9/7- The Tortoise & The Hare

In the morning hours of 10, or 11, or noon we rose. I got up a little earlier and made myself some oatmeal for the day. Todd rose a little later and enjoyed some canned beans. I was smiling over all of this because I was really enjoying how our styles had really defined themselves clearly by now. No more of this hodge podge weird mess of trying to mix our ways leaving one of us in a strange control balancing act.

While walking last night, from the moment we were dropped off at the Flying J until we settled into our nest of weeds there had been brief hints back and forth at questioning what it was we were doing and whether we wanted to do it together or not. The Tortoise and The Hare idea had come up quite a few times, but as I said in the last post, neither of us wanted to split ways so soon. Today was a new day.

I liked that we were able to talk so casually about whether Todd wanted to stay at the ramps while I walked on or if he even wanted to go up north since his calling seemed to be saying south. We were individual partners, rather than bound comrades this time, and I smiled over that development too. Over breakfast we finally decided to attack the question.

It was clear if we kept walking west I-84 would get farther and farther away. After the little jaunt of that night Todd was quickly defining in himself that he had no shame in loving his method either. Sure he wanted to break in his boots and walk a bit, but not 300 some odd miles. Despite our quick success with the pick up, we got no other rides last night, and wondered if that was a fluke and that we would be walking such stretches through this Oregon desert ahead. I was also suddenly feeling a strange draw toward Bend, OR which dips away from the path to Portland, and suddenly both of us were wondering what the hell it was that was driving us to Portland in the first place. It had been huge to us back in Michigan and Iowa, but now it was a wonder.

I clearly was excited to see my sister in Port Townsend, WA. Todd was intrigued by the notions of crossing a serious desert. The Portland excitement seemed to only be there because of us being together there, but for no other reason. Suddenly we saw a huge struggle to get there for maybe a night roaming the streets and splitting ways then. It seemed a bit out of sorts.

We talked for about an hour as we decided that he liked his ramps and I liked my back roads. There was no judgment here now, finally, from either of us, where there had been a few months ago. We decided then, that if we're going to split up again it why not have a coffee back at the gas station first to do a proper goodbye. It was good, because this time it was devoid of the under spoken animosity that hung over our friendly departure in Omaha.

A mile back east for me was also no big deal. As we both pointed out, my walking was strictly for scenery. Walking is my meditation, it doesn't matter how far I get if I'm hitching, because the theory is that someone will get me eventually and bring me much farther than I would have walked. So we returned to the Stinker, the gas station of the previous night. Immediately the manager-apparent got to talking with us and offered us squash... because that's what you do in Caldwell I suppose. We accepted joking we could trade it for rides, but later I left it with the cashier there.

We hung out probably 45 minutes while we sipped coffee and settled into our decision, then after a picture in front of the place and headed off. Maybe about five minutes walk before I got to where we'd crawled out of our bivys that morning a very attractive young lady spun around and offered me a ride.

Initially I thought Zaine was from Canada after she offhandedly made a point to say that in her country people don't think twice about picking up hitchers, that's just what you do. She had a very slight accent as well, but what threw me was that it was definitely not from up there. As it turned out she would set the Central American theme for the day. When she was 14 she had moved up to America from Belize and eventually got married and nestled in. She was full of energy and I loved just chatting with her. When we got to the little town she was going to drop me in at the library I quietly thanked the strange holiday of Labor Day because the library was closed. Seeing that, and having a good time talking, she decided to take me further down the road, out of her way, and drop me over the border in Nyssa, OR.

It was a great way to kick off my solo return. Here it was a half an hour after parting with Todd and I'd made it to Oregon already. When we split off we'd said we'd text each other if either of us went to Portland to see if the other was there or on their way, but neither of us knew if we were going to bother with it or not. I figured if we were on the Tortoise and the Hare race, then I just got a good head start.

I said goodbye to Zaine as she returned to Idaho and I made off toward Vale, OR where 20 and 26 split ways. Vale had personal meaning for me as well, as this would be the first time on this trip that I'd be re-walking any part of my old walk in '04. Five years previous I had come through Ontario, OR and walked the stretch to Vale, past Tattle Tale Ln., and turned up US-26 toward Baker City and La Grande. This time I'd be taking the southern route on US-20 toward Burns and Bend.

I walked probably three or four miles past some nice country, and as usual, as my brain started readjusting itself to thinking I'd be walking the whole 20 miles to Vale a car pulled up behind me. Being Labor Day, once again, this couple were out for a joy ride heading to Ontario, OR just to be out for a drive. I hopped in and asked if they could let me out just before Ontario at the split off to Vale. Instead of obliging me that request they just took the turn and joy rode to Vale instead.

These two simply hit the technical mark of my Central American theme for the day since the guy was of Mexican heritage I believe, but we mostly spoke of religion. It was all talk of the weather until half way to Vale when we hit on spirituality and their Christianity. I explained to them my beliefs of reincarnation and a higher power and all of that, and I was happy to find it opened a relatively nice dialogue on the subject rather than an attempt to be saved. The last time I was on this road I was taken in by Mormons to learn the story of Joseph Smith over juice, but these guys were quite nice about it. In fact he specifically said he would never try to dissuade someone away from a faith they already have. He did leave it lingering there though seeming to silently say that he wouldn't be satisfied leaving someone he met with no faith at all though, but that's a guess.

I had to laugh when I got out in Vale because I stepped out across the street from another hitcher. The unnamed couple drove off and I crossed over to hear what this guy was yelling to me. It turned out he was just griping that he'd been stuck their all day with his sign and a thumb out. He pointed down the road to another hitcher about 50 yards down also trying to get out of Dodge.

It was a short conversation as I strapped on my pack to hoof it out, but he was sure to tell me that once I passed Burns, which was over a 100 miles down the road, there was absolutely nothing for another 100 miles passed that to Bend. Essentially telling me if I walked I was screwed.

The other hitcher, Abel, was much more optimistic. He'd only been dropped there 20 minutes ago and seemed in good spirits. I wished him luck as well, and gave him a card to the site, then sauntered on by. I got about 30 feet from him when I noticed a car had stopped for him and he was negotiating a ride. He turned it down so I threw my thumb out as the car pulled away, reeling him into me.

Preston was only going 10 miles down the road, but if you're walking then 10 miles ridden is 10 miles not walked. I also theorize that the more you're "in the middle of nowhere" the more likely people are to stop. He was a high schooler starting his senior year in the next town up, and in the ten minutes we rode together we didn't really say much more than the superficial things people say to each other when they first meet. Nevertheless, it was a good boost for a long road and I hoped more would come just as quickly.

They did not. It was a long stretch of open rolling highway through that farm land and those expanses tend to seem to take eons to cross on foot. My mentality was back to that of the Walk of Olde. Trodding along, staring at the horizon, letting my brain wander as it cooked in the sun. In good tradition, I'd neglected to put on my sunblock again.

Three hours and 7 miles later I had just risen from a rest on the side of the road by some sunflowers. I had just climbed a long hill and the sun was about an hour from setting. I was sort of giving up on the idea of getting picked up again, and was starting to rearrange my thinking into the long haul mentality of walking 20 to 30 miles a day. Once again, as this thinking solidified a little pick up pulled up in front of me.

Luego was heading to Bend... Holy Shit. Bend was still 233 miles away from me at the time, so I strapped my bag down in the back and jumped in the cab for a nice long ride through the night past that desert I'd been hearing so much about. He pulled out on to the road, sputtered a bit, then pulled right back over to the side as the engine seized up and conked out.

Luego and I got along pretty well. He was an immigrant up from southern Mexico, some 20 years ago, who came up in his late teen years just to check out California for a year and see what it was like. He ended up getting a girlfriend, who turned into a wife, and had two daughters there. Once work started drying up there, he followed his brother north to Bend, OR where more work could be had. By the time I met him he had moved over to Payette, ID with his wife and five kids and was on his weekly commute back to Bend where the work was good for the moment. Sadly, the little truck he'd gotten two years earlier was not holding up quite as well as he was.

A great sign for the friendliness of Oregon is that not more than two minutes after pulling to the side of the road broken down a guy and his grandkid pulled over to help. He spent a good 20 or 30 minutes working over the engine, troubleshooting the carburetor, fuel injector, spark plugs, and so on until he got it running again. All the while we were just shooting the shit learning about engines. Soon enough, Luego and I were back on our way and trucking like nothing ever happened.

It took about an hour or so before we got around to Luego's story of coming out of Mexico and his nestling in up here. He and his wife both had gotten citizenship, and his kids were born here so they were obviously natural citizens. These were facts he was quite proud of. With my interest in heading south next year, I kept asking about his hometown, what life was like, what the temperatures are like year round, but for the most part we talked a lot about his achievements in becoming an American. It had me reminiscing a lot on my Dad's side coming over just 100 years earlier.

As the trip wore on we got a little into language. He loved talking to practice his English, which was quite good, and I would occasionally get him to oblige me in practicing my Spanish. A lot of that, though, can become mentally exhausting, so the last hour or two of the trip we just stared off over the road.

In that last hour, though, we did liven up some as the truck started acting up again. About 80 miles away from Bend the truck sputtered once more and had us jolting to the side of the road. Once again, a testament to the people of Oregon, not only are they incredibly friendly and helpful, but they all seem to know everything about engine trouble. The truck crapped out three times in that last hour, and every time someone was there for us within five minutes, fixed us up, and off we went again.

I still hadn't figured out what my draw to Bend was, and realized, maybe there wasn't one, maybe it was just a draw to go this way for whatever reason. Either way, with the truck bucking us like that, particularly toward the end, and Luego having to be up at 6am the next day, I offered to skip Bend. It was a win/win for me because, sure I skip Bend now, but again, I had no idea why I was going there anyway, but Luego was actually going to Redmond and if he didn't need to stop needlessly, risking the truck dying again, than that was fine by him.

Redmond is 20 miles north of Bend, and on my way to Portland and Seattle anyway, so for me I got extra mileage out of it. He was able to take a short cut there, so by 11pm we pulled into a pay phone for him to make a call to his brother, and I thanked him and went on my way. All I had to do now was clear the city and find a place to bed down, but now the temperature had dropped to 44 degrees.

I walked a good three miles out of town to find a nice spot to bed down in. I had dug out my wool hat and hoody but was still a bit cold and tired. Finding a nice little hill with soft dirt in it I nestled into a nook and passed out for the night.

Click here for Todd's perspective.