Traveling with Utopia

The snow finally cleared, and I managed to drag myself away from the joys of Buffy and back into the great wilderness. Part of the delay was fear of snow chains; part was pure inertia. When shielded from the elements, especially during the worst snow storm in decades in the Pacific North West, it becomes difficult to imagine willingly subjecting yourself to them again. The need to move was strong, so I finally picked a destination (Oregon coast for whale watching) and off I went. Unfortunately, the whales weren't too happy with the weather either. It was the official "Whale Week" (est. 30 pass per hour), but I saw nary a blow spout.

Or maybe they were. Despite the Pacific Coast Highway depositing me directly above the ocean, the dreary sky and rough ocean waves made it impossible to distinguish a spout from a white cap. Much less see more than 1/4 mile off the coast. I kept trying though...and have a new appreciation for the hike on the northern coast. I haven't spent much time on the coast, so I hadn't realized how developed it is...and that, in Oregon, every 20 feet marks the start of a new state park. The stretch in the Olympic National Park is the last remaining stretch of coastal wilderness and I will go back for a summer hike. Maybe the southern stretch this time. Regardless, the rain continued, the sky stayed grey, and I decided to make for the Redwoods.

Near the Oregon/California border, I passed a backpacker attempting to hitch a ride. Remembering my ill-fated attempt at the same, sympathy got the better of reason, and I doubled back. Boy did I get an education.

This wasn't just any backpacker. This was Utopia...a 46 year old homeless veteran who had just had open heart surgery (2 years, 8 months ago) who was: A) seeing the country before he died B) Visiting friends in Crescent City C) Looking for a more affordable home (than "free") or D) All of the above. I'm still unsure. His destination was 45 minutes south of my planned stop, so I figured what the heck, he needs a ride. And I felt pretty safe. The look of fear in his eyes when I said I was a Texan was kinda fun. 4 hours later, I'm under an awning on the pacific ocean while he carves a pendant and two earrings out of jade/agate soapstone. Terms like "crack" and "speed ball" are tossed around...in a rock-hound kinda way. 1.5 hours later, I'm finally able to get him out of my car.

He got a ride directly to his home (well, first to the home of the guy he hitched north with, then to the coffee shop in the next town...then to his friend's apartment who wasn't home...), three packets of freeze dried dinners, coffee, and a lighter. I got educated on how to transport pot on airplanes successfully, what a peace walker is, race relations in various parts of the pacific coast, the term "Rubber Tramp", which parts of California contain coffee shops where stating "I'm out of pot" will get you hooked up instantly, and a full tour of all the various State Parks down the coast. PLUS the pendant/earrings.

I think I got the better deal.