To The End of the Road

   We've been here for five weeks or so, long enough that it's getting hard to keep track.  I have been working nearly full time for three or four weeks.  The house isn't quite organized still.  But it is livable an we've started to relax rather than shuffle furniture around and dump out boxes of books or clothes or records.  It seemed like time to get out of this daily reality, even for just a day. 
   Our plan was to head out to the coast, complete the journey and touch the Pacific ocean's frigid waters.  Saturday we were warned early by a friend visiting in town from Portsmouth, that there would be snow in the Coast Range passes and the roads were slick.  That gave us pause but only for a moment.  We needed to get to the Pacific Ocean. 
   Late breakfast and a little morning scrambling put us on the road around noon.  There was sun shining but the gray clouds were not far away.  Through the city center, the tunnel through the west hills and out the other side in a down pour we drove west.  At Burns we cut off onto Highway 6 bound for Tillamook.  Weather alternated between bouts of rain and bright sunshine.  All in all things seemed promising.
   Ascending into the coast range the rain did get thick until we were being pelted with slush and then snow until we were crawling along at 35 mph along twisting mountain passes.  The mountains were beautiful under a layer of snow hanging heavy on the boughs of the Douglas Firs.
   The snow-phobic pick up didn't slip once and with some patience we got through it.  Down the other side carefully and eventually the snow was behind us.  Such rich colors all shades of green reflected back at us from trees, grasses, ferns, and moss.  It all looked familiar and yet new to me, like seeing the face of a long lost friend who looked the same and yet has changed.
   The road eventually straightened out and became flat as we entered the farmed flood plains east of Tillamook.  Once into town we got out and walked around getting a feel for the town which appeared to be holding on if just barely after all these years.  Eli and I made the usual stop into the Tillamook cheese factory north of town to watch through the windows as the cheese maker people in their lab coats and hair and beard nets, formed and bagged, weighed and checked the blocks of orange cheese.  These people were probably lucky to have such a job in a place like Tillamook, mundane as the work is.  Many of the jobs had been automated and the remaining employees seemed to mostly be working at quality check.

CHEESE MAKERS at TILLAMOOK

   Some postcards and ice cream cones later we were on the road again headed up to Nehalem Bay State Park to see if we could secure a yurt for the night.  We drove into the park and up to the check in kiosk only to read a sign that stated "No Yurts Available".  So we headed north, ending up next in Manzanita in search of dinner.  The sun dropped into the drink until we were sipping the last drops of light when we walked into El Mariachi Loco.
   After dining it was time to explore the town a little to see if we couldn't find a room in our budget.  I was skeptical judging from the number of spas and acupuncture clinics, yoga centers, and the like, packed into this small village.  One motel quoted $70 and we should have taken it, rather than getting back in the truck to drive north past Cannon Beach, through Seaside, before finding an available room for $60 in a dilapidated weekly rate joint in Ghiribaldi.  Turns out our chosen weekend to visit the coast coincided with the Seacoast Jazz Festival, a highschool basketball tournament and the Fisher Poets gathering.  The inns were booked.
   We backtracked the following morning to Seaside to dine at the Pig N' Pancake before back pedaling further to visit Oswald West, my favorite spot on the Oregon Coast.  The beach is at least a 1/2 mile hike through the state park campgrounds.  Through the mossy forest walking beside the giant Douglas Firs until the forest gives way to a long stretch of sandy beach tucked in a cove and punctuated by large cliffs on either end.  A gigantic pile of drifted trees lies at the bottom of the trail on the beach as if piled for a fire by creatures of enormous size.

LOGS

   To one end of the beach and back we walked, getting closer looks at some details like the many waterfalls that end a river's path, or the beautiful rocks, the cliffs themselves, all of it almost too beautiful to be real.  The sun was out and only occasionally did a rain cloud pass to remind us it was in fact, still February. Even those were never a surprise as we could see them coming from a mile out to sea and plan accordingly.  It is these moments where I realize what a special memory this will be.  I try to pay close attention to the smells, how the sun and the breeze feel, the sound of Eli's voice mingling with the crashing waves and  the breeze through the pines.  I try to capture every sense of the present in hopes I will someday be able to return here in memory, when I am physically far away.

ELI, Northwest

      Back to the truck and north bound we headed for Astoria, the Crown Jewel of the Oregon Coastal towns, still a working fishery with visible reflections of the Norwegians, Swedes, and Finns that came to settle there long ago.  A stop at a thrift store and a small grocery for dinner were all we had time for.  The sky was darkening and we still had 95 miles to go.  Eli drove us home on Highway 30 along the Colombia River and landed us back at the house by 7:30.  Not bad for a first approach.  Next time we'll plot our time out a bit better and perhaps keep our feet in the sand a little longer. 
  

Roller Coaster Road

   Let's see, where should I start?  Eli and I awoke at the Silver Spur in Burns just before 8 as we have most days on this trip.  I had already been awake at 4:32 AND 5:17 with wicked heartburn; thanks El Toreo. 
   I made a press of coffee with the hot water from the in room drip pot.  We were drinking on that, Eli was in the bathroom when I decided to see what the world wanted from me on Facebook.  So I found out about Dara.  That's Dara Greenwald, one of my first friends at boarding school.  Funny smiley big breasted Dara who made people laugh and joked about how unfunctional huge breasts were.  I had heard from a friend that she was diagnosed with breast cancer a few years ago.  There were online fund raisers, art auctions, and a list to join to get updates about how she was doing.  Somehow I didn't get on the list.  I tried, a few times.  I hadn't heard anything in almost a year.  And then this morning, on Facebook, I find out she passed away on Saturday.  I don't know what to do with this.  I mean, here we are, 8 days into a cross country life blender, about to land on the moon to build our colony there.  During this process, everything else is supposed to remain in suspended animation, to carry on in a holding pattern until we can safely land the space ship and boldly step where no man has walked before.  When I moved to Maine in 2007 I had only been on the East Coast for a few days before finding out that my friend Brett had been crushed beneath a garbage truck in Portland.  Why?  How?  Why then?  Why now?
   Now I'm just confused.  This day was to be our final, our arrival day, the grand finale.  How can I carry that knowing that Dara has left this world and I didn't even know until I checked my Facebook messages?  Hours later I caught myself texting a mutual friend about Dara's passing to ask if he was considering flying out for the memorial.  Then I realized how crass that was, a text message.  What if he didn't know yet?  Since when has Facebook become an acceptable platform for communicating such news?  Why didn't I know that Hospice had been involved for the last month?

   We were departing Burns by 11am.  Eli drove.  I was, as I say, confused.  The landscape in that part of Oregon is stunning, high desert scrubby sage and golden grasses spotted by occasional cattle and a tree here and there.  Or maybe just there.  We were amazed by the number of robins we saw.  Whole packs of robbins, sometimes dozens all congregated beside or in the road. What was drawing them to the road?  They would sit there until we were upon them in the Yellow Menace and they would scatter, just barely avoiding collision.
   Eli pulled the train over on top of a climb and we switched seats.  She needed to be able to see the world out there.  I'd seen it before, already knew how breath taking it was.
   In Bend I took a few wrong turns and we got a little lost which is stressful in the Golden Locomotive.  After about an hour we righted ourselves and eventually found our way.  Up I 97 bound for The Dalles.
   We were climbing up epic mountain sides and snaking our way down the other side.  The landscape continued to unfold in more magnificent views to the point of making me question if any place in the solid foundation of human reality could possibly be so beautiful.

   For a little time we were on top of a small world and then we descended into a dense cloud and everything further than 50 feet disappeared into white.  Down into the river gorge to cross over the Deschutes River and up the other side.  Past Dufur and on.  About 50 miles from The Dalles, we ascended a snowy mountain side and the snow would line the gray road the rest of the way to the mighty Columbia.  The road became slick.  Icicles were hanging like fringe off of the road signs.
   We crept along, up and down, around the side of mountains.  Plow trucks were navigating ahead of us at 20 mph.  10 miles out of The Dalles, we came upon two patrol cars on the side of the highway.  It appeared that a car had vanished off the edge of the road and down the embankment who knows how far down.
   Through The Dalles and onto the freeway where the road wasn't much more reliable than it had been up above the gorge.  We continued along at our 40 mph pace, slowly making our way.  Rain turned to frozen rain.  We pushed on.  Again we came upon two patrol cars, a tow truck, and a paramedic truck.  A man was lowering himself down the embankment from the guard rail towards the edge of the Columbia River below, presumably in an attempt to rescue somebody whose car flipped the rail.

   We pulled off 15 miles down the road in Hood River.  I was vaguely familiar with Hood RIver from visiting our friend Damon when he lived there.  For instance, I knew just where to go and park to be within two blocks of the Full Sail brewery.  I pulled the Yellow Menace over and we stepped out into the street, trying to access the condition of the roads.  All of the trees and power lines were coated in ice.  In fact a layer of ice coated every surface.  The streets were filled with dense slush at least 6" deep.  The pub at the brewery had closed early because of the weather.  So it was decided we would wait the night in Hood River before making the final 60 mile drive to our new home.  Eli asked some people where to go for dinner and a beer.  Another local brewery around the corner was recommended; Double Mountain.  The place was packed.  Apparently most of the downtown restaurants were without power.   We ordered pints and sat on the couch to await a table.  It wasn't long before we were sharing a salad that Eli could have designed herself.  That with pizza and we were taken care of.
   Damon had suggested a motel to us named the Lone Pine.  The selling pitch was that it had always been a dive but he knew that someone had gone in and done a bunch of work on it.  So that's where we headed.
   We rang the buzzer and were greeted by a nice enough fellow.  The lobby had a mold issue.  What was hidden from sight could not evade the nose.   The story was that this guy was watching the place for his friend who had to go to Minnesota.  I made sure to pay in cash.  I was given a receipt that had no information about the place on it.  So I wrote the name and address on the receipt.  Then we went to see the room.  Super creepy.  Crusty linoleum floors decorated with cigarette burns.  The room was freezing.  I consider my standards pretty low, especially after reading a lot of motel room reviews.  But this place was too much.  I suppose if it had cost $25/night it might have made sense.  But we had been getting pretty nice rooms for the price of this dive up to now.  I suggested we walk across the street to other motel.  For an additional $20 we got a real sweet room with coffee service, fridge, etc.  So we went back to the dive to get our money back. Now here we sit, dazed, confused, snowed in in a strange place. So close to the end, and yet, not there yet. 
  BIRD of the DAY:  Robin
  State:  Oregon
  IN MEMORY OF:  Dara Greenwald
  DETAIL:  Sage, rainbows, quail

Welcome To Oregon:::

   We did awake before 8 am this morning.  But somehow between having the front desk clerk at the Thunderbird Motel heat up water for our french press coffee, walking down the street for bagels, and packing up to leave, we didn't make it on the road until 11:30.  Perhaps that is a key reason that all this driving has felt like a vacation.  It occurs to us that we should leave early from our previous day's destination, to drive in daylight and avoid inclimate weather.  But really what's the hurry?
   A short ways West of Pocatello we drove beside a field of elegantly turning wind turbines.  I recalled a friend of ours in Boston had mentioned traveling to Idaho to discuss his wind turbine software with the project managers.  Sure enough, these were Andrew's turbines we were seeing.  How cool is that?  
   There was a dusting of snow this morning at 8 and the sky was gray.  But the foul weather we'd heard about hadn't really started yet.  But within the first half hour on I 86, the snow started.  Visibility became an issue and the sky and fields were becoming the same color.  Further down the road we saw the first jackknifed semi in the center median.  The going was slow.  For the most part we stayed in single file behind the line of semis and cars.  I didn't think the snow would freeze up on the road because it was 34 degrees out.  But it did.  The road was becoming caked with uneven sections of ice.

Join us in the truck through some of the worst snow roads of the trip.  Play the video above. Skip to the 2 minute marker to get a hint of the action we avoided!!

Eli at the wheel she handled the trying driving conditions superbly.  There was really nothing to do but be patient and take it easy, try to avoid some of the less experienced drivers.  In all we counted 3 jackknifed semis, and 5 cars off the road.  We were not one of them.  The snow was intermittent and sometimes we were only dealing with some rain and the roads were clear.  Then a little ways down the road we'd be back in the white holding steady in the right lane. 
   Eli pulled the yellow circus off the road in Boise to refuel and get some sandwiches.  By the time we were getting back on the road I think it was about 4pm. It was about 5:30 when we saw the sign welcoming us into Oregon.  Mixed feelings as the realization that our journey was nearly complete. 
   It was too bad we were driving Rte. 20 in the dark.  At first the two lane highway was fine, no snow, light rain.  The landscape was beautiful but disappearing into the darkness.  The snow picked up after a while making some higher elevation passes tricky.  We crawled along and kept upright, patiently making our way.
   By the time we got into Burns and spotted the Silver Spur Motel on Broadway I couldn't wait to get out of the truck.  Our 7 1/2 hour driving day turned into a 9 1/2 hour day as the weather dictated it be so. 
   In the lobby we were greeted by the front desk clerks and their dog Dexter.  Dexter was a little black poodle looking thing.  Very sweet dog they found in the parking lot 6 months prior. 
   Into room 107 we moved our regular nightly inventory of necessities;  each of our back packs of clothes and hygiene necessities, french press and coffee grounds, crate of house plants, brief case with the computer and various chargers.  Then we headed off on foot in search of food and libation.
   Burns was soaked and over flowing with brown slush that settled in deep puddles at every corner  curb.  The Wagon Wheel Thai restaurant was recommended but we found it closed early.  So it was down to El Toreo for dinner.  That's the day's recap.  Can't believe we're in Oregon today, Colorado yesterday, Maine just over a week ago. 
   BIRD of the DAY:  Magpie
   RIVER:  Snake
   STATES:  Idaho, Oregon

Friday The 13th:::

   We finally departed Deborah's Rock Farm this morning at 10:45 am after some back up lessons from Uncle Sam.  Sam led us through the maze of windy country roads to the Wawa for a fill up and then on our way on Rte. 322 towards Rte 10 that would ultimately get us to the Pennsylvania turnpike.  Taking a day off at the farm yesterday was completely worth it and we recharged our batteries with quiet tranquility, family hospitality, good food and a comfy bed.  But today was all about the quest for miles.  The roads got a little hairy south of Pittsburgh as the snow was pelting down and high winds tried to whip us out of our lane especially crossing the massive Susquehanna River outside of Harrisburg.  But we took it easy and kept focused on coloring within the lines.  Driving this massive rig requires more concentration than a regular loaded van.  Especially with wind having its way with the truck eyes have to stay on the road ahead except for occasional glimpses at the elephant ear mirrors to see who's back there.  The Ford F450 Super Duty is really an incredible platform for this truck though.  It's impressive what it can manage as we wind up and down these rolling Pennsylvania hills. 
   We drove until 10:15 when we pulled into the Bob Evan's parking lot where the Yellow Beast would rest until tomorrow morning.  Our room was cheap and one wall is painted this very strange hue of blue.  The plants are happy to be out of the truck as are we.
   WORD OF THE DAY: friggatriskaidekaphobia
   BIRD OF THE DAY:  Turkey vulture
   RADIO STATION of the DAY:  WYSO 91.3 fm; Independent radio with Rev Cool playing International psychedelic rock, ska, hip hop in the middle of Ohio.
   STATES: Pennsylvania, West Virginia, Ohio, Indiana