Oregon, you are beautiful.
After 8 months of chaos, I finally got a break and took a few days off of work. Kim and I traveled around, covering great distances via automobile. The first day, we trek to my alma mater, grab a quick bite to eat and proceed to cut across this wonderful state, searching for the ocean.
As any good trip deserves, I made discs upon discs of mixes. As a in-joke, one of these mixes included a track from a band that Kim and I both enjoyed around the year 2000. After the embarrassment and laughter wore off, on a long stretch of utterly beautiful highways that connect mainland Oregon with the coastal region, my mind started wandering. What was I doing 10 years ago?
JULY Y2K. I had just turned 17. To celebrate: an impromptu camping trip. We packed up my pickup with little more than some sleeping bags, a few lawn chairs, a dual-cassette boombox, a Sony Discman, a cassette adapter and a suitcase or two of beer -- possibly Natural Ice, but most likely Milwaukee's Best. Driving up an access road (DON'T WORRY GUYS WE HAVE AN EASEMENT), the moon shone brightly. Driving too fast, I look in the rearview -- red tail light glow against the plumes of kicked-up dust.
We set up camp, circling the lawn-chairs around a makeshift firepit. We gather kindling by flashlight. We do our best to avoid poison oak (SPOILER: I GOT SOME). We stack the wood in the firepit, teepee-style and ignite a small blaze, despite a 'high' reading on the regional fire risk meter. We consumed the aforementioned beer and listened to some music on Compact Discs -- possibly Tool, but most likely A Perfect Circle.
Next thing I can remember, I wake up fully clothed in a sleeping bag, sweating from the blistering summer sun. My mouth tastes like death and I soon realize that the only liquid we have in a few mile radius is beer.
daydreaming
Flash forward. As I attempt to mentally fill in the gap between drinking and waking, the bubble of nostalgia bursts as the car beeps. Gas. I neglected to fill the tank. If the roadsigns are to be trusted, we have 30 miles to the next town. I do some math and subsequently say a silent prayer to the patron saint of petroleum availability in rural areas. Thankfully, we arrive safely to a one-pump station and throw a few few dollars in our tank. After receiving some major stink-eyes from the locals, we get back on the road.
Only later did I realize that rolling into a rural area in shiny German automobile, wearing watches, cheap sunglasses, listening to loud music with the sunroof open would make us appear as 'city folk'. My bad.
rogue valley
As we tore through the countryside, I spent some more time thinking about my 17 year old self. Through the pains of being a teenager, of being broke, of living in a (seemingly) shitty town where nothing ever happens, I had absolutely no concept of how things really worked outside of high school. About to skate through my senior year, I had absolutely no idea what was next. It should had stressed me out, but I was naive -- foolish enough to think that things would just work out.
But sure enough, things did work out. It's taken a significant amount of effort and focus, but things have worked out wonderfully thus far. Sure, me-at-17 might think that I was a bit of a sell-out, trading rock-and-roll for keyboard-and-paycheck. On the other hand, I'm pretty sure he would be impressed that I turned a nerdy little hobby of dicking with computers into a lucrative, exciting profession.
Speaking of which, I recently spent some time in San Francisco -- a week's worth of training on the company's dime. My 7-month project went live while I was out of office. Things couldn't have gone smoother. Flawless victory -- I felt as if I were prancing on lightwaves.
I explored the city as time permitted. The weather was perfect and the city, with the exception of the vast swarms of tourists, was gorgeous. The food was great thanks to a generous per diem, but my favorite part of the trip were the 15 minute cab rides to the training facility. The cabbies were amazing. I took notes on the computer I keep in my pocket and I promise to someday document three amazing cabbies.
By the way, my 17-year-old self would involuntarily shit his pants if shown a modern internet-in-your-pocket smartphone.
Upon my return from training, I worked for exactly one week before my vacation, which leads me back to Oregon's wonderful interstate system:
hidden coast
Back on the road, my mind stops wandering, realizing that the CD had started over. We were just about to arrive at the Oregon coast. We pull into a supermarket and take advantage of their restrooms. As we walk back to the car, it starts sprinkling, at which point I realize I forgot to pack a jacket. My scoutmaster would be disappointed at my roadtrip unpreparedness.
Hopping back in the car, we have two hours of glorious coastal road ahead of us. Smile on my face, I realize I need to stop being so introspective and simply have a wonderful vacation with my sweetheart.
We didn't really set an itinerary for the trip. Last year, we attempted to traverse the entire Oregon coast, only to realize that we vastly underestimated the time required. This year, I was determined to complete our journey and take it a little further -- the California redwoods.
Kim, a world-class improvised driftwood-rifle sniper.
The national forest covers a huge part of northern California and there is about an 80 mile stretch of protected beaches. It's a maze of roads and trails, but if you know where to go, wonderful things can be found. After the coast, we cut over to spend a few days relaxing with my parents.
hidden heart, hundreds of feet above the shore
to be continued...
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