. The bus ran into town and would drop me, literally, at my first destination: the Clinton Ferry. Life was good, and this was it for Andre and Cody.

It was an odd goodbye. Much had happened over the past 4+ days, but now each of us were focused on our immediate futures. Not exactly present! Cody was going home to Canada, Andre had treatments to concentrate on, and I had no idea what the hell I was doing in Mukilteo, Washington. We shook hands, hugged, and made the obligatory promises to stay in touch. I finally offered Cody a card to the website, knowing full well that it would likely throw him into an eventual tizzy! He and I also pledged to meet on Facebook, etc. I remember having a distinct feeling that this particular Bullshit Exchange was palpable, but we would have to wait and see.

With that, I was off to catch my series of buses and ferries to cross Puget Sound, and feeling good to be moving again despite a recurring, nagging pinch in my left Achilles...