Drive, She Said

After several days of mind-meltingly great weather, Seattle is finally giving me one of its patented watch-it-rain-until-you-lose-the-will-to-live afternoons. A fine time to catch up on the rest of my freelance work and let you know what I've been up to before rolling into Canada tomorrow, to collect a new stamp on my passport and a new job interview to blow.

Northern California is, let's face it, overrun with hippies. Especially on the scenic back roads and coastal routes I'd been patrolling on my stint up the coast, they swarmed around like a bunch of hornets who had unwashed feet instead of stingers. Admittedly, they're naturally attracted to places like Big Sur -- there's no denying they've got a dogs/earthquakes sensitivity to natural beauty -- but once you've bought dope off of them, they cease to serve any practical purpose and begin to look like a quick 20 points in Death Race 2000. I think we'd all be happier if they retreated to Vermont, which isn't on my agenda for this trip and where they therefore would be safe from my murderous mood shifts.

Oregon was not kind to me at first. My plans involved camping out for the night somewhere in the Dunes, but there is a vast internecine war between various regulating entities over who controls any given stretch of natural turf along the West Coast: the state, the counties, the National Parks Department, the Forest Service, and, for all I know, Advanced Idea Mechanics all vie for parkland superiority, probably with paintball shootouts in the middle of the night. One has to be very careful where to camp lest you get your car towed and your gear confiscated by a trigger-happy ranger. In addition to this, no one in South or Central Oregon appears to have a job, judging from the fact that almost every campground I came across was filled with surly-looking dudes and their fat, entitled post-adolescent kids, ripping across the sands on $12,000 dune buggies on the Thursday before a non-holiday weekend. (Dune buggies, by the way, are emblematic of the fuck-you stubbornness of humanity: no matter what kind of terrain nature throws at us as a warning to stay away, we will not only run roughshod all over it, but we will in fact invent a specific type of vehicle designed specifically to fuck it up.)

I was beginning to despair that by the time I finally found a decent place to set up my tent and crash for the night, it would be too late to see anything. This was me forgetting that on the west coast, the sun goes down as late as it possibly can, and I was finally able to set up in beautiful solitude along Lake Tahkenitch at 9PM, with the sun still fully in the sky. I am not the world's most perfect camper, due to my love of comfort, bathrooms that are not a tree, and not being attacked by animals in the middle of the night, but I've done well so far this trip on the outdoor portions of the program, and I'm looking forward to clocking more use out of the National Parks Pass.

The urban stints have been a delight as well. Michelle, my Portland host, was as gracious as ever and remains the great love of my life; the city suits her, and I was pleased to know her sister's living up there as well (and shocked to learn that she's got a kid, since I can remember when she was a kid). Her gentleman, Jeremy, is a treat to hang around with, and they showed me plenty of good time during the unfortunately brief time I was in the Rose City. Short time and bad timing have prevented me from seeing everyone in Seattle that I wanted to see, but Calamity Jon and Kate have been the perfect hosts, so much so that I feel caddish about my extended stay. They've introduced me to several wonderful folks they know here, and last night, we ate at this sushi joint, which once more reminded me what a profound difference the use of truly fresh fish makes in the preparation of sashimi. Barring a generous act of adoption by my hosts, though, it's back on the road tomorrow morning, up into Vancouver for a spell and then across the Big Sky Country, where shit gets real, small-town-wise.

Some random notes from the road:

- When I was in L.A., I bought another digital voice recorder to replace the one I thought I lost but actually turned out to be in my glove compartment. I brought it along to do phone interviews while I'm on the road, but I thought it might also come in handy for recording brilliant observations about various sights on my journey. Instead, it consists mostly of me pointing out funny street names and singing along with whatever's on my iPod.

- I love roadside warning/information signs that look like the sign maker charged by the word, and the state was too cheap to include much actual information. "ROCKS"! Okay, what about them? "CRABS"! Great. Crabs.

- This place pretty much gives the hippie game away. Warning: irritating.

- Almost as infuriating as the people who park their expensive sports cars across two spaces so their precious investment won't get scratched up are people who buy a $90,000 performance auto and then take it out on the freeway so they can drive at half the speed limit. Look, grandpa, I appreciate that you don't want to put any wear on your tires and all, but we both know that a Lexus can take a corner at more than 20 miles per hour. What's the fucking point of buying a fast car if you never drive fast?

- What-an-economy shocker: Oregon's highway road crews often contain relatively attractive young women. Most other states I've been to, "road crew" is second only to "White Castle" as the employer of choice for the profoundly fugly.

- Okay, funny road signs: Fort Dick; Pelican Bay State Prison; Wonder Stump Drive.

- After the hippie-overrun gorgeosity of north-central California, I was unprepared for the run-down cruddiness of far nothern California. I got sick as hell just breathing the air at the Crescent City Wal-Mart (and everyone in it gave me the stink-eye, to book), and Eureka, which I know only as a college town, seemed like a mini-Detroit: broken down, dirty, overrun with junkies and street people, full of bail bonds joints and gun shops and third-rate thrift stores. Another economic victim, or is this area just a dump?

- More photos. I lost the load cable for my camera, so these'll have to tide you over 'til I get a new one this weekend.