Roads Lead to Places
I packed up that sturdy little Corolla, ready made to road trip with her faulty safety systems, her mis-matched tires, and her 38 miles that she wrings out of each gallon of fossil-fuel, right on up to the brims and down to the rims, trunk full, two pairs of skis, two bikes, one mandolin, lots of clothes, tools, and all sorts of other stuff that in the frenzy of last-minute packing for a month and a half trip seemed absolutely necessary. I didn’t manage to bring along my passport, but it turns out having good roommates can be useful for more than just getting riotously drunk on a Monday for no particular reason. The first leg of the Journey took me to McCall, Idaho for a tasty taste of what I was missing so dearly, but after a couple of days of mind-expandingly good company it was time to move on to the next leg of the journey; Portland. A few more hours behind the wheel of the Corolla, some good music, a few cups of coffee, a medium helping of Chuck Palahniuk via audiobook and I’m sitting in the living room of my brother’s new home. Portland would take the entire page to begin to describe the amazing times that I had there with endless music, great people, talking talking, a naked bike ride, vegan donuts, and a lot of delicious food with my brother and friends. But even that bit of amazing came to it’s close a little too quickly, and it was north to Seattle. Seattle is the home of a good old friend that I hadn’t seen since a couple of laps around the sun ago, and it was a refreshing reminder to see her. A reminder that the people in my life that have taken a turn at being an amazing friend may remain as such regardless of trivial questionabilities that arise along the road. After a short overnight in Seattle the concrete jungle was already wearing on me and it was time to move north to see another great friend who I had been only vaguely informed was living in a barn somewhere on the Cascade Highway… A quick phone call later I have directions on a little yellow scrap of paper to my next stop on the good friend tour of the American west, destination; Rockport, Washington. In Rockport the air smelled sweet like grass and strawberry fields, and the food growing from the plants just around the small farmyard of the friends barn home was enough to keep anyone satisfied and happy the summer through. All of the people that I met there were wonderful, the type of people that it’s obvious meeting them that they have a very aware sense of what is real and what matters in this life. Like any dream that too had to end and I had to head back north west to Bellingham for just a couple of hours and then on north to Whistler. As I sit writing to you I am freshly recovered from last night’s reintroduction to the social society that is Whistler, and awaiting tomorrow’s first day of the first session of Camp of Champions, where I will be coaching the hungry young’ns, teaching to the best of my abilities how to better express themselves via ski.
