Eastbound on 42

My gift for finding my way home each evening is still working.

I pulled off the highway into a large turnout to scout for possibilities and saw I'd passed one less than a mile back. I had to follow it for a ways, but it was a good, gravel-topped li'l dickens.

I've yet to find out what the deal is, but much of this area of Oregon is plastered with neon-yellow NO TRESPASSING signs. 

It's not clear who posted this one, 

but this one was lying on the ground nearby leading me to surmise whoever put it up was one of those

who're under the illusion the planet comes with maid service.

UPDATE:

I called RRC and spoke with a "Ranger." RRC is a Roseburg-based wood products (logging) company. They don't allow camping on their properties.

Interestingly, some of the forest nearby Roseburg is managed by the Bureau of Land Management. If you look at the area with Google Satellite you'll see the enormous clear-cuts throughout the region. There are areas where dispersed camping is allowed. 

And remember....Leave no trace.  🫵

Renée

I was at the Blackberry Festival in Coos Bay when Renée called. She and Dr. Lusijah Marx had met at the training institute when they were learning to be facilitators. Dr. Marx referred me to her. 

Renée's 79 and is certified as a master in Ericsonian hypnotherapy. Though not credentialed as a counselor, she has over 40 years of experience in the field including eleven years working with inmates at the State Penitentiary.

Here's a link to her website.

She has some clear ideas about herself that she's gleaned from personal experience with psychedelics.

We had an hour-long conversation in which we both had to "assert our prerogatives" to get a word in edgewise. As I was attesting to being gay in every way except my sexual orientation, she asked, "So you're comfortable with your female side, or your anima?" In mid-stride I looked down and had to laugh out loud; there lay the cultural anima. You can't tell me the Universe doesn't have a sense of humor.

Wanting to volunteer at the Humane Society in Florence, I drove halfway back and camped outside Reedsport.

Boots

Footwear has been an ongoing concern since discarding The Whites. Today I found this pair of Western Chief at the Humane Society Thrift Store in Florence (OR; there's one in AZ too) for $40.00. 

I discovered I needed something that came up high enough to keep out the seeds and other prickles that find their way into lower cut "hiking" shoes.

Banner Change

It was time for a change. I found the Blue Fellow (in the image at the top of the blog) lying in the ditch at a large turnaround that overlooked the mountains east of Reedsport, Oregon. We'd survived Phoebe's latest repairs and gotten up, in my tighty-whities (only) to wave at the line of cars that roared past at 11pm. He seemed too hail-fellow-well-met to be left lying inna ditch. 

The banner is what Blogger calls the picture at the top of the blog. This is the old one. 

It was taken on the east side of the Dragoon Mountains at Cochise Stronghold. The picture's elements are explained (a bit more) in this blog. The picture I'm holding is of seven nude women. Women have, throughout my life, played pivotal roles. And there've been enough pivots to make it interesting. But now, at 70, any pivoting is likely gonna be attributable to medication. Thus, the change.

On the Road Again

Around 2 pm Katie called and said Phoebe was ready. I couldn't believe it! 

I packed up and got to the shop where Keil told how he'd been touched by my story. He'd come in at 6 a.m., "Before the madness," he said, to work on her. It seems there's a square tube that fits around a rod that actuates the clutch cable. The tube had split. After removing the pedal assembly, he filed the rod square as it had become rounded as the tube wore and split. He then reformed the tube and welded it. He said he's not a certified welder so doesn't advertise it, but he didn't think I'd have any more trouble. $240.00, including tax. The shop rate is $115.00/hour.

I picked up a couple of cases of Busch Lite as a token of gratitude. Keil and another mechanic followed me in Phoebe to the U-Haul place where I returned the truck. 

It took a full hour to transfer everything.

Phoebe seemed delighted to be back on the road. Her Check Engine Light was off and she seemed to have more power. I've yet to total up the bill, but it was alot less than anticipated.

We camped atop the mountain north of Alder Dune Campground.

Pleading at Tony's & the 15' Box Truck

It's the pedal assembly -- clutch, brake & accelerator --- that gave out. 

Yesterday, before returning the van, I stopped by Tony's Garage and Katie, the receptionist, told me the problem but said she didn't know when they'd get to it.

I did my best wedge my bulk below the dash and looked at the pedal assembly; it's a booger-bear to get to and more than I can handle. 

Are We Gonna Be Here A While?

Still driving the U-Haul van, I went to see if I could get the 10' box truck I'd reserved. The woman couldn't find my reservation and though the truck was due back at 2 pm, and I had reserved it for 3, she behaved as if it might not happen and shrugged her shoulders as if to say, "Oh, well, stuff happens." She tried calling to ask if the folks were bringing it back but no one answered. She had nothing to substitute it with.

When I told of Phoebe's problem, she directed me to one of two places in Florence that does welding. Rocky, at Artistic Fabrications, did a great job, she said, of extending the sissybar on her son's Harley. "You couldn't even tell." 

Thinking I might be reduced to a toothbrush and bedroll, I called a storage place. Lo & Behold! He had a 15' box truck available! (previous post.) I offloaded the van into the truck and somehow -- I'm still puzzling over how it came about -- the guy who rented me the van came in and said I could leave it there and he'd come get it, rather than me taking it to them and him giving me a ride back.

I went to find Rocky, the welder, to see if he'd be available if and when Tony's ever got the "bracket," as it's known, out. There, Joe & Brian explained how Rocky was moving into "the arts" and was busy getting ready for the Coos Bay Blackberry Festival this weekend where he has a booth. As I was leaving, Rocky pulled up and said he'd take a look at it Tuesday after the festival. This was Thursday.

I headed south toward a Forest Road. It's $0.99/mile and the truck *might* get 7-8 miles to the gallon. It was 8.5 miles to the Forest "development" Road#958. "Development" is a jargon word meaning "main," usually with roads branching off from it. Two hundred feet up from the turnoff onto the Forest Road was a large, locked gate, posted NO TRESPASSING.

A nearby spur went a few hundred feet to a utility pole. Hidden from the road by a dense mix of shrubs, blackberry bushes, and trees, I backed in and began arranging my "furniture."

After Initial Transfer

This morning I spent 2 hours, 36 minutes and 6 seconds wrangling an issue with Social Security. When the last person told me to hold for the next, I got disconnected; It was 10:30 a.m. and I was exhausted. I slept until 2:45 pm.

Around 4 pm a guy showed up and told me I couldn't camp there. I apologized and left. In town, I went by Tony's to see if I could find out more about Phoebe's trouble.

Fortunately, the mechanics were still there, they close at 5 and it was 5:30ish. I explained about my heart condition and how I'd come to Oregon to get psilocybin-facilitated therapy for my death anxiety. I told about declining bypass surgery cuz, not having any secondary insurance, if I died Michelle'd be saddled with a debt somewhere in the range of $40,000.00....if there'd been no complications.

I started to cry a couple of times. I'm not sure why; I don't think I feel sorry for myself, but it's disheartening to have to plead for help. I felt embarrassed by my inability to control my emotions, but the past few years I've worked hard -- with the help of She-of-the-Capri -- to dismantle the facade and accept myself...blubberer that I am.

They said they'd get the bracket out and take it to Rocky on Tuesday. "We'll make it work," they said.

I'll go north to the dispersed camping area and hope the truck has the gumption to get up the mountain; it's steep. Last time I was there I met Eric whose wife is the assistant to the Executive Director of the Animal Humane Society in Florence. Eric said they always need volunteers to pet cats and walk dogs so, along with a bit of sight-seeing, tomorrow I'm gonna go see what I can do.

FÜRTHER!

Neatly Stowed

Epilogue

I passed a hitch-hiker, a rangy-lookin' feller wearin' a straw cowboy hat with a big pack. I thought for a bit then pulled over and made room in the passenger seat and went back. 

Tim had been 16 days on the road coming from St. Louis. The pack weighed around 80 pds, down from 110, he said, and he had a smaller one I couldn't lift; I carried his gallon of water. He was northbound for Washington and told how he'd run out of water on Interstate 5. No one was picking him up so he decided to come over to 101. It took two and a half days. 

I took him to Herman Peak road and gave him $20 and a sandwich, still sealed in its wrapper. Reverting to a time when I lived out off gleanings from dumpsters, I'd found several sandwiches when emptying my trash at a drive-up coffee place. (I was a Master dumpster-diver in my youth. Once, when I visited Mom in El Paso and the refrigerator was empty, in two days I had it so full the door wouldn't close.)

The truck made it up the steep road to a turnout that's juuust wide enough to turn it around.

Stylin' With U-haul

It's a 15-footer. Hand crank windows. 134,100 miles.

$2,000.00 for thirty days $440.00 of which is insurance. Hopefully, I won't need it that long.

Tony's garage diagnosed the problem as something to do with the pedal assembly. They couldn't find a replacement part which was probably fortunate as rumor has it the originals are plastic and mine is, I think custom crafted steel.

Rocky, a talented welder who's trying to move into "the arts," said he'd take a look at it Tuesday, but the blackberry festival is this weekend in Coos Bay and he's busy getting his booth ready. Thus the wait until Tuesday.

I found a splendid pair of boots at the Animal Humane store in Florence. 

Camping in this vehicle is much different. Rather than be outside, I have the back door up. It's a cross between a picture window and a veranda. MUCH more comfortable than a van. I plan to try it for a few days and then maybe downsize to the 10-footer. It won't however, go the places Phoebe will. Nor does it get very good gas mileage. With the additional cost of $0.99 per mile, it's expensive.

Sounds of the City

Not As Others

Day before yestetday I disturbed a hive of ground-dwelling bees when I sat down to put my shoes on. Apparently, I put one of my feet over their doorway and they took umbrage. Suddenly, I had several electric-like pains in both ankles.

Latching onto my socks, they wailed away on me. Flailing madly, I ran around the van and plucked my towel from the sideview mirror where it was drying and tried to fend 'em off. They got in a few more on my legs and arm.

In the van I had to leave the window open to let the hangers-on out. This also meant shooing the rear guard who came to make sure I'd been vanquished.

As I watched them crawl back into their hole, I thought of Jozien, the beautiful Dutch woman I met in the Yukon who used to hike with nothing but bear spray strapped to her hip. "Do not blame the bear," she said.

I hurt like hell the rest of the day. The "venom" aggravated the post-shingles neuropathy and both feet went numb.

Yesterday was a "good" day and I had my first decent amble in days if not weeks. The stings started to itch but some calamine lotion helped.

I moved camp to a turnout in Elliot State Forest. As I was about to assume the position on the settee, seven, count 'EM, SEVEN cars came by...possibly a tour. Bare-bottomed, I sat on the roadside tuff in their dust. TRAFFIC! Frequently clothesless, it was early & still cool so I at least had on a shirt.

In need of meds, I headed to Coos Bay's Walmart. Today was the North Bend Library book sale and I scored big. It took a couple of hours, but I came away with 9 books including this....

She's holding the glass with her foot.

Interestingly, many of the women (in the book) have unusually attractive faces. 

I was reminded of a student I met in my early days at the College of Education. It was hard to tell the nature of her body's physiognomy, but it appeared quite twisted. From what I could see, her hips and legs were rotated from her torso. She had a lovely, elfin face; her black hair was short and feathered in a way that accentuated her dark eyes and high cheekbones. She'd appear at my desk at random times, her motorized wheel chair silent on the carpeted floors. She could barely move her hand and used a single finger to key words into a keyboard that "spoke" in an electronic voice. 

To save her from the exertion of using the keyboard, I did my best to understand her. But she only came a few times and I wasn't able to learn her language.

One day she came and told me she was pregnant. I didn't know what to say and asked her how she was going to raise the child. I never saw her again.

Now, thirty-five years later, the woman on the cover revived my memory of her. And I still wonder what motivated her to tell me.

North of Florence, Oregon

Heading south, this dramatic view CAN'T be passed up.

Then there's Baker Beach

Oregonian

I was living out of the van

Siuslaw River at E.W. Memorial Park

The story behind E.W. Memorial Park

And on our way to camp...low tide at 8:04 pm

Vandweller

Dates, the calendar kind, are not a forte. God nose how long this one's been in there but you'd think by now I'd have it right. But noOOOooo. Thus, an emergency run into town to get her remaining cards and present in the mail.

We got turned around and down the hill to the highway okay, but when I came out from the post office she bucked and snorted halfway across a parking lot before the engine caught; she was NOT happy. 

Tony's Garage said they had room to keep her and after a few phone calls, Lucky Herrmann had hisself a van.

At the van place I moved my stuff.

Time was Of the Essence

Worthy of note in the image above is my accordion at center top, and the date 11/26/22 on the back of the ensolite pad, the date it was put into service.

We have trouble seeing ourselves, but Phoebe frequently garners compliments. Inside, she's a mix of bespoke wainscotting and bare-bones practicality patterned after the Pinzgauers at Canyon d'Chelly. 

1976 Pinzgauer from:

https://www.uniqueclassiccars.com/vehicles/3824/1976-steyr-puch-pinzgauer

Headin' off tuh hike/hitch-hike the 2.7 miles back to Phoebe, the angina flared, sending me back for the sub-lingual nitro. After some thought, I decided to ask a fellow working on his car for a ride. His Supervisore came out to bid me welcome.

Nova, The Cat.

1,950 Original Miles. The digital readout flickers so only caught first two numbers.

It's new and thus, precious. Not a scratch. A sign on interior wheel-well: You dent, You Pay! I bought U-Haul's usery-inspired extra coverage; a paltry $99.00 compared to what this whole adventure's gonna run.

The lengthwise roof supports are full of holes....to reduce weight? Parked on a slight angle, the back door didn't close smoothly. It's a Coors can with wheels.

On city streets it floats along like a Cadillac; the road to Herman Peak may have bent the frame. As the blackberry canes began dragging their nails along the sides a turnout appeared...where I camped. It's one of the things about Phoebe I appreciate; she can usually turn around. Without the turnout there was nowhere to get The Behemoth rotated.

1st attempt at organization. Sleeping bag in middle. 

Donchyuh jus' luuuUUUV the birchwood panels running the length of the sides. Gives it that '70s "den" look.

I'm thankful I'm not stuck in a motel somewhere coping with dogs, children, domestic violence and all the other entertainments associated with (roadside) indoor plumbing.

At least it's a Chevy. 😄

And cheaper than a motel; couldn't BEGIN to get a motel up the Herman Peak road. 😘

Linda Kelly, Brandy & Haley

Headlamps!!! I stumbled around in the dark last night in an effort to conserve the phone power in case of Sasquatch.

The sleeping bag needed laundering and 31st St Laundry called to me. I left the soap in Phoebe and Linda K, who refused fame & photograph, kindly leant me some & took our picture.

We both have gaps in our teeth!

Haley the dawg. Much loved, appreciated and still wiling to be picked up.

Clutch Adventure

Getting gas in Reedsport, the clutch went out. I have to turn off the engine to get it into first and reverse but once rolling I can shift it by matching the speed of the engine to the transmission.

The three shops in Reedsport are booked out for at least a week; Tuesday is the soonest anyone could look at her.

Thinking I could über around or rent a car while waiting, I decided to see wha'sup in Coos Bay. Brenda at the Bay Bridge Motel in North Bend, up the street from Coos Bay, said they could put me up for $81.00 a night with a kitchette...and her brother's a mechanic. After a couple of calls we agreed to meet at the Dollar General in Lakeside, a town about halfway between Reedsport and Coos Bay where he'll take a look at it.

2:36 pm Saturday

No sign of Brenda's brother, the mechanic. Über doesn't rent in Coos Bay. 

The cashier at Dollar General suggested Far West Auto & Tire in Coos Bay. Further!

The Toyota dealership's reviews of their rental cars are all top-drawer.

I only took four iso this morning. It's hard to know if yesterday's excitement was the cause of the tiredness or if I really need 5. But it was all I could do to take care of "morning bidness" and walk a ways in the other direction to empty my pee bottle. The memory of how tired I was from the effort a few days when I adjusted the clutch set me to cogitating on offering someone a hundred bucks to let me use their lift. Eventually though, I  threw the tarp down & managed to see it's not the adjustment; something gave out...the genesis of today's post.

McIntosh Slough

It's the acid; everytime I do it things just seem to smoooth out, like ex-laks.

After the Sugar Shack (bakery) I got drawn into watching some fisherman clean their one salmon. 

I'm puzzled by my inability to "come to terms" with death, MY death, that is. I have, for decades advocated for the right to end one's life when one chose. I'm now struggling with an irrational anxiety that may be able to be alleviated.

Micro-dosing has brought me along, but I feel I'm running out of time. I know myself well enough to realize I sometimes get stuck and a facilitator could be helpful, particularly when partaking of what's called a "heroic" dose.  It's interesting being in a geographic area that has recognized the need and is moving to meet it. There are, at some of the Service Centers, waiting lists.

It was time to find a place to have the conversation with Evelyn, the psilocybin facilitator.

https://elevate-with-evelyn.com/how-does-it-work/

Eventually, I found the McIntosh Slough bridge; its attraction was so strong I considered sleeping under it.

I chose Evelyn for her attitude...mainly these two paragraphs:

My studies have led me to believe that our minds co-evolved with plant medicines and that they are basic human need. They provide our minds with non-toxic, non-addictive chemicals that are essential to self actualization. Unfortunately, many of us in this world have been systemically distanced for over 1000 years from entheogenic use like that of our ancestors.

A consequence of that distance is that many generations of negative thought patterns based on unresolved traumas have been solidified as core beliefs and passed down to us as culture and society. Plant medicines can be used as a tool to break that cycle, and to scrape away the influence of society, culture, your parents, and your trauma while empowering your inner truth to take control of your life.

While many people eshew "help," I've found it to be tremendously beneficial. The results have been unimagined, and that, "unimagined," is key.

It's my experience I don't know what I don't know. By working with others, I've discovered perspectives that were beyond my imaginative capacity. And they've enriched my life in so many ways I spend much of my time cogitating and marveling at the ever-broadening spectrum of layers and concomitant emotions. 

But (sigh), it's true, I'm an inveterate navel-gazer. 

The area was spotless,

obviously a trap for the unwary. 

Facilitators are required to ask several questions. One is: Have you ever had suicidal thoughts or attempted to harm yourself or others?

The use of the word "ever" is, as she acknowledged, problematic since most people have, at one time or another, considered the idea. My answer amounted to "No."

Another question asks if I have any life-threatening conditions. This one resulted in her giving me this website spiritpharmacist.com and encouraged me to ask if imagined exertion such as running, while under the influence, could result in death.

Given the level of my angina, she didn't think she had enough experience to go forward but said she'd talk with a couple of facilitator-doulas and get back to me inna few days. I decided to wait until I've talked with the doulas before paying the pharmacist's $99 consulting fee, but the fact the website exists is, to me, encouraging. After 50+ years of demonization, entheogens are being recognized for their positive effects and a supportive infrastructure is taking shape.

Today, 10.Aug., I had a conversation with a legal assistant with Compassion & Choices. My legal questions were about the facilitator's liability in the event I died. I also wanted to talk to someone about instituting a change to the law that requires a prognosis of death within six months. Being able to predict is something oncologists now offer, but the cardiologists I've talked with have been unwilling to go out on the limb. What then?

Camp - Elliot State Forest

On a different level but similar vein, EXIT International is now helping people take advantage of Switzerland's Aid In Dying program. There, people can obtain a lethal dose of medication pretty much for the asking. All they need is to get there. And helping them is EXIT's latest undertaking (pun intended).

Sugar Shack Bakery - Reedsport

It was at the Bandon Islands National Wildlife Refuge that it happened. We pulled in together and side-by-side, took the last two park plotzes.

The first thing they did was, standing there between the cars, pull out a Sugar Shack box and began reveling in eclairs. 

Transfixed, I asked, "Where from?"

"Sugar Shack!" They chorused.

Laundry stowed, I started up The Umpqua River Scenic Tour when, Lo und Behold, der it Vuz!

A "still" for those who like to linger.

The array is overwhelming. But I'm inclined to share Mae West's sentiment, "Too much of a good thing is wonderful."

When, at the store, I asked about the pigs, "They're like twinkies." she said.

I made appreciative noises.

Then, "Which one would you like?" 

It was then I saw each one's face is/was unique!

Ready To Ride - Bolon Island

There's a Memorial Trail on the southwest side of the bridge over the Smith River. It runs along a shipyard.

They were moving this boat back to the water.

The trail is less than a quarter mile. If you go, please consider taking a bag to collect trash. There seem to be wild pigs leaving pepsi cups, banana peels, pandemic masks & other. 

Preparing to launch.

My collection

Inside the pepsi cup was this candy bar, unopened.

Not having had breakfast, it was just what I needed.

Jus'Funnin'

It's a phrase from The South. I saw it last in a tale of two good ole boys who took a hitchiker into the woods &, at the point of a gun, made him strip. As rhe sheriff later told him, "They wuz jus' funnin' yuh."

Around 1:00 a.m. a series of cars, one really loud, went tearing by. The stopped a little ways off and while the girls shouted, "Quit makin' so much noise!" the drivers gunned their engines.  Though this was only the 2nd encounter like this in over 50 years of travel, I'd been annoyed by other stuff to have at the ready a practiced Sasquach-esque roar. I kept it up for a while in counter-time to their racket and they soon subsided. As they came racing down, I leaped out in my tighty-whities and waved as they went by. 

That'll teach me not to camp next to the road.

This morning I ambled up to check out the spot and found this...

The view is awesome. The clear air is a pleasant surprise. 

On my way back I picked up a mascot lying by the roadside.

DIZMUZBEDUHPLACE

It's a plot by the campground owners; all the forest surrounding Bandon, Oregon is DAY USE ONLY. There're fluorescent yellow signs EVERYWHERE. Not that there's any enforcement, but it casts a pall over the area...not quite as bad as Mordor, but you get the idea.

So, we all ended up at a parking lot at the end of the road. I managed to secure a mere slip of a turnout a few hundred feet away from the rest

Haven't we seen these folks online?. 

They didn't emerge so

we had no opportunity to inquire

Vandalized tail-lights?

I tried a bit of well-intended remonstrance on this person about crossing the road, but it merely extended itself further as if I should mind my own business. I muttered, "It's your life." but after a few steps went back and carried it across. It didn't look grateful, but *I* felt better. 

I met two climbers, escapees from the mundanity who were traveling and doing what climbers do. I told of Hollis's friendship with Jan and Herb Conn and pointed them toward her blog about them hoping they'd be further encouraged. 

Thinking to help them escape ME, I exhorted them to RUN!...for me, as I used to. It brought tears to see them racing away, in their exuberant youthfulness (early 20s) with the flat, empty beach, the emerald-tipped waves and a gentle mist that make this part of the world so different...and, at that moment, a tad cool for standing still. 

Though it was only a few hundred feet or so, I had to stop several times on the way back to get my breath. I was sitting on a log when they came and invited me to yerba-maté.

They had finished their degrees, one in environmental science and the other in sociology & anthropology. He was good at working with wood and had done a nice job of building out the van's interior. She had taught climbing to special-ed children and had enjoyed seeing their personalities shift as they gained skill and learned to focus.

They were toying with the idea of returning to Hawai'i (where she was from) to open a climbing gym but in the meantime...

Bandon Islands Ntl Wildlife Refuge

A beach-trash assemblage.

If/when you tap the image to enlarge it, there's an X in the upper right corner to close it & return to the blog.

The Vista

The Encroaching Hoards

Bandon Lighthouse

It's unclear whether this is a multi-family unit or what. But it marks the boundary of the National Wildlife Refuge. 

Across the street from the sign for the refuge is this one. Their website lauds the "uninhibited views."

It reminded me of Vince describing a conversation at a local café with a guy who credited his porsche for giving him an erection. Here he is doing his standup routine (Youtube) for "Candy-apple red" microwaves.

Crooked Creek Farm Stand

There're many forms of art, but baking, esp pie, is high on my list of those considered "Fine."

So when the Crooked Creek Farm Stand appeared, I made a quick you-ee (watch out you get t-boned) and made my way back. There were three pies and after spiriting away mine, I watched as, within minutes, the other two disappeared. 

Hymenated

Consummated