San Fran didn’t work out, no jobs, no apartments for us. We needed to earn some cash, and we had friends in Portland who would let us stay in their attic until we got back on our feet. Off we were to Oregon, the next state in our journey. Sure it didn’t make sense, Sacramento to LA back north to San Fran, and then to Portland, but sense wasn’t one of the things we had room for in the car.
We made plans to stay with friends in Myrtle Creek, Oregon, or as it is affectionately known, The MC, for a couple of days and then get a place for a week in Portland, until our friends’ attic was vacant. A beautiful drive, lots of pine trees and mountains. Ah, the mountains, including Mt. Shasta. All 14,179 feet of it. We were almost at the peak, 10 miles from Mt. Shasta City, when the Comet just couldn’t make it. The smell of burning rubber and a bit of black smoke didn’t bode well, but we gave it all we could. It just wasn’t going to happen. We pulled over, feeling defeated, and not knowing what to do next. Sure we had AAA, but do we fix the car? Do we get what cash we can for it and go as far as we can?
We got towed to Medford, Or., stayed a night at the local Comfort Inn,(helping us earn a free night) and mulled it over. It was the clutch, of all things. Lucky for us our friends in the MC saved our asses. JD and Sally made it clear to us that we had no choice but to keep going, we had made it this far, why stop now? They had been on the road before, knew about the ups and the downs, and nursed us back to health from our battered state.
One thing I liked about travelling was the chance to duck into crazy little stores full of weird ass shit. I’m still kicking myself for not buying that fancy negligee with matching robe (it was very sexy in a 1960’s way) at the thrift store in Sedona. As it stands, the numerous Graceland gift shops win the award for having the most weird ass shit.
Here in beautiful Portland, Oregon, there appears to be a crazy little shop for every taste. At the one we found most recently, Matt purchased a bust of an unknown man for 50 cents. There has been some debate as to the identity of this man; I say Jon Voigt, Matt says John Laroquette. There is also a chance it could be JFK. You decide. (more…)
I remember the first thing I wrote on this blog. I remember how I felt getting ready for this trip. How excited I was knowing that anything could happen in just a few short weeks. It seems like a really long time ago. When we were travelling, life seemed suspended. We were visitors in this world, straddling reality and fantasy. The newspaper, the television, forgotten tools of some other place, a place we didn’t belong to anymore. And now here we are, somewhere we never planned, somewhere we never knew, and we have to make our way into reality again. I won’t lie, it hurts. It hurts to force my way into a place I’ve grown out of, a place I barely remember.
A few weeks ago Matt and I discussed taking this site down. We haven’t been posting, we haven’t been taking pictures, hell, we’ve barely left our apartment (talk about a 180). I’d check in every few days to see what was what. Apparently people from all over the world are wildly interested in our picture of Elvis’ shot-up TV, and occasionally, someone will stumble upon our corner of the internet to peddle prescription drugs. It’s been underwhelming, to say the least. But for some reason we’ve decided to keep going.
The whole purpose of this move was to explore and to change. Maybe the adventures of the open road are over, but the adventures of life continue.
