the mood here in san francisco is revelatory, anxious, excited, and tedious, all at the same time. we're all bound for places beyond, and the anticipation infects all of us waiting here for the bus to leave. we're telling travel stories like soldiers tell their tales of battle, marvelling, one-upping, and inspiring each other to keep on, keep exploring and experiencing all these places not yet traveled.
finally, the bus leaves, and we wind through the maze of san francisco streets and out across the bay bridge, headed east. the sun glints on skyscraper windows and lights up the water below like copper dust. i look around me, and everyone here has the same expression: rapt focus on the coiling road and darkening horizon, dreaming of what's ahead and remembering what's been left behind. everyone's happy to be on the road again, and sharing this joy bonds us all.
we drive on through the night, swapping life stories, noting differences and similarities, roads of experience not yet taken and roads traveling many times before. i tell tales of life and love, missed life and lost love, and the recognition, empathy, and wisdom from my fellow passenges heals wounds and eases regrets. leaving is easier amongst others who are leaving, moving on, venturing forth.
as the night grows and the cities fade away, we pick up more riders in the central valley towns of vacaville and redding. the lights and conversations dim, and eventually we are all asleep in our sleeping bags, warm and safe in the gullet of this quickmoving tortoise.
i wake to see the orange glow of the rising sun over the ashland valley. we're barreling down a steep grade toward the town, but all i see below the trees and meadows is a lake of fog. i realize i've been dreaming travel nightmares: of cars losing their brakes on the hills and shooting out beyond the fence and across meadows, unable to stop, but beautiful in their chaos with the morning dew on the lush grass.
this is the golden state of california no longer: we're in the pacific northwest, amongst fir trees and dense undergrowth of ferns. logging trucks jam past us, full of stripped tree trunks, or empty, headed for the next cut. there are clouds here: huge billowing cumulous monsters that block the sun and make us thankful for the rare blue sky.
we stop for breakfast at cow creek, the tortoise's hidden enclave in southern oregon, where we cook pancakes and make fruit salad in an old bus retrofitted into a complete kitchen. we eat outside, sitting around a smokey campfire, and later sweat off our road-dust in the sauna and explore the river.
then it's back to the highway, and heading further northward, we drop off riders in eugene, portland, and olympia, until finally we arrive in seattle, just as the sun sets over the space needle.
For more adventure stories on the Tortoise, see
Jim Norgaard's
(unofficial)
Green Tortoise
Web Page.
John Labovitz