Turned at the Wrong Pine

I forgot to take the odometer photo, so imagine something around 2585 miles.

I woke up in the campground in Mammoth Lakes, CA and I was cold. I should have savored this more, because it was the last time I would feel that for quite some time. From Mammoth I headed back out to US 395 and pointed the bike south. There were some mildly interesting moments of the ride down 395, like the point where there are large granite boulders on one side of the road and tuff cliffs on the other. It was fascinating to see two very different geological formations meet with a highway in between. It was almost like the highway department staged it that way.

I was leaving the mountains, and thought I had better get one last good look, so I stopped to look back where I had come from:

After the stop I headed down into the valley, and it got hotter, and hotter, and hotter. In retrospect I should have turned off and Big Pine and gone over Westgard Pass, but I wanted to see Death Valley. (Don't ask me why I thought that was a good idea, but I did.) So instead, I took a left at Lone Pine and went into the heat. Now, don't get me wrong, Death Valley was sort of neat to look at:

But it even looks hot. And it was:

I saw the first few foreigners I had seen on the trip. There was a German couple, whom I thanked for the bike, though I am not sure they understood me, and a family from Sweden, had I not asked where they were from I would have assumed they were East Coasters because their English was so clear. Why these people decided to take their vacations in Death Valley is beyond me. (I should have asked...) I mean, even the people who work there are bribed. The gas station attendant, who was quite chatty, told me that he gets free rent on a small studio apartment, three meals a day, AND nine dollars an hour! That's still far from enough for me to live in that hell, but he seemed marginally happy with it, although he did mention that he is planning to move to Hawaii in the near future. Good choice, my friend.

The whole ride through there was just ridiculous. I mean, there was one point where the temp "dropped" to around 105 and it felt cool!! It was certainly an experience that I will never forget nor repeat. I am glad I did it, but I have no idea why.

I finished the day in Las Vegas. My plans to avoid most large cities were thwarted by the fact that Vegas was the only thing nearby that seemed a reasonable stop to make. Luckily my stepmom was able to secure me a night in a hotel with A/C, so I could actually sleep through the night. (Thanks, Becky!)

I went up to a meeting at the Spring Valley Club, but there wasn't anyone there, except for (quite possibly) the only other sober young person visiting from Seattle, Katy. So we made our own meeting because it only takes two of us. We talked a lot about faith and how to acquire it, and a lot of other things too. It was a very nice meeting. (Often the two person meetings are the best.) We both agreed that it was nice to see another sober Seattlite and talk to someone who knows where we come from, geographically that is. Thanks, Katy.

The Corner

Day six started in Jackson, CA. The sore throat had started to go away, and I decided it was time to press on. Leaving Jackson the landscape is much like you would find in the high desert forests of northern New Mexico. Lots of dry pine, and scrub brush. The road was beautiful and wound through small old mining towns with hand painted signs on the buildings. It was very charming and I am able now to understand why the Gold Rush caused such a ruckus. I found myself at one point wondering if I might be able to find some gold out there. There is so much land, they couldn't have possibly combed it all, right? There was even a stretch of road where the rocks along the side of the road were covered in mica deposits to add to the allure. Alas, I did not stop to find my fortune.
Approaching the entrance to Yosemite National Park it continues to look much the same as around Jackson. Mitch had warned me about this the night before, and said that I would come around a corner and be awestruck. He did not, however, tell me about the uphill stretch of highway that wound back and forth up a roughly 2000 foot climb in about 2 miles! It was awesome, except for the motorhome in front of me for a part of it…

Once inside the park I stopped for a snack and got a chance to talk with a couple riding a Harley. He asked if I had ever been in the park. When I told him no he said that I was in for a treat, "especially that one corner", he said. (This is becoming a theme.) He also told me that I should be sure to take Glacier Point Road if I had time. "People travel from across the globe to ride that road," he said. So I marked it on the map and decided to do that instead of going deep into Yosemite Valley.

So I started the climb up the hill into the park. The road was lined with signs containing a little red bear and the words, "Speeding Kills Bears". I appreciate the idea, but for some reason the signs made me laugh a little. So up I went, and up, and up. Then started to come back down. Around every turn I would think to myself, "Is this the corner?" Just when I was about to stop thinking that it happened.

As I descended into the valley I continued to get little glimpses of the park, and continued to gasp at the amazing view. I got to the valley floor and stopped at Bridal Veil falls before heading up to Glacier Point. Bridal Veil was spectacular! I would love to go into the Valley sometime and see more. (We have to come back here, Mandy.)

Then I took the ride up to Glacier Point. The guy wasn't kidding. The road was a perfect road to ride, and it even had new pavement for more than half of it! If you have a bike you MUST come to Yosemite. It would be a great place to kill a few days riding and seeing things like this:

 

After Glacier Point I headed back to Tioga Pass Road to get out of the park on the East Side. The road again was wonderful. At somewhere around 8000ft though I was wishing that the heat worked a little better on the bike, but I managed though knowing that a lot of the trip was going to be in the heat, so I enjoyed the cool weather while I could. I was shocked that there was still a fair amount of snowpack up there. From what I gather they had record snow this year. I passed by several sights, but these two were tops:

Coming down the pass out of the park the road was still fun, and the views still spectacular. I could spend weeks here.

The meeting for the day was the Mammoth Lakes Group. I had noticed in the schedule that it was a Dart/Tag meeting. I was hoping that it meant we got to tag each other by throwing a dart (Nerf, of course) at the next person to talk. But it turns out that the chairperson, who wound up being me (Thanks, Amber), throws a dart at a board with a bunch of topics, shares about the topic, and then tags someone, and so on. A little disappointing logistically, but a phenomenal meeting filled with young people on fire for the program. Thanks, Mammoth Lakes Group!

delayed...

I saw almost nothing yesterday. Really. The only thing that made me stop for a photo was this:

I didn't actually go over to take a look because I was scared. I'm not sure what I thought I would encounter, but I am pretty sure I am confused enough as it is. My only other thought was that there had better be an amusement area at a place called Confusion Hill, because otherwise we are all in a lot of trouble.

I also encountered an Interstate for the first time since leaving Seattle. In order to get across California to the region I wanted to be in I had to spend a couple of hours on I-5. It was more hellish than I thought it would be. 101, despite all it's failings, had spoiled me, and I was in no mood to be fighting with others for space on the road in 90 degree heat. I ran I-5 from Willows through Sacramento, and hated every minute of it. By using Interstates, Steinbeck said, "it will be possible to drive from New York to California without seeing a single thing." How right he was. I saw nothing through there! It might be that there was nothing to see, but if there had been I wouldn't have seen it. I am also keenly aware that California drivers are terrifying on the freeway. There were a few moments in Sacramento that I thought about just getting off and taking surface streets. It was horrible!

I made it to the Crack the Book meeting in Mountain Ranch, CA last night and had a delightful time in a small meeting room with a cow pasture across the street (complete with bells on the cows!). That was a first. The meeting was nice and it was good to read a bit of the stories from the back of the book.

After the meeting I had a brief chat with John and Misty, a young (18 - 20ish) couple who were on fire for the program. John told me he started to write poetry recently and let me listen to a poem he had recorded. For someone new to the craft he was growing rapidly. Keep up the good work, John. When they were leaving Misty rolled down the window and told me that she admired what I was doing. Once again, I am surprised by something that someone says, and reminded that I should not decide who a person is before I know who they are. Thanks, Misty.

I figured it would happen at some point on the trip, but I didn't think it would happen at the beginning. Last night I started to get a sore throat,  and this morning I woke up and it wasn't any better. I was hoping to make it up to Yosemite today, but after Mandy talking sense into me, I stayed here in Jackson at the hotel to rest and recuperate. In and out of naps and eating I had a nice relaxing day. At the end of the day I headed out to the Jackson Fellowship for a meeting, and again was surprised at the topic. Acceptance. Of course the topic would have something to do with my irritation about having to hold back the trip! How did they know!? In any case, I had a wonderful time, and afterward was invited to Mitch's house for dinner.

I had a nice big plate of homemade spaghetti and another delightful conversation about the magic of this fellowship. It turns out, surprise, that Mitch and I think in much the same way. It is always a real treat to share thoughts and feelings eight someone who understands. I guess that really is how this whole thing works! When I was leaving Mitch's house I was very aware that there was a reason for me to stay here in Jackson for another day.

I am beginning to feel better and I am hopeful that I will be on my way in the morning to another meeting somewhere else...

Bees, teenagers, and...Mark Twain?

I woke up in my tent in Bullard Beach State Park to what I mistakenly thought was the sun. Upon further investigation outside the tent I found that the sun was up there somewhere, but the light was being refracted through the countless tiny water droplets hanging in the air. It is the kind of rain that one only understands if they have experienced it on the northwest coast. It's not even rain, really, it's more like just being in a pool of water. Needless to say, things got wet, and I got my first chance to learn to pack things back onto the bike while keeping them out of the elements. Hopefully, I will not have to do too much more of that, because that was a pain in the ass.


I fear that I have made a mistake in taking 101 down the coast as the first part of the trip. Not only is it full of great scenery:

But, it's also a wonderful riding road. I did wish for less traffic, but many of the fun stretches are even fun going slow. The ride today was up and down the bluffs of Southern Oregon, followed by winding through the redwoods in California. I am afraid that it won't get any better than that…

Shortly after entering California (there is a guard shack at the state line, and I still don't know why) I was peacefully riding along and suddenly encountered one of the motorcyclists worst nightmares. A swarm of bees. Thank god it was still a little cold out and I was all geared up, because I am sure that there would have been at least one sting. As it stands it was just one hell of a mess on the bike and me.

It turns out that a BMW motorcycle and a bright yellow jacket tends to make people want to talk to you. All kinds of people are interested in asking what I am doing and where I am going. I even had a 16-year-old kid, whom I had pegged for full of himself and too good to talk to someone he didn't know, ask me about the trip. He proved himself to be a very polite and well spoken young man with a genuine interest in me and my trip. He also, from the sounds of it, is quite the young golfer, and looking forward to a trip to a tournament later in the summer. Good Luck to the kid from Brookings, OR.

The more interesting encounter I had today was one with man in Bandon. I had just gotten off the phone with my dad to wish him a Happy Father's Day, and he had mentioned an old friend of his named Stretch. Now, all I really remember about Stretch is that he lived up to his name, and that even today at 6'4" I would have to look up to talk to him. Then, as I am walking back into the coffee shop, there is a man in front of me ducking to get in the door! It wasn't Stretch, if that is what you were hoping. It was Charlie, a young man (60) who has been laid off from the construction trade for a bit, and decided to spend the summer in Bandon because he likes it. We chatted a bit and exchanged stories a bit. He, like most other people, is jealous of the trip, but is also genuinely interested in people. He gave me this link because maybe this guy and I would get along. He also shared this at the end of our chat:

“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness.”
 Mark Twain

I believe this is true, I am learning that there are all kinds of people out there who are really great people, but I would not necessarily talk to because of how they look. (Think, kid in Brookings, OR in a lifted truck drinking an energy drink and looking like he owns the world.) But after I talk to them I find that they are interesting, thoughtful, and delightful people. Who knew? I guess Twain did.

The meeting was the South Humbolt Survivors group. A small group in Redway, CA. We talked about the old standard of ego v. God. Nothing like a bunch of people who once thought they were God talking about how we came to understand that we are not God! A wonderful little group of folks, and Mary even invited me to stay in her guest room. Her house was, at one time, the clubhouse for a golf course that used to be on the land. The interior walls and ceiling are all clear heart redwood. Beeeaaautiful! We had a nice chat in her living room about the usual things. It turns out that she has been involved in a lot of General Service, and shared several stories about that world. I am grateful that she is into it, because I am not, and we need people like her for our fellowship to carry on. Thanks, Mary!

Beware The Shell Station

I started day 3 in Seaside, OR with grand plans of making it to California. It turns out this was a silly idea, and I need to not make plans. But alas, I think I have pinpointed where things went wrong. Ty had mentioned to me that Cannon Beach was having it's annual sandcastle contest, and that I might want to stop and take a look. As I rode past Cannon Beach I kept wavering back and forth about whether I should go or not, and finally settled on stopping. I was there, right?

I followed the signs that read "sandcastle beach parking." (Mistake 1) I knew that there was no way I would take the bike onto the beach, so I parked in the lot above the beach thinking I wouldn't mind a little walk on the beach. (Mistake 2) Then, thinking that it can't be that far I kept my gear on and grabbed my camera to go see these sandcastles. (Mistake 3)

As I approached the beach I didn't see any mobs of people, but there were all the cars driving north up the beach to park. I looked down the beach and could barely make out the cars, let alone the crowds of people. But figured a little hike on the beach couldn't hurt. (Mistake 4. Similar to 2) Off I went down the beach to see magnificent sandcastles. After a bit of walking I started to think that maybe this was too much walking to do in all the gear, so I asked some people walking back if it was worth the hike.
"Don't know yet, we're going back to meet some friends," they told me.
"Hmm." I looked both directions.
"What'd you ride down?" one of the gentlemen asked.
"2002 BMW RT."
"Really!? I have a 99 RT. I thought you looked like a BMW rider. Where you headed?"
"This is day three of sixty."
"Aww." He turned away and shook his head. "And I was starting to like you."
"I know. Sorry."
"I'm just jealous, that's all."
"Yeah, that seems to be a common trend these days."
This was how I met Giorgio, a fellow RT owner. The result of this meeting is that we walked down toward the sandcastles together and had a wonderful conversation about bikes, cops, speeding, and the other usual bike talk. I had a very nice chat and was beginning to forget that I was getting warm in all my gear. By the time we arrived at the sandcastles I thought I was going to die… I was sweaty all over underneath my gear and now I was 1.5 miles from the bike with no hope of ditching the gear. Shit.

Because I was there I figured I had better look around and see what this sandcastle thing was all about. I walked past all the people carving, shaping, and molding sand, but they had only started a few hours before and it wasn't all that impressive.



Don't get me wrong, I was impressed with some of the talent that I was seeing, but I was disappointed that nothing was finished, except this one.



Way to go, kid!

After looking a piles of sand for about 15 minutes I decided I had better head back so that I could get on the road. I set off again in the heat, sweat pooling inside my gear, thinking the whole time that I should hitch a ride with one of these smart people driving back. Everyone passing me in their cars had the windows rolled up and stared straight ahead. Maybe they sensed my frustration and didn't want anything to do with me.

When I got back to the bike I took off my jacket, unzipped the legs of my pants and sat under a tree in the ocean breeze feeling comfortable for the first time since I pulled into the parking lot. My shirt was wet, the inside of my liners were wet, everything was drenched in sweat. I sat under the tree and had a wonderful apple (Thanks, Ty) and breathed. It was during this little moment of quiet that I realized that if I am on the road for 60 days, then why the hell do I think I NEED to get to California today? What was I thinking. This was supposed to happen the way it did, so I sat back, enjoyed the nice day, and felt back to my old self.

In spite of my little moment of clarity in Cannon Beach I still managed to feel rushed all day to get somewhere. The roads were beautiful, and the scenery, breathtaking. I tried my best to relax back into the ride and enjoy it. It wasn't until I arrived at the candlelight meeting in Bandon, OR that I realized why it was that things went the way they did. The topic was expectations! Damn! how did they know!? Crazy. The meeting was small and comfortable. I love this fellowship!

After the meeting I had a smoke and then went back inside to give Tracy a hug. She looked like she might need one, and like she might give one. I was right on both accounts. After the hug I sat back down and had a great little chat with Tracy and Artie about all manner of things, but they asked for specifics of my story. After I told them some things Artie referred to my story as 'holy.' Who knew that ANYTHING about me would EVER be considered holy.

I left and went to set up camp with a feeling that everything was as it should be. A feeling I usually only get after talking with people after a meeting. Fantastic!

Oh, yeah. the Shell station… If you pass through Depoe Bay, OR, DO NOT stop at the Shell. The attendant came out and muttered some things about Oregon being the only state that doesn't allow self-service, etc, etc. Then, when asked how his day was, he grunted. Seriously?! Who does that!?

Living in Fellowship

Day two began just south of Forks, WA at Bogachiel State Park with a shower that never got warm no matter how many quarters I put in. After the 'shower' I headed south on HWY 101 through little bits of Olympic National Forest, and even more sections of clear-cut woods. I have always been thankful for parks and other lands set aside for our enjoyment, but it was more apparent to me yesterday than ever before that without them we would destroy most of this continent in the name of enterprise. Of course, they did advertise in front of the clear-cuts when they harvested and planted that section. In one instance the first harvest was in the 1930's, then in the 1980's, then in the 2000's, and the next harvest is planned for 2040. I appreciate that they replant, but it seems more self-serving than anything else, and makes me sad for the trees.

Continuing south on 101 I went through the town of Humptulips. Nothing happened there, perhaps ever. In fact I almost missed the town, but with a name like that it had to be mentioned.

Further south 101 took me to the mouth of the Columbia River where I stopped to take a little break and had the chance to watch three, yes three, bald eagles fishing and playing above the north shore of the river. I have seen a few of them before, but never three at a time, and never as close as they were. Unfortunately I was too slow with the camera, and I suspect they sensed it, and they disappeared before I could get a good photo.

Traveling from Washington to Oregon mostly requires a bridge across the Columbia, and I have crossed several of them. But to get to Astoria I had to cross the longest bridge I have even seen.

Roughly four miles from end to end it was one of the most intimidating things I have ever seen. Along the western side of the bridge the wind was blowing steady and hard and making an updraft that the seagulls seemed to really enjoy.

I arrived in Seaside in the late afternoon and found the Little Yellow House, a famous meeting place on the Oregon Coast. I had the good fortune to get hold of an old high school friend, Antonio, over the last few days and he drove out from Portland to join me for dinner and a meeting. Over dinner we talked about life today and sobriety and the joy of living. If anyone had told us in high school that we would end up in Seaside talking about being sober we would have told them they were crazy.

Antonio went to meetings with my mom for quite some time so we spent a fair portion of our time together swapping stories about her and reminiscing. It is always nice to see the portrait of my mother that is painted through other people.

The meeting was the Riverside Group, and as luck would have it, the chairperson spoke about his mom being ill, and his joy in being a part of her life. Most people who spoke in the meeting then shared about their relationships with their mothers, and I count myself as grateful to have had the relationship that I did with my mom, and to be able to bring her with me on this trip in spirit.

Before the meeting started we met Ty. He introduced himself to us and welcomed us to Seaside. As we got to talking I asked him about places to camp nearby. He said that his side yard was available, and then amended it to say that his guest room was available! So, after the meeting I followed Ty home and we had more great conversation about sobriety and spirituality. His home was comfortable and cozy, about as close to a classic seaside home as one can get. Buster, the resident Boston Terrier, took a liking to me and sat on my lap most of the evening. In the morning I was greeted outside by Old School, a formerly feral cat now living on the porch. It was all a good reminder that this fellowship is strong and lively. (I also got a hot shower, for those of you tracking my hygiene…Alison.)

"Some day we hope that every alcoholic who journeys will find a Fellowship…at his destination" That was written in 1939 in the initial printing of the Big Book, and to think that I am now out to get to a meeting every day all over the country. I wonder sometimes if they thought it was going to turn out like this. What an incredible thing to witness and be a part of!

Into the Twilight Zone

Of all the strange places that I am sure to encounter along this trip, Forks, WA is bound to rank right up there with the strangest. Forks had it's beginning as a sleepy little logging town in the mid-20th century, and remained that way until publication of a certain young-adult vampire fiction series turned the place into a tourist destination, especially for young girls. In fact, tourism has increased 600% (Yeah, really) since the release of the first book. Truly baffling to me. I mean, I have read a few books, but not once have I thought, 'I need to go to this town', especially a place like Forks. There's nothing here! Unless you are interested in collecting Twilight items from every store in town. And every store does have the stuff. There are a few stores dedicated to Twilight crap, but even the grocery store has a HUGE display when you walk in the front door. Ridiculous! Even the little four page "Forks Forum" on the table in the restaurant had Twilight Trivia in it. Strange.

I am learning that people are more than willing to tell me how it is that I am supposed to take this trip. The man controlling traffic getting onto the ferry told me exactly where I should head inland from the coast in Oregon. "It's boring and full of people after that," he said. The coffee lady in Sequim wanted me to know that I shouldn't have come out to the peninsula at all. Well, guess what, they're not taking the trip!

I had an interesting little revelation once I got off the ferry and away from the cities. The farther one gets from cities the more road names are given based on what is nearby. Chicken Coop Rd, Mt. such-and-such Rd, So-and-so Lake Rd, Hooker Rd, and Kitchen-Dick Rd. Now, I looked for the kitchen-dick, but I couldn't find one. However, I have to admit that I have no idea what a kitchen-dick is, but I am certain that if one had been around I would have found it.

The sun has yet to shine on me on the road, but that's because I am still in the Northwest. There have been moments where the sun has threatened to shine, but it's always followed by even darker clouds moving in.

Despite the darkness, and a brief moment of sadness directly related to listening to mellow piano music, I had a wonderful first day on the road that included one of those rare feeling that this is where I am supposed to be right now. I was riding past Lake Crescent, and had just stopped at a little turnout to look at the lake and have a smoke. I wandered a bit and found that the trees at this little park were popular places to carve initials and other things:

I'm not really sure what to do with that, I don't know that philosophical advice from the lead singer of Tool is something I want to make mine.

The road was winding back and forth in those perfect rideable arcs, and the lake was to the right, and the forest to the left. It was then that I thought, 'This is unbelievable, I am actually doing this!' and had the sense that this was what I am supposed to be doing. All that panic, and then this…

The meeting was the How It Works group at the recreation center in Forks. The group was welcoming, and I think pretty excited to have someone from out of town. The format was loose, and the atmosphere comfortable, even the silence felt OK. And Jim was more than willing to give direction to campsites, and the grocery store. Thanks How It Works Group!

Well, there you have it, day one in the books. Off to the next one…

P.S. For those of you wondering, No, I didn't see any vampires.