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.