The hour long escape out to the Olympics was beautiful, if quiet. Just not much to talk about, but plenty to take in. Once you get out of the Seattle/Tacoma sprawl, it becomes nothing more than trees and hills in every direction. Weyerhauser owns pretty much everything out here, but you take solace in the idea that trees, well... should be renewable with good management.

Driving through the small logging towns and climbing up along the coast, the mix of pine and salt in the air is like nothing I've smelled before. A small turnoff in the middle of a twisty road led to the widest expanse of beach I've ever seen. We parked the car on the sand and started a long walk across the damp, glassy sand out to the Pacific.

If that picture doesn't just say it all. Here we were in the midst of the paradise we've been looking forward to, and we felt farther apart than we've ever been.


(Luckily the trip home had some comedic relief)



We stop for dinner in a small town, and at some point in the meal just look at eachother and ask, "Do we even work anymore?"

I'd been trying to borrow a page from Sara's playbook and ignore the tension, just rolling along for the time being, hoping it would blow over... but it was clear that I can't pull off denial well.

More hard questions and profound honesty lead to some unfortunate conclusions... and as much as I love her, and as much as she loves me... that's not enough. My love is meaningless if she doesn't even love herself.

Our hearts broke by the side of the road in her neighborhood not unlike a high school first crush... but we kept talking. Things were finally coming out of her mouth that I'd always wanted to hear but never had.

This morning, Sara called and wanted to come by, saying she felt strongly about returning some of my mom's cookware. We sat for another hour or so and just talked... and more amazing insights were coming out of her, things I'd never imagined her saying. But it just made me more and more confident that, painful and frustrating as it is... this needed to happen.

And hell, I need to be happy, too. I know I've always had trouble with that part.

So... that's that. At least, for now. There was a lot about us that worked amazingly well, but the little bit that didn't was the most crucial. At the end of the day, I still believe in her, and hopefully I'm not alone in that for long.

We had a great time in Minneapolis up to the point of the move. Moving is always traumatic for her, but this particular move was just bloody. So much so that we left two days behind schedule, and even then just barely made her final walkthrough. It was made even worse by a spectacular jackass harassing us at the last minute about how her car was temporarily parked for loading up (it was blocking in his obviously-not-streetable, not-tagged late-70s Scirocco race car). I'm glad my knife was packed up.

After the stress, strain, and intense workout (15 50lb boxes to Amtrak, 10 50lb boxes via USPS media mail, and the packup of the car itself using two and a half flights of stairs each time), we were finally on the road with our cute little pair of saggy-assed Subarus.

I-94 took us up into Fargo and well into North Dakota before we realized just how exhausted we were. Luckily the scenery kept us going until we found a motel.

The next morning, after a long Subaru-giddy gravel road detour to find gas (and a pack of hunters all of whom oddly enough had daughters in law school at both of Sara's almas mater) The Badlands came and went, reminding us of the trip three years ago that got us into this silly relationship to begin with

Eastern Montana doesn't have much... but it does have "snackwarps". There were two tour buses full of octogenarians already in line, so we declined the offer and hit the road in search of another sunset.

By now, from dust, stress, and lack of sleep, Sara had a raging cold. I don't think I've ever swung so wildly back and forth from frustration to pity as I have this week. We found the nicest Motel 6 ever made and crashed out early.

Saturday had us on the road bright and early, set for a mid-afternoon arrival, announced by Snoqualmie Pass, about 45 miles out of the city.

So we finally get to Seattle... I forgot how big and perfect my apartment is. Lots of space, amazing location... life could not be better. Then we decide it would be good to go down to Tacoma together, make a grand entrance and finally introduce myself to Sara's family in person. Whoops.

It would be wrong to go into detail... but let's just say that they don't like me, and they're determined to make Sara absolutely miserable until we both give up. My attempt to ask them for a temporary peace while Sara is on her intense job search only made things worse.

The funny thing is... not to sound like a self-centered jackass (thanks, Dana!) but what family wouldn't want someone like me for their daughter? I've gotten along incredibly well with the families of everyone I've ever dated, and even have parents of girls I've never dated wishing I did...

Its just so unfair to Sara. She has achieved so much in her life and is trying so hard to transition into a happy, successful new era. I don't know where all of this is going. I pray they find some way to relax, see past their prejudices and think about her happiness, and at least give her the peace to get her new life off to a good start... but that might be asking a bit much.

Last night I caught one of my favorite bands (Cinematic Orchestra) live at Neumo's in Capitol Hill. Amazing show... they're a bona-fide hard-bop jazz combo wrapped in dark hip hop samples to get the kiddies into it. I noticed first-hand what people have been warning me about, though. Even though the crowd loves the music, they don't react at all. These guys were making some unbelievably good grooves, builds, falls, breaks, drops... everyone stood there. People were looking at me strange as my neck did what my neck does when I hear great rhythm. The only other guy in the entire club showing a sense of rhythm was a black guy who I later found out was an out of town jazz musician himself. Go figure. Oh well... at least they all clapped after solos.

The band's encore was my favorite song from their newest album. If the hipsters can't understand the lump in my throat, f'em.

There is a house built out of stone
Wooden floors, walls and window sills...
Tables and chairs worn by all of the dust...
This is a place where I don't feel alone
This is a place where I feel at home...
Cause, I built a home
for you
for me
Until it disappeared
from me
from you
And now, it's time to leave and turn to dust...
Out in the garden where we planted the seeds
There is a tree as old as me
Branches were sewn by the color of green
Ground had arose and passed it's knees
By the cracks of the skin I climbed to the top
I climbed the tree to see the world
When the gusts came around to blow me down
I held on as tightly as you held onto me
I held on as tightly as you held onto me...
Cause, I built a home
for you
for me
Until it disappeared
from me
from you
And now, it's time to leave and turn to dust...

Actually, now its time to go to Ikea to drop a stupid amount of money on big boy furniture and finally stop sleeping on the floor, but first a jog to the beach and then some lunch. Did I mention how much I love this place? Home.

Being Labor Day, the big rest stops across the country were manned with volunteers offering free coffee and donuts... ostensibly for truckers, but it seemed they overestimated the demand, so they were giving them away to anyone who was hungry. Between that and the ability to pee in a Gatorade bottle (you learn all sorts of things in a touring rock band), I got into Minneapolis at around 9:30am and fell fast asleep.

Sara and I have been taking it relatively easy, taking in the food and fun of Minneapolis one last time while slowly working away at her moving checklist. We've had sushi, ice cream, Vietnamese, massive breakfast burritos, fresh-roasted $70/lb rare St. Helena Coffee at the legendary Coffee and Tea Limited, following a surprisingly good lunch next door at Cafe Twenty Eight, plus stumbling onto (and barely out of) half price bottle wine night at at the already amazing enough Modern Cafe where we got the simple, wholesome, lowly pot roast and what amounted to a gyro - but they were the best things we'd ever eaten. Ever. The Argentinian Malbec probably helped a little. These have been scattered between long walks and other attempts to keep our hearts from clogging up.

Now the focus turns to my cousin's wedding.

The family's all here, and its been two straight days of drinkin' and eatin' (and fascinating dynamics) bookending the worlds shortest and least effective rehearsal ever. In a few hours, we'll be feasting on walleye and seeing them off to Hawaii, then we procrastinate just a little bit longer on Sunday night ('cause I got tickets to the Flaming Lips!!!) before hitting the moving effort full force and getting on the road for Seattle once and for all on Wednesday.

I spent some time last night catching up my Flickr account past the recent D50 purchase... in chronological order, starting all the way back to 2001 with first ever digital photograph I took (well, with a decent camera at least, the 320x200 Casio QV images from college are on a CD somewhere). Its all there... Inc, SabMag, Roy, San Francisco, the West, family, romance, intrigue... its a good life.

Like any relatively young, educated city there are an abundance of hipsters and trustafarians... but even they are more laid back. The city simply has no edge. It may think it does... but that only makes it more soft. People complain about taxes and congestion, but there is no income tax, and at its worst, I-5 still goes much faster than the Beltway. Sure, there's a huge wave of gentrification and condo-building still going on, but that's more or less inescapable.

Obviously, I am very fortunate to have, Colin (two of 'em!), and Omar already there, and Sara familiar with the place. The real burden of a total relocation is finding your true home : your neighborhood and your neighborhood bar. They all said I'd probably like Ballard best, which sort of combines the working-class heart of the old harbor with art, food, and a fairly young populace, but not in a completely soulless manner like Canton. Sold. Despite a highly competitive rental market right now, I managed to use my good credit and newfound persistance to land a very large, humble but solidly-built place walking distance to everything in Ballard for exactly what I was hoping to pay.

My first night, Colin took me to Hazlewood (as in Lee) and I was at home. I've never been one to really care about my style (which tends to confound those that do, as they can't figure out what I'm all about that easily), so I can definitely dig on a place that is dark and ornate, yet the walls are covered with old soul LP covers hung like art (who says they're not?).

After a few more nights there on my own, I've got friends, and we're eating soul food. Soul food. Forgetting that, like DC, few people are really *from* Seattle, I was giving them a hard time about the city's complete lack of soul, when Rachel (from Kansas City) and Adam (from Atlanta) took offense... which turned into a dinner party.

If you told me on my last day of the motorcycle ride that in only 4 days, I'll have forgotten about the ride altogether, be surrounded by new friends, digging on collards, cornbread, cheese grits, and black eyed peas, and we'd be honestly and exhaustively talking about our favorite albums not in that smarmy one-upsmanship of east coast music snob hipsterdom, but simply as people who passionately love music... I wouldn't believe you.

If you told me that Omar and I would be only 25 miles from the city, standing high on a mountain top looking out at the Cascade range after a hike through a rain forest... or five minutes later would be next to a big ass waterfall, I wouldn't believe you.

If you told me I'd sell the V-Strom as soon as I got into town and pick up an awesome little air-cooled Yamaha 600 for only $1000, THEN fall into an awesome recycled one-speed road bike Colin and Omar were working on, rekindling my love for skinny tires while now living literally next door to a 27 mile rail trail, I wouldn't believe you.

... and I guess that's what I was hoping for. This past month has been amazing, but this past week has more or less reset my expectations of myself, and of life in general. Why I waited this long to just say fuck it all and go be happy I'm not sure, maybe something had to be taken care of inside... or maybe I was just a lazy slacker... but mediocrity just has no place in my life anymore, and I couldn't be happier about it.

Did I mention this is also walking distance from my place?

---

7/14/07 - 8/17/07 - "The Trip"

On July 16th, after leaving a job I was unhappy with and selling the house I was living in, I flew to Texas and bought a new motorcycle sight-unseen, then took a month long, 10,000 mile ride across North America, seeing places I had always wanted to see, catching up with distant relatives (some I'd never met before), spending time with old friends, and making new ones along the way.

DAYS -3 - 5 (MD, TX, AR, OK, LA, MS, TN, KY)

DAYS 6 - 14 (KY, OH, WV, PA, MD, DE, NJ, NY, CT, MA, NH, ME, VT, ON, MI)

DAYS 15 - 22 (MI, ON, MN, SD)

DAYS 23 - 31 (SD, NE, WY, CO, UT, NV, CA, OR, WA)

---

7/13/07 - 12:22am EDT (tick tick tick tick)
I have no idea why I agreed to another week of work after the house was sold. Something about extending my insurance coverage another month... it seemed like a good idea at the time, but... not.

So today's my last day at the shop. I had my exit interview, and despite the legacy of those who have gone before me, I couldn't just smile and say thanks... I spent about an hour with the general manager outlining issues that, if addressed, would make the place more profitable, with better service, and better employee morale. (I always thought those were the standards of "good business", but what do I know?)



Sara made me a travel companion sock dog with helmet and backpack. Here he helps me edit my exit interview talking points. He'll show up more later.

As to the trip, I haven't had much time to plan, but that's never been my style anyway. I've got the basic framework together, and will figure the rest out in motion.

So that's it... that's every day of the next month or so. Then I get to fly back to Baltimore, and do it again with the car.

But first, we smother the senses. Drinkin' tomorrow night after work, then the James River Blues Fest way out near Lynchburg, VA. Then Sunday I pack (heh)... then Monday, I'm on the green dot above.

I found the thumpin' disco greatness of the CHiPs soundtrack on CD. As soon as I get into metro LA... I will fulfill my childhood dream.

Yesterday, I walked all over Baltimore taking pictures with the new Nikon. The learning curve has been steeper than I expected (too many flashing icons with no intuitive meaning), but man does this thing take great pictures once you get it under your control

Today, I decided I was going to go hike both of my favorite trails, Old Rag and Whiteoak Canyon. I'd get a backcountry permit, do Old Rag, set up my tent halfway between the two by dusk, then do Whiteoak in the morning. But I forgot that Old Rag is over 8 miles total (including the very long walk to the parking area - which is about as many miles away from Whiteoak's trailhead). Secondly, I didn't quite think about the weight of my tent, 1.5 gallons of water, food, camera, etc. The pack was probably 20-25lbs. Not terrible, but Old Rag has a lot of rock scrambling and tight crevasses. Its also stupid steep.

So after the full 8.5 mile loop, I figured I got what I came for. It was a waste to have the heavy pack the whole time, but it made it an extra-super-fun challenge! Tomorrow's a holiday. I don't have to walk.

Old Rag is definitely not the same without Aaron, Bob, and Travel Wench, but I'm glad I got to see it again before Mt. Si becomes my new local day hike.

I'm even on Flickr now. What's next?

So I forgot to mention that I already ordered a Fuji 6000... but that will go to Sara since her Elph has cataracts (Cadillac in Ching-Chong language), and she's doing her own cross country adventure this summer as well. Everyone wins.

(and here... and here... and here)
A Friday in three acts.

Prologue : I woke up sore and exhausted.


1. Otis says goodbye to me from his favorite old perch at 621 S. Macon St. He is neither sore nor exhausted.


2. People put papers in front of me then hand me money. After the bloody claws of the title company and realtors, I still made $1000 and got a nice used car, not to mention living rent-free for two years. Works for me.


3. The restaurant next to my bank has pinot noir by the glass. Or two.

Epilogue : I slept from 5:30pm to 10pm. Now I have no idea what to do. I'll probably just go back to sleep.


Homelessness is awesome.