April 27, 2013

Saturday

We are in Bend, Oregon. Desert flowers are blooming and I am frustrated with finding a way to compose them. Poppy and I walk, she was not supposed to be with us on this trip, but she is now.

From Bend to San Francisco

Again, I am in Bend, Oregon. With a smile, I remember walking with Rose, eating soup with Stephen, making baby Aiden giggle as I pretend to gobble his hand, hearing Abby's contagious laugh, seeing the fuzzy deer and rabbits from Dawn's window and getting warm hugs from my favorite people in Bend.

My favorite image in Bend was not one that I captured. At night, I walk the patchy path of crunchy snow and ice from one street to another. I look up and see the criss-crossing, thin branches of a young, bare tree with a few shriveled leaves clinging and glowing in the moonlight.

I eat by myself at a narrow counter by the window. Three of the staff members stop by to check on me and I can feel their kind and somewhat pitying expressions for the woman all alone. It makes me uncomfortable. I do not feel lonely as I write in my battered and worn, green journal. I appreciate their concern, but would feel better if they had a different conclusion of my solitude. But I get it and maybe they feel more about me than I do.

I appreciate my time walking with Abby. The calm morning turns blustery and you can see the wind from the flying, sandy dirt and debris. I wipe the film of sand from my lips caught there by my lip balm. We walk along the loveliest of all rivers, the Deschutes.

I exit the wind into the airport and breeze through security. We are buckled into our seats, ready for takeoff, unknowing that the plane will not move again, at least not on this day. In line to be re-ticketed, I call my sister to check the weather for the towns I would pass through if I happened to drive back to San Francisco. At 9 p.m. snow will fall in Dorris and the same for Weed, California but Redding looks clear. I want to be home. I could get past the snow before 9 p.m. but it is not my fate to drive this time.

Instead, I board a plane for Portland, in the tenth and final row of the small plane. I trade the aisle for the window seat with the young man next to me. Better than a movie, I watch the land of central Oregon stretch out below me and I salivate as I look north and east to the remote stretches of desert and I strongly desire to explore it. That is the kind of alone-ness that energizes me, in it I feel who I am.

We fly into the clouds and above them and the ground is gone again until we near Portland. Then the clouds break up and the rolling green hills and forests appear. I can see the farthest reaching western touches of snow, the trees are dusted in white and then finally, only green. I am grateful to see the Columbia River Gorge as we fly parallel to the huge river. We land smoothly.

I spend five hours at the Portland airport, sitting in the large open area at a table next to the tall windows. Businessmen are scattered about on their laptops. One man is engaged in a video call and by his looks and hand gestures he must be talking to his kids. A large crowd of people gather just beyond security with balloons and signs and they start clapping and cheering for someone who has finally arrived. What a nice welcome, I wonder if I would ever like that.

I sit next to two off-duty flight attendants by my gate for two hours waiting to board our delayed flight. I can tell they have lots of practice waiting. I finish the book I bought at the San Francisco airport before I left, never expecting to read a whole book on my short trip to Bend. I am not sure the book was good for me. Many times I wanted to stop reading, throw it out, even burn it. It wasn't all bad. It glared at me the addiction of doing, doing, doing things, lacking passion, and bloated with shallow activity. But it wasn't all bad.

I talk to another of my sisters on the phone. It is her birthday and I wish I could be with her. I miss her nearly every moment I am not with her, I don't feel that way about too many people, maybe only her. Why is that?

The air feels very rough and I tighten my seatbelt as much as I can. We are over the runway, but we have not touched down yet. I like flying but I don't always like landing. We bounce and swerve small amounts and then brake hard but we are safely on the ground. We wait for 15 minutes just short of the gate in San Francisco. I have finally run out of patience. I am at the back of the plane and it takes a long time to empty. Paul picks me up, curbside.

At nearly 1 a.m., I walk in the door of my house exactly 12 hours after I walked into the Redmond/Bend airport. Knowing that fact turns me into a complainer. But really, I want it as an excuse to take the morning off, to gather myself and clear my mind. I need that time. If I take the time without an excuse, I fear I am weak and lazy. I roll my eyes and shake my head at myself, "Give me a break!" I tell myself, literally. Okay fine, I just might try.

View From Above

I have a lot of flying dreams. They are so vivid that I swear my body remembers the sensation of flying (which is always like swimming through the air). My father's passion is flying airplanes. He wanted to be a fighter jet pilot and was forever scarred the day he was twelve and got eyeglasses. Even to this day my father is affected deeply by this turn of events in his life and still talks about how much he wished he could fly in a fighter jet, just once, and experience what it is like to do a roll in the air, just because you can.

As kids, my father would take us up in small two-seater airplanes and sometimes we would fly over our house. That was the coolest thing. A couple of years ago I went up in a helicopter for the first time at the helicopter museum in West Chester, Pennsylvania. My grandfather, who built and worked for helicopter companies the vast majority of his career, helped start the helicopter museum. That helicopter ride was an amazing experience.

I travel to Bend, Oregon many times a year. I usually drive except in the winter when conditions can be too wintry for such a long journye. A couple of weeks ago I flew from San Francisco to Bend. I love this flight because you fly in a small jet at such a low altitude that you can experience all the sights (and more) you see on the drive, from above. For me, it is magical. I hope you enjoy the journey in photographs. See the map below for a sometimes rough estimate of each photograph point.

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I turn on my DSLR the second after the attendant announces, "It is now safe to use approved, electronic devices." This was the best shot of San Francisco I could get at this stage in the flight. I like finding my street and all the familiar places in the city. Here, you can see the long stretch of San Francisco beach, the Bay Bridge, the Golden Gate Bridge, the rectangular Golden Gate Park and Alcatraz, which looks much smaller than I pictured from the ground.

A: San Francisco, the Bay and the Marin Headlands

We head north and east and pass over the East Bay where you can see Golden Gate Fields Racetrack, part of the Berkeley Hills, Richmond and towards San Rafael.

B: The East Bay

C: Further north at the edge of the Bay, near American Canyon.

It took me a little while to realize that this is Napa Valley. The rectangle at the bottom left corner is Yountville and the body of water on the right, center is Lake Hennessey. You can see north up the valley all the way to St. Helena. The vines would probably have leaves on them that have turned fall colors or maybe they have shriveled up by now.

D: Napa Valley

This is the edge of Lake Berryessa where Berryessa-Knoxville Road crosses two bridges. The surrounding hills look relatively vacant over Napa County's largest lake.

E: Lake Berryessa

Between Clearlake and Interstate 5 is this small mountain range. I drove through some of these hills last spring in search of wildflowers.

F: Hills East of Clearlake

G: A valley somewhere in the hills west of Arbuckle.

H: Hills and farmland north of Willows

I: The Sacramento River near the town of Proberta

On my drives to Bend, I often get glimpses of the Sacramento River and I am always amazed at how long it runs. One of my favorite parts of the drive is around Lake Shasta. I always make my halfway stop in Redding for gas and a break. Then I get to enjoy the amazing scenery around the blue waters, mountains and inlets of Lake Shasta. I think it is actually more beautiful from the ground.

J: Lake Shasta, north of Redding

When Interstate 5 gets to the town of Weed (yes there is a town called Weed) you get on Highway 97 to drive to Bend. This is where the drive gets really remote, but it is here that you are treated to the vistas of the looming Mount Shasta.

K: Mount Shasta

L: Snow fields in the foothills of Mount Shasta

M: Southeast of Macdoel at Robison and Technor Roads

After leaving the hills around Mount Shasta you enter Butte Valley, a dry valley of irrigated farmland.

N: A view of the town of Macdoel and Meiss Lake in the distance

Just over the Oregon border, the farmland changes a bit and you can see the difference a state funded irrigation program makes in the landscape.

O: Oregon farmland just over the border

Continue on and soon you will be over the city of Klamath Falls, the first city since Redding.

P: Just north of Klamath Falls, the Upper Klamath Lake

Q: West of Chiloquin on Sprague River Road

The most amazing sight for me on the whole trip was seeing Crater Lake from the plane. It was truly amazing. When you visit the lake and look down from the rim, it feels like you are looking so far down. I never realized that the surface of the lake is actually at such a high elevation.

R: Crater Lake

Between Crater Lake and Bend, there is a lot of pine forests and then lava fields. The most striking thing in Bend is the view of Mount Bachelor and the Three Sisters, one of my favorite vistas!

S: Mount Bachelor and the Three Sisters

Summer Road Trip - Driving to Idaho

START: 507 miles, 11:45am.

Maui

Siena

We had agreed the night before to leave at 10am, but we left at 11:45am. My normal habit is to be upset by this and I still felt this pattern in me. But just like unconscious slouching most of your life, the pattern is still there, in your body, even though now you are consciously sitting up straight. The pattern was still there, but not active. Instead, it felt like the space for more time was needed and so, I was at peace. I was a little surprised by this, but I enjoyed my calm and enjoyed watching Rose's cat, Maui, sit in the long grass under a tree, watching us pack up the cars and Rose's dog, Siena, get excited because she thinks she is going on the trip. Poor Siena.

Rose driving the Eurovan

I felt a pang, as we, Rose in her Eurovan and me in my Honda Civic hatchback, left Bend, because I wished I could have spent more time there. But the road was calling and I would be back in Bend at the end of the month. To the west of Bend are the Cascade mountains and to the east is the beginning of high desert. As we drive out of Bend the pine covered, snow-capped mountains relax into shorter mountains.

The trees become thinner and smaller and sagebrush (I guess that is what they call it) begins to cover the ground intermixed with brown, dry grass. It is dusty and hot and dry.
Even these desert mountains spread out into tall hills, sweeping up and down with longer and wider spaces between them. The trees disappear and are the pastel green of sagebrush carpets the ground. In my rear view mirror I can still see a snow-capped peak of a mountain behind me. Long stretches of the road are empty, this is the Oregon Badlands.

Oregon desert hayfield

After a while, I see some signs of human inhabitance, in the form of hay fields. This creates bright, green swathes amongst the brown, gold and pastel green of the desert. There is something about a road trip that is unlike other types of travel. By traveling so many miles, you get a greater sense of vastness, not just by huge, endless landscapes, but by the sheer number of miles there are available to cross in this country, on this planet. You are not just on it, you are in it. These places can be known, even if just a little, by you. There are so many places to know and even then, you could stay and get to know them well. Who really knows these places? Can they be known? What is there is to know? And if we do know them well, how long before we forget that we know them?

Rose and I stop in Burns for gas and lunch. In Oregon, like in New Jersey, you can not pump your own gas and so the station attendant was available to recommend RJ's for burgers. So Rose and I eat lunch at RJ's. The burger was good and does not make me feel sleepy as I digest.

Western Oregon

Desert River

After leaving Burns the hills roll in again and then whip up getting taller and move in closer in dry, brown and rocky forms. After a very long time, green-ness appears and so does a shallow river, which the road follows through a modest and narrow valley. I get caught behind a tractor trailer hauling an oversized, odd piece of metal-something. It is slow going until we get to a small town and are able to pass. After the dry hills, it flattens out again with silvery-green trees and farms begin to appear. Enter Idaho.

Golden Idaho fields

Idaho onion farm

In Idaho there are many farms, but there seem to be many fields of onions. Maybe the other fields are wheat or straw, lettuce, maybe even potatoes. The air is still, too still, it would be stale if it weren't for a surprising, sweet smell in the air which I can not identify.  We continue on Highway 20, towards Boise through farmland. I think this area is the Snake River Canyon. Sometimes it is flat and sometimes there are deep ravines, which I suppose are considered canyons. It continues to be dry and golden and hills pop up again and grow into mountains. The landscape continues this way on Interstate 84 and all the way to Boise.

Downtown Boise

In Boise we get off the interstate and drive down Main Street in downtown Boise. This small city seems to be an oasis or maybe a relief from the surrounding, dried out area. There is a river and tall, green trees. The downtown is very small and is lined with shops and restaurants where people are out-and-about, quaint. The western outskirts seemed deserted but moving in deeper there are old neighborhoods with large, well-kept established looking houses. We pass many pleasant, tree-lined streets.

Highway 21

At the eastern end of Boise we get gas and then get on Highway 21 towards Stanley, Idaho. It is beginning to get dark. Mountains appear on both sides of the road, along with a river.  A deep ravine, carved by the river, descends below the road. Trees become thick and the road takes us to higher and higher elevation. The mountains block the sun prematurely. We pass through a couple of small towns, including Idaho Falls. Darkness comes and the windy road makes driving slow. But eventually, it flattens a bit and I see the lights of a very small town ahead, Stanley. We stop alongside the road in Stanley so I can check my directions to the campground. I call Paul as well as I don't expect cell service at the campground.  Stanley is quiet and seems like a one road town. At the end of town we turn down Highway 75 for four miles before reaching the road that goes to the campgrounds.
We pull into Point Campground, site 11, only to find that it is occupied.  A youngish man is standing in the campsite, all else is very quiet and it seems many campers have gone to bed. I ask him if he has a reservation, he says no, but the campsite was not tagged with a name so he took it. I told him we had it reserved. I did not see a sign for a campground host, so I figure we are on our own. The man seems nice and apologetic and offers to let us park in the campsite. I find it a bit ironic that he is allowing us to park in the campsite that is ours, reserved and paid for with my name on it. I re-check my reservation, then I drive around the campground loop to see if there are any empty campsites, which is ridiculous because they have been booked up for weeks. Instead, we park in the walk-in tent parking. We eat yogurt as our dinner in the van and then get ready for bed. Rose pulls out the beds in the Eurovan. Rose is on the top bunk and I am on the bottom bunk and we talk this way for a couple of hours until finally, we fall asleep.
END: 1016 miles.

Bend, OR to Stanley, ID:

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Summer Road Trip - Driving to Bend

START: 0 miles, 7:11am.
I woke up several times during the night and checked my alarm clock.  I had moved it away from its normal position on the nightstand because my body knows the motion, all to well, to turn off the alarm. So well, in fact, I could do it in my sleep (hahahaha!) and today I can not afford to hit snooze. At 5:58am I groan. At 6:00am I turn off my alarm. Then I lay in bed for a few moments and observe the dream I had been having melts away, back into its camouflaged background of my mind, leaving all the worries and fears I was working out in my dream in there usual places.
After my usual morning routine and packing the car with the final things, Paul got up and we said goodbye. Damn, I miss him. Today I am driving from San Francisco to Bend, Oregon. This is my fourth time doing this drive in four months.
It was cold and the fog was especially thick. It continued this way for a long time, probably 50 miles. I crossed the Bay Bridge and continued on I-80.

Full force sunny day!

The sun did finally start to appear from the underbelly of the fog and eventually came out in full force. Morning sun is like no other. It is a fresh beginning that makes you feel like you get to try it all over, for the first time, again.

Past Davis, I got on highway 505. I like this road, it is flat and easy to drive and every time I have been on it, it has been pretty empty. But today, in the early morning sun, it was especially nice with fields of crops, including sunflowers, and rolling golden hills. Perhaps the greatest treat was the hot air balloons being launched next to the highway.

Eventually, 505 dumped me out onto I-5 and I continued north. I stopped for gas in Red Bluff. After some time I reached the Shasta Lake area. It is so beautiful here. The interstate stretches through mountains and along the lake. I can't imagine why more people don't live here, where it is so amazing.  Why do we spend so much time of the fringes, the fringes of land masses and cities? Why are we afraid to move in deeper? Is it jobs? Comforts?

Shasta Lake

I-5 continues through the mountains and I climb up in my little, dark purple Honda, then we go back down. Up and down again and again through these mountains around twists and turns and lakes and rocks.

Mount Shasta

Dry mountain

Continuing on, Mount Shasta appears out of nowhere. As I drive closer and closer it gets more and more majestic, looming over everything for miles and miles.
Dry mountains start to appear, such as this one. The landscape continues to get drier and drier the further north I go. I am also entering volcano-land. In the town of Weed (yes, I am sure there is someone giggling as they read this), under the shadow of Mount Shasta, I trade I-5 for Highway 97, which will take me into Oregon.

Although I love the lakes and mountains, I think the dry flatland and grasslands near the California/Oregon border are my favorite part of this drive.

Today it was especially nice because it was sunny with big blue skies and puffy white clouds, something we don't see too often in the summers in the Bay Area. Even my point-and-shoot camera captured the amazing skies.

The road heads into Oregon around a bend and though the Butte Valley Grasslands.

Shortly after entering Oregon on highway 97, you will encounter the town of Klamath Falls, the largest city since Redding (probably). I am always shocked to come upon Klamath Falls. The road goes past field after field for miles and then, a body of water appears with logs floating, shortly thereafter you stumble upon the city.

The city of Klamath Falls

After leaving Klamath Falls the road curves gently along Klamath Lake. They have been doing quite a bit of road construction along the lake and I am pleased to see that much of it is now completed. There is something about driving right along side this lake, as the Cascade Mountains are beginning to pop into view that really strikes something with me.

Klamath Lake

After Klamath Falls there are pine trees, LOTS of them, for miles and miles. At first they are nice.

Never-ending Pines

But then, I get tired of them. They go on forever. Nothing but pine trees and an occasional road sign. There aren't even any towns. I am getting sleepy. I change my iPod to play music I can sing to, which I do at the top of my lungs to keep me awake. I get to a small town, if you can call it that, but no coffee. I get to the town of Chemult, no coffee. I am getting desperate. I sing louder, I sit straighter, I even slap myself lightly. When I get to La Pine, I go to the first drive-through coffee place on the edge of town. I have stopped at this place before and they always have a trivia question. Last time the answer was pirouette, this time it is Chicago O'Hare. I get my coffee and drive to a side road where I get out and stretch my legs. Then I continue to Bend.
 

I am ahead of schedule getting to Bend, so I stop at the Old Mill District to use the bathroom and get a sandwich.  It is a Summer Saturday in Bend, which means that people will be floating down the Deschutes River, into another park near downtown. The Old Mill District seems to be where they start off.

Floating down the Deschutes River

This is one of the most amazing things about Bend. The Deschutes is already an amazing river, elegant and subtle. The fact that the people of Bend are celebrating their weekend summer day by floating down this river makes me glad that they are not taking it for granted. It looks like so much fun. Someday I will do it too.

I leave the Old Mill District and head northwest out of town for my bodywork session. There, I meet my bodyworker at her studio. I have been afraid of this, afraid that it will be intense. I know I have upper back pain that has been wearing me down for years and years. I can not take it anymore, no more, please no more. But also, breathing into my belly has been bringing about tears of emotion with no story. Strange and mysterious. Real muscle knots, when pressed deeply, will immediately make tears start rolling down my cheeks for no apparent reason and this has been going on for years. I am also afraid that I will visit this bodyworker and nothing will happen, I will be left just as puzzled and in pain as before.
As it turns out, this was not the case. She started her amazing work. She said, from how my body was responding, that maybe I should swim (funny, since I was just thinking about swimming a couple of days ago and how swimming really allows you complete freedom of movement). After a while she leaned her arm and elbow into my upper back and it felt like the weight of everything was bearing down on me. Not just a physical weight of a heavy burden, but a familiar feeling of when I have been asked to carry one more thing, one more responsibility, one more task, it feels like this in my back. It is so familiar and so pressing, it is the burden of a heavy load. Who gave me this load, I don't know, probably myself. Expecting too much, doing too much, being too harsh with myself. It is being pressed out of me, and I cry. When she is done, she advises that I should allow myself more fun and time to be silly and child-like. I agree, good thing I am starting out on my two week vacation.
I am exhausted, my head is screaming in sinus pain from going up and down the mountains. I drive to Rose and Stephen's house. We eat dinner. We hang out and Rose packs for the trip. They are good company and I liked getting to know them better, in person. Then the day is over.
Writing for me is like packing, you always think you need the extra stuff, so you pack it, only to find you have too much. So then, you have to unpack and decide more carefully exactly what is essential to take. I did not do this here, too tired, giving myself a break, a little bit.

San Francisco, CA to Bend, OR:

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