Part 1
It’s hard travelling alone: facing the long
stretches of road that lie in front of you with nothing but a syrupy, non-fat
vanilla chai frappe by your side.
Heading upwards (north I think they call
it) from San Francisco, the wilderness along Highway 1 is maiden and rugged. As
you drive the twisted precipice of beaten coastline, the ocean on your left
violently thunders. On your right, mountains rise, omnipotent; the scrappy
cliffs scarred with jagged rocks and sprinkled with flushes of wildflowers.
These (and the syrupy, non-fat vanilla chai
frappe) were my only companions from San Francisco to Portland. They were
difficult to navigate - twisting, turning and volatile, but with a beauty that
can only be described as breathtaking. Qualities not dissimilar to that of my
most beloved friends.
***
“You’re
taking the 1 all the way to Seattle?” Jed said with
an edge of disconcerting surprise. Then, adjusting his tone to correlate with his Californian jaw
line and adventure/surfer dude disposition, he said “Fun”.
Jed was just some guy I met in Port ReyesStation, California. We’d
both stopped for coffee at a cafe that sold real espresso and we were enjoying
the sun in the local park. He was headed south and me… well I was heading upwards.
“Enjoy
your trip”, he said with a smile full of confident
teeth. And with a self-assured wave, he left.
“I
will” …
I meant it. Because I had nothing better to
do. I was coming out of a long winter of discontent and a luxurious middle
class depression. I had no future, no past, all I had was the road - and an
excellent coffee to start the day.
Aside from the pimply attendant at
Starbucks, Jed was the last person I spoke to until Portland.
***
If spending 10 hours a day holed up in a
tin can of a Rio Kia wasn’t isolating enough, I decided to camp, by myself,
along the coast, mainly because I had spent $60 on pirate goods in San Francisco and wanted to
save money**.
As we all know, aloneness can be freeing,
liberating, peaceful and highly rewarding. It’s a time to think and reflect, to
let thoughts, ideas and preconceived notions about yourself and the world fall
out in front of you and unravel with the road.
Loneliness, as we all know, is like a tepid
bath. What had once been lovely and hot is now a soggy reminder that you should
get out. There’s a little bit of melancholy and nostalgia, and a whole lot of wrinkly-fingered
indulgence.
But both loneliness and aloneness take on a
different meaning when bears get involved…
To be continued…
** It’s actually not much cheaper at all
with some camp sites costing up to $45. On average you can expect to pay about
$30 a night for a tent only (unpowered) site, which is about the same price for
a dorm bed in a decent hostel. But there’s less 18 year olds falling over
themselves in the hallways after jagerbombs.
- For those of you thinking about camping in the US: you can do it a lot cheaper than designated campgrounds in National Parks. City parks in most towns allow for camping, you just need to ask/inform the local police. I read this in Backpacking in North America a travel guide from 1982, but it was also confirmed by my American host and owner of a hostel in San Jose, Costa Rica
- · However: as the number of US vacationers to National Parks for overnight or extended holidays is dwindling, I would also encourage more camping in the National Parks if you can afford it – they are picturesque and overly manicured to point of a Disney film set but there’s hot showers and elk!
 |
| elk! |
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