Since leaving New York in early August, I have put 12,000 miles on my VW Syncro. That's about 600 gallons of gas or a little more than 100 miles a day. Up and down the West Coast, cruising around the Rockies, and exploring the deserts, I'm always looking out the windows. Here are some of my favorites views from the last 12,000 miles. I'm excited to work on more video projects in the future.
Here are some more links,
The front windshield was completely fogged, except for a pillow sized opening in the middle of the dash. A wipe of my forearm exposed the winding gravel road for ten seconds before closing up. Leaning forward, I peered through the gap in the fog. Luckily, the road was deserted and I steered the Syncro down middle of the road. Thick snow flakes stuck to the window, melting after a few seconds. I turned up the wipers.
"The defroster on this thing is a real gem." my brother said, cracking his window with the manual crank.
"Yahh yahhh, the fan nob is broken. I gotta get it fixed."
As we marched up the mountain in second gear, the snow dried out and the flakes shrunk. Narrowly avoiding the blunt nose of my Vanagon, they flew over and out of sight in some feat of aerodynamics known to a select few in Pasadena and Cambridge. After seven miles on the gravel road, we pulled over on the side of the road.
"This looks like the place."
"Have you ever been here before?"
"No but this is what it looked like on Google maps."
"Gotcha.."
We bundled up and headed out into the open field.
More so than any other weather event, the arrival of snow each year establishes the change of season. Falling asleep one night in late fall , I woke up the next morning squarely in winter to a few inches of wet snow. Loading into the Syncro that morning, we headed up to the hills behind Mosier, Oregon in search of deeper snow and eager to enjoy the season's first snow.
A dirt trail up the hill and into the clouds.
Lucy, my mom's trusted companion. Full bred Irish Terrier, half breed pain in the ass.
Stopping to take a photo, my mom and brother unsuspectingly walked ahead. Four years of constant snow warfare in Maine taught me to always be vigilant. Scraping snow off the ankle high grass, I balled it into a lemon sized ball and waited. I made up some of the distance between my brother and mom. Sensing that something was wrong, my mom's dog spun around and barked. My brother followed suit, catching a snowball on the nose.
Here are some more links,
Mosier, OR (Out of Reception),
Like live canaries in a mine, a high concentration of vans in an area suggests good things. Adventure, free spirits and exploration. Parked on side streets, some of these vans lay waiting for a long weekend or a the occasional road trip. For others, these streets provide a safe harbor away from the watchful eye of the area's finest. They all dream of the open road.
Portland Oregon has a lot of vans. Over the last few weeks, I have been stopping and snapping shots of vans that catch my eye. Here are some of my favorites.
Red stripe.
Syncro love.
Hippies.
Warriors.
Hunters.
Pinstripe.
V-8.
Tiger style.
Business in the front, party in the back. Mullet.
Syncro love.
There is a lot of green going on here. Both outside and inside I'd wager.
Fall Colors.
Two tone.
Mobile command station. VanRAD
To celebrate vans like these and the notion that, "Home is where you park it," I have started a new tumblr called #vanlife. #Vanlife will be composed of my van shots and submissions, so if you have a van or see a one or another ship of the open road, take a picture and submit it here.
Here are some more links,
After a few hundred miles, things started looking familiar. Road names and exit ramps sporadically conjured memories from yesteryear. Beers in the woods at parent-less McMansions in high school. Dark thirty to departures heading up to Mt. Hood in the back of a friend's family van. Tween soccer games at a roadside field. The closer the Syncro marched towards Portland, the more the memories flowed. "Portland International Airport, 20 miles." No stopping them now.
As I drove north on I-5 through Northern California and Southern Oregon, the trees changed color by the mile. No more dodging fall by zipping up and down the California Coast. Leaves littered the sides of the roads and rain beat down in proper northwest fashion. At 4:30, the sun set over the hills. "Fuck daylight savings," I mumbled, adjusting the windshield wiper speed. Five hours later, I pulled off highway 14 at a familiar gas station t0 fill up. Dressed in shorts, a sweater and barefoot, the 38 degree, rainy night caught me off guard.
Needles and leaves.
A morning hike in the woods.
An afternoon in Portland.
Tim on Prindle Mountain.
For miles.
Harvesting beats from the garden.
Seal Rock.
For the first time in five years, I was back in the Columbia River Gorge during the height of fall. Visiting the northwest once or twice a year, in the summer and around the holidays, limited my view of the place I where grew up. Just like a new haircut making a familiar person look different, a change of season makes an old place look new. Try it sometime.
Here are some more links,
I left my job in New York in the summer of 2011 and moved into a camper. Since then, I have driven 100,000 miles around the west, surfing and camping. During the summer of 2014, I set up a home base in the Columbia River Gorge. These are some of my stories and photos.
