Captain's [b]Log

Signs of bus fever seem imminent. After leaving the streets of Olympia, plagued by street vermin of the most ill repute, we traveled east for two days through a steady grey – mostly mist and fog augmented by the occasional downpour. 

Bus Fever in its early stages

We’re down to four crew members. Those who have departed now rest in a sweeter sphere of reality; one not plagued with unrest and laden with incessant movement. Hereby follows a brief memoriam to those who have departed.

 

27 June

 Ben and Taryn: Their eternal pledge of love hastened fates uncaring claim. With them we lost the most trustworthy outdoor expertise. They are deeply missed.

29 June

Jess: She held on for two extra days, wandering the streets of San Francisco in undulated bliss. Her nicknames and high spirits will last forever.

 

1 July

Corina: Trinkets and knick-knacks still linger on board, reminding us daily of her former presence. Her wide assortment of interesting hats is sorely missed. May the bison bolo linger in our minds for all time.

 

6 July

Jared: His moustache gleamed creepily in the firelight, but after hundreds of jokes this was forgotten; we beamed with the laughter of a thousand suns. His food-stained shirts bear the remnants of good times. He will not be forgotten.

 

7 July

Becca: Her daily attention to the coffee pot kept us sane and gave those who departed hope for the day. Her sumo kicks remain legend. May she always live in our hearts.

 

11 July

Katelynn: She lasted longer than any of those who have departed. The cross around her neck gave her strength to bear our backslidden ways. Her unflinching devotion to kindness serves as an example for us all.

11 July

Laura: Her stay was too short-lived, but her company will subsist in the art of her hands. She never seemed bus-worn or travel-weary. Her loss is a costly one.

Due to heavy rains in Glacier National park, we made camp in the Missoula Wal-Mart parking lot for two days. Wandering the town streets in an undirected stupor, we hope for reprieve and sunshine in the upcoming days.  

A Brief Interlude

As time passes I find reflection a bit easier. Although some of what we’ve seen just doesn’t make sense. Coastline stretched out in front of us with fog coming in off the Pacific encircling giant Redwoods and Sequoias and rising like hot steam off the marshes and bogs that lead to the ocean.

The trees themselves are too big to adequately comprehend. Often, they are hollowed out and charred by fire. The breadth at the base of the Sequoias lures us to walk around them, but we lose track of where we began as we start to circle. The mountain, Rainier, is also shrouded in fog, but the fog is fused with cloud, dark and unassailable. But when the light breaks through and the mountain is exposed, even from the cusp of its glaciers the summit appears unreachable, an alien peak hoping to transcend this earth.

Equally unexplainable are Aaron’s new pants. How does something become so assaultingly pink?

These images simply pile up. The Colombia River, wide and fast, as it heads for the sea. Water coming down off mountains and shaping valleys and bending rock, as it has for millions of years. A nine-foot sturgeon. Mountains cut by glaciers.

All of these things are difficult to synthesize into anything slightly coherent, clearly defined, syllogistic terminology. I can’t – or maybe don’t want to – reduce what I’ve seen into some sort of didactic point; but seeing the world, especially somewhat removed from society (although this removal is indeed fabricated and surrounded by a different subset of society, a different rant altogether), helps me realize my place in it. I am small and insignificant in the wake of the world. Things are much bigger than I, almost senselessly so. However, this realization helps me contextualize my everyday life, mainly in humanistic terms. But this still needs some working out. And the road is calling. There are still more things ahead.

Crew Number Two

Aaron, Mechanic, Handy-brother

Master of Industrial Design.
He hears the drums echoing tonight.
R-rated tour guide of huge #$%^/?*^%$&^%#!#!! trees.
5 minutes on the bus and already finding things to fix.


Jared, Uncle Tobias

They’ll never believe it was consensual.
Quarantined to the snore tent.
He’ll buy you 100 jokes and teach them all to you.
Ultimate spooner.

Becca, Maple Syrup Expert

Sumo kick extraordinaire.
Will sue you if she doesn’t get her coffee.
Directionally challenged.
Braved cold Alaskan winters in the name of justice.
Graciously gave up 4 days without running.

Laura, California native

Reached the far ends of the earth, Europe, Asia, and more to come.
A scientist, and she knows that shit is bullshit.
Last minute packer.
Unphasable cuteness.
Envious of bustaches.

The city

For the first few days the city seems endless. A veritable offertory of bodies, streets, buildings stacked on top of and in between other buildings clinging to hillsides and concrete, sirens, conversations, storefronts, images ranging from grotesque to mundane. An assault on the full range of human senses.

As I move through the city, I become acclimated to its pace. Busmates split up and explore according to their own whimsical inclinations. San Francisco ambivalently provides a wide range of people. Beautiful people young and old traverse the streets in full regalia. Hipsters in tight Levis and flannel shirts with their large sunglasses and unkempt hair, older-California-types donning expensive handbags and driving zippy cars, homeless wanderers and long time users who push shopping carts down the sidewalks collecting cans and knick-knacks and emitting the fetor of showerless days, college students with messenger bags and Diesel jeans spouting bullshit conversations, single mothers and children in strollers, business men and women, skater punks, health freaks. You get the picture.

After some time here, very few things dictate a double take. (In the few blocks that surround Shotwell house several busses surpassing ours in funkiness have been spotted.) But that is part of the city’s beauty. Out of the confluence of all these images emerge infinite stories.

I wonder how Gary, the homeless man in front of the corner store I frequent almost daily, got there. What keeps him there? What story lies behind the man marching in the gay pride parade with his parents? His parents held a sign that said We love our gay son while he held a sign that said I love my straight parents. This seems both beautiful and foreign to me and I embrace this mutual confirmation of love. In fairness, I also wonder in bewilderment at the spectacle of leather-clad men in g-strings or organic dog food – equally absurd.

What stands out, however, is that this is where we should be. At least for now.

Tomorrow we leave. New bios to be posted promptly.