June 30, 2019. I was supposed to hit the road earlier this month, but plans had changed. My housemate had given notice halfway through June, and I had to scramble to find someone to take his room by July 1. Not easy since my other housemates were loud snorers and shared a wall with the vacated room.

I met up with Dave Levison, a former co-worker and old friend whom I’d known since 1988. He’d moved to Cave Junction Oregon in the 1990s, and I’d visited him on several occasions. We hadn’t connected in at least 10 years, and I was worried about him, as he seemed extremely depressed. A good friend of his, Be, was doing a small show at Lake of the Woods lodge. We met and had dinner together, enjoying the music and catching up a bit. Eventually I said good night and found a quiet place to put up my tent—right near a lake, tucked off the road on a snowmobile trail. Peaceful.

July 1. I woke and made my way down to the lake, walking on the trail to the other side, then came back and explored the lodge. I decided to head to Crater Lake—just after the rain, so everything felt clean and sharp. Cold, though. Still tons of snow, and most of the rim roads were shut.

I stopped to admire a canyon along the way and walked a beautiful loop trail from the old lodge, but classic me—I stepped in dog poop. When I rinsed off in the river, my phone decided to take a dive. I threw it in a bag of rice and silica packs to dry out for a few days. Big shoutout to the bistro staff who filled my Ziploc with rice—lifesavers.

It was really cold, and I didn’t feel like camping in that weather. I decided to head to Bend. And wow. I fell hard for that town. Walked around downtown, made mental plans for coffee the next morning. The old mill was mostly shut down, but I found something to eat, then went on the nightly search for a sleeping spot recommended by a local. When I checked it out, seemed that every spot was taken.

July 2. I awoke freezing in the car. One of the tires showed low pressure, so I rolled into Les Schwab. The crew was super friendly—they checked everything and reset it. Said it looked fine. I felt so much better after that.

Then came the coffee. Found a great spot and just wandered around town—Bend really is lovely. Around midday I headed toward Santiam Pass, passed through Sisters, and of course stopped at the bakery. I had my eye on a pie, but this woman beat me to it. Huge line. Must be amazing. I swear, if I were a dessert critic, I could pay for this trip.

I drove on through lava fields, past the lookout where the PCT crosses the highway—such a surreal, otherworldly landscape. Stopped at the ranger station by McKenzie River but they were closing. Tried to grab WiFi at the general store—no luck. I asked them to reboot it but… nope.

I found better luck across the road. A kind woman doing laundry at the cabins let me use their WiFi. I walked a gorgeous trail along the river and stopped at Belknap Hot Springs. I remembered the beautiful gardens here and wanted to revisit them. Saw a bat flying circles over a pond—got a slow-mo video of it.

Eventually I found a spot to sleep—somewhere between Paradise and Rainbow, from my last trip. I thought it was a quiet nook until the logging trucks came through at 4am. Over and over. No sleep. Now I know why I crash so hard when I do find a real bed.

July 3. I headed for Portland, hoping to stay with Marie and Bill and catch the fireworks. I thought about detouring through Breitenbush but didn’t have time. How tragic, as the whole place would burn down the next year. Along the way, I stopped at the McKenzie River and walked the waterfall trail, then checked out the ranger station display before continuing on.

I arrived at Marie and Bill’s place around 8 p.m. They were cordial, and we hung out for about an hour. Bill offered me some homemade bread and jam—impossible for me to resist—and gave me a bit of orientation. He told me about the Waterfront Blues Festival, which I’d actually forgotten was happening this weekend.

July 4. I slept in a bit and started the day by buying tickets for the blues festival. Then I headed downtown to the waterfront and looked for parking, eventually finding a spot behind a business about four blocks away. I caught some great performers, including a man from Clarksdale, Mississippi—Big Al—who had traveled with a group of musicians from the cradle of the blues. He gave an incredible performance, pouring everything he had into the set.

He was on the small stage, which quickly became my favorite. It felt much more personal than the larger ones. There were four stages in total: a dance stage, two large main stages that alternated sets, and this smaller, intimate one. Over the next four days, I ended up seeing a lot of blues, and that stage always drew me in. Big Al’s drummer had played with Buddy Guy for about a decade, which added another layer of depth to the performance.

I headed back to Bill and Marie’s for a 5 p.m. dinner. Their good friends Suzanne and Shelly arrived shortly after, and we had a lovely evening together. Shelly seemed more introspective than usual, while Suzanne was warm and kind as always. Bill kept the conversation lively with his usual jokes and formal charm. At one point, Marie asked him what his “shtick” was—he smiled but didn’t really answer.

Later, I went back downtown to catch the fireworks. The show was impressive, but weaving through the crowds on the way back was a bit chaotic.

July 5–6. I spent time in the morning with Marie and Bill, enjoying the slower pace before heading back into the music. My favorite acts were Travis “Moonchild” Haddix, Lucious Spiller, Anthony “Big A” Sherrod, Shemekia Copeland, Rose City Kings, the Holmes Brothers, Timmy James, Stan Steele, Christone “Kingfish” Ingram, and Kevin Burt. The performances were outstanding. I even bought a set of 3 handmade Japanese tea cups at the pottery fair that was part of the event.

July 7. One of Marie’s daughter was arriving from New York and would be staying in the house. I didn’t want to be a crowd so I packed my things, thanking them for their generosity. Bill’s dog, Stella, was especially sweet and followed Bill everywhere—he jokingly called her his girlfriend.

I reached out to a friend of a friend to ask if I could stay that night, and she said yes. On the way, I stopped at Portland’s Rhododendron Garden for a walk. It was beautiful and peaceful—admission is free on Sundays and Mondays, which was a pleasant surprise. That afternoon, I caught more blues performances. One woman got quite upset that I wasn’t willing to pay again that day, but I let it go.

Jen lived in a less than desirable part of Portland. She told me not to leave anything in the car, which I obeyed. Her house reeked of cat poop, and her cats seemed to know I was allergic and do their best to rub against all my possessions. The layout of her house was odd and had a weird vibe. But it was good to have a roof over my head.

July 8. In the morning I thanked Jen and repacked my car, then wandered around cool spots in Portland all day before meeting a Polish relative for dinner. Anna Karpinska had been working in Portland for the past few weeks with an affiliate of the steel company employer in Kraków. After dinner, we took a long walk near her hotel and along the waterfront—she’s quite a walker, and it was good to see her again.

From there, I headed toward the coast. I’d considered going to Astoria but decided instead to stop in Cannon Beach since I didn’t remember seeing it before. It was overcast when I arrived that evening. The town was quaint and charming. I walked through the streets and along the seaside, then started looking for a place to camp. I found a trailhead south of town near Arch Point, but there was a man already there who was drinking and smoking. He warned me about rangers coming at 5 a.m. and told me I could park at Arch Point—but that turned out not to be true. I didn’t know that yet, so I pulled into a spot behind some cypress trees near a municipal water utility building.

July 9. At 6 a.m., I was jolted awake by loud knocking on my window. It was the police, telling me it was illegal to sleep in my car anywhere in town. After that rocky start, I found a good spot to park and went for coffee to wake up, then explored Cannon Beach by foot. After a while I headed north to Arcadia State Park. I walked a long way along the beach, then cut back through the state park. At one point, I got a little lost and wasn’t sure where to come back inland. Eventually, I found my way, stopped at a taffy shop, and bought some—though I reminded myself that corn syrup probably isn’t the best for anyone.

I passed by a theater where people had been attending a performance the night before—an Agatha Christie murder mystery. It made me smile thinking about how different kinds of storytelling weave through a town.

Later, I drove south and stopped in Tillamook to learn about their dairy operations. It was actually quite interesting to see how they make cheese. I treated myself to some Umpqua ice cream before continuing to Cape Meares. That turned out to be one of my favorite spots on the Oregon coast—absolutely beautiful. I visited the lighthouse and followed the scenic drive through Netarts. From there, Highway 101 veers inland until the Siuslaw Forest.

I stopped in Yachats to camp for the night, a place that Shawn and I had stayed before. It’s a lovely little town.

July 10. I went into Yachats for breakfast but didn’t like the diner options I saw so I found a bakery instead, then I headed south to Heceta Beach and the lighthouse. This spot was among my favorite along the Oregon coast. I lingered as long as possible taking in the ambience, then continued on to Florence where I camped in a National Forest campground. Although there was a tag on the site, it was already late, so I assumed the person wasn’t coming. I had a good night’s sleep. It rained, and the ground was soft near a creek.

July 11. I had a nice conversation with neighboring campers who offered me coffee before heading inland to the Oregon Country Fair. There was already a lot of traffic. I didn’t have cash and found out too late that most campsites had been booked months in advance. I eventually found one that had space, went to a store to get cash, and saw many people walking along the road in costume. There were also volunteers managing the traffic. By the time I returned, the camp no longer had a spot available, but they made room for me. The joy of community. I set up my tent and headed into the fair.

July 12–14. The fair was amazing always. It had been many years since my last visit. I knew about the spectacular night performances after fair visitors left for the day, and found a way to hang out while security did their sweep so I could enjoy the evening escapades. There were amazing performances, including a heartfelt reunion of the Flying Karamazov Brothers. They hadn’t been here for years, and were reconnected with the help of Tom Noddy—a guy I knew who blew bubbles Santa Cruz. Not any bubbles. He was a master bubbler.

I spoke with Tom a few times; he still lives in Santa Cruz and said he enjoys it there. During the day I saw puppet shows, watched a presentation about students suing Trump over climate change, and listened to Swami Beyondananda whom I met after his talk. I had met him years before at the New Age Renaissance Faire, when he was just beginning as a comic. It was impossible to head to bed with so many amazing events, but I would usually drag myself into my tent around 1 a.m.. Needless to say, I didn’t sleep well.

July 15. While the fair had been enjoyable, I had made plans to surprise my aunt Eugenia for her 90th birthday. She would be visiting her son in Fort Collins, Colorado, and staying for a week. My plan was to head toward Bend and then continue east on Highway 26.

I passed through Eugene, which was very crowded—likely due to the fair wrapping up. I had hoped to get breakfast at an eatery near the train tracks, but the line stretched out the door. Instead, I picked up some day-old biscotti and bread from a bakery and snacked as I walked around, looking for the downtown scene.

After about an hour, I continued on to Bend. I walked around the town briefly—it was lovely—then got back on the road around 5 p.m. About four hours later, I found a gravel road along the Malheur River and decided to stop for the night. It was a peaceful and beautiful spot. I wandered around at dusk, watched bats flying over the water, and saw the moon reflecting on the river. I felt happy and, finally, got a good night’s sleep—the first in a while.