Since leaving New York in early August, I have put 12,000 miles on my VW Syncro. That's about 600 gallons of gas or a little more than 100 miles a day. Up and down the West Coast, cruising around the Rockies, and exploring the deserts, I'm always looking out the windows. Here are some of my favorites views from the last 12,000 miles. I'm excited to work on more video projects in the future.
Here are some more links,
When people talk about the Northwest, they most often refer to to a 100 mile section from the coast to the Cascades. The Cascade Mountains run from northern California to southern British Columbia, separating the area into two distinct sections. The western part has the cultural centers, coastal climate, and the majority of the population. The eastern part falls in the rain shadow and takes up most of the real estate and houses most of the Republicans. West of the Cascades, people drive hybrids with bike racks. East of the mountains people drive lifted pickup trucks with gun racks. Growing up I spent time between the two areas and have both pickup and hybrid in me.
Months in the desert and the California sun had made me soft, or so my family claimed, and after two weeks of constant fog and rain, I had to get out. Leaving Washougal, I drove east on highway 14, a two lane scenic route through the Columbia River Gorge. Each mile east of Stevenson equates to one and half less inches of annual precipitation. I kept driving. Like clockwork, the clouds opened up around Underwood. I drove farther. At Lyle the clouds were gone, exposing sun. Sunglasses.
A break in the clouds.
An aspen grove.
Running from the rain.
Tim on a hike.
Some times a little change in weather is all you need, or sometimes it just whets the appetite. A little is rarely enough.
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I am very thankful to everyone that reads my blog, shares it with others and comments, but today should be spent off line. Enjoy the day with your family. Go for a walk and take some photos. Eat too much food and when it gets dark, break out the slide projector and look through some old frames. That's how I'm planning to spend my day at least. If you stumble across any photos of vans, you know where to send them. Happy Thanksgiving.
Here are some more links,
A Restless Transplant (Facebook),
The front windshield was completely fogged, except for a pillow sized opening in the middle of the dash. A wipe of my forearm exposed the winding gravel road for ten seconds before closing up. Leaning forward, I peered through the gap in the fog. Luckily, the road was deserted and I steered the Syncro down middle of the road. Thick snow flakes stuck to the window, melting after a few seconds. I turned up the wipers.
"The defroster on this thing is a real gem." my brother said, cracking his window with the manual crank.
"Yahh yahhh, the fan nob is broken. I gotta get it fixed."
As we marched up the mountain in second gear, the snow dried out and the flakes shrunk. Narrowly avoiding the blunt nose of my Vanagon, they flew over and out of sight in some feat of aerodynamics known to a select few in Pasadena and Cambridge. After seven miles on the gravel road, we pulled over on the side of the road.
"This looks like the place."
"Have you ever been here before?"
"No but this is what it looked like on Google maps."
"Gotcha.."
We bundled up and headed out into the open field.
More so than any other weather event, the arrival of snow each year establishes the change of season. Falling asleep one night in late fall , I woke up the next morning squarely in winter to a few inches of wet snow. Loading into the Syncro that morning, we headed up to the hills behind Mosier, Oregon in search of deeper snow and eager to enjoy the season's first snow.
A dirt trail up the hill and into the clouds.
Lucy, my mom's trusted companion. Full bred Irish Terrier, half breed pain in the ass.
Stopping to take a photo, my mom and brother unsuspectingly walked ahead. Four years of constant snow warfare in Maine taught me to always be vigilant. Scraping snow off the ankle high grass, I balled it into a lemon sized ball and waited. I made up some of the distance between my brother and mom. Sensing that something was wrong, my mom's dog spun around and barked. My brother followed suit, catching a snowball on the nose.
Here are some more links,
Mosier, OR (Out of Reception),
I left my job in New York in the summer of 2011 and moved into a camper. Since then, I have driven 100,000 miles around the west, surfing and camping. During the summer of 2014, I set up a home base in the Columbia River Gorge. These are some of my stories and photos.
