Portland

"HAD I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams." 
W.B. Yeats 

Portland is the kind of place North Park, and every other town like it wishes it could be.  Except where North Park tries to be, Portland just is.  Where you can turn a corner and see all the cars on the right side of the street parked the wrong way, and then look to the left and see the same thing.  Why?  Because what difference does it make.  It doesn't have the bureaucratic because I said so mandate to every little thing.  It just is.

It may still have the hipster smugness in some small pockets but it's not as prevalent as one would think.  It just passes you by at 10 miles an hour every now and then.  Just enough time to construct a though involving a feminine hygiene product, before the rain washes away it's memory.

Arts and craft workshops work well into the night in small neighborhoods, and leave their doors wide open, with the closed sign on display.  They work on whatever inspires them.  With music playing, and the drone of bars down the street, nothing appears to penetrate the bubble they are thriving in. 

Rose Test Garden

What a breath of fresh air Portland was.  I saw a bit of the town.  Went to their weekend arts and craft thing along the Willamette River, which also contained some kind of local craft beerfest thing.  Tried to visit the Japanese Garden which was closed, and sat down on a bench to find somewhere else to checkout on my phone when randomly Jess, Kris, and two of their friends start walking towards me.  We both see each other at the same time, and throw up our hands in, "what the hell" amazement.  I knew they were in town somewhere, but Portland isn't the smallest city.  We caught up for a bit, checked out the Jewish memorial a few steps away, and the beautiful rose test garden, where roses are sent from all over the world.  Apparently it has the best climate in the world for roses to grow.  We made plans to get food the next day, but unfortunately couldn't meetup.

Beerfest

Beginning Of The End

Final Destination

Great start to a great city.  Too bad it couldn't last.  I had trouble with my car weeks before driving through California.  It lost all power while driving on the freeway randomly.  I pulled off to the side of the freeway, smoked a cigarette, and started thinking about my next move.  I knew it wasn't out of gas, and it had plenty of oil to keep it happy.  After ten minutes or so, I tried it again, and it started right up.  I took it to a nearby garage who specialized in Volvo's, and this is where I first learned about the dreaded electrical wiring harness that some Volvo's have.  Basically, they made the harness, and the connecters with crappy material and poor insulation and they crap out after time due to the extreme heat in the engine.  The original harness from the dealership is $1500-3000 for absolutely no good reason that anyone on the planet can come up with.  Just a bundle of electrical wiring, attached to some plastic connecters.  Probably costs $2 to make.  It's more than the damn car is worth, and the labor involved adds another $500+ because it's a potential eight hour job.  Obviously wasn't going to go that route.

He told me he was sure it was the harness, and that he could feel it was loose.  He offered to splice in a new one himself for $600 from used harness parts, and that he had done it before without complaints from the owner.  It was late on a Friday, and I was looking at spending more money on hotels in this crappy town until Monday for his shop to re-open.  I also wasn't really sure if he was bullshitting me or not, because I never trust mechanics.  He seemed pretty honest, and said he thought my car was in great condition apart from this, and didn't want to see it scrapped.  I decided to push my luck and keep going.  Dealing with it later on since it was still running, and didn't give me any more problems driving to the shop from where it broke down.  In hindsight, this was probably one of the worst, and most expensive decisions of my life.

"Swede"

Back in Portland, I had all but forgotten about the problem, when it happened again.  Then again, and again.  Each time starting up fine afterwards, but it was noticeable the problem was electrical as you could hear the little surges of current cutting in and out rapidly, along with the evident lack of power.  I started researching all the similar stories online, and was hoping it was just going to be a nagging problem.  Something that would be annoying, but not leave me stranded anywhere.  It only took me a day or two to find out that wasn't going to be the case.  On my way to the cheaper Motel 6 across town, it died on the street, and barely started up this time.  Puttering and puttering down the road I found the closest Volvo mechanic.  A semi retired Swedish one man operation in a small garage.  I asked his name, and he replied, "Well, people just call me Swede" in a thick Swedish accent.

Nice guy, and I had high hopes he knew his way inside and out of Volvo's.  I told him what the previous mechanic told me, and he said he had heard about that, but thought it was something else.  The Air Mass meter.  He told me all about it, and how it controlled everything, and would put the car in "limp home mode" which sounded very much like what it was doing.  He called a nearby shop, and got a $400 something price for the part, and asked me what I wanted to do.  I asked him if he was sure, and he said he'd do a test that would tell us for sure, which at the time made no sense to me, and still doesn't.  He said if he unplugged the connector going to the Air Mass Meter while the car was running, and the car kept running, than it was definitely the AMM.  To me, this wouldn't prove a damn thing, but I took his word for it, and sure enough the car kept running.  Not faced with a lot of options, I told him to go for it.

I came back later in the day and picked it up.  He said he test drove it, and it was driving fine.  I got in, fired it up, and drove down the street a little relieved, and a little lighter in the wallet.  I got on the freeway to head towards the Motel 6, and instantly I could hear and feel the engine surges, only about 10 times worse now.  I imagine due to the new part trying to send more power through the wires then before.  Pissed off, I called back Swede who seemed a bit lost for words, so I told him I was coming back.  I told him it obviously wasn't the part we fixed.  We checked out the engine, trying to think of other causes.  I told him I thought it was the wiring harness again, and he said it could be though the connecters looked fine.  He said he wasn't sure what it could be and started to get a little defensive as time went on, leading me to tell him I didn't think he was lying to me, just that we were wrong.  I still don't think he was lying.  Just that he was wrong.  He instantly seemed more at ease, and finally offered to take a look at it the rest of the day, check his literature, and make some phone calls to other mechanics, so I left it there.

My Local 24/7 Coffee Shop

I spent the next few hours at the nearby coffee shop researching the problem more, and realizing this wasn't going to end well with Swede.  When I returned my fears were realized as Swede said he wasn't sure what the problem was.  He talked to a few people, and recommended I take it to the Volvo dealership because they have better diagnostic tools.  I said we should get a refund on the part we put in since that wasn't the problem, and he said he couldn't return it used.  After my research, I knew that since he test drove it and deemed it ok, I didn't have a whole lot of leverage if he stuck by his guns in a scenario like this.   As I stood there getting more and more pissed off, another guy came up asking about his car, and Swede said he couldn't help him because his car was too new.  Apparently he couldn't keep up with the cutting edge technolgy of vehicles after 98.  Swede's skills, to go along with his age, and semi retirement status were really starting to put everything in perspective now.

I got back in my car and puttered off.  Making a couple turns around a couple blocks to the stoplight.  As I waited for the light to change, I could feel the problem getting worse and worse.  The light changed, I stepped on the gas, and.......nothing.  I made it about five feet into the middle of the intersection.  With accompanying honks, and a yellow light to comfort me, the car refused to start back up.  Waiting for another cycle of the lights, and waiving the traffic past me, I pushed the fucking thing through the intersection, gashing my shoulder as I jumped back in after it was moving, and nearly slammed into the fire hydrant on the other side due to the lack of power steering and brakes.  Finally getting it to rest as I sat in my car drenched in sweat from the beating down sun, and putting everything into pushing my car from the doorjam.

Stranded

I spent the next couple months mostly wandering around South East Portland,.  Crashing in the back of my stranded Volvo wagon on the vacant side of the street next to McDonalds, and staying in the nearby Motel 6 every few days.  Which of course turned out to be the most expensive one in Portland.

Portland's got a very unique and subtle vibe to it.  As you walk the streets you recognize the lack of street lights, and the quiet loneliness of no one around at night, but as the streets leave a tinge of grime, and the houses weep in their old age, they are still nice and up kept.  The people care about them and you feel no insecurities of walking the streets at night.  The stray cats trying to find their way along side you.

Despite an assumption of smugness about town, everyone adorns themselves with a full suit of kindness.  They smile, and say hi, and even the fast food sheep ask you how you are, with a level of genuine interest not found in your closest relatives.  Or maybe just the ones I've known.

NW Food Cart

One of the best things about Portland, is how accommodating it is to it's inhabitants.  The transit system is very efficient and will take you basically anywhere in Portland you want.  In fact one of the lines leading into downtown from across the river in the SW was free.  Food carts adorn most most neighborhoods in what they call pods, and if you know the good ones, you've hit a goldmine.  They're all pretty good, and usually specialize in one type of things.  Some great crepe carts, and another one that makes all kinds of different potatoes and fries.  The best you're gonna find though are the Thai food carts, especially a couple in the main pod downtown that takes up an entire square block.  For $5 bucks you get the biggest and best Pad Kee Mao you'll find.  All the great and cheap food carts in this town were definitely one of my favorite things about it.  

As I would go from place to place each day, somehow I kept being mistaken for someone else.  I've easily been mistaken more for someone else in my short time there, than I had previously in my whole life.  Maybe even double or triple the amount of times.  Two different bartenders in the same bar on different nights.  A barista at a coffee shop.  A couple random people throughout town.  A guy that works at the Jack in the Box.  In fact, the first time I was in there he said he sees me around a lot, and I had to correct him that it wasn't me.  Then the next time a couple weeks later I got a burger, fries, and a water, and he was like "here man get a soda, you come in here all the time."  Naturally I just took the soda.  I made a plan that the next time I went in there I was just gonna walk up, and ask him how he's been, and tell him some crazy story about what I've been doing that freaks him out.  Like I just got out of jail for stabbing some dude in a dice game, but they couldn't hold me because I threw the knife down the sewer out front of the Jack in the Box, and not to tell anyone cause I'm gonna try to fish it out over the weekend.  Unfortunately, I never saw him after that, so i didn't get the chance.  Later on though, one of the customers in the JIB walked up to me after he was eating, and said, "so how'd the rest of your day go?"  It's like I slid through a wormhole with Jerry O'Connell, and I have some doppelganger running about town living a completely different life than mine.  Handsome fellow I'm sure.

I developed a fairly steady routine.  I would wake up and get coffee and food at the McDonalds on the other side of the fence next to my car, and use their internet.  It started to seem like some kind of hangout for the high school kids around there that would skip class, and I kept seeing the same ones coming in around when I was there.  In between high school drama and gossip, they would go on the patio and do some retarded uncoordinated looking version of the running man, where they spin in a circle every now and then.  Over and over, just looking at their feet.  They'd just get up and go out of nowhere, like they were a robot programmed to do this every 15 minutes.  I think they called it shuffling.  Half native american rain dance, half hammer time.  A couple weeks after I noticed it the same group of kids came in, with what looked like the popular hot mexican chic. Apparently her and one of the other kids had broken up multiple times, and now it was the guys time to be mad, while the chic kept saying "He's so pissed off.  That's what he gets for playing with my emotions."  They bounced back and forth from the outside patio to inside next to where I was sitting.  As I was sitting there, trying to mind my own business, I notice in the reflection of my computer the kid is shuffling up a storm outside.  "He's really going at it hard now" she said.  Apparently that's what the kids do up in Portland.  They break up with their girlfriends, and blow off some steam with a hella hammer dance right in front of the window their ex is sitting at.  That'll show her.

Later on, an older Asian lady walked in with her two boys.  One about four or five, and the other maybe three.The younger one started climbing on the table in the back of the restaurant while his mom went to the front to order food.  He craned his neck looking at something on the table, and the gears slowly started turning in my head knowing where this was going, as I had sat at that table the last couple days using the wifi.  "I can't read this" he said to his older brother sitting at the other table.   "F-U-C-K" he spelled out loudly.  "What does that say?"  Hilarity ensued the next few minutes as his brother continually tried to keep him from reading, or even looking at it, while the younger kid tried to figure out how to say the new word he wasn't allowed to know.  "Fooook.  Foooosk" he kept saying.

$2000 1st Editions

I finished the latest installment in my box of unread books, the most appropriate Dante's Purgatory, and spent a whole afternoon wandering around Powell's "City of Books" downtown.  Six floors, one million volumes, and about 70k square feet.  I decided on The Collected Poems of W.B. Yeats.  I think that was a good selection (bad Travis Bickle impression).

After going to McDonalds in the morning, I would leave before the lunch rush of High School kids and wander about town.  Then find a place to eat at in the early evening, and a bar to numb my brain at night.  Lots of cool little spots around there, and plenty of characters.  Little basement bars with live bands.  Tons of parks to hang out at, or watch the dogs frolic.  Bars with free skiball, basketball, arcade games, darts, and pool.  Huge first friday Art Walks downtown that draw an eclectic array of street performers, and galleries with free wine and cheese.

Too many little stories to get into and make this any longer than it already is, but there's plenty of places and people watching about town to keep you interested in Portland.  Especially SE Portland, which I started to feel like was my home for the summer.  I probably know that area better from walking around it all summer, than I would if I had lived there for a year with a car.

The Car Resolution

After hitting rock bottom in every facet, I finally decided to force some sort of resolution to my car situation.  Spending days in the same area, and watching the same episodes of The Newsroom over and over on HBO in the Motel 6 were starting to blend all the days together.  Before I knew it, a few months had passed by. 

I had spent my time exhausting all the possible problems.  I took three buses to a junkyard across town to pull a camshaft position sensor that might be the problem.  I ordered a specially made wiring harness for a couple hundred bucks.  Nothing fixed it.  I was faced with spending hundreds more in labor trying to diagnose and fix it, with no guarantee it would solve the problem, or just scrap the car and buy a new one.

I returned one morning after a night at the Motel 6 to find my driver side window busted in.  They made off with a backpack full of dirty laundry, my electric razor, my black leather flask, and my nice knife.  The later two among the only things I actually gave a shit about in my car full of crap.  Obviously I wasn't going to be sleeping in the back of the Volvo anymore, as the cold air and rainy season had just started.  Suddenly all my options had all but withered away.  I wasn't about to spend a hundred or so bucks on the window, and then hundreds more with only hope that it would fix the problem.

I found the best deal I could among the scrap yards, and got $200 for the old Volvo 960.  It was sad seeing her go.  She was in great condition apart from the one mystery problem that remains an enigma.  If I had a place to stay I could have parted her out, but it was near impossible to do while going broke staying in motels every night.  $2k originally on the Volvo.  Another $1000 or so trying to diagnose and fix it, and only $200 back.  Not the best return on investment.  Especially when I had to buy another car now.

While I was waiting for the tow truck later that night, a cop showed up and started checking out the car behind mine.  I walked up to him, as I didn't want him to tow it due shape it was in, and that it had been parked in the same spot for a couple months.  He told me the car behind mine, that wasn't there the day before, was stolen.  I deduced that the guy who stole it, dumped it there, then walked past mine, saw all the crap in it and busted the window.  Only to make off with some dirty clothes, and a few items that meant way more to me than they would his dumb ass.  Oh well.  At least this saga was about to be over.

I spent the next day or so looking for the best deal I could on a car.  I was really in kind of a tough spot.  You can't really find a decent car unless you're willing to spend about $2k.  You could get one for a little less if you have time to really scout out the best deal.  A luxury I didn't have.  I found a Saab 900, from a guy asking $1300 for it with a reconstructed title, which is similar to a salvaged title.  Generally a salvaged title is something you want to stay clear of.  It means it was in an accident, or stolen, or something happened that made the insurance company or bank declare it as a total loss, and let it go for whatever they can get, rather than pay to fix it.  The re-manufactured part in Oregon means someone did something to make it pass inspection and be road worthy, but you never know what kind of work they did.

I talked the guy down to $1k, and decided to take a chance on it, since it drove ok, and the engine and rest of the standard checks seemed to be ok.  And it had four new tires which was a big plus for me.  A little body damage to the right front, but apart from that the body and interior were pretty good.  Plus I love Saab's.  I figured the re manufactured title was filed about eight years prior, so whatever happened hadn't kept it from running that whole time. 

After a near deathly trip through Oregon's version of the grapevine to California and back to get it registered, I realized the brakes were warped to hell.  More money and more car work to be done.  I bought a generic pair of rotors and pads at the Auto Zone in SE Portland, and swapped em out in their parking lot.  Also realizing the jack that came with the car was missing pieces, so I had to buy another one of those.  I fucking hate cars.

What a hell that was, but thank god it was over.  I forced myself to forget about all the money I lost, and decided to celebrate my exit from purgatory by treating myself to a fancy french dinner.  Delicious fresh oysters with some kind of citrus champagne sauce as an appetizer, and one of my favorite foods for the entree.  Grilled trout with a brown butter hollandaise, green beans, and roasted mushrooms with bacon on the side.  Finished off my Bulleit, barely looked at the check and signed it.  No regrets.






Goodbye Portland

I spent another few days saying goodbye to all the bartenders, and baristas in my regular spots that I got to know pretty well.  Somehow they all had similar names.  Christina, Christy, Christa, and Chloe.  I also spent some time trying to shoot some flicks and video about town, as I was in such a depressed mood the whole time I was there, I didn't really give a shit about capturing much of Portland.  Plus it was a major pain in the ass trying to lug that crap around town on my back every day.  Somehow I manage never to capture enough to be able to put together the kind of videos I envisioned in my mind.  I guess that's where my memories will have to stay.

Cali

I'm finally getting around to sorting through some of my footage, so here's a clip from my travels through California.  Wasn't worth trying to do anything epic or building much of a narrative since I didn't shoot much, and a lot of it was crap anyway because I was still learning my cameras tendencies, and too lazy to use my tripod much.

I didn't want to just throw it away though so I mixed in a few random clips as an excuse to use some timelapses.

Sorry for the gratuitous self fliming.  Usually people travel with other people, or have some sort of central character, so I had to throw in a couple shots of myself to keep it from feeling like a screen saver.

California

This is just an attempt at logging where I've been so far, so I don't forget too much.  I started it a while ago but lost steam.  I should have done it on the go but what are you gonna do.   As a result it's probably way too long and drawn out out , so feel free to skip over any self indulgent tales of exploits, or melodramatic introspection that may find it's way into my ramblings here.  As it is, it probably only covers about half the trip.  It's kind of hard to remember all the little details, especially all the interactions with people.  Too bad I didn't capture them as I went, but I wasn't in the right mindset for it at the time.

I also wasn't really as motivated as I would have liked to take photos, and video until after I left SF, so that leaves a little to be desired here.  A lot tougher to mix the mind state required for capturing life, with just living, and experiencing it.  I don't really want to be in either too long, because it leaves the other one lacking, and they really are two totally different mindsets.  Hopefully I'll still be able to find a way to capture some cool stuff while doing it in the future.  

I also found out the manual focus lenses I bought for my 60D, are a lot tougher to get focus on than they were with the older SLR's I used to use.  The SLR's had the split prism focus screen that easily brought everything in and out of focus with each little turn.  Not sure why they didn't bring that to digital.  They'll have to do for now though until I get some auto focus lenses, but that's just one thing on a long wish list of camera equipment.

Anyway, here's a recap of my trip through Cali if anyone's curious.  

Part 1: Saying goodbye

The final days of San Diego crept up in fury of mixed emotions, and unknown adventures hanging in the balance.  Had a nice send off BBQ fest at JT's.  Jim, Zamm, Omar, JT, Amanda, and Maggie were all hangin.  Plenty of whiskey, beers, and food were consumed before passing out on Ernie's mattress that was left behind, and I had subsequently taken over as my own in the garage.  

I decided to get the windows tinted in my new Volvo the next day before leaving.  That way I could crash in the back of the trusty wagon in between campsites and hotels to save a bit of cash.  Jim, JT, Zamm and I ended up getting drinks at Acapulco before I headed out on the road which may or may not have been a good idea.  It's usually me saying bye to those leaving, so I just stood around kinda dumfounded in the parking lot, not really sure how to leave some of my favorite people, and not sure when or if I'd see them again.  I'm never good at goodbyes anyway, so eventually I just had to make the abrupt, "alright I'm taking off guys" or I'd never be able to make myself leave.  Ended up being a lot harder than I thought.

After the long day of last minute plans, and drinks that lasted a little longer than expected, I left a little later, and a little drunker than I probably should have.  As a result I didn't get very far.  I planned on just stopping in San Clemente/Laguna Niguel for the night, since it always looked cool as I flew by on the 5 to my way somewhere else.  This didn't lead to much, as I couldn't really find the parts I had seen during the day.  After wasting an hour or so driving around, I made my way a little further north, and decided it was probably better if I didn't keep driving, as all the elements of the night were starting to catch up to me a bit.  So I stopped off in classy Costa Mesa for my first stay in what would be my home on the road, the luxurious Motel 6.  Not quite as far as one would hope for the first leg of a journey, but still a first leg none the less.

I decided I should stop by brother Steve's the next day, and catch up with him, and Jessica to say goodbye.  This was my first experience with my iPhone throwing a wrench in my plans of getting me where I wanted to go, as if it was given instructions from Apple to make things tougher than they need to be.  For some reason it has decided to both give me directions from somewhere I am not, whether it's another street, or in the middle of the ocean, and simultaneously tell me the wrong freeways to take.    Which I'm sure the state of California is loving, after all the toll road booths that have appeared out of nowhere in my trust of this stupid phone.  I can't wait for the iPhone 5 to come out, even if it does look like a ridiculously stretched out version of the 4.  

Met up with Steve and Jessica finally at a group of food trucks down the street, and found Rogene and Delilah there too who I hadn't seen in a while.  Did the customary catchup convo, and made our way back to Steve's for the night.  Wandered around DTLA the next day waiting for Steve and Jess to get off work again.  Found the Bradbury Building along the way, which is where most of the Blade Runner ending was shot.  Really cool old office space that's still actually used.  You just can't walk any higher than the main lobby, and half a flight of stairs unless you work there.  

Apologies for the shitty photo.  At some point the camera in this thing is just going to deteriorate into a pinhole camera only capable of black, and slightly less black photos.  Hopefully the iRemote5, I mean iPhone 5, is out by then.

Also passed by the LA Times building littered with newspaper displays and photos of the Kings winning their first Stanley Cup.  Wandered through a Mexican street vendor section just over the freeway, and some lip synching, fake instrument playing salsa band.  Then made my way back on Alameda thinking about the Elliott Smith song, only to find out later down the road that Alameda is actually a tiny street, and a part of Portland which is probably what he was talking about.

After walking past the lazy and vacant doorman and up to Steve's place on the 17th floor, I was greeted, and simultaneously converted into liking Bud Light Lime, which I didn't expect Steve to be drinking, and much less that I would be fond of.  Actually quite refreshing to drink during the day, after a long walk around the city.  Now, Bud Light Lime-a-Rita?  That's gonna be a tough sell.  I'm trying it the first time I see it though, because that is a ridiculous sounding beer.

Ended up getting Dim Sum the next day for lunch, which somehow I managed never to have.  Damn good flavors in those sauces.  Something about the spice or something in it, and also Korean BBQ that just have a flavor you don't find in other foods.  Got to find a way to get more of that flavor on a regular basis.  I guess that's what Columbus was thinking as well.  Maybe I'll discover a new country while I'm at it too….and call it flavor country.

Moving right along………After Dim Sum and a short walk back, it was time to say my goodbyes again, which didn't come any easier.  Who the hell knows what to say at these times?  It feels so much easier for everyone else.  I made my best attempt, and then hopped in the wagon, finally feeling like I was leaving.  No stops, and no routes planned ahead.  

Part 2: Where to? 

Stopped off to check out the fanciness of Malibu.  It's about what you'd expect.  I felt like I was gonna have the cops called on me for smoking a cigarette anywhere I walked.  Checked out the beach.  Checked out the houses.  Then I went to make my contribution to their academic program in the form of a dump at Pepperdine University.  After a bit of a fruitless search, I all but broke into one of their halls on a Sunday.  After seeing a couple out front talking, and someone walking around inside what looked to be a study hall of some kind, I checked the door, and found it open.  Made my way down some steps a few floors from ground level, only to get to what looked like a darkened underground set from Saved by the Bell.  After a few twists, and turns past the dark classrooms, and lockers I found a huge bathroom with the serenity of no one within two floors can only bring, and only a handful of people have probably enjoyed at the University.  All of which likely to be janitors on the midnight shift.

Decided to get some food and crash in the next nearby town on the map, which ended up being the colorful Carpenteria.  I exited the freeway to find that the Motel 6 was closed, which led to the State Beach nearby being full, which led to me driving around trying to find a legit spot to park for the night, which led to all the restaurants being closed.  Nothing open except for some shitty pizza/sandwich spot.  Leaving my car to walk around didn't seem completely comfortable either.  In my twists, and turns looking for a spot to park, I kept seeing big sketchy Mexican dudes rolling around on low rider bikes.  Maybe they were completely legit dudes, but Carpenteria State Beach was starting to look more like City Heights State Beach, where they make a killing off unattended tourist cars.

I ended up just saying fuck it, which has been verbalized more and more liberally ever since, to the point where it's probably time to tighten the reins on that phrase before I end up broke or dead.  Anyway, Carpenteria at least has a strip of restaurants and a few bars, all of which basically shut down around 10pm, so that was no help to me.  After stuffing down a subpar italian sandwich, I left in hopes of finding some kind of place that would pour alcohol down my throat, and I could try my hands at sleeping in the back of the Volvo for the first time.  All the bars I passed were either pitch black, or in the midst of shutting off their lights.  Except for one that was packed like sardines, and had a DJ rocking Steely Dan to a dance floor full of aging white tourists.  Not my ideal spot, but I needed a drink.  Almost fully expecting to walk in, and walk right out, I somehow slid through the door just as a guy was leaving his seat at the bar.  I asked the older British gentleman in the seat next to it if it was taken, and was luckily again provided with a stout, "no, not anymore."   This way I could blend into the bar, and have my drink without standing around like a jackass.  The pumping Steely Dan provided just enough cover to prevent idle chit chat with the douchy drunken locals, and tourists.  

After the DJ ended his set, a drunken fool came over and started chatting up the older gentleman next to me.  With the music gone, and the aid of the hearing impaired drunkard to my right talking at a volume not really suited for his conversation, it turned out the British chap was a retired MI6 agent just in town, "for a visit."  Whatever that means.  Needless to say my ears perked up, and I spent the next 45 minutes or so eavesdropping and shaping this mans life story in my head between sips of Bulleit.  The drunken kid, who I deduced must have either been the child or nephew of someone he knew finally left, after his attempts of seeing if the old man could get him into foreign countries for long stays under the radar.  Which by the way, were met with complete politeness, and an "actually yes I could if you wanted" type of response.  

Without wanting to empty my wallet in one night, and the spy chat dying down, I decided to head back to the car for the night, luckily finding it fully in tact, and slept like a baby.

I left the next day, spending a bit of time checking out any interesting towns along the way.  Lots of cool little beach towns outside of LA.  Saw a cool looking area and pulled off the freeway, and headed west, eventually deciding to just follow the open air tour bus ahead of me around town, figuring they'd show me the cool spots.  After winding through some of the nice neighborhood homes, and scenic views, it led me to the ocean where there was a strip of art and craft vendors lined up on the grass right along the beach.  Pretty cool atmosphere, and location for something like that, with the sun out, just the right amount of shade, and even a lit up merry go round.  Started to feel the itch to move on, so I made my way back to the 101, and continued exploring a few more little beach towns before pulling off to camp at El Capitan State Beach.  

It was a nice little camp area, with trails along the cliffs, and scenic views.  Found a thin off beat trail under the trees, and through the flowers that the weekend warrior family campers were obviously scared to check out, but to those who grew up looking for secluded spots to smoke weed, and drink see as an obvious path to somewhere cool.  It led down to a small cliff under a big tree with a nice view of the ocean.  Naturally a few beer cans strewn about from some likeminded, but more selfish kids who found the path previously.  I climbed down a small rock face, and parked my bag o beer, and myself down on the sand of the small crescent shaped cove area, and watched the sunset.  

Woke up the next day and looked at the map on my phone, and realized that I might have miscalculated the distance to the next town, when I decided to make an extra trip out for food to cook the previous day.  Passing by barren freeway exits, and signs of 30 miles to the next town didn't do me any favors when the gas light lit up on my dash.  Shifting into neutral on hills, and slowing down to about 50 mph in the slow lane started to give a wiff of hope.  The signs now saying 10, and 8 miles to go.  Then with the sound of hope dying, it gave up.  The decrescendo of the engine cursing me with it's last breath.  About three miles shy of Buellton, where I was planning to fill up.  Luckily last years winner of the best road side service operator/model (and not the other way around) came to my rescue and sent me on my way.

Tried to check out the famous Vanderberg Airforce Base, but it was all closed off.  Lots of shitty little towns around these parts.  Lompoc.  Guadalupe.  Los Osos a ways up.  Shitholes.


Part 3:  What a way for a duck to travel

I think the next major spot I stopped at was Pismo beach.  I'd never been, and didn't know much about it, aside from it being left of Albuquerque.  I had hoped to camp for free on the beach, as I had read you could drive your car up the shore a couple miles on the hard sand, and set up shop, but after looking up a ways, all I could see was the long row of F-50050's (or whatever they're up to now) and quads running around with their gay little triangle flags flapping the the wind.  Apparently all the desert rats come up from Santa Barbara every weekend, and run wild on the joint annoying all the locals.  Just my luck.  So I checked out the town a little, had a nice seafood dinner, and crashed in a tiny little campground/RV spot along the road.

This is the Pismo butterfly reserve.  You wouldn't believe how many butterflies there were.  Not one.  Not one goddamn butterfly!  This must be some guys idea of a sick joke.  In fact I think the guy living in the shanty house next to it owns the land, and put up all the fences, and signs just to fuck with people.  Watch your step my ass.

Left the next day, and stopped to get coffee, and food at the last little beach town on the map, Avila Beach.  Pretty cool.  Just outside of Pismo, and a little touristy, but not big enough to be crazy, and still had a cool little, almost European vibe to it.  A little white sandy beach with a pier extending out into the bright blue waters below.  There was also a cool little area at the end of the pier, where you could walk down underneath on some steel grading to get a close look at the fish, and crustaceans mingling about.  

Spent half the day making my way out, and around Montana De Oro.  Only to be continually annoyed by California, and it's $45+ camp sites.  That's the price of a friggin hotel room.  Why should you have to pay to sleep outside?  It just seems so ridiculous to me.  Only in California do they find a way to rape you out of that much money, for sleeping in your own tent, on shitty uneven government owned dirt.  I left in a huff and drove into the night up the 1, to find somewhere to crash in the car. 

After passing by two or three more expensive beach campsites, I decided I needed to stop wherever the next exit was, because it was getting late, and I was exhausted. The pitch black two lane road in the middle of nowhere didn't exactly instill the sense of vigorousness needed to keep me awake at the wheel much longer.

The next exit was Cambria.  There was a street that people used to park their RV's on for the night, but now all that could be seen were big signs warning against overnight parking, and camping.  I found a little strip along the beach, that serves the locals and tourists alike with a few restaurants and bars during the day.  Kind of a honeymoon, or weekend getaway type of spot.  I parked under a big tree, off to the side of the road in the dark, and got out to hit the flask, and stretch my legs a bit on the paths along the water.

Really nice area.  The sound of the crashing waves in a brisk night, and the dark ocean stretching well into the moonlight made for a captivating walk.  As I settled in on a nearby bench, I see an SUV in the distance coming my way.  A big spotlight scouring the beach and the dark road ahead.  Realizing this is probably the cops, and I'm probably not supposed to be out here getting drunk before sleeping like a vagrant on their streets, I crouch down behind a bush.  He drives by, and I see my car, which I had thought was parked in pitch darkness, get lit up like a fucking Christmas tree with his headlights as he goes by.

Great, I guess I'm not sleeping here tonight.  

The last thing I want is to settle in for the night, and wake up to a mag-light banging on the window, and a cop telling me I need to move on.  Then realize I've been drinking, and tow my car instead of letting me drive off.  All this is going through my mind as I walk back to the car, slam the door, and discover I don't have my phone in my pocket.  I spend the next 30 minutes waving a flashlight of my own around where I was hiding, and finally find it.  Accepting defeat, I drive up the road a couple miles to San Simeon, and drop $50 for the Motel 6.  Realizing I should have just paid for the fucking campsite, eight or so hours ago.  

Part 4: Hearst Mobile

I wake up the next day at least grateful for the nice sleep on a nice bed.  You really do start to forget how much better you sleep, and how well rested you wake up in a bed, as opposed to a rough ground or floor.  It doesn't feel all that bad, but it causes you to shift around like a chicken on a spitroast, keeping you from getting a good deep sleep.

Bright eyed and bushy tailed at the crack of noon, I walk up the road to get coffee and breakfast for lunch, at the nearby diner.  The smell of the ocean, and the open space right off the beach bringing about a good mood, I decide to hang out for the day, and maybe spend another night.  Really cool area.  It's right before Hearst Castle, which I later take the tour of, and take a bunch of shitty photos not worth displaying, due to my lack of foresight to bring my wide-angle.

There's only a couple restaurants, and couple small hotels in this part of San Simeon.  Really small little half mile stretch of PCH that most of the people who work at, drive up from Cambria to a couple miles down.  I talk to the bartender later that night who drives up to Oregon every couple years, to renew her car registration at her parents address.  Only $80 for two years, no matter what year or model you have.  Pretty good deal.  

As I close down the bar she tells me the cooks and the wait staff in the adjacent dining room have been there all day.  Since even before I ate my late breakfast there, because of how shorthanded they are.  I think about trying to get a part time job under the table in exchange for a room, or a place to stay for a while, but decide I'm only about half way through California, and don't want to stay too long.  Might have been cool though.  The houses are out in the woods like a forrest town, but when you drive out from the dark tree cover, and into the sun, the huge ocean is sitting right there in front of you about a quarter mile from the woods.  The best of both worlds I guess.

After checking out Hearst Castle the next day I drive up a ways, to what I had found through my digging on the internet, were a couple of roads off the beaten trail of the windy scenic part of PCH.  Apparently littered with pullout spots to park your RV, or car for the night without anyone hassling you.  It's called boondocking (no relation to the abominable waste of celluloid, Boondock Saints) and there are a few crude websites with directions, and coordinates to spots like this, but it's kind of hit and miss.

I decide to park in the lot of one of the Scenic View pullout areas along the road, and try out my little foreman with the AC-DC convertor that plugs into the cigarette lighter to cook a burger.  I sit there a while smoking a cigarette, taking in the view.  I eventually plug in the foreman and……….nothing.  Fucking thing doesn't work anymore.  That thing was my plan for half my meals on the road.  I seriously contemplate swinging it by the chord and just hucking it off the cliff into the Pacific, but my anti-littering policy gets the better of me.  

In fact, speaking of which, I decided not to litter any cigarette butts the whole trip, and I haven't as of yet.  I either put them out in the portable ashtray I bought for the car, or flick out the cherry and wait until I walk past a trash can.  The idea of needlessly throwing something on the ground that you don't want, when at some point, someone else is going to have to deal with that, is really just pure selfishness when you think about it.  Someone else is either going to have to either pick that up, or it's going to get flushed into the ocean.  Doing things for your own benefit, when it makes someone else do more is way too prevalent in the world.  Especially this country.  It's part of the same reason certain people only say things for their own benefit, or to make themselves look better in some way.  Unfortunately people fall for it, and impresses a lot of people.  Things would be a lot better in the world if people were more conscious of whether what they were doing, or saying was purely for their own benefit, and if it might negatively affect someone else.

Anyway, I put out the cigarette in the portable ashtray, and hit the road again in search of the boondock spot to settle in for the night.  The first spot on the map was a dirt road called Forrest Route 23S02.  Right before a town called Gorda which supposedly has the most expensive gas price in the country, because it's located right in the middle of a treacherous Pacific Coast Highway.  Not another station for 40 or 50 miles in either direction.    

Part 5: PCH

The sun had just set as I hit the windy part of PCH, after a lengthy stretch of fairly straight open space roads, and it was starting to set in that it may be tougher than I thought, to find these supposed off beat roads in the dark foggy night.  I passed a big David Lynch looking lodge with a bright red neon sign saying Ragged Point, and kept going.  Looking at the map on my phone was no help, as there is no reception at all for like 80 miles on this part of PCH.  My phone, uncooperative as always, was refusing to show me anything but what a new game of a minesweeper looks like.  Perhaps under the impression I want to play a game with it, like the computer in War Games.

I kept driving, and driving, wondering if I had gone too far. Once I passed Gorda I knew I had.  Slightly annoyed, and in the middle of nowhere along a treacherous PCH, I decided to head back the way I came hoping to find it.  Once I hit the Ragged Point Hotel I knew I'd missed it again.  Goddamn it.  I guess it lived up to it's reputation of a mysterious, and fairly unknown road in the middle of nowhere.  I decided to crash on the set of Twin Peaks for the night, and parked the Volvo in front of the rooms like I was a guest, and got out to have my nightly night cap before sleep.  I sat on the edge of some type of alter or big gazebo type thing near the cliffs.  The waves of the ocean crashing a couple hundred feet below somewhere in the dark of the night.

I woke up fairly early due to the people moving around and talking out front, and not wanting to get booted for sleeping there.  These hotels usually keep a pretty tight watch and record of who is, and who isn't supposed to park there.  I walked up to get some coffee at their little coffee shop, and walked towards the gazebo I had hung out at the night before.  As I strolled up, the most incredible view of the ocean and cliffs popped out of nowhere, just beyond the tree I was sitting by the night prior.  What an incredible spot.  I had no idea it looked like this as I was sitting in the dark, drinking myself to sleepiness.  A wide panoramic consisting of tall cliffs heading toward the heavens on the right, and a lush green/yellow field of flowers heading towards the rocky waters below.  A view of PCH stretching out into the distance for miles.  Looking down below revealed a little cove where the crashing waves I had heard in the night resided.

As I leaned against the railing, I saw a little pathway that lead down some steps, and looked to wind it's way throughout the little yellow flower fields, and down hundreds of feet to the cove.  I decided to make what was likely a lengthy, and dedicated trip down the hill, stopping along the way to look back up to where I was standing.  It was almost more beautiful in the middle of the trail, than it was at the top.  A big waterfall appeared to the left above, where you couldn't see before, and lots of little hummingbirds, and bluejays flying about. About a half hour or so after I started, it finally lead all the way to the cove, where if you were sure footed enough you can climb about the rocks, and through the streams, and venture about.  Nice area to explore.

After catching my breath, and spending an hour or so down there, I decided to make what would assuredly be a tougher climb back up the hill, than it was down.  Stopping multiple times to catch my breath, it started to sink in how out of shape I was.  Just then, one of those guys that makes his way down sketchy hills by running the whole way whizzes past me.  Secretly I hope he would trip, and go flying into the brush, but he doesn't.  Somehow these guys pull it off.  

I grab a burger at the little food stand, and take off to find the elusive Forrest Route 23S02.  Taking a closer look at the map, and with a little clearer view in the day, I finally find it a little before sunset.  If you didn't know it was there, you probably wouldn't even notice it as you drove by.  A steep dirt road that hugged the hills of the mountain leading upwards.  I was actually getting a bit nervous at how my heavy rear wheel drive Volvo was gonna handle it, especially if the roads got really steep, or if the turns were really sharp coming back down.  There wasn't a guard rail of any sort, so I'd just go flying off hundreds of feet to a final resting place.  I decided not to push my luck too much and found a spot to pull off, and park for the night.  

As night settled in, I climbed into the back of the trusty Volvo, turned on my lantern, and ate what has to be one of the worst meals in my life.  A cold can of chili.  At the time, it sounded like it might not be that bad, but I quickly figured out it was.  The cold chili juice was the worst part.  Like drinking a meat flavored water with bits of red and yellow peppers in it.  I forced down about half the can, and waved the white flag.  I couldn't eat anymore.  As I was sitting there with an opened half can of chili, I started thinking about my surroundings.  Not knowing exactly where I was, or how far bear country extends, I started to get a tad nervous.  This was a fairly woodsy area in the middle of nowhere, and I'm sitting here eating with an open can of chili, and a bunch of food strewn about in the car.  Kind of what you're not supposed to do.  Visions of a bear come climbing up the hill out of nowhere onto the road, and slamming his shoulder into my car started to creep in.  Turning off the lantern in the car, and revealing absolutely zero visibility in the dark didn't make it any easier.  Especially when I decided I had to get out and take a piss.  You'd think your eyes would adjust like normal, but after about fifteen minutes it was still as dark as when I first turned out the light.  I don't usually get scared of things like this, but I got to admit, my pulse was a bit higher than normal stepping out of that car to expose myself to the cold night air, with about two feet of visibility.  I guess being all alone in the middle of nowhere can have that affect more than one would think.  I decided to make that my last piss of the night, and started reading the first book my hand touched in the box full of books I had wanted to read in my life, but never had the time.  Hemingway's, The Old Man and the Sea.  

Part 6:  Dreaming of lions on Nacimeiento

I woke up the next morning, a little more comfortable of my surroundings in the light of day, and safely navigated my way down the windy dirt road.  Even getting a little cocky, and forcing a drift around a couple turns.  The next boondocking spot on the map was another road off PCH called Nacimiento-Fergusson.  

A paved road this time, which was a little better since a Volvo wagon isn't exactly suited for the beating of too many off road adventures.  Just as windy as the Forrest Route, but with even more amazing views of the ocean below.  As you come around turns it pops up, and leaves your jaw open a bit at what a sight it is.  The kind of view that makes you wonder if a car coming the other way is looking at it, or you.  About 20 minutes in, and traveling further and further up the steep hill, I looked back at the map and realized this road actually goes another 50-100 miles to a fort and army heliport, and eventually to the 101.  I decided to pull off at the most amazing view I could find, and set up shop for the night.  

What a view it was.  I set the intervelometer on my camera, got the interval and shutter to what I thought it should be, and tried my hands on my first lengthy time-lapse.  It ended up being ok, but I definitely wish I could have done a few things differently.  When I came back the next night to try it again the fog rolled up like a smoke monster, and shrouded everything in darkness.  After polishing off the rest of my Canadian Club in a fashion that would make Hemingway proud, I finished my book, and hit the sack for the night.  In hopes of dreams of lions on Nacimiento.

After wearing out the brakes on my Volvo on my way up and down the hill a couple times, and venturing about PCH taking it all in, I stayed another night.  This time a little further downhill towards the road, below the fog.  Finally heading out the next day wondering who stays in the random little houses you can see strewn up the mountain, and how the hell you get there?  Surely it can't be the roads I had driven on.  They were way out of the way, and in another direction from where the road seemed to lead.  

Feeling like I wasn't too far off from becoming one of those guys, I pressed on up PCH.  What a beautiful drive that is.  That part of PCH really is all it's cracked up to be.  From Ragged Point all the way through Big Sur and eventually to Carmel.  Scenic the whole way through, and lots of places to stop off.  Little known places with with trails that lead to big waterfalls.  Pull out spots along the cliffs with amazing views.  Twisting two lane roads with no guard rail that get your adrenaline pumping.  I can't imagine what it would be like if I had a car that could actually handle the roads well.  I've played too many video, and computer games growing up to the point where I literally can't drive roads like that, without trying to take the optimal line.  I catch myself doing it without thinking on every turn, taking up the whole road when it's safe.  Makes me wish I still had my Saab Aero.  Would have made for a fun drive.

Part 7: Monterey

I eventually made my way to Carmel by the Sea, and Monterey where I spent a good deal of time.  A good couple weeks.  At first I didn't really see the hype.  I had already seen plenty of beach towns, and scenic shorelines, but after staying there a few days, and wandering about the rocky coastline, it started to sink in what a nice place this was.  It's really hard to put a finger on why I liked it so much.  It's supposedly one of the more expensive places to live in California, but it doesn't really have the flash of Malibu, or even parts of La Jolla.  It has fairly nice houses but nothing extravagant that I saw.  Nice views of the coastline, and rocky shores, but nothing awe inspiring like parts of PCH.  

I think it's just the overall ambience.  There's a little section of the main road that hugs the ocean near the Monterey Bay Aquarium.  A little touristy, and a little snooty, but up the road a mile or so, it literally dies off about nine or ten.  A beautiful rocky coastline, and view with no one around.  No locals walking their dogs.  No sketchy dudes roaming about.  Not even any kids out drinking by the water.  I did run into some deer though, whom I couldn't figure out where they came from.  There's a trail that leads along the rocks at sea level, which by day is covered with locals, and tourists walking, and running along the beach.  But early in the evening, there is literally no one.

I never understood why the people living in those likely multi million dollar homes along the beach, didn't come outside, and enjoy the air, and the atmosphere.  It's really soothing and invigorating.  You can hang out in one of the many little grassy park areas along the road, or walk out onto the rocks to take a few pulls off your flask like I did.  Plenty of moonlight to see where you're walking, but from the street or anywhere semi close, you're invisible.  You can see the whole ocean, and the whole coastline, and sit and listen to the waves and all the seals, but no one can see you.  If I was a billionaire I'd buy houses for me, and all the people I care about, and take over the ocean front at night since no one else seems to want it.

Looking at the map I noticed Laguna Seca raceway, with it's famous downhill hill corkscrew turn, was only about ten miles inland.  I never knew this is where it was.  I decided to drive out and check it out, realizing as I got there it was also a campground.  You can camp just 20 or so feet from the track.  Pretty amazing given how iconic it is.  It's got trails leading all around the racetrack, but it's hot as shit out during the summer.  It's actually kind of a ghost town, which was kind of strange.  There's one park ranger at the booth in the front of the track that leaves around 5, and just a few other construction workers strewn about working on parts of the infrastructure, but aside from that, no one.  Anyone can come and go during the day, and probably do whatever during the night.  I paid the fee, set up camp, and built a fire that was likely way too big for the surrounding dry brush, and low hanging trees.

Driving around outside the track the next day, I continued to notice how empty the place was for how big and important it is.  Even noticing that a gate was left open leading onto the track at one part.  On my way out and back to Monterey I kept thinking about that open gate, and eventually decided I had to turn around, and investigate it further.  Driving back up the hill toward the race track I hoped the park ranger would be absent, and they were.  I drove down toward the opening of the track, and noticed another camper on the hill setting up shop, and some construction workers a hundred feet away.  I had dreams of putting the hammer down, and taking the track, and corkscrew head on.  My plan being to pull a Dave Chappelle, and just say, "Sorry officer, I didn't know I couldn't do that" if I was caught.  I still kind of wish I would have done it, but I settled on just putting four wheels on the track to say I drove on it, and turned around and left.

Part 8: Sounds of San Francisco and beyond

I found out Glenn and Lisa were in San Francisco for a wedding, and decided it was as good a time as any to leave Monterey for the City.  It was good to catch up with them and Kris, Jess, and Sam even though it was pretty brief.  Hung out with Lisa's fam for a bit and watched the 4th of July fireworks from a packed hilltop.  The locals sending candle lit balloon lanterns into the night time sky.  Coming within feet of giant trees, and historic homes to the oohs and aahhhs of the crowd.  

Cruised around the city during the day.  Had some drinks, and watched a jazz band with everyone later that night.  All too brief.  Finally I decided to head back out on the road the day everyone went to the wedding, and before they flew home, and/or returned to their daily lives.  The whole time wishing so many things could be different, and so much time and space could be re-arranged.  

After that I spent a couple days in the serenity of Napa, and then continued north exploring the Redwood Forrest, before passing through Crescent City, and finally across the border to what, unbeknownst to me, would be my home for the next few months.  Portland, Oregon.