Right-hand Drive

Ashland is one of the cleanest towns I've seen. People are friendly, smiling and appear well-to-do. The homeless occupy a sward about 100' long. They too looked clean and well-kept.

There's even a symphony.

White Rogue at Lithia Park

An interesting event occurred this afternoon when I went to Lithia Park. 

Here're my "notes"....

There is a numinousness still active. I read in my 2016 notes of the sculptures & Japanese Garden in Lithia Park, Ashland, Oregon.

Walking toward Cotton Memorial Grove, the trail became crowded; I took a small path that led steeply uphill. Astonished by my resiliency, though I had to stop to get my breath, I kept on. After a few hundred feet, I took a side trail to sit on a log. A young woman, perhaps of East Indian descent, came by. I asked about the sound of pulsing water, but she didn't know. We commenced.

I told of my fear of death and coming here for psilocybin therapy. She told of having lost the keys to her rental Rogue. She had only $200 in her checking account, but felt she'd get through it. Before leaving, she asked my name. "Mike," I said and sat to rest.

Soon a younger woman came by. I asked about the pulsing water and she explained. I asked if she'd found some keys and told of the other woman. As she went down the trail, forty feet from where I was seated, she found the keys. I described the other woman's attire, her white Rogue and encouraged her to hasten. 

As I neared the bottom of the path, Lost Keys came around the corner. I told her they'd been found, described the younger & with a shout of delight, she ran off, threatening to return to chat more.

I was only able to walk a short distance, but found a comfortable bench. It'd been over a half hour since she went away. For a moment I'd been useful.

She was waiting in a grassy area by the car. She's 37, works in "supply-chain" in Portland and came to Ashland to visit family. I asked her name, but was tired, and forgot it.

She asked some questions such as: How does one get really rich? Is money worthwhile? She was and had been micro-dosing mushrooms for three days.

I asked her what she thought of what had just happened around finding her keys. She didn't know. I mentioned numinosity and she said she had to go. The whole thing was very diff from being shot at last Spring.

4.Sept.

I had asked her what music she was listening to. She replied, "Native healing." I asked her to send me some and this morning these appeared.

The Rogue Gorge

138 leaves out of Roseburg, eastbound. It climbs up to a "sno-bowl" where there're turnouts to chainup. There's a resort at Diamond Lake, similar to the one at the north rim Grand Canyon. I didn't check the lodge, just got gas and went on...down 63 toward Medford.

There're waterfalls along the way; some are close to the highway, others, as with National Falls, are a bit of a hike. Beyond the outliers of the city, there're many places to camp. 

Rogue River Gorge

Where It Goes Underground!

The waters are amazing. In places there're small bits of foam, but it's cleaner than any other you're likely to see in the lower 44...not including Wyoming, Montana, Idaho, Washington.

Willkommen

But there're no fish. The few who persist in drowning worms look bored, or, if lucky, contemplative. But no one's haulin' 'em out. As with the woods, they're sterile. But purty!

If you've seen one tree, you've seen 'em all. Show me the art!

SPREAD FINGERS TO SEE LARGER

The Falls

Whitehorse 

Whitehorse Falls

I wasn't quite to the point of having anxiety about my anxiety, but it seemed time for another dose. Guaging the amount is a guess, but today's was just right. It's amazing how much better I can move and even with the elevation increase of 5,000' in three days, I was able to clamber to the top of Clearwater. Delicious water!

Clearwater

Above the Falls

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.  🫵

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.

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

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.

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.

Phew, Dawgies! Tha's Some Potent Stuff!

It's supposedly clinical-grade and it is very smooth, but the distribution is really uneven. I thought I was getting a heavier dose but it turned out to be juuust right. Still, now, the next day, at 11:45 a.m., I'm somewhere around 30,000'...cruising. Over the first hour or so, yesterday, it did a steep climb to a pleasant plateau...and that was that. It gave plenty to cogitate on (more about that later) and made listening to music into the early morning a special delight.

The Dashboard

Carl Rogers' On Becoming a Person

It wasn't designated Day Use Only when I was here in 2016, but by the time I discovered the (obviously new) sign, I was too pooped to go further. 

We, Phoebe and I, "sheltered" under this splendid Doug Fir. The woods here inspire visions of Tolkien and similar tales of magicians, unicorns and wood sprites. Surely, there's a baccanalian revel somewhere around here?!

There's no camping (as defined by Yerz Trooly) between Coos Bay and Reedsport so I'll layover in the State Forest outside Coos Bay tonight and see what the morrow brings. I have a phone interview with a psychedelic facilitator on Wednesday.

We picked up mail in Crescent City. The item of interest was Phoebe's new tag.

I even managed the same juanty angle!

The Ocean

Harris Beach State Park is popular with surfers, swimmers, children. There's a campground but it has a staffed gate & I wasn't curious enough to bother. The overlook, just off the highway, has a nice trail down to the beach, but it's a couple hundred feet down....and then there's back up.

The trail to Arch Rock overlook is through a lovely copse. But, again, it was too far, though I surmised it wasn't any more than 1,000 ft.

Low tide was around 7:30 pm. The days afternoons and evenings seem to linger more than they do further south. It helps since today it was 4 pm when I left camp.

I stopped at Hawethorne gallery in Port Orford. Damien, a scion, said the art is half family and half artists they like. A beautiful space, aside from two, beautifully polished, female nudes shaped from driftwood, most of the work was mediocre. Damien said their location in Big Sur has been extant for over 30 years. Someone has deep pockets. 

Soul Feet Retreat - Connie McDonald

The power of touch...

There was a period, I've forgotten how long, perhaps as much as two years, when I split the week between the Michellles (three els when mentioned collectively). The partings were always tearful, but we needed each other...and now, thirty-five years later, though not as often, still do.

It's that poignancy that now, again, tears at my heart. Sitting, alone in the theater...the footlights still on, they gave me a key so I could lock up when I leave.

How to leave you?...the few who care. To give heart....to, in some way, make this final transition easier...fun even? Can you imagine?

 Blue along the narrower side

I'm drawn, time and again, to a recollection of Laura Huxley telling how she agreed to Aldous's request that she inject him with LSD as he died. It's been years since I read her account, but my awe at his curiosity...and their resolve, remains.

Each of us, in our own little universe...our theater. 

After four months of barely able to "do," I increased the isosorbide another 30mg twice a day...60mg over the maximum suggested dose. It caused a flaring like those Kübler-Ross said happen now & then. I was in the Gold Beach (Oregon) library reading *Your Brain On Art* (Magsamen & Ross, Random House, 2023) and emailed the mention of Jeff Thompson's sound-healing work to a friend with similar interests. In his reply he enthused about his escape from Albuquerque, his return to his home-town (Seattle), his enjoyment of reconnectioning with family and friends and his many new projects.

Googling, I discovered the Seattle Opera is presenting Das Rheingold. I bought a ticket and booked myself into four days at an Airbnb south of the downtown. 

This morning I awoke to the tiredness. I contacted the hosts and in an embarassed synopsis explained why I was cancelling. The ticket is non-refundable.

Granny spent her last ambulatory years (approx 6) living with my mom and sister. When she became bed-ridden Mom could no longer care for her sufficiently and began looking for an assisted-living facility. In the meantime, Granny spent nearly six months in the New Mexico Home for the Aged in Las Vegas. Mom made the 244-mile, round-trip drive several times a week to be with her. I went a couple of times. 

On one of the early visits I watched as Mom spent time with the woman who shared Granny's room. She lay on her back with her thin, arthritic hands held in front of her in a posture similar to a praying mantis; her fingers curled claw-like. She appeared unresponsive, but each time Mom took a few minutes to hold the woman's hands and talk with her. 

As the time neared for Granny's move, I went to help gather her things and do what I could. When I entered her room I was astonished to see her roommate sitting up in bed, eating....holding a bowl and using a spoon. Mom never said much about it, just that, over that six months, with that little bit of touch, the woman had returned to life. I have no idea how old she was; she looked to be in her mid to late eighties.

The other night I dreamt I was running. I knew in my dream it'd been years since I'd been able to run and I was exhilirated. I awoke feeling enthused, not in anticipation, but with the memory of having once been able.

My memory has never been good and now, even sometimes with substantiative promptings, I can't recall things.

I keep notes to try and guage my acuity while speculating about Alzheimer's. The blog serves its purpose as a reference. But lately there's been little exhiliration and that needs to change. Perhaps intermittent cat-lackeying?

The YOUR BRAIN ON ART website

Connie McDonald's massage (Soul Feet Retreat) today in Crescent City was incredible!

Yaquina & Dorothy Marie

It was time to make reservations in Albuquerque. I drove out to the South Jetty of the Rogue River where there's strong signal. A Mini Cooper shot by and got stuck in the sand. After I pulled Glen Vienna out, we commenced.

He and Sally spend half the year traveling on their 47' boat, Dorothy Marie (link is to their blog), and half the year on their RV. His son lives near Gold Beach and they're visiting.

He said they enjoy cruising the west coast of Mexico. I 'splained I've been wanting to go but besides the fambly crisis (plural), I was worried about being sold into slavery. Vienna said the propaganda about Mexico is all bullshit. They drive down to where their boat's stored in Mexico and cruise around until the weather changes. And they've been all over the Pacific...in a boat. 

And then the Yaquina did a pirouette in the mouth of The Rogue. An Army Corp of Engineers boat, I went over it from stem to stern with binoculars and didn't see a speck of rust. 

The price of a room at The Quality Inn is currently $64.00. The second week of October, when I plan to visit, it's $400.00. That's what Balloon Fiesta does.

The Bridge Over The Rogue

Rosemary - Harbor, Oregon

Wending northward, I had one of my many LGH (Let's Go See!) moments.

Strolling the quay, who should appear, but Rosemary!

It's been years since I've seen her. We met when I was the College of Education's computer ombudsman. Rosemary selected the softwate for the University and taught the classes in how to use it. Over the years we became friends. 

When we met she was a Harley chick with her own 1200. Her husband, an automatic-weapons enthusiast enjoyed firing one of 15 or so machine guns when not out riding. We became friends.

Soon long after her husband died (of cancer) Rosemary retired. Bored, she accepted a position as installer-trainer for a software company that linked together Jamaica's banks...and all their associated offshore accounts. 

On Sunday evenings Rosemary'd fly to Jamaica, spend the week, and on Friday, fly back. It was different from her Harley life.

The owner of the company was vegetarian and health-conscious. When they weren't working, he'd coax Rosemary into hiking around the island with him. Eventually, he even managed to wean her from her weekend jaunts with cocaine.

We lost track of each other after I started traveling. And besides, I was always too fat. But that's what cocaine'll do for yuh.

It was nice to see her...albeit only in my mind's eye. She was much slimmer than this Rosemary.

Mouth of The Smith

The sign appeared just like any other, but due to Smith The Cat's role in my life, it held greater significance.

At the end of the street is a small parking lot with some steep, concrete steps to the beach. I fortified with some lunch, tucked the bottle of nitro into my breast pocket, overalls are so cool, and sallied.

It was bracing!...much nicer than the 103 someone said it reached in Grants Pass a ways inland.

Sloshing Waves & Wind

Winchuck River Camp

It's been rumored I enjoy a challenge but finding places to camp near the California and Oregon Coast have pushed me to the edge...of staying in a campground. But not yet. 

The first time it took me an hour...stopping along the way to take pictures,

make notes and

explore the spur.

Going down took 35 minutes.

It took a little over an hour to clear the deadfall and pick up some of the trash. 

Eventually, the mosquitoes won out.

  

In Search of Sasquatch

My left eye has had me bedridden for three days. Today the weather is just too nice. I HAD to get up and go see.

The hills are so steep I'm confined to the road, but I think I've made my peace with trees.

Doug, a bow hunter, told of spur up the hill. It took me an hour and 15 minutes to go about 1,000 ft uphill. The spur is BEAUTIFUL! An old road they blocked off that's slloooowly being overgrown. I didn't have the strength to go far, but there was a lovely little meadow...as if ambling through a huge estate. Three wonderful hours total!

I REFUSE to view the distances I cover as less than magnificent. I stop every few hundred feet to shed a few tears at the beauty.

Evidence Of Bear

I discovered a vestigial trail down to the stream I've been camping next to. I carry a take-down bowsaw and clippers just for such occasions. I wish I'd thought to take a "b4" picture. 

Besides water, there's BOUND to be gold in there. Now where'd I put that avarice?

Once I'd cleared some room I noticed the nearby "diggings." My tactic in bear country is to cough. It could be a pretzel allergy, but this afternoon my throat kept itching something awful. 

Chinese Cemetery

I was looking for grocery stores when it came up. It's behind Grocery Outlet.

The prayer house is as humble as it gets. It's empty, with a dirt floor.

The crudity feels like a slap to the face. 

Somewhere....

One of two...

The other...

The rest of them. May they rest in peace.

A weed garden

All there is to know

Across the Street...tilted pigeon roost.

Blue Mountains

It was a long day of driving. Up over the top, above 7,000 feet, then down to Baker City to resupply. Then an hour or more to get back out.

The ridgeline is most dramatic when coming from the West.

There are surrounding peaks that make their own contribution.