We had a great week after Hood River. I met up with some buddies in Portland for a night of beer drinking. I think it was a pretty long day for all of us. It’s rare for three dudes to look at one another inside a strip club and all come up with the same conclusion that it was time to call it a night after being inside for only 5 minutes.

I looked at the map on Saturday with Parker and Willie. We all agreed on Cannon Beach being next. And wouldn’t you know it? As soon as I got to Cannon my senses honed in on a neat little watering hole – the Screw and Brew. I like neighborhood dives. They’re awesome spots to feel out the locals and make new friends.

The first night vanlyfing was a total bust (stupid license plate). The cops rolled up on me around 1 or 2 in the morning, put their spot lights through my windshield and added disco lights for drama. Great. So what did I do? I left the parking lot they wanted me out of and went to another spot. Where did I wake up the next morning? In the Cannon Beach police parking lot in front the squad cars.

The next morning while drinking coffee the local police reports shows up in my Google news feed. Turns out the coppers have nothing to do but kick out vanners for “camping within city limits”. I was definitely on their radar now and needed new digs if I wanted to stick around for a few.

The van gods hooked me up cliff side on the 101 and I finally got a chance to leave Riley behind to do some exploring outside of a block or 3.

Its easy to take for granted the beauty and awesomeness of the outdoors. All day is spent outside getting waterlogged and sunfucked. Riley is free to roam wherever he chooses. Usually he’s within site but if he’s not its no big deal. A quick whistle and he pops his head up somewhere. There’s no such thing as boredom, plenty can be done. Nights are spent watching the fire crack, the mind begins to tire. Off to bed. Repeat.

I pointed to Hood River with the sole intention of getting shit done. Timelines need to be kept. There’s a finished product to deliver. Upon arriving to the Hood I’ve had this built up creative energy that I wanted to unload on projects. So I was looking for a solid 4-6 hour block of time each day to focus.

Figuring out what to do with Riley for a 4-6 window has been incredibly challenging. Leave him in the car? At most I can leave him in the car with the windows down under a giant shady tree for maybe 1 1/2 hours. He’s in my head the entire time. “I should go back to check on him and the thermometer.” I’ve yet to get anything past a solid 3 hour window during the day.

Then there’s the camping accommodations at Hood River. They suck. We’ve been street side for 3 weeks, pretty much at the skate park the entire time. Between the shit weather, sharing closed quarters with Riley, and peeing in milk jugs I’ve been cranky. Real cranky. This morning I woke up to the rank smell of 9 hour old McDonalds and dog farts in a van that was sealed off from the rain. I could rant on and on about the last 3 weeks but I won’t. We’re busting out of here today.

I’ve been reading this book written by a guy whose blog I’ve been following since 2010. I had no clue McDonalds had WiFi! At 15 my mom said that if I went out and got a job she would help me get a car at 16. I hate rejection. So the first place I went to, which happened to be my first employer,  McDonalds. I thought the whole reason for all that plastic seating was to turn tables over and to get people the hell out of there.

This week I began my mornings over at the arches observing the morning crowd, drinking coffee, and checking up on news and blogs. It felt like I was on Mars. Not even Mars. A planet yet to be discovered. I’m in the back corner minding my own. I hear this old man coughing excessively load. Then he starts to clear his throat even loader. I get annoyed fast. Out of the corner of my eye I see him shuffling his feet in my direction. He stops in front of my table. Great.

“Is that an Apple?”

“Yes.” I’m in a short answer kind of mood.

“I didn’t know they made them in black.”

“Its an old apple.”

“I have an apple too.”

“Cool”

“I just came in from Alabama, where are you from?”

“Orange County”

Obviously he’s not detoured by my short answers and continues to small talk me. He’s in town looking for independent living. “Do you know what that is?”

I’m thinking to myself, is this guy fucking with me. He reminds of the kid from Bad Santa.

He answers for me, “Its a step before assisted living.”

I loosen up and we begin to talk. He tells me he’s hanging out for a little, waiting for family and searching for living arrangements. Then he asks if I could help him make the viewing on his Apple easier. “Sure, I can help with that. Bring it in here.”

15 minutes go by. Where the hell did he go. I look up. “What the hell are you doing man?! Shit, let me help you with that.” He leaves everything to fetch his mouse and keyboard.

Turns out, talking to this old man made my entire month. I’m doing the poopy dance and I need my private bathroom over by the marina. He knows I’m trying to make an exit. I go back to the van to fetch one of my travel cards. “Please stay in touch”, I ask. This is my email. I’d love it if you kept in touch. And here’s my blog to. I’d love it if you followed.

I shake his hand. He shakes mine. He smiles and tells me, “Be happy.”

On Friday I pointed Red north towards Eugene to get a solid charge on the battery bank. I’ve been plagued with mechanical issues since the start. I spent 2 months deep in Mexico and not one problem. So far I’ve been on a tow truck, seen two mechanics, pulled out the tool box way to many times and had a tire patched. Not to mention my battery system, which keeps the fridge on, hasn’t been charging.

Eugene turned out to be a bust. Way too many cool kids and tattoo shops. The only logical decision was to go left and head for the coast. Last year I passed Florence several times and it always stood out as a neat little beach town so I planted roots for a couple days.

The weather on the Oregon Coast can be temperamental. Plenty of sunshine in Florence but too much wind. The forecast wasn’t looking great so I made the 45 minute backtrack to Eugene to pickup a friend for a little company. The first night we setup camp at Blue River Reservoir and the second at Cougar Reservoir. One things for sure, I can’t get enough of Oregon’s water systems. I had no idea there were so many.

This last month has been pretty amazing. I’ve done more in 1 month on the road than I did in Orange County all last year. That’s the best part about vanlyfe, so much of my time is spent outside. The next move is to find a town to focus my creative energy on work projects.

Out here for two weeks, I felt like I needed to write but nothing was coming to mind. Then one day an old man came rolling through camp asking if the river was any good for fishing. I told I didn’t think so. “Don’t take my word for it though, go down and see for yourself.”

He pointed at his bum leg. “I just had surgery”, he said. I offered my shoulder and walked him down the semi-steep trail to the river. He agreed, “not to good for fishing I reckon”.

We got to talking. The same questions are always asked. What you doing? Where you headed? Aint you got a wife and kids?

Traveling. No destination. Nope. I like giving people short answers to their questions. Especially in Orange County where everything gets packaged up with a side of bullshit. The old man was clearly intrigued and parted by saying, “I wish I could do what you were doing at my age”.

Instantly I began to write.

Its almost been a year since my last entry and much has happened since: like figuring out how not to run out of money while doing awesome shit daily, or making dumb rookie moves and dating ex girlfriends, or like understanding what defines persistence and determination. Usual stuff.

This trip started off with my typical goodbye – none. The only destination in mind was San Francisco and Petaluma to be with family. Somewhere along the way to San Francisco I got in the zone and continued along a highway I shouldn’t have. 90 miles off course the van lost power to the wheels. Bitchen.

Going into a mechanic shop blind and helpless sucks. Auto Club recommended a shop and after a little digging I saw good reviews. All two of them. Skeptical and already on the truck, I didn’t have much of a choice. It worked out in my favor though. Six hours later I was back on the road with a new fly wheel and Big Red purring like a little pussy cat.

After spending the weekend with family the time came to choose a direction. Wanderers and destinations are not synonymous. The coast always seems to call. And when she does I listen. Riley and I spent the next few days tooling around Ft. Bragg and Mendocino, which is where I spent my birthday. Lucky for me, Colorado sent a few snowboarding bunnies my way.

North was the direction after Mendo. Driving up the 101, zagging and zigging through the trees, the warm air amplified the scent of the forest and I wanted more of nature’s Pine Sol. I pulled off the 101 a few times in California but nothing felt right. Small towns in California don’t have the same appeal as in other states. How should I say it? Too many trailer parks and tweekers.

We crossed the border into Oregon and it only took 15 minutes to find a small town that felt right. Still a little methy, but it felt good. Enter Cave Junction. I saw a sign promoting a “festival” nearby called Birds and Brew. The brew part I got. Turns out the bird part was a gathering for a bunch of old birding enthusiast. Wicked good times.

Asking around for a fun place to drink a few beers, everyone told me to steer clear of a spot dubbed The Gutter. Naturally, it was my first stop. Once inside I spotted no more than 5 old guys sitting at the bar all picking on the bartender. So I saddled up next to them to observe the shit talk show. A few beers later in comes this guy with his Veterans hat, a members only jacket and a gold chain sporting a lions head. Could he be the reason I was told to steer clear of The Gutter?

Marvin’s voice was too delicate so I leaned in to turn up the volume. “You look a lot like my son”, he says. Funny, because when I looked at him and his hat I couldn’t help but to be reminded of my grandfather. We talked a bunch. I wanted a picture with Marvin. I asked and he was quick to oblige my request. I turned my phone towards him to show him the results and he asks for a copy. “Of course! What is your email address?” Probably the dumbest thing I’ve said all year. I’ve never seen someone so confused. “Can you mail it to me?”, Marvin asks. So Marvin writes down his address on a coaster. I look at it, then back at Marvin returning the same confused look.

I offer to buy Marvin another drink. “No thank you. I’m headed across the street to swing dance.” This dude was the real deal. Marvin reaches in his pocket and hands me a penny. “I want you to have this penny”, he says. “I owned a Seers store for over 20 years. This is a commemorative coin and I want you to have it.” Then I show Marvin the picture of the Seers store I took in Mendo. Weird.

Wandering around CJ I got a tip on the Illinois river outside of Selma. We took our first dirt turnoff into the unknown and man did it work out great. For the most part I had this nugget of a beach all to myself. A few travelers came through and it was nice to share stories over a fire while drinking Banquet Beer. Then Memorial Weekend came around and my little spot turned into a Project X party. I tried to hang in there but after a night of being kept up til 4 am it was time to go deeper into the trees to find some solitude. Man are my balls getting old.

So for the past few days Riley and me have been hanging out at the Smoke Jumpers museum helping out with chores. We took the tour on Monday? I’ve lost all track of time. We haven’t left since. Sometimes at night when I crawl in the van to go to bed I’ll lay there questioning if I might be selling myself short. I don’t know how or where this journey ends. I don’t care. I do know my hands are on the wheel. Not so much at 10 and 2. Or at a confident 12. More like an erratic 9 and 3.

The one thing I don’t here from the people I run across is, “I wish I had made more money.” Because unlike money, time is a non renewable resource.