9/9-9/10/09: The Dalles-Portland, OR

Riverfront Park and I liked each other! I immediately made my way to the shore of the Columbia River and, looking across to Washington, thought about Lewis and Clark. I had gotten my first glimpse of Mt. Hood the day before, and was continually amazed at the intense beauty of Oregon. My kinda place.

I sat on the ramp for a couple hours, but as dusk approached I knew I needed to get back into the park, which was Day Use only, and find a place to hide for the night. I was tired, and had begun getting frustrated at a perceived lack of drive and vision. I held the "Sit Down & Shut Up" idea close, but when I am fatigued I tend to get bitchy. As I dozed off in a perfect, soft spot just off a nature trail adjacent to the park, I was wondering what the hell I was doing. I also knew I needed sleep! Sleep, as it turned out, would not be a problem. The grass was at least 4ft. tall, which made for something of a mattress beneath the bivy, and I slept uninterrupted for nearly 12-hours. We had crossed into Pacific Time the day before, so the sun set an hour earlier. Getting to sleep at 8:15 gave me a great jump on a monumental Thursday, and had also given my psyche a colon cleansing. I was tuned-in, present, and excited about where I was. And, I should have been.

I was noticeably relaxed as I set up a little day camp on a picnic table. All I wanted was to relax and enjoy a morning next to the Columbia. Logic said I should get my ass to the ramp and try to take advantage of the early start to get thru Portland, but my intuition was telling logic to go fuck itself! I decided to side with intuition. I fully charged my cell batteries, repacked the pack, ate, shaved, and just...was. It was phenomenal!

Around noon however, being still present, I noticed a shift. It was inexplicably time to change locales and get to the ramp. I followed without question, and spent the next 90-minutes writing before a small SUV suddenly appeared from nowhere. Let the festivities begin.

Zeno was a middle-age, pony-tailed former UN artist. Yes, an artist that worked for the UN, and on his way to pick his daughter up from the Portland airport. He was also one of the more fascinating rides ever, and set the tone for the rest of the day. Zeno had been wildly successful with the UN, and had traveled all over the world. He found himself on the floor of the General Assembly with regularity, and met numerous diplomats and world dignitaries. Zeno had also given all that up when he discovered he had a daughter who was in her early 20's, and moved to The Dalles, just to be near her. The transition had not been easy; his artwork was being held hostage because someone felt his quitting was, somehow, a breach of contract. His assets were frozen, and this man who had made a fortune was now scouring for work at places like McDonald's. It was odd to hear a well spoken, articulate, worldly man give an educated dissertation on Syria, then tell of applying at Burger King! After a short time, I greatly admired Zeno. He was a man of conviction who followed a distinct sense of right; "career" be damned. The conversation eventually transitioned into how to make money while traveling, and he was a gold mine of insight and information. Taking notes, I soon had a page full of avenues to follow. Avenues such as how to work guarding workers from bears in Alaska, and traveling to archaeological sites to work, paid, as a digger! I greatly enjoyed every minute of my ride through the Columbia Gorge with Zeno, and again wished he were one of the multi-hundred mile variety!

He dropped me at the Pilot in Troutdale, on the far east-end of Portland. I knew from 2008 that this was where the rail line ended, and since it was still relatively early, if needed I could get to the far west end by transit system. I wanted to pay a visit to my friend and '08 Couchsurf, Dave, who runs a marina off US-30 in Linnton. My thoughts were that if I could get there, it would be smooth sailing to Astoria, then the Pacific Ocean. My worry was navigating Portland. The day, however, had by now took on a life of its own.

Zeno and I had gone in for coffee and before he had even returned to the car, I had been offered a ride, literally, to Dave's doorstep. Brian had approached me asking to "buy" a cigarette. He was trying to quit, but was obviously jonesing! I have been there, and could sympathize! He noticed that I was wearing a "Michigan" t-shirt Lynette had given me, and I soon learned that he was from Schoolcraft, MI and had listened to my old radio station. We were fast friends and he, like Zeno, was an interesting guy but for very different reasons. I learned on the way to Dave's that he and his wife have 8-kids, and live for free on National Park and BLM land as they save their money. He was a self-described political activist, and had very strong views on banking and the nexus of political power. Obviously, I greatly enjoyed our little ramble through Portland in his overfilled station wagon; one that was outfitted with a Corvette engine! Brian dropped me off at Dave's door, as promised, and out of my typical character, I gave him some money both out of great appreciation and respect. Eight kids? BLM land? That has to be a bitch at times.

I had called Dave from Troutdale to let him know I was around, and to be sure he hadn't moved! We had not chatted since July '08, but had become good friends over the July 4th weekend I was there. As I walked up, it appeared little had changed in 14-months. Fred's Marina was the same, and I found him in the same spot I had last summer: manning the store. We quickly caught up, and exchanged stories before he invited me in to his floating home to meet his son, who is also quite a talented musician. Pretty soon, it was time to leave and continue up US-30 toward Astoria. We took a picture, but before we could exchange out proper goodbyes, a sudden influx of customers needing gas for their boats, or candy for their kids left me standing there feeling slightly awkward. Then, in pulled a blue and white Master Craft needing gas. Inside was an odd pair. One looked to be a middle aged, boisterous Italian, while the other was a dreadlocked young man who looked to be barely in his 20's. The kid saw my pack, and asked if I was traveling. I said yes and, just like that, the most extraordinary, random weekend of either summer commenced.

Fasten your seat belts and put your tray tables in their upright & locked position...

9/7-9/9/09: Caldwell, ID-The Dalles, OR

Waking up Labor Day Monday, it was increasingly clear that crossing the desert, potentially on foot, to get toward Bend, OR was neither desirable nor beneficial. Chris and I made our way back to a Stinker gas station we'd passed a mile back and that had been closed the night before where we could get coffee, and sort thru it from there.

It was a quick conversation. I was in no way compelled along Chris' path, even though I still had no idea where I WAS being driven. I just KNEW instinctively it was NOT there. This was a big deal. We had learned our lessons from May and June, and were not going to repeat these mistakes. We had come to the conclusions that it was imperative that we stay on our own personal paths; not falling victim to the idea of "partnership." I had written, sometime around our split in Omaha, that I needed a return to my 2008 mindset. As soon as we separated, and after the intense period in Santa Fe, I was able to do exactly that. It sustained me through Wyoming, the Dakotas, Montana, and Idaho, and, as a result, this supposed "secondary" phase of 2009 has since exceeded the "primary!" This is not "coincidence, but rather a direct result of traveling solo. The fruits of following my own compass rather than attempting to incorporate and compromise. "Go on your adventure. And go alone." I wish I could remember the author.

The Stinker was a colossal fork in the road, but one with an equally massive arrow! This decision would reap huge rewards, and very soon, although, of course, I had no idea at the time. The fact that there was minimal struggle, first in the reading, then in the following of signs, in retrospect, is very encouraging. I would also be handed another lengthy "Sit Down and Shut Up" exercise that, upon completion, and again, would blatantly and immediately present itself! We shook hands and wished each other luck. Chris' ultimate destination was Port Townsend, WA so we kept open the idea of meeting in Portland. With that, he was off on his adventure into Oregon.

Now, what the hell was I supposed to do!

I figured that, with I-84 nearby, I could take some time to figure it out and in the meantime try to get to US-95 in Fruitland as I was considering a change in course toward Winnemucca, Nevada. I was immediately offered a ride half of the 30-miles there by a young kid named Jason, but I didn't like the sound of the drop off, and felt compelled to remain at the Stinker to charge batteries and gather thoughts. A couple hours later, I wandered up to I-84, set up on the ramp, and thus began the next "Sit Down & Shut Up" period!

I spent the rest of the afternoon on the ramp next to a fireworks store, then as evening approached, decided to relocate to the next exit about a mile away. Taking the adjacent old US-30, I spent the rest of Monday evening sitting, listening to Mp3's, and thinking. I was oddly content! In no rush whatsoever, despite Chris' repeated mentioning of a "Tortoise & the Hare" race. This reminded me of someone revving their motor at a stop light, and when they peeled out, just sitting there watching them. If he wanted to run...let him!

Monday night was spent behind sagebrush next to the exit ramp, and Tuesday began a reminiscing tour of 2008. I finally got my ride to Fruitland with an unnamed flatbed driver, and after a fast, familiar re-visit, was picked up by another Jason who was on his way to Ontario, OR to be drug tested, as part of his parole. He was quite cool, and made it clear that "he" had yet to be drug tested! Ontario had an odd, ominous vibe from beginning to end. There had been a roving band of vagabonds who had been starting fights and ripping off the Pilot station, so it was essential to keep my eyes open. I was also sharing the ramp with a drunk couple, so by the time Wade stopped and offered a ride to Baker City, I was more than happy to go.

Wade was quite interesting. He was a rancher who lived in the mountains above Baker City, and quite religious. But, he was also open minded. We had a terrific conversation about our beliefs, and it reminded me a tiny bit of Randleman in that we both knew we were talking about the same things, just using different terminology. The ride was quick, and after we chatted for another 15-minutes outside the truck stop, I was quickly back to the ramp to try to get to La Grande before dark. The sun was setting, so I was beginning to scope out places to sleep when Jeff pulled over. He was on his way home to La Grande, and was also one of the coolest rides to date. Just a great guy to talk to! I wished that La Grande was a bit further away, or that he was heading to The Dalles!

By La Grande, I was a bit creeped out by the '08-familiarity, so I asked Jeff to drop me at the Flying J on the far east end of town, to avoid a complete repeat of my La Grande- Fruitland day last summer. This, as it turned out, was ill-advised. Despite the truck stop, the ramp had little traffic. I had begun feeling an odd compulsion to see The Dalles, so I made my sign, but after a slight and futile effort, I returned to the Flying J for the buffet, to charge the phone and continue updating Boise. I did meet a trucker who offered a helluva ride; to Albuquerque!

After a night spent behind the trucks, Wednesday began much the same way Tuesday ended: not getting a ride. The weather was beautiful and I had vowed the night before not to sit there long, after realizing the error of the Flying J. To correct it, I made the surprisingly quick 5-mile walk into the heart of La Grande, and began to see the friendly and familiar sights. I considered spending the whole day there, but felt pushed to the I-84 ramp, where I had launched after the freight train in '08. This was the spot where my love for interstate hitching had hatched.

Once there, I didn't even have time to light a cigarette; I almost instantly found myself in another pickup bed. Mark was on his way to Eugene and was offering a ride all the way to Portland. I enjoy the back of pickups on hot days, and spent the trek across the Blue Mountains there before, once through Pendleton, he decided I was no threat and invited me up front. I learned that he was up on "menacing" & weapons charges, and going to Eugene for a court date! Great! He spent what seemed like an hour professing his innocence, then giving me the tour- guide-treatment as the landscape changed and we entered the Columbia River Gorge area; some of the most beautiful landscape I've ever seen. I liked Mark, but he was a bit of a drain and my urge to see The Dalles was increasing the closer we came. To his surprise, I asked him if he'd let me out there, and I was soon unloading next to Columbia River at Riverfront Park.

I had seen the Gorge under a moonlit sky from last year's freight train, and knew it was gorgeous. The Dalles had stuck in my mind, but it made no logical sense to disembark here, rather than in Portland. I kept hearing "Sit Down & Shut Up!"

So I did...

7/6 Leaving Portland:"The Last Great American Adventure"

If you would have told me how THIS day would eventually be ending, I would have laughed you out of the room, especially when I woke up.

I rose pretty early after getting to bed at a decent time, and began preparing to leave, not really knowing exactly how I was going to do it. I had posted an ad on Craigslist's Rideshare the night before on the outside chance I may be able to catch a ride with a charitable person heading toward Colorado... fat chance, but why not?

I figured that I'd probably end up taking the transit system out toward Troutdale and then start hoofing it down US 30 toward Lewis & Clark State Park to check on the Hike & Bike, then take things from there. I was pretty much all set with my 'planning' (HA!) when I got an email from a guy via my Craigslist ad. He wasn't driving, but was also traveling toward Colorado on a limited budget, and suggested that maybe we try hopping a train out of Portland! He had done some research, and was certain that the trains would run into Grand Junction then Denver after that. I was immediately intrigued. It would be a DEFINITE adventure, get me a great distance, and it's impossible to blow money on a train!

We exchanged about 25 emails over about 2 hours. I wanted to make sure the best I could that I wasn't dealing with some sort of a tool, psycho, or otherwise illicit character... save the train hopping thing! It's funny, but you can tell alot about a person by their spelling. If they can't spell simple, yet uncomplicated multi- syllable words, tend to say 'bro' all the time, and show through words the size of their 'manhood', I tend to avoid them. This guy could spell, use a computer, had a gmail account with his real name (presumably), and wasn't trying to 'man- up' for me. I felt reasonably certain he wasn't too much of a vagrant, and thought it would be pretty cool to travel a ways with another person. Plus, he said if the train thing didn't work, he'd be open to hitching or whatever. Why the hell not?

We set up a time to reconnect, exchanged phone numbers (another good sign... he has a phone!) and I finished of the business at Dave's place. He had been working pretty much all day, so I hadn't seen much of him at all. We said our goodbyes, asked him to say goodbye to Bree for me and thank her for sharing all her training- info, and headed off the bus stop to catch the #17 toward downtown and head to REI for, I thought, just Clif Bars.

When I got to the bus stop, I sat patiently for about 35 minutes with no sign of the bus. The thought occurred to me that, perhaps, there was no Sunday service out that way, but I'd been on the Tri- Met website several times checking schedules and it said NOTHING about "No Sunday Service".

Turns out: No Sunday Service.

The only reason I ever found out was that a VERY nice woman turned around, pulled over and informed me with a smile that I'd be waiting all night if I stayed there. She then proceeded to offer me a ride first to the next stop, then said she'd just take me to REI! Seriously, where are all these assholes everyone kept warning me about?

She saw a friend of hers on the way, picked him and his dog up then got me downtown to the REI. She offered me a couch to sleep on the next time I was in Portland, and gave me her phone number. She was such a terrific person. Treated a complete stranger like she'd known him her whole life. I gave her the link to the journal, said thanks, and hopped out in a great mood and excellent outlook on how the day may turn out.

I went into REI and decided to go check, on the outside chance, if they'd give me any grief if I tried to exchange the North Face pants I was wearing that had begun to split "down there". I felt kind of weird about it because the pants were 2 years old, BUT they have the most liberal return policy EVER. If you're EVER not satisfied, you can exchange or return anything. I weighed the honesty and righteousness of it, then pictured the pants splitting in the middle of the woods! That would pretty much suck, so I gave it a shot. Eventually I found the same pants and had no trouble exchanging them whatsoever, so I walked out of REI with 6 Clif Bars and a new pair of pants after spending about $6.50. Not too shabby.

From there it was on to meet up with my new travel partner, Rich. We'd decided to meet at the largest bookstore I've ever seen, Powell Books, which is 3 stories tall, and takes up an entire city block. He got there about 20 minutes after I did, and we walked to a nearby park to get acquainted and scope each other out to see if the other was perhaps a tad psychotic. He doesn't make much of a first impression. He looks the role of a beat- generation train- hopper, with ripped up raggedy jeans, etc. I was hoping that the conversation would be sustainable and that he was pretty laid back. I wasn't so sure of my own ability to hop with all the weight on my back, and needed him to display some patience if that were the case. It seemed that he was exactly that, so as we set off across the bridge into E. Portland, I was cautiously optimistic.

We walked about 25 blocks, stopping for coffee, soda, and cigs, then went to find the spot he had tried and failed to hop from the night before. We eventually got there, relaxed and continued chatting about various things. Then came the first east- bound train. I figured I'd be shitting myself, running next to it trying to grab hold, but it was really no big deal. This train was moving a bit to fast for either of us, and Rich said it was probably no a very good train for us to be aboard anyhow. He had done this in Pennsylvania a number of times and at least knew, to some extent, what he was doing.

We then walked about a mile up the tracks and found a spot where the train would have to be going a bit slower, thereby making our job a bit easier. Just after we got there, at about 9:00, we spied a train stopped at the other side of the bridge. It was loaded with what looked like ship containers full of something from overseas that had just arrived at the port. It began moving, and was just CREEPING along. We hid from the engineers, waited for a moment after they passed then pounced! We got aboard with ease! We were situated outside, on the car itself, but there was a grate- platform, with a depression in the middle that backed up against the car's frame. It was designed so that with me and my backpack inside, there was NO way we could fall off no matter what. I was ecstatic!

The train had 3 or 4 engines, and was relatively long, so Rich figures this one would be going quite a ways, and with few stops, but he thought we were a bit too far toward the front of the train... easy to see when we pulled into the eventual train yards. We were still creeping along, so we hopped off again, and went further back until we were at least 3/4 of the way to the end and found another car with suitable accommodations. Once there, we were off!

Rich was situated on the back of one car, in HIS Union Pacific Hotel space, while I was on the front of the next car directly facing him. I would learn later that I had made a poor choice of sides. Another thing I learned about trains is that they are VERY unforgiving places to be. Not only for life and limb, but also anything you're carrying. EVERYTHING needs to be stowed someplace, or it will find a hole to fall thru and be lost forever. Thankfully, I realized this immediately and was overly cautious with the camera, cell phone, and water bottle. It also became apparent that you need to be prepared to sustain yourself with water when you get aboard, because you're not going to just be running to the 7-11 when you run out! We made that mistake, or at least Rich did, and that would affect things the next day-- for him.

It took quite a while to get out of Portland, so I called Shalain and Friar Chris to tell them exactly how proud I was of myself, and eventually the train picked up a little speed and I settled in to take in the view.

We followed I-84 most of the night along the Columbia River, and through the Columbia Gorge Scenic area, and scenic it was! There are no lights on any of these cars, no night- vision kicks in after a short time- enough that you can see what you're riding through and it was one of the most spectacular parts of the trip so far. A montage of mountains, lakes, rivers, forests, cities, towns, and the largest dam I've ever seen just north of The Dalles. I was hypnotized.

It began to cool down drastically, and since we were on teh outside of the car, I needed to be bundled up in everything I had including my rain pants and coat to break the wind. It would be a cold night. The rain pants would take the brunt of the abuse of the train because while it wasn't as dirty as I expected, it still was far from clean.

Eventually around 3:00 I dozed off curled up in the fetal position and shivering. I had my sleeping bag available to use, but had visions of having to make a quick escape and first needing to repack the bag into the backpack! I decided to shiver for a couple of hours, drifting in and out of a light sleep. No REAL sleep to speak of.

The night, even with the cold, was great. But this train made frequent unexplained stops, and was obviously low- priority because it would seem to stop for EVERY other train that passed. That was fine at night, and when the experience was new and exciting, but would become maddening in just a few hours...