3/17 & 18: To the Coast- Melody & Marci

I originally contacted Melody via her Craigslist ad around the first of March. She was to be moving from Austin to Portland, stopping in Taos to see friends, then continuing on toward San Francisco. I had also been in chatting with Rael since Slab City, and discovered that he was in fact still on hiatus from his walk, and would be heading to the coast toward San Francisco instead of Yosemite due to climate concerns! It would be a bit warmer along the central California coast, and a good time to see some of the southern portions of Hwy. 1. Between the two, it was obvious that this was an alternative to a dreaded trip east and a partial repeat of 2008's West Coast Run- one of my favorite's to date. It would also presumably provide an opportunity to dig deeper into some of the "Camel Ideas". This could be quite cool indeed...

9/19: Turning 29... Again

When Chris and I finally fell asleep late Friday night, the weather was clear with a beautiful star-filled sky. I had grown used to the aridity of Idaho and eastern Oregon, and apparently forgotten how quickly weather changes on the coast, particularly Oregon and Washington. When I awoke on my birthday, Mother Nature immediately reminded me, with a soggy, frustrating "gift." I had fallen asleep with the waterproof, external zipper wide open. Because I had only closed the bivy's bug netting to enjoy the night air, when it began raining the inside commenced collecting water. In a fog of sleep and haze of laziness, I semi-consciously pulled the goretex forward without sealing it, and went back to sleep. The old college try would not quite cut it, however, and when I awoke around 6:30 I found my phone, sleeping bag, and camera lying in a puddle! My camera's waterproof, thank God, but the sleeping bag was about to be stashed in the backpack for 2-solid days on the bus. Yay, mildew! And, the phone... yes, the damn phone again... was not working. This had a familiar feel to it! Happy 29th birthday again, Todd! We're off to a fantabulous start!

Cursing the memory of Bobby's pool, I deduced that the battery had either gone dead or the phone was... phucked. To compound matters, I was the first one awake and, unsure if Wendie & Daniel were up, was afraid to open the noisy garage door- behind which, the rest of my belongings... including the charger and spare battery ... were stashed. There were things I could do to try to salvage it, but needed to have power. I paced around the front of the house in frustration until 7:30, when it was time to wake Chris.

The two of us were under the assumption the four of us were leaving at 8 or 8:30, so when I got the all-clear to enter the garage, I began something resembling hasty emergency surgery. I got signs of life and a signal with the other battery, but when I called Shalain she couldn't hear me! Also, there was a short somewhere, making sending texts impossible. Contrary to popular belief, wet electronics are remarkable resilient... as long as you don't plug them in to a socket when they're wet; let them dry completely. When I had returned home in July, to my horror, I actually washed AND dried my little mp3 player! Having gotten damp in Iowa, it was giving me fits before I washed it but, to my shocked delight, it has worked perfectly AFTER a cycle thru the washer & dryer! Remembering this, I borrowed Wendie's hair dryer and hoped for the best. I had limited success, and after a bit, I was able to at least make normal phone calls, but half of the phone's navigation buttons still were not functioning. This I was fine with. I dried the bivy and sleeping bag as best I could before packing them away for our supposed 8:30 departure. Then, it quickly became clear that I wasn't the only one having a shitty Saturday.

As Chris and I waited expectantly outside, there appeared the final, most dramatic manifestation of the now-famous tension within. Daniel and Wendy had disappeared, and it soon became apparent that we were not going to make the earlier Bainbridge Ferry as planned, and as I'd feared the day before. I was quite glad I had not yet bought the ticket! Daniel then appeared, surprisingly wished us well, and went to leave- separately. Next, came the flying backpack. Wendie was clearly not pleased, and stepped outside hurling her daypack half-way down the steps, which run the length of their two-story house. Again hearing past comments about "The Buddha" in my head, rather than feeling the uncomfortable, I myself was silently amused. "How very, very... Zen!" With visions of Don Quixote's windmills combining with Phone Debacle II, I was ready for Port Townsend and the rest of Washington to be behind me.. if I had to crawl all the way to Portland from where I stood.

Racing a Silent Clock to Seattle

Shortly after the daypack had skidded to a stop, Daniel was on his way and so were we. I sat silently in the back of the car, watching the clock as we drove toward the free- ferry from Bainbridge Island to Seattle. At this point, all I wanted to do was get on my bus, watch my scenery, and wait for my birthday to mercifully end! And, it wasn't even 10am! This definitely had begun as the least enjoyable of all my 29th birthdays. I called Shalain from the car, and again asked her to hold off on making the Internet purchase until Chris and I were on the ferry because, despite Wendie's proclamations, I was still far from certain I would make the Greyhound terminal in time. It was obvious that, even in a best-case scenario, I would need to hail a cab once I got across Puget Sound into downtown Seattle. Missing this bus would have far-reaching implications, and may have put my little house-sitting gig in jeopardy.

At the terminal, Wendie surprisingly gave me a hug, A strange embrace that reminded me of the Cody Hug! I was asking myself, "Really, Wendie?" and quickly thought how life would have been much simpler for everyone if had I just continued on to Astoria from Portland! At this point, the entire escapade into Washington seemed like my own foolish, ego-driven, "Attack on the Windmill" undertaken simply to eliminate a solitary state from some perverse, imaginary list. This was not too far from the truth, but would prove to be a bit simpleminded... eventually.

My mood lightened a little at the ferry terminal once I knew my fate was once again in my hands. The ferry's schedule seemed to give me ample time to get from the Seattle terminal to Greyhound, even if it would have to be by taxi. Our "plan" (ha!) was for Chris and I to take the Bainbridge Ferry into Seattle, where we would split off: me taxiing to Greyhound, and Chris meeting friends. But, shortly after we settled in for the short wait he learned that some of the bus/ ferry routes he intended to use the next day didn't run on Sundays. He quickly reconsidered everything and decided to forget Seattle and return to Port Townsend from here. He hung out long enough for the ferry to begin boarding, and knowing how I guzzle the stuff, Chris even offered to pick up some Birthday Mate' from the pier and send it to me. What a pal! I gave him $10 to get some extra and after a goofy man-hug, he was off and I was aboard the huge auto-ferry into the heart of Seattle. I sat there watching the rain and repeatedly shaking my head as I thought back over this odd few days in Port Townsend...

7/3: Portland

Thursday

We got up pretty late again after enjoying the evening of solitude away from all people, and especially kids! We took out time tearing down the campsite then headed toward Munson Creek Waterfalls... off the 101 toward Tillamook from Beaver.

I had 3 messages from Shalain about a voice mail I'd left the day before giving her the impression that something was wrong, when in reality I was just pissed at my inability to follow a budget! I had lost my shitty Sprint cell- signal the night before and had no way of contacting her, so when I did we had a bit of a good- natured "you asshole!" laugh. She had done that to me during my time as a carnie in Louisiana back in March. We started discussing possible options regarding the terminus of the journey due to fiscal ineptitude on your protagonists part. IOW: I'm shitty with money.

I decided to get to Portland, meet my Couchsurfing host and explore the possibility of getting temp- work while I was there, then discussing it with her later on.

Eric, Marine and I got to the waterfall and enjoyed that alot. It was much bigger than I thought it would be, and the hike getting there was nice.

From there we drove into Tillamook, home of my favorite cheese, and stopped at the library again to check emails and so they could send off CS requests for Seattle. Then it was down Hwy. 6 to Portland.

It occurred to me that I was finally leaving 101/ Hwy. 1 for the first time in nearly 3 weeks. I was also leaving my constant companion, the Pacific Ocean, too. There was a slight twinge of nostalgia because I'd enjoyed that immensely. Yet, I was also ready to see some other things. Oregon is more than just the coast, and that was being drilled home the further east we went thru the Coast Range. Just awesome. I love this state!

As we approached Portland, I guided Eric to my drop off point and began to gather my things. I'd been in their car for almost a full week, and had been ready to move on for a few days! I'm sure, though they said nothing, that they felt the same! I quickly gathered my stuff from the trunk, shook hands and hugged , and proceeded toward Dave's place. The houseboat! I told myself...

After a quick 1/2 mile walk down the road w/ my now feather- light pack, I found the marina, and began to seek out Dave. I was 45 minutes early, so I hoped it wouldn't cause any problems. Dave saw me wandering around and came out to greet me. He was pretty terse at first, probably annoyed that I had gotten there early and that he was still working. He guided me over to his place, which was NOT a houseboat, but a small one bedroom house built on the deck of the marina. He let me chill out there for 20 minutes or so- smoking and relaxing; glad to finally be in Portland.

Dave was much happier when he got back. He directed me to a much needed shower and laundry- session, then we sat and got to know each other a bit. He and I have VERY similar views on MANY things. He's a musician, so we talked about the uselessness of radio and the future of things, both artistically and socially. We then hopped in his van and headed downtown. There's a blues festival here this weekend, but finding parking was next to impossible so instead we went to Voodoo Donuts then to a little bar that had the Tigers- Mariners game on! Tigers won.

From there it was across the river to the east side of Portland, starting with the Mississippi District. MUCH better! Reminded me of the best parts of Denver, but better. Everything was open- music flowing thru the streets. It was nothing like LoDo... much more 'texture' to it. I really enjoyed that!

We got home about midnight, and though he offered me his couch I chose to sleep on a mattress he has on his covered porch. Slept like a rock... I like sleeping outside these days!

Oregon... ROCKS! I love it here! The people are so damn genuine... much more so than California... and there's no sales tax either, on top of the fact that stuff's cheaper to begin with. The terrain is devastatingly beautiful too.... more on that, including pictures, when I get some time.

I'll be in Portland for at least a couple days; maybe longer. I've found a place to Couchsurf until Sunday, then may have another surfer to stay with after that... we'll see. It was ALOT easier to find hosts here, and my French friends, who happen to ALSO be Couchsurfers, found it the same. No luck in SF for them either but no problem here.

7/2: Stealthing near Blaine, OR

I got up pretty early again, after sleeping pretty well thanks to the wine! Eric and Marine went off to do some things, leaving me alone to write in my journal, get a shower, and sort my things to gather stuff to send home. Quite productive time spent actually. Discovered a lot of extra crap to send!

My attitude was pretty good early, but deteriorated as time went on. I was annoyed with myself more than anything. At the fact that I was watching long- awaited Oregon fly by thru the window of a car rather than at my own pace. 101's not like Hwy. 1 though; it doesn't quite go along the coast. It's within a mile or two, but in Oregon rarely do you see it. That helped me to quell my self- directed annoyance! I'm such a moody bitch.

We proceeded north, stopping periodically though less often than we had been. We hit eventually found a library in Newport and began doing some research on possible FREE places to camp. All three of us were sick of State Parks and all the people and KIDS that come with them. $16 to experience noise crowded conditions? No thanks. We had all enjoyed the site at Nickel Creek much more and hadn't paid... a nickel. I'm such a comedian.

They found a promising place through the very (maybe overly) helpful librarian, but we were still a couple hours away and it was 4:00 or so, so we rushed out and found a place to get cigs & food, that also happened to be a post office. I send my extra crap off, bought another steak ($3.75), a soda, and a $5.50 pack of unfiltered cigs. I didn't realize I had paid that much until I got in the car and looked at the receipt... and how little money I had left in the wallet. That sort of set me off and set the tone for the next few days as it turned out. I called Shalain and left a terse message to call me.

We got started north on 101 again and found the little community of Beaver, which was our turn off toward the campgrounds we was found in books back in Newport. The drive was cool and the housed became fewer and fewer.. then the recreation area started shortly after the hamlet of Blaine. We eventually found a couple of the campgrounds that were shockingly FULL! What the hell!

We continued down the dirt road and Eric and I decided to turn around and hunt out our own site. It didn't take long to find one. We parked near a truck that had pulled off, walked down the little path chatting with the people who were there collecting rocks for something, then spied a perfect site, complete with a rock- circled fire pit and enough of a clearing to set up tents.

We collected wood from the area for the fire, got it going and prepared to eat. The problem with this campsite was that in out stealthiness, we had no grill over the fire and I had bought a steak and they had hamburger to cook! We improvised quite nicely. I cooked my steak on 3 or 4 thick tree branches, and they used a rock and tin foil. None of us knew, really, what the hell we were doing, but we ate like kings in the woods.

They had bought a 12 pack of beer back in Newport and Eric asked if I knew any card games. HA!!! Do I... I'm a historical figure in the chronicles of Hillsdale Co., Michigan alcoholics. I showed them "Bullshit". We got a nice happy- glow quickly and shot the breeze for a few hours building and playing with the fire in this isolated piece of Oregon's back country. We LOVED it.

Lesson: a campsite's rating is directly opposed to how much it costs. Less= More.

I decided to try to sleep outside, not wanting to either set up OR tear down the tent. That would have worked, but for the first time in nearly three weeks, I began to feel raindrops and saw thunder-less lightning.

I quickly set up the tent, cussing my laziness and slept like a brick, again.

6/29: Humboldt S.P. to Redwoods N.P.

Sunday

The Lord hath proclaimed Sunday the Day of Rest. So hath Todd.

We got up and around a bit later than we'd have liked due to the beer consumption, and my energy level was... no so good! We didn't have far to go though, so we hopped back on the 101 and proceeded toward Eureka, Trinidad, and eventually Orick, which is the town that's essentially within Redwood Natl. and State Parks.

Eureka's always been a landmark for me as the last real 'city' in California before Oregon. Kind of a depressing little place. We stopped for coffee, which now was becoming a necessary theme, and sort of tooled around there before stopping in Trinidad for Eric to use the ATM. There was a little Artisans Market going on, and a few interesting characters milling about.

Also one embarrassing one.

I ran across the road to the gas station to reload on coffee, and while I was inside was this redneck straight out of 1965 who must be a member of the Lou Dobbs Fan Club. He was LITERALLY standing RIGHT next to a sign that read "Please take ALL alcohol purchases to the next counter!" While standing there he was berating the Mexican girl behind the counter complaining that he should be able to buy his PBR at any counter he "goddamn well pleased!" When the girl tried to explain to him that she wasn't old enough to sell to him, AND POINTED TO THE SIGN!, he went off on her perceived inability to speak English going into the now generic and tired tirade about "if yer cummin to 'Merica, ya aughts ta be able tuh speeks the Inglish!". Admirably, there was a little woman about half as tall as this endangers specimen of Redneck standing in line behind him who essentially told him to shut the hell up, learn to read, and quick being an asshole. I laughed quite loudly at this, as did a few others.

He didn't take to kindly to that, but the only thing he could say was "Do you live here?", as if being a proud resident of Trinidad, California gave you some mythical license to be an elite breed of Xenophobic Prick.

I got in line behind my new hero and tipped the girl $1 for my $1.19 coffee.

We got back on the road after this little nugget of Americana, and eventually to the Redwoods NP Visitor Center where we got information on camping and a few other things. Eric and Marine decided on Elk Prairie Campground, so off we went to set up camp again. Another $20 site for them, but per our conversations the night before they let me slide on this because they were going to be getting these campsites anyway, and it didn't matter if there were 2 or three people. I had made it clear that there was NO way I could continue paying for camping on a daily basis, and beer, etc. They were wildly cool about that, as long as I wasn't costing them anything.

This campground, while beautiful, was another episode of Romper Room. SOOO many damn kids! LOUD kids this time!

I was still pretty wiped out from drinking the night before, so I wrote in my journal for a bit and then collapsed for a couple of hours while Eric and Marine went on a long hike. As with Florian, I tried to stay conscious of giving them time to enjoy themselves alone... without me tagging along all the time. Plus, I was exhausted. The nap did wonders for me.

I woke up, and since we had dead wood lying all around I decided to flaunt the park's Wood- Nazi policy that you MUST purchase THEIR shitty $8 wood bundles, and began to collect dead Redwood pieces/ parts from around the area. It was quite abundant, and soon I had a nice little fire going. When Eric and Marine got back from their hike, they had gone to the store and Eric returned with wood, but we ended up not even needing it. At least I contributed something to the day, and Redwood smells GOOD- almost like the Pinon I've become addicted to in New Mexico!

I was sort of off in my own little world the rest of the night, listening to music and pretty much keeping to myself. The rest of the night was pretty uneventful, except for the beginning of the nagging feelings of annoyance at myself for tagging along with these guys for so long. It's nothing to do with them, and may have had alot to do with the fact that I was tired, and that the cloudy, smokey, cold- ish weather may have been affecting my mood. It's typically what happens after I'm with people for more than 2 days though... remember the 2 Day Rule?!?!

6/14-15: San Luis Obispo: Pat

In a rush again! These library policies can kiss my butt!

I did indeed leave Santa Barbara on Saturday. I decided to try to walk the beaches as far as they take me, but neglected to take TIDES into account! Almost got pinned in against a cliff after sitting on the rocks enjoying the views for about an hour.

I find out later that the off- shore oil wells pump 'tar' into the water that winds up on the beaches. Guess what I was sitting in while on the rocks! My pants are hosed...

It was an enjoyable day though. After I left the beach, I took some trails along the cliff edges and around a golf course and found where Hwy. 101 meets up with the main drag. I didn't feel like hitching, or hopping on the freeway so I crossed some train tracks, and followed an unknown road until I saw a sign for a public beach that was adjacent to the Bacara Resort. Quite an upscale place, so I got some funny looks from some of the very few people I did see, but they were nice.

Eventually, as dusk came along, and I finally did something I've always wanted to do. Build a campfire on the Pacific Coast. Not really sure why, but I was ecstatic! I called everyone I knew to make sure they understood how happy I was.

I was going to camp on the beach, but following the advice of some other bonfireists I climbed a hill at about 12:30am, and simply climbed under a pine tree with just the Thermarest. I eventually dug out the sleeping bag and slept quite nicely!

Sunday was spent sitting on the beach for the first 4-5 hours of the day enjoying the day. That's the nice part about having no schedules to keep, or places to get to. You can look around at where you are. I laid out the socks and shoes to dry, and eventually decided to try my luck on Hwy. 101 and get a bit further north. i had been fighting tendinitis on the top of my left foot that was triggered I came to discover by my inserts. I decided to take it easy for a day or two and give it a chance to recover.

I got to 101 and walked for a couple miles until the freeway designation ended, then thumbed it. After about 30 minutes a woman turned around and offered to take me as far as San Jose. She was nice enough, but annoying. There was no way was staying in that car to the San Fran sprawl! So, I asked her to let me off in San Luis Obispo and she did after buying me Burger King.

I went into the gas station, and loaded up on water thinking I'd be walking and camping, but as it turns out I went about 2 blocks until I ran into a Goodwill Donation Center that was staffed by a guy in an RV. I didn't really make a rational or conscious decision, but I just turned left and crossed the road to chat with the guy and maybe get some information on what lie ahead, and where to camp for the night.

Pat was a bit leery of me at first, but warmed up quickly when he figured out that I wasn't in search of money, booze, or cigarettes. I told him what I was up to, and as it turned out he had done his share of hitchhiking and used to ride Harley's all over the place with his late wife. After maybe 5 minutes of chatting he wound up inviting me to stay with him in his little RV for the night. I was a bit apprehensive at first; hearing Surplus Supply Dennis' warnings about how crazy the 'homos' in California are and how they like hitchhikers. Dennis is an idiot. Eventually, Friar Chris and Walkingman Gary's voices won out, and I took him up on it.

Pat wasn't living in his RV. He had a place in North San Luis Obispo County, but 60 miles away. With gas quickly approaching $5/ gal., he simply could not afford to make the commute so he slept in his RV parked between 2 trailers at the Goodwill Distribution Center, and went to his regular job from there. He is 60 now, and had a hard time finding work after having to go on disability for his knees because no one wanted to take on the liability when they could just hire a younger person to drive trucks. He had even a harder time getting help from the state. As he put it, if you're between 55 and 65, and haven#t 'made it', you're expendable and thrown away. That may sound melodramatic to those who thrive on exploiting the poor for profit, or believe in the predatory capitalist system, but I've seen other examples first hand, including my own mother. Pat lost his wife in the early 90's, and ever since and by his own admission has been lost. He has children who are quite successful, but he refuses to burden them with his troubles, because as he said they'd go ballistic to know their father's living in an RV with no bathroom.

I'm really developing a great disdain for you 'economic predators' who thrive at the expense of the poor while hiding beneath the shade tree of law, policy, and worse yet 'The American Way'.

These are the things we talked about all night. I loved it. Along the way I realized I'd neglected to tighten Chris' Boca bag lid all the way, and as a result soaked all my clothes, among other things, in my pack. Pat offered to take me to the laundromat, and while we were there we ran into a guy who was about my age and absolutely blindly proud of his ignorance. He walked into the laundromat strutting proudly and saying 'Whuddup Dogg' to everyone. I wanted to grab him by the throat and punch him in the eye, but didn't. I just said 'woof' and glared at him, trying to make it VERY obvious I wanted him to stay away from me. I REALLY wasn't in the mood to deal with a 40 year old guy with the mental capacity and maturity of a 13 year old, and my testosterone level had risen to the point that I would have hurt him if he provoked me. That sort of surprised me! Pat was sitting in the RV it turns out watching the whole thing. When the guy decided to smoke his blunt on at the front door and start prancing around like he thought he was Snoop Dogg I had just about had enough of him. Fortunately, the clothes were dry and I was ready to go. When I got in the RV Pat said something to the effect of 'looked like you were about to kick that little F####rs ass, and I was about to join you!'

We got on very well before this, but after Pat really seemed to warm up to me. He has the same, as Bruno defines it, 'thirst for authenticity' as I do. I can tolerate almost anyone who's who they are, to a point, but have next to no tolerance for fronts and displays. Our conversations were fantastic as we half- watched SNL on his 4'' TV and finally got to sleep at about 1am. Pat has had an interesting life, and is madly proud of the fact that all he wants to do is work and 'find his place in old age'. I respect the hell out of that. It's hard to do though when your body fails and no one within your vocation will hire you and get no state support as a thank you for paying taxes for 40+ years.

I really felt grateful that I had crossed that road because the perspective he offered me was priceless. There'd be more of that to come later in the week... guidance from somewhere; seeming coincidences that defy logic...