7/8/08: Idaho

Rich and I got up and around at about 8:45, packed up, and walked across the on-ramp to get some coffee while he continued to remind me of a dog; he would metaphorically howl at each train whistle. Rich also resumed yesterday’s indecisiveness as we headed toward the library, again getting on my nerves but I was getting a little help from the coffee and the ideas/ possibilities floating around in my head.

The ideas from the day before were still with me, and I began to consider ways to earn some money while I was in La Grande. The possibilities seemed limited due to the small size of the town, but I thought I’d at least sniff around... a little.

I stopped into what I thought was a staffing place that turned out to be training for displaced workers; mostly loggers in this area I was told.

I then stopped at the ‘local’ radio station. This had been an idea that had been stuck in my brain since Ft. Morgan. I knew EXACTLY how it would go but I was curious to see if there were ANY stations left in America that actually had a person, inside, who could discuss something without first having to go through ‘corporate’; outside of “Santa Fe Skippy” of course.

I went inside and was greeted by the friendly receptionist, whom I’m sure was wondering what this dude in the backpack wanted. I explained to her what I was doing with the trip, that I was trying to figure out ways to make some money while on the road and that I was interested in doing some production and voice work while I was in town. I then asked her about their ownership situation, and she went into the typical diatribe about how they owned ‘several local stations in Eastern Oregon’. That phrase reeked of familiarity. I pressed on and asked if the owner actually lived in La Grande, since the sign outside said ‘local’. She conceded that the owner was actually based in Pendleton and was only in town a day or two a week. A- HA! I asked if there was even a Program Director: he too was mysteriously unavailable. I deduced from my experience, and her vagueness, that this station was likely programmed from Pendleton too.

Now I was really curious.

There was no other activity in the building, so I asked if the station was live or voice- tracked. Voice tracking means they record the ‘shows’ prior to their airing; sometimes days ahead of time and even occasionally from different cities. She answered that they have ‘live local news and sports every morning!”. HA! Now I knew. She was leery of disclosing the secret that the ‘live and local’ station definitely was NOT ‘live’ and probably wasn’t ‘local’! I pressed on and asked again if they were voice tracked, and she finally relented, admitting that all of their programming outside of the morning newscast is piped in by satellite. Probably Jones Networks out of Denver. Their ‘local’ station in La Grande probably consisted of nothing more than a sales staff and some equipment to feed the transmitter. The sales swine were probably out hocking commercials, which explained the lack of personnel. The receptionist was only there to answer phones, give the impression that there was actual ‘life’ to the station and, of course, in case anyone came in wanting to buy advertising. I just laughed. From there it was a game of cat and mouse, with me asking questions I knew she would not want to answer, but I decided to cut her some slack. It was not her fault. I gave her the link to my audio webpage and left quite satisfied that everything I have ever said about my old business was correct. Radio is now truly obsolete.

*RANT ALERT!*

I feel bad for the good people who hang on hoping it gets better; like a man hoping his wife will recover from terminal cancer. The sales staff will soon enough be the only people working locally, still trying to convince businesses (that know better) that someone, ANYONE, is still listening to their canned, sterile, ‘product’, and that the listeners are stupid enough not to just ‘punch out’ when the music stops, despite the fact that common sense and radio’s OWN studies say otherwise!

How do they expect you to listen to some generic, pre- packaged ‘product’ that has no REAL local angle, no immediacy, no interaction AND have to deal with the horrendous commercials screaming at you to buy another new car?!? Christ, you cannot even get traffic or weather information during a tornado warning anymore because there is NO ONE in the building! Google: Clear Channel’s Minot fiasco. I’ve asked radio ‘professionals’ that EXACT question, and have NEVER gotten a real answer! I was fed some pre-practiced pep- talk, or as is the case with my last gig, told I should ‘get on board’!

Seriously!

No. However, feel free to stay aboard the Titanic if you choose; I’ll take my chances with the sharks. No real solutions. No real innovations. Just recycled buzz phrases and sales pitches.
I’ve also asked “Why listen to this crap, when you can just get a satellite radio, or better yet plug in your Mp3 player and listen to what you want?” Christ, that’s what I did when I worked there!

I’ll tell you how they ‘expect’ that.

Ever see “American Beauty”? Annette Benning’s character, we’ll call her Vera, sells real estate and behind closed doors has to listen to motivational tapes and repeat Stuart Smiley mantras (I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, I WILL sell this house today!) in the mirror, brainwashing herself into believing that she’s doing something honorable and worthwhile, and that money's mythological powers will reanimate a dead soul. Sounds like religion!

Radio folk are the same. I can just see the sales staff being led by the owner or GM in some cult- like chant beginning their day trying to brainwash themselves into believing that they’re not merely whores, and ‘motivate’ themselves into believing that everything’s going to be all right when they “hit that goal”.

Sounds like something Heaven’s Gate would have done.

In fact, I have seen these cultist rally sessions in real life and no, not in Nuremberg. They call them ‘staff meetings’. I’m quite certain that a lot of these uber, disturbingly positive people- while at work- go home and kick the dog, smack the kid, and guzzle Popov to restore some sense of peace & balance.

*END RANT*

Rich went ahead to the library so he wouldn’t have to wait, but I also wanted to rediscover what it felt like not to hear his incessant bitching. It was gooood.

I got to the library, checked in with the librarian to get a computer and find out how long I’d have. She said 30 minutes, but sort of with a wink. That reminded me of what I had hated about other places. Santa Fe, Cambria: The ‘Internet Nazis’ who kick you off after your 30-60 minutes... even if the place is empty.

I started updating the journal, uploading pictures, and sent a couple Couchsurf requests to Boise. I kept going... and going... and was never asked to leave. I was unsure as to when I would have internet again; I wanted to get as much done as I could. Rich had been online too, but finished up shortly after I’d gotten there. He resumed the ‘dog in a cage’ routine again... running to and fro... occasionally stopping by to chat, ask silly questions, and look over my shoulder; obviously annoyed that his annoyance had no effect on me.

In time, he had had enough. He said he was heading off to try to catch another train, and if that didn’t work he would then get in touch with some girl he’d dated at one time... who just "happened" to live in La Grande. I found that to be an odd coincidence. Like the 13 y/o who “gets laid over the summer”: “She’s from Niagara Falls, you wouldn’t know her”.

I didn’t care. Carry on Wayward Son.

Unceremoniously that was it. We did the obligatory ‘keep in touch’ stuff, each knowing that would not happen. I half expected a repeat of the day before when he’d suddenly reappeared, but I’ve neither seen or heard from him since. The Lesson of Rich? Choose your travel partners carefully, AND be prepared to go your own way when they get to be too much. He was a decent guy, and in all honesty I got pretty lucky with him. He wasn’t ripping me off, breaking into houses, trying to shoplift etc. I actually felt comfortable with him around. We just had different ideas of how to travel, different goals, and definitely different ways of going about things. Moreover, he howled at trains. I hope he got to Telluride ok.

After about three hours, I left the library, got some coffee, and aimed myself back toward I-84, still pondering whether to stop into the McDonalds next to last- night’s nest to see about work, or just start hitching. I walked right past McDonalds, got MORE coffee, and planted myself on the ramp. I guess I was ready to leave the hospitality of La Grande behind me. I had no luck for about an hour, so I started walking toward the next exit and a truck stop I had learned was there. Just as I got to the top of the ramp, a pickup pulled over and I had my first ride.

Earl was going as far as North Powder, 20-40 miles up I-84. I thoroughly enjoyed this ride! He was a VERY pleasant guy, probably 65 or 70, who had spent his life driving Caterpillars until he tipped one over and had broken his hip & back. He was now involved in logging and drove perhaps the dustiest pickup I had ever seen.

Earl dropped me off at a tiny café/ general store in North Powder so I went inside to try Rich’s idea of canned food; buying it in small quantities to last a day or two and take advantage of carrying less water- weight while hitchhiking. Canned food is definitely cheaper. I grabbed a few cans of Pork & Beans, and Beef  byproduct Stew and began chatting up a guy who was standing in line and was interested in my backpack. As I went out the door, another guy who had overheard the conversation asked where I was going, and then offered me a ride to Ontario, 80 miles up the road and on the Idaho border. I was thrilled and thought how much easier this was without Rich!

Jordan Dimick was a bee farmer; the first I’d ever met. It was a kind of family business, and he had a wonderful pride in that family and its place in Oregon history. I-84 roughly follows the Oregon Trail, which I hadn’t realized until very recently. That greatly appealed to my sense of history, and so did his numerous tidbits of trivia about the old trail. He also told me an interesting story about how his great- grandfather was a sheriff and had thwarted the last attempted train robbery in the West. Another entirely enjoyable ride that I thought ended too soon. He had offered to take me to the first exit across the Idaho border, but I asked him to drop me at the last Ontario exit, so I could actually walk across the Snake River and get my silly picture.

There happened to be a truck stop, so I got an Idaho map, replaced my little earbuds that were falling apart, then sat down in the grass out by the road to repack and prepare for my walk across The Snake. An interesting mullet- bound character sheepishly walked up to me and asked if I was from around there. I thought that was a stupid question, with me sitting in the grass next to a backpack, so I said laughingly “Does it LOOK like it?” assuming he was panhandling. He slinked into the truck stop, and I continued what I was doing. By the time he would come back out toward the road, looking quite disoriented, I was feeling like an ass. I hollered at him to come over and asked what he was looking for.

Walt told me he’d just gotten out of prison and all he was given was a bus ticket to Albuquerque... they’d sent all the money he went in with to his Parole Officer as “insurance that he’d show up”. So, here was a guy who’d just paid his “debt to society”, left broke and trying to find a way to get some food. Not the first time I have heard this story. I immediately remembered the person in La Grande unexpectedly handing me $5. While I could not spare the money, I had food. I dug out a can of Pork & Beans (later to be to the chagrin of his fellow Greyhounders!) and let him have at it.

It turns out that Walt had spent three years in prison for running drugs from Arizona to Oregon. He was up front about it, so I said “So, you’re not one of the ‘I didn’t do it’ guys then?” He said, “Oh hell no. Guilty as hell.”

I love honesty.

He told me about the bust and that the cops had seized $20,000 in cash and a cache of guns in the process. He then told me how NONE of the guns and only $600 made it into the arrest report! Beneficial for him, no doubt. But it makes one wonder where all that money goes, AND the guns! To protect and serve, eh? The chat ended with me wishing him luck and wishing I had had some money to spare. He seemed like a very decent person in a trip filled with very decent people.

I got back on I-84 and to the mile walk toward the Snake River, and out of Oregon. The bridge spanning The Snake was having construction work done, and was down to one lane... with a shoulder that was about 18- 24" wide. That was a hairy crossing. In retrospect, I could have walked unmolested through the construction itself, but didn’t realize that until it was too late. After what seemed like an hour, and 1000 car horns angrily letting me know what they thought of my presence, I got to the other side. Idaho. I got my silly picture, and felt damn good about the fact that I had finally walked into another state.

I began to think about how much I loved being in Oregon, and there was a twinge of regret that I had only spent a week there. The people were just as incredible as the landscape and in the same way that California’s natural beauty had exceeded all expectations; EVERYTHING in Oregon seemed to do the same. I don’t think I’ve seen the last of it.

Idaho, eh?

I had NO idea what to expect. The state intrigued me, but had mostly been just a stretch of land that bordered Oregon. I kept an open mind, but actually felt sorry for any state that had to follow the one I had just left. I walked up a bit, getting some pictures of the now- setting sun, then sat down and “enjoyed” a can of Pork & Beans now realizing that a little variety in diet... if it can be called that... was nice!

Since the sun was setting and I had no urge to walk I-84 at night, I began to spy places to nest. There was a closed rest area right next to me, but when I got to the other side; I was shocked to see that there was a HOUSE next to it, complete with barking dog and curious resident. Who the HELL lives next to a rest area ON the interstate! I decided not to ask and moved on.

As it got darker, I began to try hitching again, to no avail. After a mile or two, I saw the telltale lights of a gas station on the horizon, which probably would have a decent place to bed down. I figured I would try to get there and kept going hoping for the ride that never came. I began to wonder if the exit would EVER get there, and was getting pretty tired. This was where Jordan had offered to take me.

The exit did eventually come of course, and I staggered into a Shell/A & W combo that was next to an RV park. I decided to find a place to sleep near there, hiding from the RVers. I wanted to just collapse, but went inside to use the restroom to clean up a bit, and to try the “write off” trick. Some places, when they have food that they don’t sell... usually hot dogs etc. ... will throw the stuff out at a certain time. If you are there, they will sometimes let you have it rather than just waste it. Worked like a charm. I loaded up on corn dogs, mozzarella sticks, and tornadoes, said thanks and sat down to feast.

At the counter chatting with the girl working the register, was an older biker- type guy who obviously LOVED to talk! He told me that I should abandon my original plan to stealth camp behind the RV Park and just sleep in the grass in front of it and right behind the store; no one would say a thing. I said I would give it a look and the guy proceeded to join me at my table.

He was 69 years old and REALLY LOVED to talk! While I was eating, he told me all about his life. His 11 kids. Indian heritage. Two stints in different branches of the military. He reminded me in some ways of Pat; still not sure why. It was the perfect dinner conversation because I did not have to say a thing!

Eventually my new friend left, and I walked out back to see my accommodations. I picked a spot behind a rather large metal box that contained what I envisioned to be electrical things of some sort. It was actually perfect. It was 2-3 ft. high, and about 7 ft. long thus hiding me, a little, from people driving thru– although I cared little about that at this point! What a difference from Ft. Morgan and Cambria I thought to myself! There were also truckers pulling off the interstate to sleep for the night, so that made me a bit more comfortable. I figured no one looking to cause me trouble would with a lot full of truck drivers. Truckers are my friends.

The weather had been in the mid/upper 80's so I didn’t even bother with the sleeping bag, although I should have. It got chilly, but I REALLY did not want to repack it in the morning! Still wound up sleeping quite nicely- between shivers.

7/7/08: La Grande, OR

I was right not to remove the sleeping bag. I awoke at about 4:45 to the sight of another train passing by very slowly, with me in full sight, only saved by the fact that it wasn't fully light yet. A quick scan of the area quickly showed that we were pulling into a train yard. This bothered me immensely! Like everyone, I've heard the horror stories about the railroad 'bulls'; security thugs who will beat you to a pulp and maybe, as the urban legend goes, shoot you.

We quickly began to try to make ourselves as hidden as possible, but being on the outside of a car, that wasn't very effective. It basically boiled down to hopping onto the side of the car on the opposite side of human eyes. The train NEVER broke 35 mph, and the rail on which we stood was pretty wide, with a natural hand hold to use so it wasn't scary. Kind of fun at first, but that would be something we'd be doing quite frequently through the day.

After we were dodging the yard workers for a short time, the train started to move a short distance out of the yard, and we were thinking we were back on our way. But just after we got out of the main section, our little "Stop n' Go Special" stopped and STAYED stopped. This was at around 5am, and by 5:30 we'd decided to get off the train and hide in some of the sagebrush in case someone came along.

Then we waited....

and waited...

By 7:30 or 8:00 I felt comfortable enough in my little hiding place, and had seen very little activity near us so I rolled some cigs, arranged all me stuff for a quick re-boarding then crawled under a bush into some shade and must have slept for at least an hour and 15 minutes uninterrupted by anything.

Around 10 or 10:15 I heard Rich saying in a loud whisper "Dude, get up... it's leaving!"

After 5+ hours--- it was finally moving again. Just like some of my Amtrak trips!

The joy of moving again was short- lived. It would seem that this train was meant to stop at least every 15 minutes, and would RARELY get over 20- 25 mph. ALL DAY LONG!

Stop...

Wait...

Go slow for 15 minutes...

Stop...

Repeat...

We eventually figured out where we were, and how little progress we were making! By 3pm, we had been on the train for 18 hours, and had gone barley over 200 miles! It was easy, for me anyhow, to remember that I had paid nothing so couldn't really complain, but Rich was having difficulty with that idea. He had been a pretty good travel partner to this point, but about now began his incessant bitching! And whining. Yeah, the progress sucked, and it was frustrating, but you TRAIN HOPPED FOOL! Do you expect a sleeper car on a non-stop? It was about here that I figured I'd get to La Grande, and resume my trip...alone!

La Grande eventually came. To our great relief. We hopped off the train from and proceeded to find a gas station to get some, water and COFFEE! I'd been plagued by headaches all day. I initially attributed them to a lack of caffeine, but in retrospect it may have been Rich's vocal menstruation. Not sure to this day.

It was here that the day provided me with one of the coolest moments of the trip, and essentially slapped me back into line mentally.

I was filling my coffee cup at the gas station, and getting ready to go pay for it when a guy walks in and tells me that he had been waiting for us outside, and asked if we were travelers. I thought it a silly question, since I was carrying a 50# pack, but let that go. I said yes, and he asked "Are you okay on money? Do you have enough to get food?" Of course, money has been a nagging problem for a couple weeks, so I told him I wasn't really sure; not an outright lie! I wasn't!

Then he handed me $5.

He said that he had done a lot of this, and wanted to return some of the help HE'D received along the way. I was dumbfounded, but not totally surprised.

Rich came out of the restroom, I paid for my coffee and Mt. Dew (love my caffeine) then told him about it when we began walking toward the McDonald's, and its Dollar Menu, the guy had told me how to find.

I thought about splitting it with Rich, but I decided not to. He had been continuing his whining since we got off the train, and he obviously had a mild disdain for the town and its people. Maybe life in general, but either way, if he wants to put out that energy, let him; I'll get my 3 Double Cheeseburgers, fries, and another coffee and have even nicer things to say about the fine people in Oregon and La Grande in particular.

On the way to McDonald's I told Rich that I was done with the train hopping. I enjoyed it at night, but having to hide from people all day was draining and I really hated that. The best part of my trip is that, in addition to spectacular scenery and cheap travel, I've met some spectacular people; the guy at the gas station came along at the perfect time to remind me of that. By now, Rich stood in stark contrast to him. I was now hoping Rich would simply go away. I even thought about telling him so, but figured I'd see if his attitude improved first. I liked the guy when he wasn't mimicking the He Bitch.

We got to McDonald's at about 6:00. From there, I decided to head up to the I-84 on- ramp and see about catching a ride. I told Rich he could come along and see how it went with two people, or go catch his train. He was terribly conflicted and really couldn't decide what to do.

I empathized with that! I even offered him the use of my virgin dice.

He came along, and when we went to sit down, lo and behold, along comes the first State Trooper of the trip! He asked what we were up, we told him we were trying to catch a ride, and he said something to the effect that this was a great place to do it, and in fact HE had gotten from Portland to La Grande in about 8 hours once. He wasn't really harassing as much as checking on us, although he did ask for our ID's. He wrote everything down, but didn't run anything. I thought that was odd, but whatever. Normally I have a real problem with searches without probable cause, and figured I may eventually go to jail because of my refusal to submit to an identity search because some ego-driven cop just wants to harass me. This guy wasn't coming off that way, and seemed genuinely interested in what we were doing.

We must have spent 20 minutes chatting with Trooper Madsen on the side of the road, and came away with clear understandings of the hitching and camping laws in Oregon. He even told me of a perfect place to lay out the bedroll that night, and informed me that walking up the interstate was just fine in Oregon. "This aint Washington" he said.

We sat there for probably an hour after the trooper left, and then Rich was heading off to explore his training possibilities. We shook hands, exchanged the obligatory promises to stay in touch, and he was on his way. I was a little sorry to see him go, but not entirely. I was rather enjoying the solitude now, and figured catching a ride with be much easier alone!

I called Laina, and while I was chatting with her, I look over and guess what...

No, not a ride.

Rich.

He's back.

He said he ran into a possible ride with some people who were trying to decide rather or not they were going toward Idaho or Washington. Apparently they said if it turned out to be Idaho, they'd swing by the ramp.

So, Rich was back and seemingly ready to hitchhike. He threw his thumb in the air and was pretty animated about it. Borderline obnoxious, but he got some smiles and waves from people and made thumbing a bit more interesting for awhile.

But no rides.

I decided to bed down at about dusk, told Rich he could hang out, and we could get to the library on Tuesday and try it again; whatever. He decided to stay, and even went and bought a couple 40 oz. beers. We got to talking a bit, and I found out a bit more about him and possibly why he tends to come off as angry.

Again, I can empathize.

It felt great to lie down on something soft and the idea of a good night's sleep REALLY appealed to me after no sleep on the train. I had a long talk with Laina about some things, and came up with an ambitious outline for a plan... I also chatted with Chris about some of the metaphysical aspects of this, which seem to get cut off in some sense when I'm too domesticated.

Just as I was about to doze off, I head a loud cracking of a branch, and shot up thinking someone was coming down to say hello... metaphorically of course.

To my shock, it was a DEER. We were camped out in a little tree grove between the on- ramp & the I-84, and there were two or three deer just milling around in there. They didn't seem to mind us much. A few minutes later, another one arrived, this one a larger buck on the other side of the tree I was under... maybe 6-8 ft. from my feet. I tried to dig out the camera, but the only pic I could get was from about 12- 15 ft.

A nice way to fall asleep: visited by deer and listening to music.

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...

7/5/08: Portland, OR

What a boner of a day! That's what happens when you get to bed at 4:30, eh?

Dave took his daughter to have lunch and catch a train to Olympia, while I stayed behind and continued to update this, and seek out possible ways to earn some money while I'm here, to no avail so far. I also decided that tonight's my last night at Dave's place at the marina. I've thoroughly enjoyed it, but am trying very hard to leave too soon rather than too late thereby learning some lessons from the experiences with Florian & Eric!

The entire day was spent on the deck typing, nursing the mild hangover & fatigue. I really needed the Internet time though! This thing takes a lot of time to update!

I've been trying to connect with another Couchsurfer here in Portland to possibly stay another day or two to further explore employment, but that doesn't seem to be likely, so as things stand now, I'm strapping on the pack tomorrow around midday, hitting up REI for Clif Bars, a grocery store for peanut butter, honey, tortillas, and Raman, then going to Border's or another bookstore to get a journal insert then heading down the road.

I'm not 100% sure which way exactly. Probably Hwy 14 in Washington though. That goes thru the Columbia Gorge area and will give me time to decide where I'm headed, which as always now will depend on money. I should be able to sustain myself for another 2-3 weeks as is, but to go beyond that I have to earn in the neighborhood of $250-$300 to get back on track. Thanks landlords. I'll spare you the rant!

Some of the ideas so far, if I can figure it all out: Michigan, Maine, Nova Scotia; all on the way of each other. There's US 2, which goes across the entire northern tier of states into the upper peninsula of Michigan straight to the Mackinac Bridge. Then there's always I-84, I-80, I-90, and I-94. I'll probably avoid all of these though in favor of state and US highways so I have the option of walking rather than depending on rides exclusively.

I feel a bit unprepared for this leg of the trip. I've had Oregon, and Portland as a goal since I got off the train in Santa Barbara and now I'm experiencing a bit of the indecisiveness that plagued me in Wyoming and Colorado. If you have suggestions, post a comment!

Portland is a great city, and I believe I would enjoy spending a lot more time here. I love Oregon in general, probably more so than any other state I've visited so far. The people are so damn authentic, and the state has an old-school feel to it. Almost like I remember things being when I was a kid. They appear to shun the plastic facades of many of places, including Santa Fe and almost all of California, in favor of an aura of authenticity. That really appeals to me of course, as does the raw beauty of the place.

Hwy 1 and the 101 are must sees. If you've ever thought about that trip and wondered if it was worth it, wonder no more. These roads remind me a bit of a modern day Route 66 with better scenery! It's very rare that reality exceed my expectations, and so far every leg of this trip up the west coast has done that.

My expectations for EAST of here however are MUCH lower! I still have a bad taste in my mouth from Wyoming, and see it staring me right in the face again. Either that or Montana. At least if I end up in Rawlins again, I'll know where NOT to camp!

Maybe I'll call Cesar tomorrow and see where he is!

Check back over the next few days, if you've read this whole thing you know that these are the times where the script tends to be abandoned in favor of improv!

July 4th, 08: Portland, OR

O Say can you see....

Ick.

I usually have shitty Fourth of July's. This one? Not so bad. Got up late, about 11, and went with Dave to pick up his new iMac, then returned to the Marina to do some temp- job hunting and supposedly begin the forthcoming mass- update on this. Have pictures to upload etc., but just as I was getting started on that Dave came outside to let me know that his 20-year old daughter was experiencing 20-year old's drama. Problems with the boyfriend. So, I needed to "give them some privacy". He offered me the use of his laptop and shuffled me off to Anna Banana's, a coffee shop in St. Johns, so I could presumably spend the next however- long updating this. However since it's the 4th, they close early. May have to hike to Starbucks across the street when they do... we'll see.

Today's been rather weird. I thought I'd enjoy being in Portland more. I enjoy the city; love it, but BEING here is a bit of a letdown. Dave's been great, but he's expecting me to be more of a tourist I believe. I really have little interest in seeing anything that expects my money in return for 'experiencing' it.

Going to talk with Laina later today about the future of the trip. The budget problems persist, and I need to figure out how to fix that. Obviously need to generate some money. Hard thing to do though when you'll be living out of a tent.

Also, not sure I'll be staying w/ Dave past tonight. He's a great guy, and I enjoy the discussions and he's a terrific tour guide, but I've been domesticated for a week now and am feeling the urge to get back on the road. No car... no couch... just out there. Plus, though I cover more ground, I spend WAY too much money in the company of others.

Dave's made plans to have a cookout at his place tonight, so that should be fun. I'll try to update that later...

UPDATE 7/5: That was one hell of a cookout. Had a great time with Dave, his daughter Alanah, and his friends Bree, Greg, Aaron and Tara. LOTS of beer, cigarettes, hot dogs, slaw... a very 4th of July cookout with a lot of fun conversation. So fun in fact that we stayed up until 4:30 in the morning playing YouTube clips, talking politics & sociology, and I even played my radio production stuff surrounding the war etc. They suggested I submit them to KBOO, a public station here. I'm a bit intrigued. Also, I believe Bree may be the first person I've met in a long time who's passions are as inflamed as mine. Poor girl!

Went to bed when the birds were waking. The best 4th of July I've had in a number of years!

7/3/08: Portland, OR

Thursday

We got up pretty late again after enjoying the evening of solitude away from people; 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 Laina 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 protagonist's 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. Simply 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 featherlight 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 seem 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.

7/2/08: Stealthing Near Blaine, OR

I got up 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 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 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 noisy, crowded conditions? No thanks. We had all enjoyed the site at Nickel Creek much more and hadn't paid... a nickel.

That's right. I'm a fuckin' 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 Laina 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 houses 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 our 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 back in Newport and Eric asked if I knew any card games. HA!!! Do I... I'm a legendary, historical figure in the chronicles of Hillsdale Co's. alcoholics. I showed them "Bullshit". We got a nice happy glow going 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 diametrically 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.

7/1/08: Oregon

So ready for California to be behind me now! I slept WAY too late in my soft grass, and didn't rise until 10:30 or so. Eric and Marine had taken a hike down to the beach and had been up for awhile, so I hurriedly packed up and we hoofed it out of there back to the car.

My cell phone was still dead , and I had no idea where I'd stay once we got to Portland, so I really needed a library. I also needed a lift in my spirits. The feelings that I'd hung on with these guys, despite the fact that they'd not indicated it, were really starting to set in too. We got out of Crescent City and headed toward the state line. Eric stopped when we reached Oregon so I could hop out and take my picture. That really helped. I had spent 18 days in California, had some great times, but now I was in new territory- a place I'd never been. My energy level skyrocketed.

We stopped in Brookings, just over the border so Eric could get gas which was MUCH cheaper here. One of the funniest things happened here. In Oregon, unbeknownst to me, it's illegal to pump your own gas. Eric didn't know this, so when the guy approached his car to pump it for him, he thought he was in trouble! I believe the guy scared the shit out of him!

I got some coffee, cigs, and even found an outside plug where I could finally charge my phone and make a phone call or two. We probably spent 45 minutes at this little gas station, then got on the road again. Eric had two days until he had to drop his rental off in Portland, so we had to get a little ways into the state. I felt better about my decision to stay with these guys too because the 101 is a mile or two inland- away from the coast with numerous roads leading off the highway to the innumerable State Parks.

We stumbled, completely by accident onto a library in Langlois where I could get online to get some Couchsurf requests sent off, and charge the cell phone a bit more. We spent some time in there, about an hour, and through conversations with the librarians, VERY nice people, I got more free maps including my Rand McNally Oregon map. I was pretty happy about that.

We continued on, stopping less frequently than before and went through some interesting little towns, and over some terrific bridges.

Along the way after the library, we spied Sunset Bay, SP on the map and decided to check it out. We again did the Safeway trip where I grabbed a single steak this time, and Eric grabbed a bottle of wine.

The state parks are a bit cheaper here, $16, and the locale seemed very nice. We got there after the Ranger station had closed, so we proceeded in and found an open site. This place, AGAIN, was infested with children. I encouraged Eric to wait to see if anyone came around to collect money, remembering Florian's experience in Big Sur. While we were setting up though, a guy came along and collected from Eric.

After we got set up, I had a bit of a surprise when Eric expected me to pay $5 for the campsite. No big deal, just wasn't expecting it. I may not have gotten the steak had I known that, but hell-- I probably would have!

I got the fire going with what little wood I could find, and we finally used a bit of the bundle he'd bought a couple days earlier. I also learned that I had a positive response on a Couchsurf request, from a guy named Dave who lives at a marina in NW Portland. I was thrilled to learn that! I already liked Portland much more than SF!

I again tried to let them do their thing, and disappeared in search of a cell signal to return a call to Friar Chris while getting a slight glow from the wine. We chatted for a bit, and I vented a few of my little frustrations.

I found my way back to camp where we all sat and drank a bit of wine and had another rather lengthy bull session. I stayed up a while after they went to bed, and just chilled; looking at the sky and thinking. One more day with my new friends, then Portland the next day.

Oregon