First Week

My flight landed at Portland International Airport late Sunday night, a mere 48 hours after my last day of work and, for the first time in five years, I was back in the west with no connection to the Northeast.  With a new-found appreciation for the beauty of my childhood surroundings,  I bounced around the Columbia River Gorge.  For a week, I worked on my Syncro,  caught up with family and made preparations for the first leg of my road trip.

Summer steelhead and my Benchmade Mini Barrage

Looking west down the Gorge.

Full moon.

Just bellow the Bridge of the Gods.

The Columbia River Gorge is just 45 minutes east of Portland.

Salmon lure.

A morning hike on Dog Mountain in preparation for the Goruck Ascent fundraiser for Green Berets. Sponsor me using this form.

The waterfall on the Cape Horn Trail.

My Syncro.

It feels good to be back.

Here are some more links,

The Step (Picasa),

August 14th (Picasa).

A One Way Ticket to Reno

"How much would it be to go Newark?" I asked at 3:50am on Friday morning.

"$72," the driver quickly responded, removing the cell phone from his ear for an instant.

"Forget it. Take me to Penn Station," I responded, taking off my backpack and setting it against the window.  For five minutes I rubbed my eyes and tapped on the screen of my iPhone as the cab bounced down 8th ave.

"OK, how much you pay to Newark?

"I'd pay $45."  I leaned forward towards the sliding door and prepared for some negotiations.  Twenty-five minutes later, I handed him $55 and walked into the departures gate at Newark International Airport with my one-way ticket to Reno firmly gripped in my hand.

For months, I had scoured Craigslist and The Samba looking for a VW Syncro Vanagon. This isn't your grandmother's VW. Roughly 2,000 were imported to North America from 1985-1992.  They were built in the same factory as Unimogs, Steyr-Daimler-Puch a German tank company to be exact, and have since developed a strong cult following.  Today, these Syncro's have mostly collected on the west coast in predominant outdoor cities like San Francisco, Portland, Seattle and Boulder.  Eventually, I found one that met my criteria and after exchanging a few dozen emails and phone calls with its original owner, I bought a one way ticket to Reno with a return flight out of Portland four days later.

Arriving in Reno at noon, I waited with my two bags for Deon, the Syncro's owner of 24 years, to pick me up. Before long, I heard the buzz of the Syncro's Audi 2.0 engine.  Love at first sight.  After a lengthy test drive and subsequent trip to the Nevada DMV, I headed north on 395 towards central Oregon.   I put on The Weight by The Band, rolled down my windows and cruised north.

As the sun started to set, I passed an abandoned road snaking off of CA-139 into the Modoc National Forrest. Pulling a U-y on the empty highway, I headed up the road for twenty minutes, following the single track in first gear up the side of a mountain.  Eventually, the road ended at a locked gate and I set up for the night, folding out the bed in the back and snacking on some goods from Whole Foods.  I had the valley to myself.

For the next four days,  I explored the Northwest, camping in the Syncro by night and traveling and hiking by day.

My trusty GR1 and the front seats of the Syncro.

Northern California, just south of the Oregon border.

My mom near her house in the Columbia River Gorge.

The Syncro set up for the night in National Forest north of the Columbia River Gorge.

Rolling hills in the Modoc National Forest.

My mom's soon to be finished house just outside the Columbia River Gorge.

My dad and his signature Pendleton shirt in the Silver Star Mountains, just south of Mount St. Helens.

Late Monday evening, I dropped off the Syncro at my dad's and headed to the airport to catch a redeye back to JFK.  I slept the entire way, exhausted from a long weekend of wandering.   The Syncro is having some upgrades and repairs done to it (I got reckless off-roading and side swept a stump).  I will be back in a month or so to pick it up and continuing traveling.

Here are some more links, Hit the Road (Picasa), A Restless Transplant (Facebook), Foster Huntington (Twitter).

Clouds, Rain and Fog

I pinned my face against the cold window as the plane broke through the clouds over Mt. Hood on its initial decent into the Portland area.

The loudspeaker blasted, "Current weather; 42 degrees, overcast with an 85% chance of showers today."

Eagerly searching for familiar sights, I quickly spotted the radio towers pushing through a sea of heather gray. As our plane followed the Columbia River towards PDX, occasional holes in the clouds exposed suburban blocks nestled in ceder trees. Water droplets coated my window. A few seconds later, the clouds disappeared, exposing the familiar sights I had searched in vain for a few moments early.

Jerry Seinfeld once said on a visit to Portland, "The Pacific Northwest has two seasons: a rainy winter, and that one day in August." Although the truth is not quite as extreme as Jerry's quip, I learned to love the two-season climate growing up in and around the Portland area.

Unhampered by the clouds, rain and fog, I enjoyed the beautiful outdoors on my recent trip home. Like any obstacle barring from a fun activity, the constant rain only made the end result that much more rewarding. Here are photos from my 12 days back home.

Muddy.

The Columbia River Gorge.

Bonfire.

Whiteness.

Buffalo Steaks from Yakima.

Twilight.

The affirmation of the outside chance that I will one day, grow a beard.

I don't need an umbrella.

Here are some more links,
Clouds, Rain and Fog (Picasa).

On the Road

The story reverted to the beginning of chapter 8. Fumbling for the case in the center console, I grabbed CD five, ejected CD four and continued the audio book. Unsympathetic to my interest in Moby Dick, the lights of a late 80's pickup flashed twice in the rearview mirror before unleashing its liberally muffled v8. In a cloud of blue smoke and the glimmer of a Bush/Quayle 92 bumper sticker, the truck passed on a double yellow.

"Bush/Quayle? Who the fuck was Quayle?" I chuckled, referring the question to my dad with a grin.

"Bush Senior's vice president..." he sardonically replied.

"Oh no, you don't say...I mean who was he?"

"He was an incompetent Senator from Indiana; a "Family Values" advocate."

"Only in Yakima, Washington would one of those be kicking around," I said, motioning to the truck as it passed around the corner.

Spending the majority of my time in Manhattan makes exploring country roads to the sound of audio books all the more appealing. Starting on the 23rd of December and ending the 2nd of January, I explored the roads of Pacific Northwest with my friends and family. I hiked, snowboarded, shot guns and took photos along the way.

My mom's Irish terrier, Lucy.

Behind the market, Seattle.

Looking East, Bingen, Washington.

Blasting away in Prindle Washington.

Red gate near Mt Saint Helens.

Straight from Alaska.

Hours before catching my red-eye back to New York, I walked down an abandoned road in the Columbia River Gorge. Lucy, my mom's spunky Irish terrier, ran ahead, chasing a quail. Despite the beauty and serenity of my surroundings, I looked forward to the bustle and energy of New York. Nine hours later, I landed in Newark. It's a crazy world we live in.

Here are some more links,
On The Road (Picasa),
Side of the Road (ART).