4/12/2013. - Day 17 - Monterey Bay. Cannery Row. And Calm in the Midst of the Storm.

Historic Cannery Row

4/12/2013. - Day 17 -
Monterey Bay. Cannery Row.
And Calm in the Midst of the Storm.

“It’s all fine to say, “Time will heal everything, this too shall pass away. People will forget”—and things like that when you are not involved, but when you are there is no passage of time, people do not forget and you are in the middle of something that does not change.” 
― John Steinbeck, Cannery Row

Jellies

It's a bit cloudy in Monterey this morning, but still warm enough for shorts in my opinion. In the morning I chat with the staff to decide on local attractions. I feel great (TempurPedic hostel mattresses? Unbelievable. Yet true.) so I book a second night. The staff are extremely friendly, and also offer me a free pass to the aquarium--a $40 value for the price of your innocence being scarred by last night's discussion on aging and hormones courtesy of your roommates. Seems like a deal.

Sea Dragons

Exploring the aquarium takes up most of my day. The attractions are spectacular, with an entire area devoted to sea horses and jellyfish, a kelp forest, playful otters, and a huge tank filled with sharks, sea turtles, and other marine wildlife. Aside from the exhibits, there are also a variety of entertaining social situations. There are kids running everywhere and I have noticed random adults with "chaperone" name tags. I feel bad for them as they are clearly in state of constant chaos. "Don't put that in your mouth!" and "come down from there!" are common expressions. Then, one of the greatest social observations I've ever seen takes place:

Seahorses

I am in the lunch line at the Monterey Bay Aquarium, just trying to buy a sandwich. The kid at a table nearby is spitting, and the one behind me keeps inching closer to me and crowding my space and touching my belongings. But the best is the kid in front of me in the line. Her mom is holding up the whole line because she borrowed the cashier's scissors to open the kid's lollipop. The kid is standing there saying, "I WANT to go BACK to the PLAYGROUND!" After several agonizing seconds, the lollipop is finally open. As the mom checks out with the rest of her items, which includes a small plastic bottle of wine, she says, "We are NOT going to the playground right now; mommy needs to drink this wine and wine is NOT allowed on the playground."
I bust out laughing.

Sand Dollars

Otter taking a nap in his bucket!

Baby swell shark (bottom left) and swell shark cases (top right and bottom right, brown in color). One of the coolest
things I saw today. The upper right hand case has a baby shark about due to hatch. The sharks make these cases for
their babies, out a material similar to our fingernails. The curly parts attach to ocean coral and plants to help keep the
cases from floating away in the sea, and the cases protect the babies as they grow. God's creatures are amazing!

The rest of the afternoon I spend exploring Cannery Row and all the shops. I learn about Steinbeck and make a note to read the book with the name of the historic area which I am enjoying. I also watch sea otters playing in the bay area.

 Cannery Row is bustling with tourist activity and a busy wharf with marine life and fishermen going about their business. I am suddenly aware of how alone I am in the midst of all of this as I pass groups of friends sharing jokes, families toting children, and couples holding hands and wandering the streets together. The shorts alone have labeled me as tourist as the locals and more well traveled visitors are bundled up. As this awareness sinks in, I am instantly cloaked in a blanket of cold air and self consciousness. Goosebumps rise up on my skin and I shiver and rub my arms trying to find warmth within. This place I am in--this exploring and learning and and fly by the seat of your pants place--it can be great and wonderful and fulfilling, and yet suddenly it can turn upside down and become a very isolated place despite the constant activity that swirls around me like a snowstorm while I  stand frozen in time and watch it move around me. 

In the eye of this storm, it's hard sometimes to see that after the wind subsides and the sun comes out, you will be warm again, things will bloom, and the seasons will advance. Everyone else can see it, and can guide you and encourage you. But when it's you, when it's your storm and you are directly in the heart of it, it doesn't blow over and it doesn't warm up and sometimes you can't see the part where things get better. It's a tough place to be lost in, trapped and standing still. And as Steinbeck writes, time does pass slowly and change seems imperceptible. There is pressure from the outside world to move forward into the next season, to push through the cold ground and bloom-- and yet you lag behind in the previous one, knowing you should move forward but feeling frozen with a late frost that refuses to thaw.

Fortunately, despite all efforts we make during these darker and colder times to slow the passage of time so that we can grieve, heal, forgive, learn, or move past whatever obstacle has stopped us in our tracks, time does not stop for us. We can discourage the changing of the seasons, and beg them to wait for us to heal in our own time, but they continue to move forward and grow and bloom and rise up and die off and return to the earth only to bloom again with life anew. And this is how it must be for us to grow and continue to evolve and move forward. And this is good.

My days on this trip have been so very full with happiness; but it would be an imbalance to not have a cloud pass over from time to time. A song, a familiar scent, a small child--such seemingly random images conjure up fond memories; and while most are happy, I find myself paused for a moment while the storm of a distant memory swirls around me. But it passes. Each time it passes and it helps to remember that.

Sunset over Monterey Bay

I think we all go through some sort of storm from time to time, for whatever reason or because of various events. I think it's good for us to have these experiences and grow through them. Not all storms are unpleasant and we can learn so much from these times. I know this sounds like crap when we are in the storms though and growth is the last thing we feel we will get out of the turmoil and pain we are experiencing. But we move forward. We must continue moving forward. We grow without realizing it at first, and without appreciating it for some time. But we have no other choice but to move forward. And this too, is good.

When I return to the hostel, I notice someone has scrawled "we are two backpackers who need a ride to the Big Sur tomorrow morning" across the white board at the front desk. I ask the staff member at the desk if he knows who these "backpackers" are. He does not. I indicate that I am going to the Big Sur tomorrow morning, and ask him to evaluate them when they come back to check their wanted ad. If they do not seem like serial killers, I tell him I may be able to help them and ask that he come and let me know.

I set up camp in the lobby to do some writing. There is a man sitting at the far table, eating directly from a tub of ice cream. He is a genius. 

After an hour or so, the staff member appears and points one of the backpackers out to me. He is a lanky teenager in skinny jeans. I remark that I am not sure he even looks old enough to be traveling the country alone, suggest we call his mom and report him as a runaway, and make an immediate assessment that he is definitely not a serial killer. The staff responds, "no, he is not a serial killer. Maybe a cereal eater?" Points for that. 

I introduce myself to the skinny jeans clad young man and his accomplice also joins us. All the necessary information is exchanged and we agree to meet in the morning. I double check that their mothers know where they are and inform them that if they are lying about being old enough to be traveling the world alone I'm going to be super angry because I'm a social worker and harboring runaways is not condoned in my line of work. 

I should note that throughout the duration of the evening, a man who resembles the villain from The Incredibles, Syndrome for those of you over age 14, has been staring at me. He was initially sitting at a table across the room while I sat on the opposite side of the room on the sofa. Later, he moved to a bordering sofa. I caught him staring at me awkwardly several times when I would glance around. After several uncomfortable minutes, out of nowhere he said "are you traveling?". No, I just like hanging out at hostels with middle aged weirdos and sharing communal bathrooms. I glance around to see if there is even the slightest possibly he is talking to someone else--and then ask if he is speaking to me since he has more stated his remark aloud to himself or to the open space in the lounge than to me. He again asks if I am traveling and I simply offer a "yes" and return to my computer screen, attempting to convey the message that I am uninterested in further conversation. He looks frustrated that I have not engaged as easy prey. Creepy villains.

4/11/2013. - Day 16 - I lost my head in San Francisco. The Russians are coming. No wait, they're here.

♪ ♫ ♩ ♬  I've been in love with love, and the idea of
something binding us together-
you know that love is strong enough

4/11/2013. - Day 16 -
I lost my head in San Francisco. The Russians are coming. No wait, they're here.


This morning starts with a quick breakfast of all sorts of amazing things. There are so many delicious choices that I am taken back to freshman year of college and the glorious buffet that was the Wilkerson Dining Center. A meal plan was probably the most ridiculous and overpriced option ever--but I had nachos and chocolate pudding almost every day. Oh I miss those days...and that metabolism....

After breakfast, our walking guide, Claudia, rallies everyone in the lobby of the hostel and begins the tour. Claudia is from Russia, and works at the hostel. She is friendly and knowledgeable and also quick with jokes. I like her immediately.

Dragon Gate to Chinatown

We start in Union Square where the sun is out and the streets are buzzing with morning activity. From there, Claudia  leads us to Chinatown, and through a few hidden alleys. It seems lots of the "interesting places" in Chinatown are in the alleys per Claudia's indications--but Claudia is Russian. Suspicious of her intentions, I ask if the next dark alley is where the tour ends. Claudia indicates that there are too many people here as witnesses, but in the next alley I should be on guard. She is a good sport.






We weave through the maze of people and paper lanterns that is China Town. Tour guide Claudia now states that we are moving onto a more strenuous part of the hike. I have chosen to wear flip flops in the absence of shoes, and have forgotten my sunglasses because these important items were left behind in the pickup. In the parking garage. Which is several blocks away. And where my $40 and hopefully intact pickup and motorcycle are. I remain bitter about this situation, and am now blind and lame because of it. I was unprepared for parking even though I knew about the parking shortage in the back of my mind. And then when it all went down and it was dark and I was in a hurry to get out of the parking garage I completely forgot basic survival items such as proper shoes and eye wear. Phooey.


We begin the "strenuous" stretch of the tour. Claudia is taking us towards Coit Tower, up a street that will give us a wonderful view. Given the incline, it will also give me muscular calves and a nicely sculpted buttocks--provided I do not slide out of my flip flops and roll down.

I will. Gladly. 

From the top, we can see the city sprawling out below us in blocks of concrete that connect like puzzle pieces. The Golden Gate Bridge looms over the ocean, mostly visible as there is only a bit of fog this morning. Claudia is right about the view being great, and we will wait until tomorrow to see about my theory on the workout benefits. Every theory should be measurable. If I cannot walk, sit, or stand properly due to soreness I will assume I was correct in my muscle building hypothesis.

Mostly clear day for a view of the Golden Gate

We continue upward and wind up the stone steps to Coit Tower. From here we can see a little more of the bay and Alcatraz is visible from from it's island fortress in the frigid waters. Several hostel members toured Alcatraz yesterday. I am not interested. I have seen The Rock approximately 15 times and I do not want anyone shoving a glycerin ball into my mouth that will make my body turn it's insides out and make my skin burn off. Unless Sean Connery is escorting me, I cannot envision Alcatraz as anything but a place that he and Nicholas Cage went to to save California and the world. I can't take the chance of the picture in my head getting skewed by the reality of the actual physical site, or take the chance that the movie depicts what might actually happen to me there. No tour for me. In my mind, Alcatraz is much more action packed than it probably is in reality. And the place just completely freaks me out.

Christopher Columbus Sean Connery

As we turn to climb down the Coit Tower stairs, Claudia points out a statue in the middle of the landing area below the tower. She first indicates it is Christopher Columbus and begins to explain why the statue has been placed there. I feel it looks more like Sean Connery and point this out, so Claudia agrees, corrects herself, and indicates it is in fact Sean Connery standing guard over Alcatraz from his bronzed vantage point at Coit Tower. I love Claudia more now than I did a half hour ago. And even more than before we met.









Claudia has a completely different route for getting down to sea level again. The hike back to the street winds down assorted sets of steps, and through a beautiful assortment of flowers and other blooming plants. It is as if we are walking through a tropical garden rather than the streets of San Francisco. We are also obviously walking through parts of various people's yards...

We finally reach street level and from this point continue on to Fisherman's Wharf. Claudia leaves us here with several options for food, activities, and travel methods for getting back to the hostel. We stay mostly together as a group and make our way to Pier 39 where the sea lion showdown is in full swing. One sea lion climbs up onto the wharf. Another sea lion slaps him down, barks victory, and then waits for the next competitor. The other sea lions nap.
This is entertainment for the whole family.

Hostel friends: Arianne, Madelene, Belinda, Marianna, Calculator guy, Melbourne.
I did not fail to get the names of the gentlemen in the group on purpose; it
just happened.

Our little international group is starving by now so the 6 of us that remain grab a table to try some local cuisine. Several opt for clam chowder in bread bowls, and I even step out of my comfort zone and have deep fried snapper with garlic fries. Delicious. And with the added bonus of excellent conversation with my fellow mates.

Someone please call social services. I feel like a plastic
bed comforter case does not double as a protective germ
shield for your baby.  Don't try this at home.

After our meal we all head separate ways. My next destination is the beach to take in some ocean air before continuing up the coast. I return to the hostel to collect my suitcase, and then retrace my steps back to the infamous parking garage. Everything seems as it should be when I arrive at the pickup. Relieved, I begin the short drive to the beach. As I navigate the crowded streets, I pass by the famed Tenderloin neighborhood, which I have been warned to avoid. At least I remembered some important things about San Fran. I also catch a few interesting/hazardous glimpses of parenthood at its finest.










It's chilly for beach time, but I get way too excited for the ocean to care initially. I am also learning (slowly) that in my excitement I almost always end up closer than I should to the water, which means less dry than I was.

After some relaxing on the beach and a quick stop at the Beach Chalet Restaurant, it's back on the road. The Pacific Coast Highway is more amazing than I imagined with every mile that passes beneath my tires. I stop several times just to admire the jagged cliffs covered in bright succulents with colorful buds and blooms. The best part about this trip is I have no time constraints. Stopping along the way for a quick picture, or a hike to the shoreline, or a brief nap is all part of the plan. The plan that is no plan. I like how it's working out. God is driving and I am just following where He leads.

PCH

I arrive in Monterey Bay early in the evening and I can already tell I like it. It feels like a sleepy coastal village that fits like an old sweater that is faded, yet comfortable in all the right ways. The hostel is almost like home, although the residents are a little older than is typical. I get comfortable and am ready for some zz's but find that I am kept awake by the ladies in the room discussing their menopause and subsequent hot flashes. They then orchestrate a group effort to open all the windows and help hoist each other up into their bunks. I'm part entertained, part annoyed, and mostly too tired to care. I just need to close my eyes.

Downtown Monterey Bay

4/10/2013. - Day 15 - She'll be comin' round the mountain when she comes. Cali.

I understand you have legalized it, but really? Three exits seems a bit excessive...

(Just kidding. This is a sign for a town. But my inner 12 year old couldn't help it)

4/10/2013. - Day 15 - She'll be comin' round the mountain when she comes. Cali.

Of course, I leave Eugene much later in the morning than I plan to. My OCD causes me to repack my pickup every single time I take something out because otherwise things are just too disorganized--and I look like a vagrant living out of my car. Not good. I would at least hope to present as an organized vagrant.

Southern Oregon is pretty and green, with rolling hills
 that are reminiscent of Ireland. I have never been to
Ireland but in my mind it looks like this: lots of bright
green scenery, and lots of sheep. 

I finally hit the road, and it's raining again (that of course was a given) so I'm opting out of the scenic route and instead going with the highway. Sorry hippies, I know it's way too mainstream, but I can't handle any more exploring gone wrong. I'll go my own way in another less rainy region.

This route is still scenic, with tall stoic mountains, rolling hills, deep valleys, and winding roads. And it is a safer bet for not encountering weather related incidents.

Hydraulic lift attached the the tailgate.
Why didn't I think of that for the motorcycle!

Sorry Oregon, I will not be seeing you in all the old familiar
places. It just wasn't working out. It's not me, it's you.

The moment I cross the Oregon/California border, it is as if the heavens open up, the sun comes out, and the temperature ratchets up 20°. This of course causes me to grin like a crazy fool and dance as much as the room in the cab of the pickup allows. This drive through the rest of Oregon has been killing me with the clouds and rain and I am over the moon giddy about the sunshine to the point that I am willing to embarrass myself in front of other travelers.

Mountain Gate. Who doesn't want to live here!

The initial phase of the CA drive is near a beautiful town called Mountain Gate and after I drive through Redding. The scenery is absolutely stunning with crystal clear blue water, stunning red rock, and the greenest trees. The colors are amazing.

Upwards of 80°? --Windows DOWN!

The beautiful Mt. Shasta

Well now, this is exciting. :\

The drive starts to get long as I continue through Northern California. I start counting miles as the sun goes down and finally I am entering San Francisco. Signs for tolls start popping up which triggers some anxiety because this is unfamiliar territory. ND does not have tolls and I've had very limited exposure to them.

The night view of the city is pretty with the bridges lit up like Christmas trees. The nav in the Ford feels like working today so I have my computerized guide assisting me with directions to Union Square, my home for tonight. I will admit I am deeply skeptical of the neighborhood the closer I get to the hostel. I'm a pansy though so my flight or fight response kicks in at the slightest disturbance from the norm.

Finally I am at the hostel, or rather, outside the hostel. There appears to be a loading zone with three regular car spaces...funny thing is I forgot I have a full size pickup in the town of San Francisco, which I think roughly translates to "absence of parking" in the common tongue. Of course there is one car in the loading zone, in the middle of the three spaces which means I cannot possibly park there. I make three loops, cuss a few times, and whimper a bit because it's dark, I'm in unfamiliar territory, I'm hungry, and I'm afraid.

Finally there is a shift in the cars in the loading zone which results in a small amount of space in the loading zone. The bystanders outside the hostel assure me they will assist in parallel parking. There is no other option but to trust them, so they guide me. Nothing goes crunch so when they signal I am clear I emerge from the pickup surprised to find that my end gate is literally parked over the top of the micro car behind me, and there are slivers of space between my grill and the next guys bumper. Nice work random bystanders. I thank them heartily and head inside to find out where the real parking lot with huge flood lights and secure gates is. Nonexistent. The lovely gal inside informs me that they have a "deal" with the parking lot two blocks down the street. Now I'm terrified. She also informs me that I will be just fine walking back to the hostel. In the dark. Alone.

Again, I have no options so I'm off to the parking garage with the "deal". The staff member at the hostel told me it was about $20 a night for a car, and $25 a night for an "oversize" car, whatever that means. I pull up and the man outside considers the vehicle skeptically and then walks up and assures me, "no problem, we take care of this." Then he walks around my vehicle and becomes more skeptical and comments, "oh, the end gate is not up?" No. It is not. There is a motorcycle resting on it. He considers it further and assures me again, "This no problem. For you, only $40." Yes. Forty dollars. For one night. He clearly does not understand I am just a poor gypsy. I fork over the $40. He then requests the keys and asks me to get in the passenger side. I have no idea how he plans to park in this tiny parking garage. He begins up the ramp and I am grasping the door handle with white knuckles. He then proceeds to whip around the corner and begin backing up. I asked if he wanted me to get out and direct him but again, the reassurance, "No problem, we take care of it." He backs into the spot, gets out, and again his face is clouded with skepticism. He has backed the truck into a spot above and directly perpendicular to the ramp which we drove up to get into the garage, and the tail gate is thus hanging over the ramp and partially blocking the entrance to the garage. It seems I start off my days so optimistic and many times by nightfall I'm hungry and crabby and tired of hearing valets tell me "It's ok, ma'm, we take care of it." After again being reassured, I get my stuff and hand him the keys after he promises again that both the bike and the pickup are taken care of. I am too tired and too hungry to care, and I have insurance. I'm off to the hostel, hiking up the hill, alone, in the dark.

I find the hostel to be much like college--community bathroom, dorm room, bunk beds. This is alright, I can do this. I already did this, although that was 8 years ago. My OCD has worsened dramatically since then.

I begin to relax as I get to know the girls in my suite.  My roommates are extremely nice. Madelene is from Sweden and is studying business in LA. Fannie is also from Sweden and is here doing research for her social work degree. They are both very friendly and are planning to go on a walking tour in the morning. This sounds like a great opportunity to see the sights, get some exercise and make new friends. Comforted and safe, I'm off to bed now so I can be ready for new adventures tomorrow!

4/9/2013. - Day 14 - The final 24 in Oregon. It's not raining. Yet.

4/9/2013. - Day 14 - The final 24 in Oregon.
It's not raining.
Yet.

This morning Thor and I set off to Spencer's Butte for a hike. I'm pretty sure I wanted to die about 10 minutes into it due to a sudden loss of oxygen....caused by a not so sudden decrease in physical activity.  I got a call from my insurance agent halfway up. After asking for time to catch my breath, I explained my current gypsy living arrangement, and he inquired as to whether or not my mother knows what I am doing. I assured him she does, and at last text message she was juggling toddlers and couldn't be bothered further with mundane stories about my poverty on the Pacific Coast. She either trusts me or just doesn't want to know.

The tricky death moss.

There is beautiful pale green moss covering the trees all along the trail, and I ask Thor what it is called. Thor does not know, but what he does know is that it kills trees. And his answer kills my joy. Now it's hard to think of it as pretty when it is silently strangling the life out of the trees all the while appearing to be a simply gorgeous natural adornment. That is called sneaky deception and is much like boys who look nice and cover you in pretty things, and then turn out to be nothing but crappy green moss that is sucking the life out of you. I like to think this is a clever analogy rather than a bitter statement about love. Take it as you see fit.









There are signs on the trail that say we are on the "easy" route. When we begin, I'm kind of annoyed with this and am thinking we should have at least taken the medium route. Fast forward 500 feet of altitude and I'm gasping for breath and frantically scanning the trail markers for the kiddie trail. We are almost to the top and Thor asks if we should just stop because this is pretty far already. He is half joking and I am half dying but I insist we climb what seems to be just a little bit further to the summit. We get within twenty feet of it and this time it's me trying to convince Thor we have gone far enough. He replies that we have already come this far and we might as well go all the way to the top. He is right, but I'm still cursing under my breath, not because I don't want anyone to hear but because it's too much work and oxygen to actually speak aloud. Thankfully we are able to encourage each other enough to continue onward and upward.





We reach the top, and discover someone has placed a large cement triangle at the summit, as a sort of marker. I'm all for something to show I was here, but I'm highly curious as to how they managed to procure a giant piece of concrete at the summit of what Oregon smugly calls a "butte" and what I view as a decent sized mountain. Whatever Parks and Rec, eat your heart out. I am proud of being at the top, extremely winded from getting to the top, and suddenly terrified of standing up because I may fall off the butte/mountain/tallish vertical area.






Clearly I did stand up for a picture. I am pretending to be brave. Thor is not scared of course. Incredibly, neither one of us trips on the trail up or down which is an improvement from my previous hike at Wallace Falls.

We dine at Red Robin (Yum) (you know you just said it in your head). I've never been to Red Robin, but the seasoned fries are amazing. Thor has taken great liberty with the "neverending" fries and has asked for additional fries repeatedly, which I discover later is so that he can take them home and enjoy them all afternoon. I will label this behavior "resourceful". I do not indulge in the fries because Thor and I have already discussed my mandatory discretion given the loss of my button on my jeans earlier in the trip...



We also go to the Buffalo Exchange, an upscale Thrift Store (LOVE) which Thor accidentally told me was called the "Elephant" exchange and now I am convinced it is called the "Elephant's Trunk" because that's how my mind works. If my co workers are reading this, it's sort of like the situation with that watering hole in New Rockford that's called something like the Mill Pump and I think I call it the "Well Pond" or something. I should be better with names given mine is Arianne. I digress....

Thor and I discuss my upcoming journey and experimentation with Hostels. Thor, as noted previously, is grand at pointing out blunt and obvious things. He wonders aloud if Hostels are filled with hippies and I suppose they are which leads him to question how I plan to survive said Hostel given my devout dislike of hippies. I did not think of this. I suppose I will become cultured and more tolerant. No. I will outwardly become cultured and tolerant and still make inappropriate jokes in my head. I hope they are international hippies. That will make for a better story and more opportunity for actual culturing. Amy Smith if you are reading this, that entire paragraph is for you. Also, what did you do for Easter? I prayed for my poor sarcastic soul.



Thor made Swedish pancakes for supper. He admits he does not know what they really are, or why they are called Swedish pancakes when I inquire about this; however, he has made them. This is ironic and I suspect some hipster trickery. They have whipped cream so I am not asking any more questions.

As I dig in, Thor brings up one of his lovely blunt observations and we again revisit the pants button scenario.  I scoop some of the whipped cream off. I'm sorry to all my friends who have been dieting for years. I ate french silk pie and drank milkshakes and laughed in your face. For this I am truly sorry. I had no idea of the perils of this lifestyle and now I can say I understand, empathize, and am challenged myself. Challenged daily because I saved my jeans button and carry it in my purse so I can remind myself why you don't have two helpings of chocolate pudding and then eat five Reese's peanut butter eggs for supper. I love myself and I hate myself.

On a brighter and drier note, the rain has only blessed us with a few sprinkles today, which is quite welcome since my motorcycle and pickup are showing signs of rust from the last few days and this sends me into a bit of a fit. I have made a mental note to buy steel wool and remedy the situation as best I can as soon as possible. This involves a mass exodus of Oregon, planned for tomorrow morning. Morning-ish. Maybe early afternoon....

4/8/2013. - Day 13 - Additional confirming details. Eugene (Still Oregon, still raining)

4/8/2013. - Day 13 -

Additional confirming details.

Eugene (Still Oregon, still raining)







Last night, Donna (aunt), Thor (cousin) and I reviewed my route and planned a few scenic stops. I also marked the spots on the map that I really enjoyed driving through or visiting. Thor cleverly suggested that I cross our Oregon all together, or simply black it out. Actually a wise suggestion. I didn't do it [yet] because it will ruin the order and color scheme of my atlas, but it is blacked out and dead to me in real life. I'm sorry Oregon, if your rain didn't ruin your chances of ever seeing me again, the slugs, mold, the damp cold, and the hippies, oh the hippies, will deter me for many moons. There will be no second date. I said Good Day!

Today, Thor and I have begun tackling the "list" Donna left us. She has flown to Texas, where they are relocating to in just a few weeks. Thor and I have a list of tasks and chores to complete.  I hope to report a completely checked off list upon our rendezvous in Dallas in a couple weeks.

Thor and I set off in the Volvo to tackle some of the errands. Interestingly enough, en route to complete our list items, we encounter what appears to be a hybrid green species--hippie cyclists. Defined, it's pretty much an unwashed person on a bicycle that yields to nothing except signs directing them to organic kelp and goji berries. I've been more frustrated other times in my life but I can't remember them at this moment due to the annoying hipster cyclist driving down the middle of the freeway. At this point, I'm really breeding my own brew of extreme cyclist dislike that has been lurking in the depths of my heart for some time but only shows itself in cities that are highly populated with these specimens. It's not really that extreme I guess, just more of general annoyance.  But honestly, I don't understand the cyclist situation.  You are not a car. Get off the road. There is a perfectly good route beside the speeding cars about to run you over--called the shoulder.  By all means, ride your bike--just not in front of my car, on the road, sporting your spandex, while ignoring all forms of caution, road signage, and lane placement as you pretend to mimic a motor vehicle. How is this not clear?

I'm so glad I got that off my chest. All my cyclist friends just deleted me from their cyberspace accounts and blacked me out like Oregon on my map.



Thor and I returned home with the majority of the list checked off. I ventured out to work on the landscaping task, only to be maimed by the wheel barrow and spend the evening picking splinters out of my hand. I'll probably just stick to my day job--which for the moment is driving around like a gypsy.

4/7/2013. - Day 12 - Rain drops. Rain boots. Rain clouds. More Rain.

4/7/2013. - Day 12 - Rain drops. Rain boots. Rain clouds. More Rain.

This morning I head to Our Savior's Lutheran church on Coburg Road. I have learned that Coburg Road leads to everything you need in Eugene--from shopping to salvation. It is again raining, so I'm wearing a nice skirt and rain boots. They are cute rain boots but seriously, enough with the rain.

As I walk out the door, I find my aunt Donna conversing with a neighbor. I ask if this is appropriate dress for church and the neighbor comments that it doesn't really matter what you wear; going to church is pretty much a ground breaking act in this region and attire is just bonus points. I am far from home.

Everyone in the congregation at Our Savior's is 75+, so it's basically the same demographic as in rural ND. The pastor is slightly annoyed with me for not signing the guest book upon entry but I was running behind and wanted to get into the sanctuary. He makes another effort during the sharing of the peace and asks if he can at least know my name, as if I am hostile and not signing the guestbook was a major declaration of a friendship standoff. Perhaps he is just not fond of rain boots. Or maybe he found a slug in his shoe this morning and that got him off to a poor start. Either way, I told him. My real name too, not a fake one like I sometimes use to save people the trouble of choking on their tongue when they try to pronounce "Arianne."

To make matters worse, he remembers my name when I take Communion so now I'm guilted into signing the guestbook. It's not that I don't want to be friendly or sign the freaking guestbook--it's that I'm being peer pressured into it and I just want to be welcomed not stared at under a microscope and forced to pronounce my name out loud. Gosh.

Nothing significant happens today and I'll save you from reading every minute detail of shopping at Costco, Trader Joes, and Euphoria Chocolate Company. It was, however, fun to see the town my aunt lives in and take a welcome break at home. We celebrate supper at McMenamins, a cozy place with a view of the Willamette River. Afterwards we enjoy some delicious hot chocolate before heading off to bed.