Into the Fog

"Do you remember the movie "Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer?" I asked Dan.  "Well the prospector guy in it says some shit about the fog being thicker than pea soup.  This fog certainly is,"  I said, imitating Yukon Cornelius' voice from the top of a cliff some 2oo feet above the Pacific.

Dan laughed, "Haha I remember him,  the guy with the pick....That was a horrible imitation, but you're right."

Insulated by the thick fog, the sound of an occasional Toyota pickup or RV cruising down Route 1 some 200 feet away barely registered over the pounding waves.

I took in a deep breath of salty air, "Damn it feels good to be back by the ocean."

After a month in the desert,  Dan and I cut through the Sierra Nevada and headed towards the ocean.  Stopping briefly in San Francisco, we followed Route 1 up the California coast.  Within a day, the climate changed from a dry alpine desert with frost at night to a constant 60° and foggy.  No rain, no sun, just constant moisture.

Hunting for surf breaks, we explored parks and pull offs.  Having not seen the open ocean in months, the sound of the sea and the smell of salt captivated me.  For four days we cruised north, into the fog.

Surfboards after a session north of Arcata.

Endless.

Camping Luxury.

I could live there.

Inspecting the swell.

Booties.

Free range, fog fed.

Low tide.

Weathered.

Windswept.

"This swell is sure a hell of a lot better than Maine," Dan observed "Let's see if it's even better further north."

I signaled my conjecture by grabbing the keys from my pocket and turning around.  "The mountains are great, but I could never be landlocked."

Nodding his head, Dan and I walked towards the Syncro and the promise of better waves.

Here are some more links,

Into the Fog (Picasa).

Nate Walks America

"I meet all sorts of folks from all over the world," the road worker explained, replacing his burned-out cigarette with a horseshoe of Copenhagen.   "Hell, two days ago, I met this kid that's walking across America."

"No shit?"  I said leaning out of my rolled down window somewhere along US-50 in Nevada.

"Yup.  He started out east in February,  Delaware I think.  Real nice kid, think he's For-rest Gu-mp or something. He walked through here two days ago and I gave him a Gatorade... Things are going fast today, the road should be cleared up in ten minutes," he said walking back towards the next car.

Thirty miles or so after the roadwork,  Dan and I spotted Nate walking along US-50.   Pulling onto the shoulder, we ran over to talk to him.

"Hey man, we hear that you're walking across America!" I said, striking up a conversation that lasted an hour covering topics from leaving our jobs to our roots in Maine (Nate grew up 20 minutes from where Dan and I went to school).

Nate left a comfortable job, a girlfriend and a "big TV" in late February after a year of debate.  "I just had to do it.  It got in my head and it wouldn't leave so I left..." from Delaware with a backpack, a one man tent, a few changes of clothes and enough food and water for two days trip.  Sleeping in campgrounds in the east and in parks and BLM land in the west, Nate marches 25 miles a day across the country. Once in every state, Nate takes a day off, sleeps in a hotel and catches up on emails.  To document his trip,  Nate maintains a website appropriately named Natewalksamerica.com, a Facebook page and a Twitter feed.  He has been at it for seven months.

"In Missouri, I ditched the backpack and ordered this stroller from Walmart.  I had it delivered to a store 100 miles a head.  Total life saver,  Immediately, my daily mileage went up from 15 to 25."  He's also gone through three pairs of shoes and now uses solid rubber innertubes on his Schwinn stroller to avoid flats.  Street Knowledge.

"Are you ready to finish?" Dan asked.

"No,  I love it out here.  I don't want to stop."

"You could always walk around the world," I suggested half joking.

"I have thought about that," he said grinning and scratching his head as if in deep thought.

Offering Nate a cold beer from my cooler he responded,  "No, I have made that mistake to many times.  I am permanently dehydrated and have lost a shitload of weight,  one beer would do me in."

I took his word for it, imagining the dozens of yahoos, like myself, that have offered him a beer as a token of their support.  Saying our goodbyes and exchanging contact info,  Dan and I jumped in the Syncro and hit the road.  In the rear view mirror, I watched Nate take a swig of water and started walking looking off into the rugged Nevada landscape.  Some people have it figured out, I thought to myself, shifting from first to second.

Here are some more links,

Nate Walks Across America (Picasa),

Nate Walks Across America (.com),

Whereisnate (Twitter),

Nate Walks Across America (Facebook).

Meandered West

After three weeks in Colorado backpacking with my brother and taking part in the Goruck Ascent,  I picked Dan up in Fort Collins.   Stopping at Safeway to fill the cooler with food for four days and topping of the gas and water tanks at a Cheveron, we headed west.  Driving with little urgency, we stayed off I-80 and made our way a few hundred miles per day.

Remnants of a forest fire.  Bumfuck, Nevada.

Eureka, Utah.

A normal fault in Nevada.

Fishing in Colorado.

Teepees in Nevada.

Sunset off of US-50.

Breakfast.

Burning daylight.

At $5, this Magna will be a prime hill bomber and ornament for my Safari rack.  Yours truly in Eureka, Utah.

In search of 3g service, we cruised up dirt roads to the top of hills.

Those are the mountains above Salt Lake City in the background.

This horse did not.

Target practice.

Plotting our trip by attractive sections of BLM and National Forests, we marched through Colorado, Utah and Nevada.  In the evenings, we pulled off on dirt roads and drove up into the hills in search of a level section with a view to park the Syncro.   Always in keen  for a river to fish in or a mountain to hike, we stopped frequently and often backtracked.  In short, we meandered west.

Here are some more links,

West (Picasa),

Eureka to Eureka (Picasa).

Chevy van

Call it van envy or perhaps appreciation, but driving down a gravel road headed towards Carbondale, I spotted this beauty, a late 60's Chevy van, parked at a trailhead.  Having spent the last five years on the East Coast, where regularly salted roads make specimens like this as rare as dreadlocks at an NRA convention,  I quickly pulled a U-y and parked.  As a thunderstorm marched in from the north, I jumped out of my van to take a better look.

The windows were open, the tires low and the body covered in dirt but that's why I like this van.  Some things look better rode hard and put away wet.

The bumper looks like it has traded paint with the best of them.

Blue, black, white and a shot of rust.

General Motors Company.  I hope to see more like this out there on the road.

Here are some more links,

GMC (Picasa),

Chevyvan (Wikipedia).