A Few of My Favorite Things

People keep asking me “What was your favorite part of your journey?”  And I’m finding it such a difficult question to answer.  I can’t pinpoint a single experience or view or location as the favorite…but I can identify a few of my favorite things.  (Bear with me here; this is a long one…!)

Campground
Early on in my journey, I freaked out a little about the search for dispersed camping sites.  I didn’t have any experience at all just going into a forest and finding a spot…and the task right away proved much more nuanced and daunting that I ever imagined.  I’d made advanced reservations at a campground my first night in the Redwoods then figured I’d just wing it from there.  But “winging” it resulted in my first panicked break-down on the side of a road just 48 hours into my trip.  So, I made the decision to ease into dispersed camping and stay at some campgrounds along the way.  And all I can say about campgrounds in general is that they are hit or miss.  Seriously.  Some are quiet and quaint and forested and lovely; while others are everything but.  I found Mill Creek Resort on the Hipcamp website, and it was all the things good campgrounds are made of – great facilities, secluded sites, wooded surroundings, running water (faucets, toilets, creek, and laundry!), and fantastic people.  The owners are a young couple who live on-site and go above and beyond making the guest experience extraordinary.  And since the grounds are located in a tiny mountain community, locals wander in for breakfast and milkshakes and add to the uniqueness and character of the experience.  This is the first place I wanted to settle in for a bit..and someday, I’ll return.

Boondock experience
Once I settled into the “dispersed” camping routine, I feel like I nailed it, discovering some great spots!  My first foray into national forest camping was significant because it involved facing major fears (of potential animal encounters, of seclusion in a forested space, of physical vulnerability…), and I’ll always remember my site off a logging road in the Shasta-Trinity National Forest, with a breathtaking view of Shasta’s snowy peak from one window and a reassuring view of Gma’s almost-moon from the other, glowing in on me most of the night.  This is where I first dug a hole for…you know.  And the next morning, I washed my face and brushed my teeth in a creek nearby, feeling like a true wild child for the first time on my journey.  It was liberating, and I felt a freedom having faced my fears and survived my first night boondocking in the wild west. 😉

National Park
My parents were less than thrilled about my trip, but for Christmas they gifted me a national parks book and an America the Beautiful annual parks pass, and this was the most lovely gift they could have given me.  I couldn’t wait to explore the parks!  I was most excited about Joshua Tree and Glacier, but Lassen Volcanic proved to be my favorite of all the parks I saw.  I’d never heard of it and honestly thought it was going to be a big pile of ashy after-volcano mess…but it turned out to be so much more extraordinary than that.  Hiking in some areas of the park felt like walking through a Pixar film.  It was so green and almost other-worldly.  It looked too pristine and felt too idyllic to be real and natural…but Mother Nature, I was reminded over and over again on my journey, is the greatest creator of all.

Hike
I did a lot of hiking on my trip, so it’s difficult to identify the one hike that moved me most, but when I look back, I can’t help but think of Mt. Shasta.  The drive up to the trailhead was an adventure in itself.  It was the first of many drives that gave my little Civic a real run for her money (and the first one to shake lose her ski plate, which would have to be zip tied or duct taped three times on my journey).  At one point in the climb, I was literally driving 1 MPH!  I hadn’t even known this was possible, but the climb was steep, and the rocks and ruts were big.  (A fellow hiker said to me “You climbed that hill in a Civic!?!”  Yes, yes I did – for better or worse!)  Unbeknownst to me, this particular trailhead is mostly used by backpackers climbing to the peak.  I may have been the only hiker on the trail without technical gear and skis for sliding back down the snowy patches near the peak.  And I was wearing hiking sandals…!  I had no intention of hiking to the top, but I laugh at myself looking back.  It was a challenging climb, and I lost my way coming back down and had to “Marco Polo” some hikers and tag along with them to relocate the trail I’d lost.  But I did it.  It was the first of many hills I would climb on my journey, literally and figuratively.

Town(s)
Of all the towns I visited, Victoria, British Columbia was my favorite.  A close second was Telluride, Colorado.  Then Jackson, Wyoming.  In each of these places, my experience was enriched because I was spending my time in the company of friends, new and old.

Leap outside my comfort zone
Shonda Rhimes wrote a book called Year of Yes, and it’s about her giving up resistance to living life to the fullest.  I bought it just before my journey and tried to incorporate her advice and life learning into my everyday, saying “yes” more than I said “no” to new experiences out on the road.  I remember one night in particular pushing the bounds of my comfort zone, and I smile looking back on it, even though I was close to miserable in some of its moments… I’d started talking to a guy at a bar over lunch in Telluride and wound up meeting up with him to let him introduce me to some local culture and experience later in the evening.  We went to a natural hot springs (my first time) where an old guy named Warren was sitting along the edge of the pool with a bathrobe covering nothing but his shoulders, doling out PB&J sandwiches and passing around his water bong to share with the group.  All the folks who eventually filled the relatively small tub were naked but me, and I got crowded out of my seat by a bunch of young hippies, one of whom didn’t even notice me and almost sat right on me with his bum in the buff.  I probably appeared a bit prudish in my swimsuit, but I’ll never forget the experience and staring up at the sea of stars in the dark skies above the pool of naked strangers.

Chance encounter
When I set out on my journey, I had no idea how many people I’d meet and get to know along the way.  I thought I’d spend most of my time in solitude, trying to figure out what the heck I’m gonna do with the rest of my life.  Perhaps I didn’t discover my “path” because I spent too much time accidentally meeting people…but I have no regrets about any of it.  I had fun with and learned something from everyone I met.  My most rewarding chance encounter happened in the Alabama Hills of California.  If I hadn’t met Dawid, I’d never have braved going to Death Valley on my own – and I wouldn’t get to say I visited the hottest place in America in the heat of summer and discovered a waterfall (and a friendly frog!) in a surprisingly lush area of the park.  I also wouldn’t have saved two lives, as Dawid tells the story.

Wildlife sighting
I didn’t see my first bear until 8 weeks into my trip.  Even then, it was from a very very long distance…and I could only sort of see it with binoculars (a cub, shaking berries loose from a huckleberry bush).  I actually began to think bears were imaginary creatures – and wonder why in the heck I’d spent $90 on aerosol sprays for warding them off!  I never once saw a rattlesnake, and that’s okay, but I do wonder why the most interesting (and admittedly intimidating) creatures seemed to evade me.  There must be some significance to that, right?  Thankfully, I did see buffalo – loads of them – and they absolutely amazed me.  They were my most favorite creature-encounter of the journey!  (The giant tarantula I spotted crossing a rocky road in front of me late at night outside Sedona was a close second.)

Nature moment
This one’s a toss-up between two very different experiences.  My initial favorite moment in nature was early on in my trip when I escaped the crowds of the Redwoods to curl up with John Muir (er, his writings) on the trunk of a fallen tree and watched the clouds pass slowly overhead.  There was simple, lovely, I’m-doing-this-thing-I thought-I couldn’t-do-and-this-is-the-stuff-it’s-made-of joy in this experience.  I felt at peace with the world in that time and place.  On the flip side, late in my journey, I explored a relatively out-of-the-way cave with Julie on a hike in the San Juan Islands.  It was pitch black inside, and she was terrified, but I felt alive, invigorated to have absolutely no idea whatsoever what might lie around the next turn, or even just beyond the few feet I could see in front of me by headlamp.  I felt brave.  I’ve chickened out of a lot of things in my life, quitting before making good on commitments, without following-through on this, that, or the other thing… But in the few minutes we were inside the cave, I felt almost altogether free of fear, and it was incredible.  In retrospect, this feels like a good blueprint for life, since we never know what’s to come but have the opportunity every day to forge ahead anyway.  I don’t always do this, but on that day, in that cave, I did, and it felt good.  Really good.

All-around experience
I met a lot of great people in my travels, and all of them made an impact on me and my journey, but my hosts at Lake Tahoe made an especially lasting impression (I’m certain I can’t put into words here all the reasons why).  I’d met and talked with the Liegingers for a mere twenty minutes when Betsy invited me to stay with them at their home.  When I showed up, I immediately asked “Does it seem weird that I’m virtually a complete stranger and I’ve come to stay with you?”  Her husband and brother answered unequivocally “Yes…but not to Betsy it doesn’t.”  She and I share the same name and birthday; we both collect heart-shaped rocks in nature; and we have the same dishes, for goodness sake.  I was meant to pick them up and give them a Lyft back in the spring, and we were meant to connect on my journey.  I’m not sure why, but I’m certain it’s so.  And I’m very grateful.  What lovely people they are, and what a lovely time we shared.

Spiritual awakening
It seems crazy to recall a single sunset and evening of stargazing, but I do.  It was outside Joshua Tree, California, and it was magical.  That night, I showered outdoors under a ginormous sky emblazoned with the colors of the setting sun.  Then I laid naked in the desert landscape under that same sky as it transitioned to night and filled with a million twinkling stars.  In those moments I was at once all alone and intimately connected to the entire cosmos.  I felt an incredible sense of calm and tranquility, at peace with my place in the world.  I don’t often feel like I really belong in this time and space (I feel like an interloper in a culture and society I don’t understand – and vice versa), but for one night, I belonged.  I felt like everything was going to be okay, and for someone like me that’s a really significant sensation (perhaps the intention of my journey).  I’m a perpetual over-thinker and a worrier.  As an empath, I often obsess about the feelings of others and try desperately (sometimes unconsciously) to align myself with their expectations, even though they don’t fit me.  But that night I got a reprieve!  Under that sky, in the middle of the desert, I seemed to sink into my truest self and accept all of her, to love her with my whole heart, and I got a sense for what it might feel like to live the life my soul intended.  It was incredible, and if I could jar up that feeling to sip on for all the days of my life, I most certainly would.  Until I figure out how to capture that essence of Universal alignment, contentment, and belonging once and for all, I will return to this experience over and over in my mind’s eye because to me it felt like coming home.

And those are a few of my favorite things. ❤
(It’s very interesting to me how many of these things happened in my first month on the road… Hmmm.)

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Day 88: Coming Home

My next to last day in the wilderness of the Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest, I had some words with the Universe.  Right out loud I told her that I’m open and ready ready ready for whatever she has in mind for me and my life.  (I may have been a little impatient and frustrated…)  The next morning, when I woke to the pitter patter of rain on my tent, I heard her tell me it was time to return to Portland.  I have to say I was surprised by this.  I didn’t know I was…well, ready to go back just yet.  But I did know I was tired of being wet.  I love rain (the rainy seasons of the PNW have never bothered me; I’ve always found the rain cleansing and rejuvenating), but living in a tent in the outdoors in the rain is much different than occupying an actual home in a rainy place.  Raincoats and canvas tents, even with hard tops and bottoms, only provide so much protection from the elements, and wet clothes don’t take long to smell up a car.  So…I heeded the message.  I packed in my tent for the “last” time, shed some tears at the idea of bringing my journey to an end, and set my sights (and GPS) on Oregon.

I had a mix of emotions all of the five or six hours I had to drive – and I drove it in silence, without the radio.  I stopped a lot, paying extra close attention to all the sights and sounds and also my sensations.  I had so much to think about.  What a journey I’d taken!

It seemed to work out just right that I left Washington from the east side of the Cascades, as I got to re-enter Oregon in the Columbia Gorge and head to Portland on the route I’d come to the city just over four years ago.  That drive was beautiful then, and it seemed even more vibrant to me after my journey – the trees, the rocks, the cliffs and waterfalls, the river, the blue sky and fluffy white clouds… It made me feel so alive!  The sun and wind coming through my windows were exhilarating.  All over again, it felt like I was coming home.

The closer I got to Portland, the more excited I felt.  I’ve always loved walking along the riverfront, so I drove straight downtown, parked, and followed that path.  I probably looked like a huge dork with my big grin and teary eyes, walking amidst bikers and runners and all the motorized scooters people are suddenly riding (how Portland!).

When I embarked on my journey, I wondered if I’d come back to this place.  I’d never tired of the culture or atmosphere of Portland (I mean, hipsters are sometimes annoying, but you do you, boo; rock that skateboard with a cat on your shoulders!), and natural beauty abounds… Still the traffic and all the people were making me (and my headspace) feel crowded.  So I set out on my journey open to finding a new place to call home…but the only place that called to me in that way that Portland once did was Victoria (BC, Canada), and I’m not looking to change my citizenship status, so coming back to Portland feels right to me, at least for now.  (Who knows what the future might hold!?)

I’m boundlessly grateful for the friends who welcomed me back here and are opening their homes to me…and I love that, once again, I feel like If a city could give me a hug, Portland is what it would feel like.

Days 84-87: Forest Bathing

John Muir, environmental philosopher and activist, once wrote “Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home. Wilderness is a necessity.”  I hadn’t heard of Muir before my journey (or his writing had yet to resonate with me), and when I “discovered” his simple wisdom of the wild on a bookshelf early in my travels, I was quickly taken by his words, experience, and loving admiration for all things natural and wild.  One of my favorite memories of my time on the road is hiking away from the crowds of Redwood National Forest, finding a fallen tree, and climbing atop it to read from a collection of Muir’s works.  I laid there, soaking in the energy of the tree, and looking up at the clouds moving ever so slowly past the canopy high above me, completely present in the moments.  It was my first such experience of the journey, and it felt right to conclude my trip in a similar state of just being – doing what the Japanese call shinrin-yoku.

Shinrin-yoku is “forest bathing.”  It’s the “practice” of going out into nature to move slowly amongst the trees and plants, taking it all in, without timeline or expectation, just being in a state of mindfulness with nature.  (The fact that it’s been given a name and become a “recommended practice” reminds me a little of the modern movement toward eating simply and organically.  This “practice” was just eating before the advent of processing and fast foods and genetic modification; there wasn’t an alternative.  And there must certainly have been a time when going out in the woods for rest and rejuvenation didn’t need a name or recommendation from doctors; I imagine it’s just what people did.  Funny how far we’ve come from that place and time… Still, forest bathing is definitely a wise prescription for what ails us as a modern people and society.  And I’ll continue partaking!)

I’d planned to spend the last two weeks of my journey in Washington State, exploring the North Cascades (apparently breathtaking in the fall) and the Olympic Peninsula.  I was looking forward to completing my travels in places I’ve never visited relatively close to home…but I was also tired of rain after spending several days in it on the San Juan Islands…so when I discovered the forecast was calling for most of a week of it in both the Cascades and Olympic National Park, I planned my escape.  I journeyed quickly south and east of the mountains and found a quiet, secluded place in the southernmost area of the Baker-Snoqualmie Wilderness.  In four days, I saw or heard probably only ten vehicles, and, much to my relief, none of their drivers had any interest in me or my location.  Plus…I had next to no cell phone service!  Couple that with the babbling creek I found to pop up my tent beside, and I was set for some shinrin-yoku.

Sitting beside the creek, just listening and breathing in the forest, it struck me that flowing water provides a great analogy for a Zen Buddhist way of life…and these words just seemed to come to me.

The river doesn’t wonder
about the rocks it just flowed past.
It never stops to think
on the trees along its way.
The river curves and winds,
sometimes falling over cliffs.
It never seems to question
the path it’s meant to take.
It doesn’t look back
or try to change what was.
It never stops to wonder; the river, it just flows.

Water has always spoken to me but never quite so literally as this.

For a few days, I walked around the woods, slowly, without intention or destination.  I stopped to watch, listen, and even speak gently to animals.  I was struck by the way that one squirrel and two finches in particular seemed to engage with me, sticking close by and just being, the way animals do every day, so wisely.  The squirrel cocked his head, back and forth, as if he were really listening to whatever I said.  The birds chirped away, dancing on their branches, close by me without flinching, seemingly comfortable and content.  I sat by the creek and took in the sound, the scents, the essence of the forest.

It’s when I’m in nature I feel closest to my own true essence.  I feel alive and connected with the Universe, at once energized and at peace.  It’s my happy place.  And if I had my druthers, I’d occupy this space everyday for the rest of my life, in a state of shinrin-yoku, bathing in the forest that Muir regarded as the ultimate healer.

Days 82 & 83: Sunshine, Poetry, & Tea

We loved the San Juan Islands and carried on adventuring in every way, despite the clouds and rain and overall gloomy skies.  As I told Julie, Welcome to the Pacific Northwest.  But it’s a little early in the year for all the bluster we experienced… The ferry rides back from the islands – first from Lopez to San Juan then on to Victoria – were foggy (what my mom would call “pea soup”).  But the fog cleared and blue skies came into view as we disembarked the ship to explore more of the city by foot.  Then sunshine colored our day grateful.

At risk of sounding like a true travel blogger, I’m going to skim through the high points of our last 27 hours in Victoria because they were nothing short of delightful.  The city is bursting with character.  Next to Telluride, Colorado, it’s by far the loveliest city I’ve experienced on my journey (the only one in which I could see myself living).  It’s quaint but not small, seaside but not fishy, and its British influence is painted all over its streets and sidewalks and eateries, giving it a true foreign feel without pretension.

But there was this… Folks said we had to do it, so we called to make reservations for royal (not high) tea (tuck that pinky finger, folks; raising it is actually rude and elitist!) at the famous Empress Hotel (the oldest in Canada…my friend Mindy’s family supplied the stone that built the place from their quarry).  That’ll be $78 each, they said.  What!?  We’re going to have to drink (er, I mean think) on this…!

In 1885, even before the 1910 opening of the Empress, the doors were opened to a bank at the corner of Government and Fort Streets in Victoria.  For 126 years the large stone structure housed one financial institution or another, and for some time one of them employed a man by the name of Robert Service, an Englishman, a wanderer, and a wordsmith.  Service seems to have laboured (see what I did there?) at the workplace just to afford himself the free time to explore his true passion – poetry.  For most of his life – in Europe and Canada – he penned and published verse, and he came to be known as the “Bard of the Yukon.  This storied “bard and banker” is said to haunt the building, and the public house now occupying the space is named in his memory – Bard & Banker.  The place looks just as I would imagine it to have looked at the turn of the 20th Century, with office space and teller windows replaced by booths and tables and a bar.  The drinks – Julie’s Gewurztraminer wine and the Old-Fashioned that the guy next to me at the bar let me sip – were delicious (my Coors Light was spot-on, of course), and the pub felt filled with a spirit of time passed (and perhaps Mr. Service himself).  We could have gone back again and again, especially to catch the live music featured nightly.

Julie wanted to visit the Craigdarroch Castle, a massive Victorian estate built by a coal baron in the late 1800s then converted to a military hospital in World War I.  It later served as a college and music conservatory before being partially restored to its original estate condition and designated an historic site.  I’m sure it was fascinating, and the pictures were lovely, but I decided to save $15 and check out the local library (because I love libraries).  I can’t say this one had any particular “wow factor,” but I’m so grateful for spaces that provide me with WiFi and a [relatively] quiet place to sit and read and write and don’t require me to purchase goods.  (I did learn the library offers a free app to members for reading magazines on-line.  I’ll definitely inquire about this back at my home library!)

Since most everything we owned was wet from the incessant rain of the previous few days, we treated ourselves to an Airbnb (with washer & dryer) our last night in town, renting a room in a large Victorian home a few minutes from downtown.  Owned by a Chinese family, the home was outfitted with Asian-style amenities – slippers provided at entry, a fancy bidet toilet, and peculiar but amusing color-shifting lights atop a canopy bed (which our kind and hospitable host suggested would be “more appropriate for lovers”).  With a faux fireplace and balcony overlooking the water, the room provided us the perfect resting spot (though who has time for resting when there’s so much to explore!?)

For our last dinner in town, we visited Clive’s Classic Lounge at the Chateau Victoria.  We were disappointed to find it attached to a hotel but reassured by its tasteful decor, ornate lighting, and swanky, comfortable seating.  (And the Greek place next door had a great menu, so we were not without options).  Clive’s won us over with a most delightful server, more amazing mixed drinks (for Julie), delicious tapas dishes (fried green beans – a first for me; beef sliders; ooey gooey grilled cheese “fingers”; and savory corn fritters) and an incredible white chocolate berry cheesecake for dessert.  It would seem Victoria is something of a foodie town, and we couldn’t get enough, wishing we could spend more time eating (and drinking!) our way through the city’s mouth-watering establishments.

To top it off (and send ourselves off with a treat), we decided to splurge on Royal Tea at the Empress – and we have absolutely no regrets.  What an experience!   I’m reading a book set in England in the early 1900s, and the characters have daily tea… This didn’t make much sense to me, but I deduced it was afternoon snacks with tea, probably something high-society.  Indeed, after some research, I learned that higher society English folks created tea as a “bridge” between lunch and dinner, which tended to be eaten later in the evening.  Technically, the menu of cakes and scones and breads is afternoon tea, while high tea includes a bit heavier fair – often vegetables and meat – and is typically eaten at a table (while afternoon tea is more likely enjoyed in low, comfortable chairs or on sofas).  As tea itself was expensive, high tea was dinner for lower-income (common) English folks, while afternoon tea remained more of a snack (and experience) for the higher classes.  In fact, the “pinkies up” image comes from the observation that higher classes tended to eat finger foods with their thumb, index and middle fingers, while lower classes ate the same foods with all five fingers (perhaps because they ate more for hunger than socializing!?).  I’ve since learned we broke a golden rule of tea by cutting our scones, which seemed dainty and polite of us… However, etiquette invites “breaking of bread” and spreading of jam on each bite.  How embarrassing for us.  Ha!  Guess we’ll have to go back again someday and correct our foibles.

Victoria was glorious, and how appropriate we experienced some of the same culture I’m reading about in my book.  Sometimes everything lines up just right.  I’m grateful for the time Julie and I shared on the islands and in BC, and I’ll definitely return again someday, lovely Victoria.  In the meantime, stay British.  It fits you so well.

Days 73 & 74: Oh…Canada!

As it turns out, Canada is a foreign country.

You might be laughing at me right now because of course Canada is a foreign country.  Obviously.  However, since it’s so close to home and requires no air travel to visit plus the few Canadians I’ve met in my life have seemed, well, pretty much just like me and all the Americans I know (maybe nicer, if I’m being honest), I didn’t think it was gonna be any big deal crossing the border.  Well, I was wrong.  Dead wrong.

A friend asked me a few days beforehand “Did you contact your cell phone provider to upgrade your plan?”  Um, no. Should I?  I naively asked another friend flat-out Is Canadian currency the same as American currency?  Um, no.  But surely they take American currency, right; like, I don’t have to exchange my money, do I?  Um, probably not and yes, you do.  Okay.  I had some work to do.  Firstly, I had to shed my apparent ethnocentrism.  As it turns out, I’m teeming with the notion that America is the center of North America.  (Eye roll.)

Calling Verizon was easy.  No problem.  30 minutes and I was set.

Talking with the border patrol agent coming into the country was not so easy.  In fact, it was downright terrifying.  I think I’m a pretty good person, and I’ve certainly not committed any serious crimes in my life…but I felt like I was barely passing a lie detector test as the dude in the customs booth grilled me about this, that, and the other thing, almost all of which seemed entirely irrelevant to my visit.  The more questions he asked, the more nervous I got…and I’m probably one of the most honest people you’ll ever meet (!), so I’m certain my what-felt-to-be visceral response to every question – even the most mundane – betrayed my terror.  And the more questions he asked, the more fearful I became of answering incorrectly and being detained.

He didn’t believe that I live in a tent on top my car, so I had to lie and give him my old address in Portland.  So, he essentially coerced me into committing perjury (or the border-crossing equivalent).  And he confiscated my pepper spray, curiously leaving me in possession of two giant cans of what I believe to be exactly the same substance labeled as bear deterrent.  And I didn’t even mention my expandable baton because I was certain he’d take that from me – and it wasn’t inexpensive.  So…another lie, this one of omission.  Oh. My. Gosh.

My first two hours in the country were the most shocking.  It probably didn’t help I crossed the border into a reservation because I feel a bit out of my element there regardless of country (apparently)…but when I needed gas and couldn’t find anything resembling a modern station (is a gas bar the equivalent?), I was baffled.  When I saw the speed limit switch to metric, I felt flummoxed.  And when I couldn’t locate a restaurant or bank for many miles (er, kilometers) – and feared I couldn’t pay for food or fuel even if I did – I began to panic.  Soon, it seemed like everyone was speaking French but me!

Within a couple of days, I found my groove…and I certainly learned some lessons along the way.  I still don’t know the difference between a loonie and a toonie, but the Canadians I’ve met have been kind and accommodating – and I’m grateful for their patience.  Hopefully I haven’t been too American in my foibles or stumbling to assimilate.