Festival

During my previous stay in Seattle, I had bought tickets for two days of the Capitol Hill Block Party, a three day, four stage music festival in the streets of downtown Seattle. Friday was already sold out.

Music festivals are always a pleasant way to spend a few summer days, and the day after the event Erin was scheduled to fly in to meet me.

I couldn't afford another $150 per night motel stay, so I figured I was going to do some serious urban camping for the weekend.

But on my way back from Orcas I got some good news from Erin. It turns out some folks we know, Mike and Sarah, who moved from San Francisco to Seattle had offered up their Wallingford townhouse for us to stay in, and I was welcome to come and stay ahead of Erin's arrival. For some reason, I mistakenly thought they lived in a far flung suburb, so I never considered staying with them before.

To compliment that windfall, Mike also pulled some strings and got me a ticket for the otherwise sold out Friday shows. Things were shaping up nicely.

They weren't going to be home when I rolled into town, so they left a key for me under the mat.

I managed to find their neighborhood, but got turned around and almost knocked on the door of a house with the same address on the wrong street. So when I did find their townhouse, I was a little bit sheepish about just waltzing inside.

After a few hello, hello's, it seemed clear no one was home. I went upstairs and immediately recognized some art they had bought from Erin's restaurant, so I knew I was in the right place.

Whew.

Something else I noticed about their neighborhood... It was lovely. The houses dotting the shady street seemed to be built around the 1920's. One and two story single families with walk up porches and little grassy driveways that headed toward the back yard. After looking at a few real estate fliers over the past weeks, it seemed like home prices here were a good $200,000 below what they would be in San Francisco. They are still not cheap, but down into the realm of realistic.

This is the first time I had felt that I was in a city that I could both enjoy and afford (real estate-wise) at the same time. It was a new feeling.

Of course... there's the weather.

I have been getting a completely false impression of Seattle weather during my multiple stays. Every single day has been sunny and hot - generally in the low to mid 80's. All the Seattleites have been walking around in a euphoric daze shaking their heads at how nice the weather is. Clearly, I'm getting a skewed impression. Nevertheless, I like it.

After poking around on Google Maps' public transit feature, I was able to navigate the city bus system down to Capitol Hill to meet Mike and his friends within about thirty minutes.

I didn't recognize most of the bands on the bill except for MGMT, Atmosphere, and The Dead Weather. I was looking forward to hearing some new music. Luckily, Mike and his friends were pretty dialed in to the music scene and pulled me around to some good acts.

Here were some of my favorites:

• Victor Shade aka RA Scion - Absolutely awesome MC. To me he sounds a lot like Zach de la Rocha from Rage Against the Machine only with more of an old school hip hop feel.
  
• Head Like a Kite - Hipster producer Dave Enimo collaborates with a variety of artists to put out well-crafted Broken Soul / Hip Hop / Electro tracks. Some of those artists joined him on the Neumos stage.
• Atmosphere - Always high quality hip hop.
  
• Night Marchers - They sounded like punk to me, but their Myspace page lists them as Rock / Afro beat / Concrete. Maybe that's a joke. The lead singer looked like he walked right out of the suburbs of San Diego, which was in contrast their hard sound, but they had the tightest performance of any other band I heard.
  

Another popular attraction at the fair were the ever-present "street meat" sausage vendors. These guys are on the corners outside the bars in the neighborhood every night of the week, and they were slinging more dogs than ever for the special event. I had my fair share for sure. The traditional fixup in Seattle is a polish sausage with grilled onions and cream cheese. I have never heard of cream cheese on a sausage, but people sure did seem to love it.

The security staff seemed to have a rough time. Not because of the crowd. They were pleasant for the most part. But because of all the crazy rules they were required to enforce. There was a bit of a rat maze that one had to navigate to get from alcohol to non-alcohol areas of the event, and from indoor events to outdoor events. By the last day, the rules seemed to have gotten more strict and the staff seemed tired of debating with attendees about the rationale for all of them.

On the last night, after the final show we saw at Neumos, we strolled out the exit door where workmen were packing up the outdoor part of the event, and the street meat vendor was still hard at work. I said, "It smells like wieners out here!" The security guard laughed out loud. Hopefully I cheered him up a little.

I might make a tradition of this annual festival. Good times.

In between concert days, I got to take advantage of the warm weather. Believe it or not, Seattle has a proper beach called Golden Gardens near Ballard. It comes complete with sand, ice cream vendors, and boats that sail right up to shore. I imagine it's pretty vacant most of the year. But when it's 85 degrees, even on a weekday, the parking lot is full and white-skinned sun worshipers abound. I plopped down to join them for a bit.

Ballard also has locks, those cool water elevators for boats. Apparently the lakes around the city are controlled by dams, so the water level of the lakes is slightly higher than the Puget Sound. It's fun to watch boats (and even kayaks) sail into the locks, then float up to lake level to be set free. Only a few steps away is the fish ladder. Boats aren't the only things that need a lift. Salmon swimming upstream to spawn also need some help, so the city built a neighboring water staircase so the salmon can hop back up to their spawning grounds in the lake. It seemed like such a modern day environmentalist idea. But the ladder was actually built in 1917.

While I was in Ballard, I made it a point to stop into that guitar shop I had seen on my last visit. I walked in, and Robb the owner was in there alone plucking out an impressive folksy solo. I smiled and took a lap around the store looking for something in my price range. It was clear many of them weren't - many of them over a thousand dollars. When he finished his song, I explained to him that I was a beginner, but that I'd like a decent instrument to practice on without spending too much. He spent about an hour with me talking about guitars and what might work. He showed me one he thought was appropriate and offered to re-string and adjust it for me. It would be even better than it was from the factory. I knew that if I was to buy an instrument, I'd like for it to be from someone like Robb. He lives and breathes fine guitars and knows as much as anyone I'd ever have access to. He clearly wouldn't deliver an instrument he wasn't proud of. He is also an avid outdoorsman and we chatted about my trip and places I might visit after leaving Seattle. He scribbled a map of some mountains near Crater Lake we might like to explore. I bought the guitar, thanked him and headed off feeling like my mission was accomplished. Now all I need to do is learn how to play it properly.

The next morning, Erin flew in to meet me and drive the final week of my trip with me. We spent next two days retracing some of my steps. I wanted to show her the places I thought she'd love, like Fremont Vintage Mall, an awesome second hand store full of fantastic treasures. I was right. She loved it.

We also got to spend some quality time with Mike and Sarah who showed us their favorite neighborhood spots, The Latona in Green Lake and Ivar's Salmon House, a great place to eat on a nice day right on Lake Union. They have a dock at the restaurant, and a steady stream of boats floated in and tied up to have a bite or a happy hour drink.

In between our sunny walks by the lake in Fremont and lunch at Pike Place Market, we managed to outline a plan for our travel over the next week. We'd head for Columbia Gorge in northern Oregon and then Crater Lake in the south, before heading toward the redwood forests or possibly the Rogue River valley.

The morning we left Seattle, it was finally overcast and gloomy. I was glad I got to see the city in its natural and usual state, and also glad it was only for a few hours.

Southward, Rusty.

Orcas

I was back on the road once again destined for Orcas Island with no specific plan as to where I would stay. Somehow I procrastinated this little detail once again.

It's only about an hour and a half from Seattle to Anacortes, the jumping off point to take the ferry to the island.

I heard that there are no reservations needed for the ferry, but that you should get there about ninety minutes before departure to secure a spot for your car on the boat. So that doubles the travel time, really.

I used that downtime to check the island for campgrounds and to see if I could make a reservation. I noted that Moran State Park wasn't sold out, but I figured I'd toot around and then end up there if I didn't see anything else.

I have never driven a car onto a ferry before so this was a new one for me. I liked watching how they load cars on strategically since the ferry makes more than one stop.

I couldn't help but be a little nervous that this would be a horrible time for Rusty to break down. I crossed my fingers that she wouldn't give me another "click" when it was time to drive off.

But she didn't. After an hour or so of cruising, about forty cars rolled off the boat and onto the island.

I guess I expected to see a town greeting me. It was really just the ferry port and a couple of food and trinket vendors. Someone directing traffic just sent us all off onto the little highway that circles the island. I sure was glad I had my car for this trip. If you don't have a car or a serious road bike, you're kind of stranded. This was really the country.

I drove and drove along the highway hoping to see something hospitable. There are lots of little ranches and roads winding off into pretty meadows, but nothing resembling accommodations for visitors.

After about twenty minutes on the highway I saw a sign pointing to some visitor information. I stopped at a big weathered wooden sign with a simple map of the island just showing dots for the three towns. The little box attached which promised more information contained exactly one dirty diaper.

So I kept driving.

I got to Moran State Park and it was getting late so I decided to snag a campsite. The girl at the booth said they had three left and only a few for tomorrow. I knew I was staying two days so I reserved both nights, happy once again that I'd have at least one day off from home searching.

Moran State Park is lovely. The campground stretches around a calm picturesque lake with a couple of cute little docks for paddle boating or kayaking. Part of the park is reserved for Camp Moran, a classic overnight camp for groups of kids or adults with bunks and kitchens and its own private area of the lake. One night I actually heard a crew of kids off in the distance belting out some camp songs. I felt like I had traveled back in time about thirty years when people really still did stuff like this.

I settled in and cooked myself one of my Trader Joe's Indian food packets - I like the blue ones - and cracked open a beer. I picked up Michael's hot springs book just to see if there happened to be anything around these parts.

Miraculously, besides the springs I had already visited in Olympic park, there was one other listed in the northwest part of Washington.

And it was on Orcas Island!

What a great coincidence. I probably should have checked this before I picked an island. But I totally lucked out. They aren't natural, they are part of a commercial resort, but I'd go looking for it the next day.

The next morning while I was doing some writing inside the van, I heard some young teens arguing outside my campsite about the meaning of the word "ghetto". I wrote it off as inane chatter, but soon realized that they were probably referring to Rusty. They were right. Rusty is ghetto. She actually has a pair of cotton Dockers patching a hole in her pop top canvas. But she was definitely the coolest thing in that campground, Dockers and all. I remembered what it was like to be a teen and envying the wrong things.

Before heading to the hot springs, I took a detour up Mount Constitution to the lookout tower built by a conservation corps in the 30's. It looks out over all the surrounding islands and off into Canada.

It also contained a mini museum that gave a brief history of Robert Moran, the park's founder. I was intrigued to learn that he moved to Seattle from New York penniless, started a ship building company, and eventually became the mayor of Seattle. After that his shipbuilding company became so large, they actually built the USS Nebraska, the flagship of the US Navy in World War I.

Moran was so stressed by the job that, at the age of 47 , he developed a severe heart condition and had to quit the company. He wasn't expected to live more than a few years, so he moved out to Rosario, a house he had built on this island to spend his last days.

But he didn't die. The calm of the island cured him. And he lived another forty years.

He tried for years to donate his land on the island to the State of Washington, but they had no concept of land conservation at the time. It wasn't until the 30's when the national park system took off that he was able to convince Washington to create a state park with his land.

The whole story brought an extra dimension to the island for me.

From there I set out to find Doe Bay Resort & Retreat, the home of these hot spring pools I read about.

The resort is in the town of Olga, which reminds me of Bolinas, only more sparse. The kind of place the "real" hippies scooted off to when they gave up on the rest of society. It's a journey to get there. But it's relaxed, rural, and peaceful, with a bit of a sense of humor. A sign along the road reads, "You are now entering the O zone."

The Doe Bay resort fits that mold quite well. It's super relaxed. It's a WWOOF site, where volunteers can work for their room and board. They serve food from their organic garden in their restaurant. The rates for guests are not cheap though. I found out I could camp on their grounds, but it would cost $55 - more than double what I was paying for the state park. The pools, however, are cheap to use. $15 for half a day. For that, you get use of their dry sauna and three soaking pools, which are quite pleasant, but far from natural. I think they even chlorinate them. Still the best $15 you can spend in the area, I imagine.

I had a good time there chatting with folks that worked there and others that had been long time visitors. It's that kind of place that people come back to again and again and bring their friends and family.

I might just do that myself someday.

Breather

I am in love with San Francisco, but I have a crush on Seattle.

I've been poking around the wilderness for awhile now. I am starting to miss relaxed city life a little. When you're traveling, you can get kind of torn whether to keep on pushing forward and seeing new places... or whether to relax and enjoy the places you really like.

The two plus days I spent in Seattle with Darren were great, but didn't feel like nearly enough. I enjoyed the people and the neighborhoods and I wanted to feel it out some more.

Although I initially set out to explore British Columbia much deeper, I also gave myself permission to skip it if I was having a good time somewhere else. I needed a rest from the daily grind of moving from place to place, and I wanted to relax somewhere I knew I'd enjoy. I had completed my big loop around Olympic National Park, so I headed back to Seattle for a breather.

I had a choice to make about accommodations. I could probably find a nice creepy parking lot or industrial neighborhood to hide in at night for free. Or I could go in style and spring for a motel. It seemed almost like cheating on Rusty to do so, but after a couple of weeks alternating between wilderness and pseudo urban homelessness, I was ready for a soft bed and a shower of my very own. So I got on Priceline and booked myself a two night Travelodge fantasy vacation.

Since I already wrote about the city before, I won't blather on about day to day movements. But I will breakdown the highlights of my stay.

Paseo - One day I rode my bike a surprisingly long way to the nearest laundromat to repair my road funky clothing. While walking up the final block along Fremont Street, my nose caught wind of what I later learned is a town gem. My spider sense also noted the giant midweek lunchtime line in a quiet residential neighborhood. I suspected something special. This little neighborhood food stand cooks up Caribbean and Cuban goodness. Their specialty is a grilled pork sandwich dripping with aioli and smothered in caramelized onions and pickled jalapenos. It would be a grave mistake to try and eat one without a healthy stack of napkins nearby. But it is every bit as delicious as it sounds.

Alissa - Thanks to the magic of Facebook, it came to my attention that my friend Alissa happened to be in Seattle on business one of the days I was there, but we only had about two hours to try and meet up before she left town. So I biked downtown and met her and her coworkers for happy hour. I learned that she had a new job working for a non profit called Code for America. One of her coworkers who came strolling in was none other than Tim O'Reilly, a profoundly high ranking nerd hero for those of us in the tech world. Tim, who sits on the board for the company, is far from a nerd himself, however. He was very friendly and hung out with us until it was soon time to leave. It was an unexpected and fleeting brush with greatness.

The Tractor - I was somewhat indecisive about whether to see Antibales at Neumos or Jesca Hoop at the Tractor Tavern one Tuesday night. It came down to weather I was in the mood for a wild dance party or a more intimate acoustic evening. I had already been to Neumos and heard good things about The Tractor. After a long hot day of biking around town, I opted for the latter. The Tractor is in the Ballard neighborhood, on a lovely strip roughly similar to Hayes or Noe Valleys in San Francisco. I grabbed a bite nearby at a marvelous, authentic Mexican restaurant called La Carta de Oaxaca. Great vibe and fantastic food. While walking down Ballard Avenue toward the venue, I was mesmerized by a beautiful acoustic guitar shop which was sadly closed for the night. For some reason, before I left on this trip, I had a vague premonition that I was going to buy a guitar in Seattle. I knew I needed to return to this place another day.

The show started later than I expected, so I actually caught both opening acts as well.

• Kaylee Cole - A young town-hipster with some real talent happy to have a break to play a good venue. She came with nicely written songs and was charming and comfortable on stage. I got to chat with her for awhile after her set and let her know how much I enjoyed her music.
• Blake Mills - He was really Jessica Hoop's backup guitar and vocalist, but had an album of his own and has some serious guitar skills. I wanted to buy his CD, but he only sold cassette tapes. How tragically hip. I scoffed and passed on it, but regretted it later on when I realized that the boom box I carry in Rusty actually has a tape player.
• Jesca Hoop - She has an interesting background, including nannying for Tom Waits before her career started. She and Blake paired up with their acoustic guitars and mounted their two stools on stage. I was blown away by the performance and also by how empty the venue was for their show. She somehow balances a happy go lucky personality with that of a total perfectionist. She is soulful, funny, cute, and a fantastic performer. Go see her if you ever have the chance. It's rare these days since she lives in England now.

Erin was scheduled to fly in to Seattle to finish out the road trip with me in about a week. I had a few days to kill in the vicinity and was thinking about hitting the San Juan Islands. But I wasn't too sure which island to choose. You have to take a ferry to each individual island, so I really needed to pick just one of them to visit.

I was chatting with a friendly guy in a cool little coffee shop in Fremont. After talking with me for a bit, he decided that I would probably like Orcas Island the best. He also suggested that I return for the Capitol Hill Block Party, a three day music festival in the streets of downtown Seattle. I didn't recognize most of the artists on the bill (either because the bands were mostly local or because I'm mostly out of touch with popular music lately), but the dates were just before Erin was to arrive to meet me.

I took his advice. I bought tickets for the show and did some research on Orcas Island. I had a few days to kill before the music festival. It would work out just right.

Orcas, here I come.

Victoria

In the morning, I found myself in Port Angeles with no real plan to speak of.

The town is one of the ports for ferry travel to Victoria, British Columbia. I hadn't really planned to head into Canada at this point in my trip. But it was right there.

Honestly, at this point, I was feeling a little bit tired of being in the wilderness. I was also tired of moving every day and just crossing my fingers that I'd find a place to sleep. I wanted a room reserved for me for the next night.

I got online, found a backpacker hostel in downtown Victoria only a few blocks from the ferry terminal, booked a room for me, and found a parking lot for Rusty to stay behind. I packed a backpack, took my bike along for some urban transportation, and boarded the next ferry.

After about an hour on the water, we floated into the Victoria harbor. It was clear that this place was much more interesting than the port I had left. A cute little mini-ferry tooted by; A seaplane zoomed out of the sky and splashed in the water; Nicely architectured hotels lined the coast. I had a good feeling about this.

You need a passport now to travel to Canada. I knew I'd have some international formalities to attend to, but I didn't expect the full-on customs regimen. Something about me always seems to be a target for the special examination. A Canadian customs guy pulled me aside (of course) and went through every zipper of my bag, and picked through all my toiletries. He also pointed out that I had a bike but didn't have a helmet (I forgot it in the van), asked me what I do for a living, where I was staying. He was friendly enough, but I was starting to feel a little overly scrutinized. I am the tourist you are trying to attract, right?

The ferry lets you off right in the middle of town. Victoria is the capitol of BC and the legislature building is right there on the water, along with museums, hotels, and everything tourists love.

I was a little overwhelmed. I was a little nervous now that I might get a ticket for no helmet, but noted that the bike taxi guy didn't have one. Good enough for me. I rode to the hostel and checked in, then headed out for a bike tour.

Only having spent one day in a town puts me in no real position to judge. But at first glance, the downtown section seemed to be mostly dedicated to tourists. Hotels, horse drawn carriages and bike taxis, people selling activities, etc. I'm sure there's more to it if I were to get further out of downtown, but there you go.

I can recommend the place I ate there though. The Noodle Box cooks up some very nice stir fry. It's not super cheap, but I gained confidence watching the crack staff working hard in the display kitchen, and was rewarded with a tasty dinner. It sure beat the camping food I had been eating for the past few days.

One curious thing I noticed was an unusual proportion of fancy old hot rods driving around in the streets. It seemed like they were cruising the streets showing off their rides, Hollywood Boulevard style. Little by little, I suspected there may be some kind of car show in town. It sure is a nice place for one.

The hostel had it's own bar inside, so I bellied up to see if I could glean some wisdom about some local spots to check out. This is where I started to lose more faith. The folks that had been around town the longest chose to remain at the hostel bar rather than the other offerings in town.

That was ok though. I wasn't planning to stay long. My main goal of the evening was just to give Victoria a look and then decide where to head the next day. Rusty's parking was only paid through the next day so I didn't have any choice but to ferry back anyway.

I chatted with folks and mulled my next move.

I was still feeling tired of moving every day, and kind of missing Seattle. I looked over the other options in the region, but really there was only one thing to do. Go back to Seattle and stay a few days. It might not be cheap, but I'd be doing what I wanted. It was settled. I couldn't call for a reservation anywhere yet though, because my phone wouldn't work until I returned to the US.

The next day, my suspicions were validated. There was indeed a car show in town called Northwest Deuce Days. I noticed that almost all the cars had stickers indicating a model year of 1932. I asked one of the proud car owners about it, and he informed me that "Deuce" is a slang name for the Ford Model B, the first mass produced vehicle with a V-8 engine, which spawned the world's love affair with the muscle car.

These are the classics of classics.

The show was impressive. They closed several square blocks of streets downtown and lined them with over eight hundred of these mint condition museum pieces. Each one cared for, restored, customized, and actually driven by individual owners. I'm sure it was great for them to all have a place to hob nob and trade tips and stories. But for me, it was a spectacle I felt lucky to catch by accident.

Ok. Back to Washington!

Springs

Michael lent me a book that gives the low down on various natural hot springs around the Northwest. I found one listed in the Olympic park, so I set out one day to find it.

I intended to drive straight to the hot springs, but got distracted along the way by the extremely pretty Lake Crescent, and had to walk around the shores for a bit. Then headed for the Elwha River valley where these springs were supposed to be.

The map in the book was pretty weak. The roads and campgrounds it listed didn't really match the maps the park handed me. Also, I learned as I drove into the park that all the campgrounds nearby were totally full.

That was kinda bad because it was after five in the evening. Once I found the trail head, there was still a two mile hike to reach the springs - and I hadn't found the trail head yet. I couldn't really stomach coming all that way and turning back, so I decided to try. It does stay light out pretty late here - well after nine. I did, however, have to accept the fact that I would be homeless at nightfall with no place lined up to sleep.

Oh well.

I powered Rusty up a very long very steep windy road with relatively little certainty I was going the right direction. I worried about her air-cooled engine overheating and crapping out way up there. But eventually I hit the end of the road and saw people with wet hair and towels. Good sign!

So I speed-walked up and down the trail until, finally, I reached the first pool. It was just some stones pushed together to dam up some of the hot water gurgling down the hill. It was steaming and a little murky and smelled like sulphur. Some people that were just leaving said this was the warmest one but there were some more pools up the trail further and one really nice one at the end.

I dunked into the warm one for a bit. It was natural alright. Black silt poofed up from the bottom and settled on my belly. It did feel quite nice after that hike though. I could have soaked there for awhile, but I decided to check out some other pools. I walked by some with people in them, but kept on walking until the trail got kind of ambiguous. It started to look less like a trail and more like footprints from people just exploring the woods. I guess that's the end.

But something told me to follow some footprints up a hill that didn't look like it lead anywhere. I followed the prints about fifty yards straight up a steep hill until I came across the most lovely of all the pools. It was made out of pieces of fallen tree trunks and boulders surrounded by the brightest green ferns I have ever seen. It was peaceful, warm, and totally empty.

FUCK... YEAH!

I hopped in and reveled in my little adventure victory of the day. It wasn't super warm, so I figured out how the folks adjust the temperature by throttling the amount of cold water that comes in.

I got it just right, and soaked as long as I could, certain other folks would come up to visit this jewel. But no one ever did - I think because it was late in the day. After awhile I started to worry about sunlight, so I began the two mile walk back to Rusty.

I was too relaxed to really worry about the fact that this was a Friday evening in prime camping country. I'm a little spoiled with the weekday camp-wherever-you-feel-like it mode. I looked on a map to see if there were some remote, primitive camp areas somewhere I could get to before dark.

I drove to a couple along the Straight of Juan de Fuca, but they were super tiny, and full to the brim. Along the way I kept my eyes peeled for little roads or areas I might not be noticed. Maybe I'm just a little paranoid about getting hassled by police, but I have heard about steep fines for illegal overnight parking.

By now it was completely dark, so I had no other real choice but to drive a few miles toward the town of Port Angeles to see if I could either blend in there or find a cheap motel.

It turned out to be a decent sized town, mostly dedicated to the port activities and to the neighboring national park. I drove around for awhile deciding on an optimal spot. I do my best to avoid parking near homes, to avoid any obvious trespass, and to avoid attracting the attention of anyone, especially police.

I found a street next to a shopping center that had an SUV parked with a for sale sign in the window. I parked right behind it like a kid playing hide-and-go-seek ducks behind a tree.

It worked. I didn't get hassled. However, I did learn that if you park by a car with a for sale sign in the window, that people actually drive up and slow down to check it out at all hours of the night and morning. Each of them, I was certain, was scrutinizing my van and whether or not it was occupied. But they were probably just checking out the car for sale, maybe wondering if Rusty was for sale too.

I split promptly at 6 am.

Olympic

Seattle is not far from Olympic National Park. It sits at the northwestern most corner of the lower forty eight states.

I got some tips about some crazy nice terrain in there, so I chose that as my next stop.

I wanted to check out the Hoh Rainforest, but it's on the opposite side of the wilderness from Seattle and, in order to preserve the natural state, no roads cross directly through the park. My choice was to either backtrack south to Olympia or take a northern route.

Since I didn't plan to head south for awhile, I knew if I took the north route, I'd have to drive back the same way I came. There was no way around backtracking, so I headed south to start a clockwise loop around the park.

I was pretty sure I'd have a hard time making it to Hoh before dark, so I planned to stay near Moclips at Pacific Beach State Park. Maybe it was just that it was foggy and cold there, but I'll go ahead and not recommend this stretch of Washington in case anyone is considering checking it out.

The closest inland towns of Aberdeen and Hoquiam are pretty bleak. Sitting directly at sea level, they had signs posted proclaiming they are "tsunami ready". The signs pointed which direction to run in case the big wave comes. Clearly a political reaction to the deadly 2004 tsunami, the town leadership chose to spend their energy on this "readiness" rather their clear economic troubles. Maybe the fancy new nuclear power plant down the road will help with that. Oh wait. They never finished building it.

I just stayed the night in the crowded campsite (really just a parking lot) on the foggy coast, then headed up into the Olympic first thing in the morning.

One thing that has really jumped out at me while driving in Washington is the extent of logging.

In the part of California I'm from, we don't really have patches of forest missing unless it is due to a wildfire or real estate development. We do, however, have large portions of land devoted to agriculture - long stretches of crops. It seems clear that in Washington (and maybe Oregon too), trees are the crops. The wood is their economy. Most hillsides have trees in varying age groups. A stretch of small Christmas sized trees, then some adolescents, then some that look almost natural except for the uniform size and placement. Some roads even have signs listing the cutting and planting history dating back to the turn of the last century. Maybe every thirty years or so, they cut the trees again and re-plant. As a result, there seem to be almost no natural old growth forests left. These state and national parks are protecting those trees from what seems like otherwise certain demise. I have started to appreciate the parks' role much more on this trip.

Even the parks are not always natural forest. The land, in some cases, was acquired sometime after logging had already occurred. But it's striking when you pass a national park entrance sign, you're likely to see an immediate change in the scenery.

These are the memorable parts of my couple days in Olympic:

Hoh Rainforest - There were some nice free primitive campgrounds along the Hoh River, but I opted this time for the national park campground at the end of the highway. It was $12, but the scenery throughout the campground was almost every bit as lush as the surrounding area. I think the name "rainforest" is stretching the word a bit though. It is very green indeed, with moss hanging from the enormous trees, but not the dripping, chirping, exotic display of natural diversity one might expect from the Amazon. A large river runs along the park area with giant white trunks of driftwood littering the shores - fallen trees from the mountain washed downstream bit by bit.

Crescent Lake and Quinault Lake - These were the lakes I saw up close, but really this part of the country is peppered with them. Beautiful calm blue lakes bordered by tall steep stands of tall green trees. This area was cut out by glaciers. The ice cut out deep, dramatic canyons and left behind all the lakes, sounds, rivers that surround Washington and British Columbia. Pick a lake, any lake, and it will likely be gorgeous. And I haven't seen much in the way of crowds at the lakes, presumably because they are so ubiquitous.

Glaciers - This was my first time ever laying eyes on a glacier. It wasn't as close as Shannon and Kathleen's experience in South America. They got to boat right by car-sized chunks falling into the ocean - but it still counts. I didn't realize that there were areas this far south that had snow and ice year round. All of the big mountain ranges (Rainier, Baker, Olympics, etc) all look like ski season is in full effect from far away. This is the middle of July, and it looks like a storm just came through this week.

Olympic Hot Springs - That one deserves its own post.

Seattle

I didn't know much about Seattle before now. I knew it rained a lot. I knew it was a center of rock music in the 90's. I have heard it was a nice place, and always wanted to check it out, but for some reason I never did.

I met someone from Seattle recently who gave me some tips on music clubs and neighborhoods. She said I'd probably like Capitol Hill near downtown. It was a place to start. While driving in on the freeway from Mount St. Helens, Darren booked us two nights in a hotel on Broadway and Madison just a couple of blocks from the main strip in Capitol Hill.

We rolled in with just enough time to change clothes and head out to dinner. We would be here on a Monday and Tuesday night, so we weren't expecting a ton of nightlife, but we'd try to find something to get into.

Darren scored the first point. He yelped the neighborhood for good reviews, and came up with The Honey Hole, a delicious sandwich shop/cocktail bar on Pike Street. I actually found it with my nose before we saw the sign. I had a fantastic pulled pork sandwich. Cool vibe, solid food. Four thumbs up.

Even though it was a Monday night, we scanned the local paper for music we might both enjoy. We decided on a little venue called The Can Can. They were hosting some live ambient electronic music which accompanied a cult monster movie, The Toxic Avenger. The music turned out to be at the extreme end of ambient. Ominous background noises might be a better word.

The bar was cool and the movie was quite entertaining, but we soon got bored and retired to the hotel.

Darren's an earlier riser than I am, so the next day he left the hotel ahead of me to check out the Experience Music Project, an interactive music museum in a building designed by Frank Gehry and launched by Microsoft co-founder Paul Allen.

I caught up to Darren there and retraced his steps while he checked out the adjoining science fiction museum.

All in all, for such a touristy place, I thought they had some good stuff to get kids into playing and recording music, as well as some very interesting exhibits on Jimmy Hendrix, the history of Seattle music (hint: it's not all grunge), and nice a display of gowns worn by The Supremes. Fun for the whole family.

For lunch we went down to the famous Pike Place Market, where they are known to toss fish around to the delight of tourists. This would be the general equivalent of Pier 39 in San Francisco, except this place was actually enjoyable. They had decent stuff for sale, and nice places to eat at all budget levels. It didn't feel nearly as cheesy as I would have expected. I got a nice grilled wild salmon sandwich and a beer and we ate on the lawn overlooking the harbor.

Seattle isn't just known for music. It's also known for coffee, so we had to try some local brew. We passed on the original Starbucks (which is also in Pike Place Market), even though they still make their espresso using the original machines, not the chain setup. Instead we enlisted the help of Yelp again and found another local spot, Seattle Coffee Works.

In there we chatted up the young barista to give us some exploring tips. She suggested checking out the Fremont neighborhood to give us a taste of real Seattle living. She gave us bus directions and we navigated the bus system without incident.

The general feel I got at every touch point in the city has been fantastic. The people have been friendly and bright, the layout of the city is pleasant. There appear to be an abundance of great places to eat, hear music, and spend time. If it weren't for the fact that we came during the very best weather of the year, I would easily be able to live here. I'm not sure what it's like to live in a place that rains 150 days per year, but I think I'll probably still stick with my home.

Besides that rain thing.. this place is a real gem. So far one of my very favorite cities.

Later we took the ferry to Bainbridge Island for a cheap cruise along the Puget Sound. There's not a whole lot on the island, but we had a good supper at Shima Sushi at headed back.

We were determined to see some more music on Darren's last night of his month off. It was still only a Tuesday night, but there were still some decent looking listings.

Darren liked the review he read of Ariel Pink. They were playing at Neumos down the street in Capitol Hill, so we checked it out.

The venue was great. It reminds me of my favorite spot in SF, The Independent. I wondered if we had just gotten lucky, or if Seattle is full of venues like this. I suspect the latter. The band was solid too, hints of Bowie and Soundgarden.

We felt accomplished, packing a lot into one day. I drove Darren to the airport the next morning, returned to the hotel with just barely enough time to use their laundry machines to wash my road-funky clothes, and then realized I had no idea where I was going next.

Where's that map?

Darren

One of my oldest friends, Darren, lives in New York but was in California this month. He wanted to do a few days of my road trip with me so he changed his flight home to leave from Seattle instead of Los Angeles and then flew to meet me in Portland.

I asked him to help look into things for us to do. It is actually nice to have a break from planning for a couple of days. It turns out it's a fair amount of work to organize my various notes I have made over the past several weeks in preparation, and then research all the possible places to go. I threw him some high level options, but during the time I would have been helping him research, I was looking for a VW shop in Eugene to listen to my weird engine noise.

By the time I left Eugene with my fresh repairs, Darren was already about to board his flight to Portland. I rolled into PDX airport just as he called to tell me he was out of baggage claim.

He had made some calls and thought it would be fun for us to camp outside Mount St. Helens which is only an hour north of Portland. We could spend the next day exploring the volcano, then head up to Seattle to spend a couple of days there. Neither of us had ever been.

I seconded his plan, so we headed toward the campground. Unfortunately though, since we took our sweet time eating dinner in Portland, we didn't arrive to the Seaquest State Campground until after eleven at night. Darren said the ranger told him there would be room, but we should try to arrive before ten.

We rolled up to a closed gate at the park entrance. That wasn't a welcoming site, but if people were camping in there, I knew they weren't imprisoned, so we gritted our teeth and opened the gate, closed it behind us and rolled into the pitch dark parking lot.

It turned out fine. We found a spot, slipped some money into the self registration box, and popped Rusty's top. This was the first night of my road trip I had been comfortable enough to pop the top, potentially drawing attention. It makes it a little more comfortable in back because you don't have to hunch. You can stand straight up. But it's especially key to get the extra loft bed for a second person. Without that it would be cramped.

In the morning we headed up Mount St. Helens.

I was in the sixth grade when the volcano blew up. I remember seeing the news reports with the dust and the mud flows, but you definitely get a better perspective when you see it up close.

Twenty miles from the blast, trees were blown straight over, snapped off their bases, or incinerated entirely. Most of that area is still an eerie gray ash color. Rivers in the area were filled completely in, and brand new rivers were cut a year later by snow melt.

Most of the highway and bridges in the area had to be completely rebuilt. The national park system built an entirely new set of buildings for education and viewing.

It's cool to see how the region has recovered over the past thirty years. It is slow, but noticeable. We hiked among the hummocks (that's what the guides called them) along part of a new river next to the also new Clearwater Lake. Trees and wildlife have returned. It doesn't feel like a forest yet.

But it will again.

Eugene

I woke to another warm van in the casino parking lot. The shuttle bus that transports the lazy gamblers the fifty yards to the entrance was circling the lot every few minutes. I knew my shabby van with, not only curtains drawn, but my orange towel hung in the windshield, was a sore thumb. So I split.

I still hadn't decided whether to stay on the coast or whether to head inland toward Eugene. I knew I probably wouldn't go to the Oregon Country Fair, although I had originally planned to meet a couple of friends there.

I wanted to see some more of the coast, so I drove north to check out the big dunes.

Unfortunately, the coast was cold and foggy that day. There was nothing to see. So I took highway 38 toward Eugene.

The first feature of that leg was a wetlands restoration project that featured a nice place to view herds of Elk enjoying their new digs. That proved a good place to pull over and eat breakfast. From there, the highway follows the Umqua river for several miles under the shade of some pretty green trees.

Immediately inland from the coast the weather was sunny and hot. While packing for my trip it occurred to me that I really had no idea what to expect temperature wise. I think of the Northwest as cooler than California, but it is summertime and some folks told me to expect sunny warm days. Here it was. No air conditioning. This is the reason I didn't go to the South for the summer. Let the sweating begin!

Once I left the shady river zone, it was sunny rolling hills.... more sunny rolling hills..... and then after another hour or so....... Eugene.

After that leg, I started to notice a new noise. A troubling one. Rusty has a manual transmission, and when I'd rev the engine high enough to shift.... at the top end, there would be this awful rattling sound.

I'm not the most mechanical guy. I know the basics about how an engine works. But I don't feel all that confident about discerning a harmless noise from a fatal one.

I could tell the noise followed the engine speed and not the wheel speed which wasn't good. It could be something as simple as a fallen screw bouncing on the engine, or something as serious as a loose piston. I know that I'm driving a car that is very old and questionably maintained. I am painfully aware that the engine could, in theory, crap out at any time. It didn't seem to be something I could ignore.

The good news is that I'm now in Eugene - home of many old VW vans. I looked online and found a number of specialists in town. So I tried to visit a couple of them so they could offer their expert opinions on my new mystery.

But it was after 6 on a Friday. They had all closed down, some for the whole weekend.

Hmm.

I parked Rusty downtown, and pulled my bike off. I took a leisurely tour, looking for someplace good to eat or fun to hang out. But Eugene is a college town, and this is summertime on a festival weekend. All I could here were the proverbial crickets.

My phone rang, and it was Chad, my friend who was working at the country fair. I had hoped to see him while I was in Oregon. He told me he was in Eugene at his friend Shauger's house and they were about to grill. I told him about my noise worries and, to my great joy, he told me Shauger used to own and work on his own VW bus.

This is one of those times when I thank the gods of serendipity. It seems like when something goes wrong on a trip, there is always a solution - even if I don't see it at first.

I get by with a little help from my friends; One love; It takes a village; insert your own cliche here.

Shauger and Heather live in a wonderful house in town. It turns out he is a very interesting guy with great artistic and engineering skills, and no surprise, is a burner. It would be Heather's first year on the playa this year and we spent the evening telling stories and getting her psyched up.

In the morning Shauger took a look at Rusty and quickly determined that the rattle was harmless. It appeared that a rusty piece of the muffler mount had finally separated, but only left a tiny space between the metal parts. The vibration at high revs caused it to make contact and make the rattling sound. I pushed the pieces further apart with a screwdriver.

Jankification complete.

However there was a catch. After opening the engine hatch to take a look, Shauger noticed that when I first started the engine, a six inch stream of gasoline shot out of one of the worn, frayed hoses attached to the fuel injector.

Although it stopped after a few seconds, it was too serious to be ignored. Gasoline spraying on a hot air-cooled engine could start a fire. And that would be very bad.

So after a delightful brunch at a local favorite breakfast spot, Keystone Cafe, we stopped at an auto parts store who gave me a small piece of hose for free.

With some coaching, I proceed to do my very first VW engine repair. I cut two pieces of new hose and replaced the old cracked ones. It made me nervous to repair something so vital. But also made me feel good that I could do it... and even better that I was that much less likely to burst into flames during my trip.

Thanks Shauger, Chad, Heather, and Eugene.

Time to pick up Darren at the Portland airport.

Oregon

It's funny how states really look different when you cross the border. Oregon is no exception.

The town of Brookings, Oregon is just over the border from California on the coast. Beyond that town, there is almost no civilization. Mostly state parks and some tiny towns.

But the coastline and beaches beyond Brookings are stunning. Giant black rock formations decorate the shore with windblown sands bordered by long yellow grass. Much of the coastline is pretty rugged, but there are many beaches that are not only beautiful but, most notebly, empty. There are no towns, so there are no people. At least not many. I saw some people like me, who had just pulled over on the highway to behold the grandure. Some locals walking their dogs. But I really almost didn't believe my eyes when I saw a long haired woman riding her palomino horse along the beach with her dogs running alongside. It's just nothing that ever happens on California beaches. A nice day like this one + beautiful beach normally = crowded. It was hard to compute this new beauty to people ratio.

It seems the best way to enjoy these beaches at length would be to get a campsite at one of the nearby state parks and then roll out for the day.

I may have hit it on an especially nice day. It was a bit windy at the beach where I stopped. But I passed many smaller beaches protected by rock cliffs that would likely be less windy.

When I return to the redwoods, I'll be sure to build in some time to visit these beaches again since they aren't far from here.

I am meeting Darren in Seattle on Sunday, so I need to decide when and where to cut inland. For now I'll head up the coast as far as I can before dark and then re-evaluate.

Along the way I pulled over to look at a map and determined that the whole coast between Coos Bay and Florence, where the coast turns into sand dunes, is a national recreation area which is attached to a national forest. I wondered if this might be one of the few places where I could just park by the beach overnight. I imagined an armada of vans and campers just like rusty parked at sunset by the water.

I raced toward Coos Bay to try and beat the sunset.

I didn't make it. Just as I roll into town, the sun was gone. The town didn't appeal to me much, so I attempted to try and navigate the dunes area in the dark. I made several attempts to poke into various nooks and crannies, but nothing seemed to work and there were long stretches of highway in between, and no van armadas, only full campgrounds. I wasn't too sure about the overnight rule differences between national forests and national recreation areas. It was getting late. I was nervous that if I made a mistake with national park rules, it could mean a hefty fine.

I remembered passing a casino with a huge parking lot full of big RVs. I know that casinos often trade free parking for the hope of luring customers, so I drove back into Coos Bay, snuck in between some RVs, drew the curtains and called it a night.

Redwoods

The people in Eureka were super nice. But I didn't see much around town that I wanted to explore. They did have some well stocked stores though, so I bought some organic fruit and headed up the highway.

One of the places I was very interested to stop was Redwood National Park. It's actually a mix of state and federal parks. I think the state likes to handle the campgrounds since there don't seem to be many federal ones.

The park stretches along the coast from just a little north of Eureka almost to the Oregon border.

I stopped at the national park office in Orick for some information. I was considering staying in one of their campgrounds. This seemed like a worthwhile place to throw down a few bucks for camping. They were mostly full though. You really need to make reservations this time of year. They had some less popular ones available, but they were still $35 and not in the old redwoods. They suggested I camp outside the park and come in for day use which seemed like a good idea, although one day I'd really like to camp in there. The ranger suggested I drive up Newton B. Drury Parkway which parallels the 101 through the forest. It is actually the old route 101 but they wanted to get trucks out of there so built a new piece of highway for them.

In no time I was smack in the middle of probably the most amazing forest I have ever seen. Thick with sky high redwoods. The ground covered with waist high ferns and big bright green clover underneath. It was truly breathtaking. The canopy obscures the light to give it almost the feel of a movie set rather than real nature.

I hiked and explored. I read some stories about how the forest was saved from destruction by San Francisco environmentalists back in 1918. Nice to know the folks were still keeping it real as activists even back then. I knew I wasn't done with this place. I'd return again for sure. But I can't stay long. I must reach Portland by Sunday.

My goal for the evening was to reach Crescent City which is at the north end of the redwood park. Just east of there is the Smith River National Forest. One of the few things I actually researched for my trip is overnight camping rules, and I knew that US national forests (not parks) are basically a camping free-for-all. Outside developed campgrounds, you can basically camp wherever you want as long as you abide by some park rules. If you want to build a fire, you need a free campfire permit also. But I didn't need that. Just a place to park Rusty.

So I drove to the beach in Crescent City to eat lunch and do some writing by the ocean with the redwood forest acting as the background. Pleasant to say the least. This was actually my first bit of sunshine since I left San Francisco.

Then as the sun began to set, with about an hour left of sunlight, I headed about ten miles east into the national forest.

Again, I fumbled around with where to park. I thought once I passed the entrance sign, I could just park anywhere. But there are private homes inside the boundaries also. Who knew? So using trial and error, with light fading fast, I finally found a little road just past the Panther Flat Campground. It didn't seem to lead anywhere and was otherwise deserted, but did have a little waterfall right next to it.

I'll take it.

Just as it was getting dark, I parked Rusty and pulled the curtains.

This time I was really out in the boonies. The park information I grabbed from the ranger station gave the usual warnings about storing food properly to avoid mishaps with bears. But my problem was that I didn't have a trunk and didn't have a bear canister. Nor could I really use one. I am stocked up with groceries in here.

I suddenly found myself really worried about bears smelling my food. I wanted to cook some chili on my little stove inside Rusty, but I figured that would waft quite an aroma through the air. I opened a pack of beef jerky and even the smell from that made me nervous.

I know it was just that it was my first night in the wilderness. Note to self: I should probably try and eat dinner while it's still a little bit light out if I'm going to be in the middle of nowhere in the pitch black of night in bear country.

I popped a Netflix DVD into my Macbook, sipped a little Jameson, and went to sleep.

I awoke to a warm van. The sun outside was intense. I was parked by a river, so I took the opportunity to get my first bath of the trip. Normally I give myself baby wipe baths, a trick I learned at Burning Man. It works great, but after a few days you still crave a real shower or bath. The water was freezing cold. But I felt invigorated by it.

Before I headed north again, I wanted to visit the redwoods one more time. I needed to find a place to eat my breakfast.

The forest I stayed in was only a few minutes from Jedediah Smith Redwood State Park, which is absolutely jaw dropping. I vowed to make a reservation and stay here in the park, if not this trip, then sometime soon. The main park costs $8 for day use, but I found a little street up the road called Walker Road Scenic Drive. It's a bumpy gravel road, but goes straight through some amazing forest and ends up at a sunny river. Just perfect for a fruit and granola breakfast, my favorite.

From here I'll head into Oregon. I still haven't decided on a destination for tonight yet.

Mendocino

Click.

That's the only sound Rusty made when I turned the key. Over and over.

My battery seemed ok. My headlights worked fine. I have two separate batteries and both had the same results. I asked another guy in the lot if he could give me a jump start, but I was pretty sure it wouldn't work.

It didn't.

My mom sent me a book called How to Keep Your Volkswagen Alive right after I told her I bought Rusty. The book has very easy to read instructions and cartoon-like pictures to help troubleshoot problems. So I whipped it out.

I tried to locate the starter and solenoid under the car and follow the instructions. But it seemed like maybe the starter was just dead.

The jump start guy suggested I walk up the hill just a block to the Chevron station, where there was a mechanic. I didn't see any way I could get Rusty there without towing. I wasn't in a place where I could try a push start. It was starting to get later in the afternoon, and I figured I had better get some repair plans going if I am to even make it out of town by the following day.

I called AAA. The week before I left town, I purchased their Premier package which provides long distance towing. I figured there was a decent chance I'd need it sometime during this trip. I figured I'd likely have to spend a day or two in a town I didn't intend while waiting for a part. I just didn't expect it to be on day two.

He towed me the 1/4 mile up the hill to Schlafers Automotive in Mendocino where Robert the mechanic told me he could order a starter in from Fort Bragg and have me on the road by the same time the next day.

I told him Rusty is my home, and he immediately offered to let me stay in his driveway overnight. He even let me run an extension cord to his office so I didn't have to run on battery power.

I pulled my bike off the rack and proceeded to survey the town. I was pleased to note that my new home was only a block from the local eats and drinks.

Mendocino, formerly known as Big River, is an exceptionally charming little town full of adorable little old seaside homes. It was smaller than I expected, maybe only six square blocks or so. The main old town area seems mostly set up for tourists. Lots of shops and inns. But it's most striking feature is it's adjoining headlands - A grassy prairie ending at sandstone cliffs surrounded by stone islands, some covered with white birds.

Dinner in town was a tough one. Almost every restaurant is so "charming" that its average entree is around $25. Oh come on. I managed to sniff out Patterson's Pub, a regular neighborhood bar that served decent bar food. Some grey haired locals were strumming and singing some old hippy standards. I think I heard some Grateful Dead and some Beatles.

I met some Aussies that were also on a road trip from San Francisco to Seattle and some ladies on a coastal getaway from Chico. Nothing like a pub to drum up some company. It was a nice evening, but I couldn't help but hope I'd be able to leave town the following day.

The next morning, Robert said he was ready to put in my starter. I reminded him that I wasn't certain why Rusty wouldn't start. He thought I was a VW "head" that already knew what I needed, when really I was just speculating. After doing some diagnostics, it came to light that I actually just had a bad wire connection to the starter. I didn't need to wait for the part after all. He said he'd fix the connection, and within an hour I was a free man once more.

I was in Fort Bragg in no time and picked up a few more supplies. By this time it was late afternoon but I really wanted to make up some ground. I at least wanted to reach yesterday's destination of Rockport. Rockport is the last town on the coast before Highway 1 goes inland for awhile. I wound my way up and down the narrow sea side highway. I saw Westport which I knew was close to Rockport, but before I knew it, I was in a lovely redwood forest. I kept thinking I'd get back to the coast, but after awhile I accepted the fact that I must have past right by Rockport.

I kept driving. I decided to try and make it to Eureka before sundown. It was a little tough driving straight through Humboldt Redwoods State Park. It looked like I nice place to explore sometime, just not today.

I made it to Eureka and stopped for some gas before finding a place to sleep. I pumped the gas, went to start the car, and guess what I heard.

Click.

Oh no. Not again. Big sigh.

I remembered where Robert was lying under the car when he found the problem. I went into the van and got a head lamp and stuck my head under. I immediately saw a blue wire hanging loose. I thought that looked like a likely culprit, but the engine was too hot to crawl close enough and grab onto it.

I clued in the gas station security guard and cashier to my plight. They were very understanding, told me not to worry about blocking the gas pump, and offered me some free coffee.

I decided to try another angle and within a couple of minutes, I managed to reconnect the wire. Suddenly I felt very foolish for paying a mechanic to do that for me before. I also felt annoyed that he didn't really fix it very well while charging me a tidy sum. If only I had taken a few extra minutes with mom's book, I might have fixed it myself in the first place.

The gas station offered to let me stay on their lot for the night. It wasn't exactly the romantic beach front location I had envisioned, but by this time it was late night, and I didn't have anywhere else to go.

How about over here by the propane tank?