Saying Good-Bye to the Pacific

On my way out. I didn't get to the coast until dark, found some lowly state campground and hit the back. Of course at these campgrounds there are no rangers - this is not the season. So you pay by the honor system.

Makes me wish I didn't have much honor... But I think, for the first time in a long time, I didn't have to pay [extra] for the shower! Ahhh. That's nice.

Some of that eerie silver lining...



The campground bordered the beach, so off I went... The ocean was angry, the wind was raging; it was a bittersweet goodbye.

An old shipwreck, the blustering wind in the grass, and... starlings?

The road out and onward...

Do I look road-weary? Warm, rested and showered! And headed East...

Food and Family in Portland

Ahh, Thanksgiving. A time to reflect, on those things in life which we are thankful for.

Like food.

But above food - yes, even above cranberries, gravy, sweet potatoes and pie - is family. Family and friends. And for this Turkey-Day, I was thankful for all of the above. And more.

* Let it not go understated that I am immensely grateful for this opportunity *
* and for the good fortune I've had thus far *

Seeing the cousins in Portland was its own grand adventure - and at times misadventure. It had been years since I'd seen these folk and there was much to catch up on. My cousin Jane took me in, and my second cousins took me out. I bonded with each of them, and it was about time! I mean, it's family, so you always know and love them unconditionally - but the "know" part often varies in its depth and intimacy. And that variation, I've found, only increases with physical distance! But that part is kind of what this trip is for, right?

Between the bright lights and taxis of Portland, it was nothing like the typical drive and dive night up in the mountains... And my (second?) cousins and their buddies were a hoot. I won't have to worry about them, although I'd love to get'em up Vermont way...

When my (cousin?) Jane took me for a walk in the neighborhood park, I was taken aback by the view; the scape in Oregon is quite different than what I've known... Oh, most of the same trees are there, and the terrain is quite similar in some places... but the forests here were old, wet and mossy, and eerily beautiful. When the sun spurt through the clouds you could catch a silver tinge lining every spot of green you could see.

But, I'm getting road-weary and homesick. You understand.

So I ate heartily, enjoyed the company of some great people, and took off North-West, to dance on the Washington border and bid farewell to the Pacific.


The Fam:

Okay, so pictured here are second cousins, cousin, and cousins' parents; a ten-cent piece for the one who can correctly identify the proper verbiage for such a thing...

Me with my beautiful second cousins... or if they're my father's cousin's kids, then are they my third cousins??

Northern California to Northern Oregon

As sour as I'd been the night before, I was excited and relieved to be back on the road with such minimal damages. I continued on the Avenue of the Giants to gaze up at the behemoth trees that lined the pavement.



And, of course, when I saw the signs for "Oldest Tree in the Redwoods!" and "Drive-Through Tree, Don't Miss It!" I had to oblige. It was just beginning to rain, and even though it was shaping up to be a miserable day, my spirit was riding high. I stopped at this old general-store looking attraction, where it cost $2 to drive through an old tree. Actually it cost me $2 for a soda and to drive through a tree. Very nice old hippy behind the counter who felt for me when I told him his vending machine didn't work - he happened to have a 6-pack of Coca-Cola right there. Mmm. So I drove through a Tree.

(Pretend the red car is mine...)

This tree was so old and withered you could see straight out the top!

And I hung out in a Tree House:

You could literally climb up to the second floor! It was much more square-footage than my car allowed me!

I hit the coast for one last peak before retreating into the forests, gorges and mountains toward Portland.

Barely crossed the line into Oregon - what we see here is a river running into the ocean.

A few scary accidents aside, I'd arrive in Portland that night. But the good thing about all the scariest accidents I've seen? They've all occurred about a mile up-road from me. Good, good luck.

Although the sign below was kind of freaky:

Interesting Noises and a Strange Vibration in the Redwoods

The next great destination is a scrumptious Thanksgiving Dinner with family in Portland. But first, I had miles of coast and forest to chase.

It's colder, and targeting a likely destination to sleep has become much more important, not to mention a wee bit trickier. This isn't exactly tourist season, so many of the State Park campgrounds have been roped off. The cool weather and healthy bear populations made the tent virtually useless, and since the day I arrived in California, I've been hard-pressed to find a decent WalMart for a free nights' sleep.

Taking the crazy, windy Route 1 out of San Francisco and coming back to 101 in Leggett, I investigate the best campgrounds on my atlas. Some I just pass by; those barren side-by-side RV lots, even on the beach, are always in the less appealing sides of town, and even the secluded State Parks get crammed lots with large tents and larger parties underneath. I was not in the mood to be bothered by a drunken outlaw party.

The road through the forest, and what became the Avenue of the Giants, seemed to get even more windy as the afternoon progressed, and the car was acting funny.

What kind of funny?

Funny. Like, funny noises, accompanied by a funny banging sound. And it was funny that this only occurred at deceleration or if the gas pedal was set too firmly. Which was funny because this road forebade any sort of smooth driving. The posted speed limit went from 45 to 25 every 5 minutes. Yeah that was funny.

But the funniest thing was, I absolutely felt as if the drivers-side wheel was about to fall off my car. Sorry, 'fly' off, would be a better term.

Of course I stopped the car to investigate; at first every ten minutes, then every five, which squirreled its way to every two... Thank Goodness these crazy Californy roads have a turn-out or trailhead parking every few miles!

On the second or third 'check' I confirmed that my wheel was about to fly off the car. One of the lug-studs on my front drivers-side tire had completely twisted and broke off, and the remaining four lug-nuts were two threads away from freedom.

Lucky me, I do not happen to have a lug-wrench or T-bar in my vast array of tools and gadgets. I did, however, have an old leatherman a friend had given me for my trip... So I could drive for two minutes, pull over and tighten the lugs, then drive two minutes more - all in an effort to find some suitable place to park and give up for the night.

Finally, pulled over on the Avenue of the Giants and a stones throw away from Route 101, I scrawl a note to passersby - set up my customized velcro window curtains - and fall asleep.



Very interesting dreams that night; mostly being discovered and awoken by some ornery old sheriff who proceeds to give me a hard time. He didn't find my situation very funny.

Of course I wasn't actually bothered by anyone - but being preoccupied with this idea I couldn't exactly 'sleep in' either. So up I was, jacking up the car and taking the tire off to inspect the damage.



Only a few cars have passed, and one small pickup turns around to see if I need help. I tell him "I don't need much help, but I could use a second opinion." Apparently lug studs fail for everyone at one time or another, after a mechanic replaces or adjusts the tires and screws in the studs haphazardly. I didn't want to believe this was possible - the last people to touch my wheels were highly regarded as expert mechanics in Tempe, Arizona, and in the region as a whole. Hell, they ran their own radio talkshow! I guess everyone messes up.

Thankfully, my friend with the second opinion also had a lugwrench in his car, and pointed me towards the nearest Napa for the parts. He said it'd b fine to drive on - and it was. No more noises, no banging under my feet - the loose lug stud must have been whipping around in the wheel making a Godawful racket, and had since fallen into the road somewhere.

I arrived at Napa, and was soon the proud new owner of a lugwrench. Half tool and half weapon, I didn't mind throwing down the money. The Napa guys sent me a few more miles up the road to LeSchwab Tires, and after ten minutes and $20 I was ready to go.