I was in Seattle last week, and I took a ferry from there to Bremerton, about an hour’s boat ride across Elliott Bay.* From the boat, the water is surrounded on four sides by land, since Puget Sound is all twisty and you can’t see where the bay meets Admiralty Inlet, the Strait of Juan de Fuca and later the Pacific. It was great to be out on the water, and from some viewpoints, any land in view was a long way off.
The views of downtown Seattle and Mt. Rainer were spectacular and I was sorry I’d left my good camera back in Portland. The gulls followed us, and fought the wind by being still in the air just a few feet over the deck. The public dock in Bremerton had nice benches where you could stare at the water to your heart’s content.
Sunset from Chetco Point, Brookings, Oregon.
But it was not the ocean. And it seems it really is the ocean I’m looking for, not just a big body of water. Because I didn’t get the same feeling I got in Lincoln City three weeks ago, or here in Brookings today.
Here is the land I’m standing on, there is the water, and then there is nothing. The waves are constant, ever-changing and never-ending. Maybe it’s hot, maybe it’s cold, maybe it’s windy, but the water goes on forever.
Okay, I realize this is also not the ocean, but SEALS. Seals are cool.
*the ferry is only $8 for passengers. EIGHT DOLLARS! For a two hour boat ride, and the ride back is free.
I took this photo 18 months ago, and it was my phone’s home screen until I got a new one. The ocean has been trying to tell me things for a long time
It’s been just over three months since I held a real job (Location Independence Day + 3 months = July 4th!), and I’m still floundering a bit. Partly because I had location-dependent commitments in May and June, mostly because this is all brand new territory for me. How to choose when the choices are seemingly infinite? [Here I should apologize and say thank you to my friends who’ve been listening to me whine about this issue lately. I promise I’m working on it].
Lots of things sound cool, lots of places look interesting, lots of friends have asked when I’m coming to see them (and again, thank you lovely people!). But nothing has said THIS, THIS YOU MUST DO! And frankly, I was expecting something like that. This whole idea was a bolt from the blue, I expected the same kind of pull towards something once I took the big leap.
Maine coast, with bonus sky.
But, nothing came. And the more people asked me questions like ‘what are you doing next?’ and ‘what is the most interesting/coolest/amazing thing you’ve seen so far?’ the more I realized I hadn’t really seen anything amazing yet, and I had no idea what I wanted to do.
You don’t get messages from your future when you’re whining, or when you are running around like a crazy person from one event to the next. You can only hear the quiet voice when you are quiet. It yells very rarely, and only when you’ve been listening to the quiet. Or something like that – my metaphor stopped working back there somewhere. What I’m trying to say is… the ocean.
A tiny piece of the view from my favorite bench in the world. Mt. Susitna/ Sleeping Lady trying to peak through the clouds, and the tide is way out.
The ocean has been calling me – quietly but consistently – for a long time. In Alaska, whenever I’d feel like I was in a weird head space and needed to figure something out, I’d go to Cook Inlet (15 minutes from anywhere in Anchorage) or Knik Arm (only a bit further). When I moved out of state, I asked Carl to go take pictures from my favorite spot, just south of Anchorage where you could see Knik Arm dump into Cook Inlet (and you can’t see the other side). My first road trip, to test out my little POS, was to the coast of Oregon.
More recently, the coast of Maine looked like heaven, and Lincoln City, Oregon was incredible – even with the cold and the wind.
I found a journal entry yesterday – from May 1 of this year – that said straight out that the only thing that called to me was to be at the ocean, alone. Apparently I wrote it and then immediately forgot it.
So, that’s it. That’s the next thing, I finally heard it. Now to figure out how to make it happen, at something less than $1000 a week.
It never occurred to me that travelling domestically would involve so much mental energy given towards executing a proper shower.
I’ve showered in 12 different places since I ceased to have my own. Something like one-third of those twelve showers had the hot and cold tap labeled incorrectly. Some had no place to put a razor or bottle of shampoo where it would not immediately fall into the tub. Only one had radio as a permanent fixture. Blessedly, all had plenty of hot water. You don’t think about how different showers can be from one another – even when they’re all in the same country, with the same level of access to things like water and technology and whatnot – until you have to figure out a new one (seemingly) every day.
How do you make the water come through the shower instead of the faucet below? Where can you put the clean towels so you can reach them without dripping all over the floor? Are there clean towels? Where do you put the towels once you’re done? Did you remember to put your shampoo/conditioner/razor/body wash in the shower before you got in?
I know, these are not difficult questions. But how often do you have to ask them, on a regular day? Never, that’s how many. You do have to remember to buy shampoo when you run out, but it has a place it belongs, and you probably stopped thinking about that place a long time ago.
In my world, showers happen in the morning. Morning is not the best time for Bev to come at a problem with all cylinders firing. I was shocked at how often I failed at showering by having to drip on the floor to retrieve some forgotten item, wasting five minutes waiting for the cold water tap to give me warm water, or being unable to determine where I should really be hanging those wet towels. And I was sure I’d mastered showering before graduating high school.
Turns out showering is not the only thing I struggled with. Did you know that not every town in America has a Fred Meyer and carries my favorite breakfast foods? Or that hair salons do not all like people to just walk in and ask for a hair cut for less than $20? Also, toll roads: Can we all decide on one way for them to work and stick with it? And why can’t I buy an EZPass somewhere on those many toll roads that wants me to use one so badly? Seriously.
I knew that quitting my job and running away would present me with new and interesting experiences. I just didn’t realize they would show up in the form of failed hygiene rituals and a burning desire to return to my neighborhood grocery store. Life is some crazy shit.
I can’t believe I only have one photo from a bathroom in the last few months – I’m always taking pictures of weird bathrooms! All I’ve got is a photo from Reed’s birthday weekend, during which we rented a house where ninjas were lurking everywhere, even in the shower.
I’m on the Maine coast for the weekend – gorgeous sun, beaches and rocky coastlines and seafood restaurants every block. I mostly came to see the Atlantic Ocean – having driven over from Oregon, I felt like I had to go All The Way, so I could legitimately say I’d driven all the way across the continent in my little red POS.*
Cool library!
I got a cheap room on Orbitz** that was close to the beaches and not far from Portland, ME. Also have to go to this Portland over here because, duh.
I’ve been at Laurie’s house for more than two weeks now, and I got all settled in and shit – took the tubs with extra clothes, snacks and whatnot into the house. I unloaded the bags I had full of ‘hotel room’ amenities like paper plates and extra cups so I could use those bags for other things.
I looked at all that stuff when I was packing to come here this weekend. Looked right at it, and then left it behind. And I’ve been mad at myself ever since.
List of things I left behind that I totally could have used in the last 24 hours:
beach towel
paper plates (purchased again)
crackers and cashews for snacks (purchased again)
actual shorts (rather than just capris)
laundry bag for dirty clothes
HDMI cable so I could watch something I *chose* instead of whatever was on TV
List of things I just got lucky were still in the car:
fork/spoon/knife set (you know those three little ones on a ring, that you have for camping? Yeah, those) to eat the ice cream I bought at the store and to stir my tea in the morning
beach chair (which did a pretty good job of replacing the towel I would have laid on at the beach)
Taken from my beach chair. These two girls were having a blast jumping over the waves, and the sailboat decided to make my photos even cooler.
It’s not even that I left anything important behind, or that my trip is ruined, or I spent a lot of money on things I didn’t need. It’s just SO annoying to know that the exact thing I wanted SHOULD have been in the car, and would have been if I’d been on the road rather than planted somewhere. These were the things I carefully curated before leaving Susan’s house, to maximize the useful things I’d have with me without carrying around a bunch of stuff I wouldn’t use.
I didn’t really pack a lot of extra stuff, so I should really have it all with me. Again, duh.
Now I have to figure out what I’m taking back to Portland, OR in a few weeks. The car-traveling-kit is too big, and a lot of it is pretty specific to traveling by car – but I don’t want to spend weeks pissed off that I left a stupid towel behind.
*And yes, I acknowledge that Portland is not on the coast, but I have indeed driven that car to the coast – more than once – so I’m totally counting it.
** I’ve used Orbitz a few times now & I’m liking it. They keep sending me discount codes, and I earn points with them pretty quickly that will get me a free hotel room soon. No, they are not paying me to say this. But I’m totally willing to accept any and all such endorsements, if anybody knows somebody there.
One way to drive 2500+ miles in four days (3 full days + two half-days = four days):
Don’t string all those days together – break for a day, or maybe a few days to hang out with your friends along the way.
Don’t bring food in the car you’ll regret eating later. In fact, if you only have healthy snacks in the car, you’re likely to eat nothing else until you stop for dinner – a traveler in motion tends to stay in motion.
RE: #2 – Good for making time, bad for really seeing the country you’re driving through. Also bad for your attitude by the end of the day.
Relearn how to pump your own gas efficiently.
This one has everything – poor framing, not enough zoom, streaks on the windshield and a bit of the steering wheel.
Notice all the billboards and road signs that say “Don’t Text and Drive.” (or alternately, “Don’t TXT & Drive,” because that guy was hip to the young people). Notice how none of them say “Don’t Take Photos and Drive.” Proceed accordingly.
80mph in South Dakota. Seriously?
Do not plan to see a national landmark at the end of a long day of driving when the weather has quite unexpectedly turned cold and snowy. You will not enjoy it.
Realize you should have gotten an EZPass for driving through the northern part of the Central and Eastern Time Zones. You’re spending a lot of money and extra time paying a ton of tolls.
RE: #7 and 8 – Acknowledge that the need to do research for a long trip does not completely go away just because you have Google Maps.
Notice how amazed you are when you recognize street names and realize you are able to actually drive all the way to Cleveland, that place you used to live. Marvel at the surprise you feel, though this was your goal all along.
Try to explain #10 to people and watch them be very confused by you. Be glad they are friends and like you anyway.
Send blessings to the Google Maps people for helping you navigate strange cities.
Don’t assume cool tourist traps will be open for business before Memorial Day just because they have the Blues Brothers out front.
Give yourself smug cool points for your Oregon license plate as you get further east, until you see the dude with the Alaska plates. Decide Alaska dude had his truck shipped out here and go back to feeling smug.
Notice how your car is downshifting to climb that hill and realize it hasn’t had to climb a hill in four states.
Decide that upstate New York looks much like the Wisconsin Dells.
Be surprised that some areas of Vermont and New Hampshire look much like the Matanuska Valley.
Curse the Google Maps people for being unable to locate your sister’s house in rural New Hampshire.
I was in Seattle last week, and I took a ferry from there to Bremerton, about an hour’s boat ride across Elliott Bay.* From the boat, the water is surrounded on four sides by land, since Puget Sound is all twisty and you can’t see where the bay meets Admiralty Inlet, the Strait of Juan de Fuca and later the Pacific. It was great to be out on the water, and from some viewpoints, any land in view was a long way off.
The views of downtown Seattle and Mt. Rainer were spectacular and I was sorry I’d left my good camera back in Portland. The gulls followed us, and fought the wind by being still in the air just a few feet over the deck. The public dock in Bremerton had nice benches where you could stare at the water to your heart’s content.
