7" of Separation

As I drove away from my Aunt Debbie’s house, homemade cookies at my side, I felt the first hint of true freedom. It was Monday, and I had nowhere in particular to be. What a wonderful feeling.

I took I-5 south to Olympia, where I switched from Dylan’s "Blood on the Tracks" to Clinton campaign coverage on an NPR affiliate, then traveled out Highway 8 about 30 miles to McCleary, a small town with a single smoke-stack towering above its downtown block. I found a post office and bought stamps for a few postcards I wanted to send out. ¹

It was around 1 p.m. when I turned off Highway 12 — Hwy. 8 morphed into Hwy. 12 shortly after McCleary — heading up into the Olympic Peninsula and a camp site I found on the map.

The hilly road ran through an area of sub-development terraforming up to Schafer State Park.

The small park was silent and empty, and though it had rained hard all the way to this point, the sun showed itself a bit.

It was a false sign, though.

Much to my dismay, the park was empty for a reason. The camping area was blocked off by a ‘closed’ sign and some menacing rusty chains. I was hungry, and now a little out of sorts that I had to drive after being so ready for lunch.

Back to Hwy. 12 then, and on to Montesano, where two miles north in the hills is Lake Sylvia State Park. The lake is surrounded by evergreen forest, ever gray with overcast weather. Sprinkles of rain was all I got as I explored and snapped some pictures.

In Washington, $25 gets you a electrical and water hookup for one night. Seems high in comparison to Oregon’s lower rates.

After I found a spot, hooked up and made a small lunch, I started unpacking a bit. As I was, a man approached, fatherly looking.

He said hello and asked if I had registered for my spot — the lone hookup site in the park.

Unfortunately, having found no living soul to take my money at the 2:30 office hours, I sealed my cash into a little metal box close to the bathrooms. One night, I had checked the little box on the envelope.

‘Yes,’ I told him, ‘Sorry, at the post for one night.’

He told me it was fine, and they had the other one for three nights. He was sad when he said it.

But, they had a generator, he told me. He was happy when he said this, as if a bit thrilled about the opportunity to generate.

I peered out around Pam to see a new full-length, double-pop-out-for-more-living-space motor-coach. You know, with the kangaroo on the top.

He had a new toy, the dealer plates confirmed. So, bummer they couldn’t hook everything up, but at least he got to play with the generator. Family camping is fun.

I felt a little bad. I don’t truly need the hook-ups. What I do is pretty simple. But I decided to keep the spot for the night because it’s my first time camping in Pam, too. Plus, they can have it tomorrow.

As for Pam, cooking goes pretty well, as do the dishes. With my down mattress pad, the bed is actually quite decadent. I hit my head an awful number of times. But, with my second battery setup, listening to the NCAA championship game was a treat.

It’s a bit cold by the lake, but Pam does just fine.

Tomorrow, I’ll head into Montesano to explore, before moving on to the coast for a night.

Oh, and anyone know what kind of flower this is?

Footnotes:

1: If you would like a post card or two along the way, send me a message with your address to andrew.nealon at gmail.

Thanks to my Aunt Debbie and Uncle Karl, I got to spend Saturday

afternoon watching artist Preston Singletary work on glass at the Museum of Glass in Tacoma, Wash.

See the entire photo album.

The beginning of all this has to start with a theory. Some law, which will guide the narrative. It only seems appropriate.

Forgive me if this comes off as grand, but if I learned anything in high school, it was that Joseph Campbell thinks every hero follows a cycle. And being the hero of my own travel blog, I might as well look to the cycle for guidance. George Lucas did, why can’t I?

And while I may be the blond farm boy, I’m pretty sure I wasn’t separated from a twin sister at birth — nor do I feel any tingling of the force. Moving across the country in a van, driving and drifting in my own Millennium Falcon, I feel a bit more like Han Solo.

Before Chewbacca, of course. B.C., as it were.

Think about it, his name is Han Solo after all. He didn’t always fly around with a wookie, messing with crime lords and blasting evil space-oppression.

At some point, I bet Solo just set out in a little space bus, uncertain of what was about to happen.

Plus, if you talk out the metaphor, it all works out to Ellyn being Princess Leia. Space-princess really is the job Ellyn would be most qualified for. That’s a serious job, folks. Plus, Leia was a hot space-princess.

Anyway, I bet Han Solo would have taken the Falcon out for a test between long-range travels, and I’m no different. Pam needs to be broken in a bit.

This then, is my test drive — a short, week-long trip into Washington, two family stops and a camping night or two.

I’m attempting to avoid I-5 as much as possible, but I believe I will need to roll up the light-gray pavement for a bit, as to not arrive at an unreasonable hour at my aunt’s house in Auburn, Wa.

As I load up Pam for the trip, I just hope this is the beginning of my cycle. Also at some point, I’d like to meet a wookie.

…

Around 3 p.m. on Thursday, I rolled down my window, tuned into OPB radio and zipped off to Corvallis for a night. The drive from Coburg to Corvallis is about 45 minutes on the a kris-cross of country roads.

I drove down the back-roads through Linn County — the world’s largest producer of grass seed, of course referred to by it’s highway sign as "The Grass Seed Capitol of the World."

The "patchwork farms" around me would inspire at least four more albums of music from Ben Gibbard. The farms are familiar to me, though beautiful still. Oregon is beautiful.

…

Once in Corvallis, Clodfelter’s Public House, my old college bar, never felt so nice. A few friends and a pint or two of Oregon microbrews was a great start.

…

I hurried up I-5 the next day to my Aunt Debbie’s house. Nothing in particular happened, though I should be thankful for a trouble-free drive.

I was stopped with traffic while crossing into Washington, the drawbridge opening for a larger ship. As I sat, waiting to carry on, the time gave me a chance to thank the lord for Oregon one more time.

Well, the job is done. The van is ready. All we need now is some info.

Actually, I’m already on the road. Sort of.

I’ve taken a little pre trip up to Washington to see some family.

Here at this blog, things will be pretty normal. Musings, crap I like, etc.

Over on my new typepad blog, I will be documenting the trip. You can take a look now, though things are still under construction.

I’m in the prologue right now. Check it out.