Transitioning II

The posts have sort of slowed to a small trickle lately. Part of this is due to the fact that I keep going back and forth between the coast and the Rockies. Monday I woke up in Newport, had lunch in Spokane, Dinner in Missoula, Montana, and finally settled into a post midnight ride on the Empire Builder, headed toward Seattle. My song would be Trains, deranged, and automobiles.

Or something like that.

Back in Newport such an itinerary would be met with a rolling of the eyes, a shrugged "whatever" and then a sarcastic question-"how many travel brochures did you pick up this time?"

It seems some have observed that I have a brochure fetish and in some environments I am strongly discouraged from collecting them. It seems its been decided that I just can't help myself from travel racks, curiosity, and motion.

The deranged part of this equation-wherever my travel adventures are concerned would be the fact that as much as I crave a solitary lifestyle, I still attract a wide assortment of people who become part of the narrative.

This would include the church ladies from Indiana sharing the car on the Empire Builder with me. These women seemed truly amazed that any person could travel so much during one day and yet consider it nothing. I was amazed that so many women seemed so adverse to sleeping.

Still as dawn loomed, I remained a sort of adopted tour guide for them, offering websites, tour ideas, and fearless adventures not normally taken by women of their social status and/or age.

They were delighted for any opportunity to "live dangerously" and so totally up for any suggestions to ensure mid western bragging rights. Upon return to Indiana, pursuing such travel options would most certainly insure that their trip out-did any other tale dared offered at the upcoming May mother's day potluck table. Swinging bridges? Ancient Cedars? Hiking to the foot of an inland glacier and then blowing glass before dinner in Nelson? No problem, Where do we rent the car?

As tired as I was, a certain lightness overtook me-their spirit was infectious. As the Cascades began to take form under rainy skies, they chattered and exclaimed, asked questions no one from the northwest would ask, and then settled in with one another to plan their great exciting adventure.

For a minute I thought it would be wonderful to sneak into that church and witness their mother's day gathering. How cool to hear their tale. Then I remembered just how bad potluck food can be and I celebrated a change of heart.

Eventually we detrained at King Street Station. Even now Seattle remains a shock to my system. Its a love hate sort of thing. The assault of traffic, the noise, the footprint of humanity upon the Puget Sound Region-there is nothing subtle about a modern urban life. By the time my father pulled up, already five people told me that only I and that dollar burning a hole in my pocket, kept them from getting home, getting dinner, or getting laid. Amazing what a dollar can get you these days.

I spent the rest of Tuesday riding around with my father. He was dispatched to Vashon Island and I rode shot gun as we picked up artificial skeletons and delivered DHL packages to various residences. I saw a bumper sticker while on the island that said "Keep Vashon Weird." As if normal threatened to pollute the place.

Vashon Island does have a sort of upper income hippy quality to it. Here are all these souls dedicated toward "building green", sporting more than a few aging VW Buses clanking down the main drag, willfully defying Seattle to speed up their pace of life. Vashon has something like three stop lights-which is way more than Pend Oreille County has. But the island has more than its fair share of funky restaurants, co op artist galleries and open spaces. I could live there I decided. I am definitely "Weird" enough. The various cafes and vegan eateries would ensure I didn't starve to death.

So that is an update. Pictures to follow. I hope.

And for anyone who encounters a bunch of mid western church ladies, bravely having the time of their life, dare them to really live it up and get a tattoo marking their journey. A very northwestern thing to do. Not to mention that no one else in Indiana will be sporting fresh ink at their mother's day potluck.