Well, I made it to Oregon and am on the eve of my grand adventure! I am so excited, I can’t wait to really get into it and experience all the ups and downs that will come and go. I arrived in Oregon yesterday afternoon and guess I’ll start at the true beginning of the journey: the flight out here…
In a journey that will, no doubt, be filled with great stories, I guess it was only fitting to start the memory-making off with a bang…
Sunday, the day before my 6:25am flight out to Oregon, was a great day. It started off with sharing the trip with the home church in Portsmouth and was followed by a great send-off cookout at the house with friends and family. It was a great day and after the cookout I was exhausted. Knowing I would be filled with anxious energy and would having difficulty sleeping if I waited, I decided to take advantage of my fatigue and take a long nap while I was able. I woke up around 8 and finished getting things wrapped up and ready to leave. After packing and such I ended up laying down for another nap on the living room sofa around 2:45am. I set the alarm for 4am with the intention of waking up, showering and heading to the airport with my family at 5 for my 6:25 flight. I never truly fell asleep, only ten to fifteen minute catnaps, which was fine. I heard my mother’s alarm go off at 4, two minutes before mine was supposed to go off, so I turned off my alarm and figured I’d rest for another few minutes and then go jump in the shower…
When I woke up from my “few minute ‘rest,’” it was 5:40am. We were supposed to leave at 5am. My flight left at 6:25am. It takes a solid 20-25 minutes to get to the airport. All these things were flying through my mind as I sorted through the situation, making sure this was really happening; five months of prep thrusted into jeopardy. I kinda slipped into panic mode. Remember, this is a true story. I ran into my mother’s room and woke her up with a, “I have to leave, Now.” She, of course, woke in a panic, woke my dad and sister’s up. I ran into the bathroom and threw on my clothes. Luckily, I was a good little boy and packed everything and had it all by the door ready to roll, I even layed out my outfit for the morning… It really was a good thing. I got dressed, told my mom I had to leave again, Now. She told me “just one second,” I told her I didn’t think I had one second. My dad must have slept in his clothes, he was ready in no time. I kissed my sisters goodbye, gave my mom a hug and kiss goodbye and jumped into the van with my dad and flew to the airport.
I remember it being 5:50 in the van, not sure at what point though. We pulled up to the airport right around 6:15, the flight was supposed to leave at 6:25, so I had to hustle. I hugged my dad goodbye at the curb, grabbed my bags and ran into the airport. I told the lady at the desk I was on the 6:25 to Atlanta and she kindly informed me I was running late. Thanks. I took my laptop out of my bag as she was processing stuff, getting my boarding passes. She told me to run to gate 24 and they wouldn’t hold the plane if I got held up at security. I thanked her, grabbed my stuff and ran up the stairs and over security. And this is no lie, when I say, “ran,” I mean it. I was literally running through the airport. In the van, and even as I was running, I was thinking of backup plans incase I missed the flight. And then I would tell myself to stop thinking of that ‘cause I was gonna make it.
So I get to the baggage check and find out where all the fun happens in the airport. They start asking me their questions. They ask me about a video camera. I tell them what I have, as I'm ridding myself of my cellphone and any other potentially hazardous goods. They ask me if it’s a video camera. I tell them it’s a Digital Camera. They ask me if it takes videos. I tell them no, its a camera, a regular still digital camera. They say, "Well, that’s not a 'Video Camera.'” Again, Thanks.
Now, I'm really starting to feel the urgency of the situation and with it I say, “I’m Really Sorry, but I am extremely late for my flight! If we could somehow speed this up I’d really appreciate it..!” The guy spying into my bags with his little television evidently spots my silverware with a fun little, “..And the Fork ran away with the Spoon..” I’m real tempted to correct him with, “It was a Dish..” But I let it slide.
They finally send all my gear through. As I grab it all off the rollers and head for the gate, my map set falls out of one of my bags. I turn back, throw it in my bag and run down to “gate 24” as the lady said with both Panniers, saddle bags for my bike carring all my earthly possessions for the trip, in one hand and my laptop and its sleeve under the other arm. I get to the point where I think I can see gate 24 and find nobody, I look down at my boarding pass and see “21E.” Thinking, or not thinking, anything… I head back to gate 21. By the way, I’m still running.. I get to gate 21 and find a handful of people but no airport personnel or airplane. I ask them if a plane just left here for Atlanta to which they reply “No, when’s it supposed to leave?” As they’re asking their reasonable question I remember the lady downstairs again, “gate 24.” So I abruptly answer, “Now” and I take off back down, all the way this time, to gate 24 where I find a pleasant gentleman who greets me with, “Cutting it pretty close, huh?” “Too close” is my reply as he hands back my boarding pass and wishes me a safe flight. Just as I breathe a sigh of relief with my first step onto the porta-tunnel, I realize my laptop has vanished. I drop my bags right there, turn around, lose my flip-flops somewhere around the nice man’s desk and tell him I left my laptop. He asks me where, but I don’t hang around to tell him. Now I’m no longer running - I’m sprinting, but of course, by this time I’m so exhausted I probably look like one of those ladies power-walking through the mall... I left my laptop at the desk of gate 21 while I was trying to figure out what in the world was going on.
And yeah, "21E" was my seat number...
Finally I get on the plane, of course I’m the last one on, and just as I’m sitting down they’re going into their, “Welcome aboard flight 1284” speech and telling me to turn everything off.
Feeling the G-forces of take off had never felt so much like a Victory before in my whole life. It felt so great to feel the plane lose the ground and lift into the air; finally I was on my way.
The rest of the flights weren’t nearly as thrilling, thank the Lord! But oh, one more thing about that flight.. I’m settling in, counting all my blessings that I made it and had everything and just - everything.. And all of the sudden, from two rows back, I hear the worst sound of a snoring man ever! It was ridiculous. And it lasted the whole flight, I was able to tune it out now and then, but of course, just when I realized I had tuned it out, it returned to the frontal most part of my consciousness all over again. Why isn't there some kind of policy for that? If the man were playing some god-awful music at the same level he was snoring, they’d ask him to turn that down.. Right...? Trust me, if you had heard him you’d agree I’m right. Nobody wants to hear that. I need to write a letter...
Anyway, I made it safe and soundly to Oregon. Sorry for the long story, but it was too good not to share.
Oregon is a pretty state. Lots of tall green trees. A lot of hills, hills that may be called mountains in some parts of VA. Hills that I’ll be getting to know pretty personally in a few days…
I checked into my motel last night, made a few phone calls, ordered a pizza, ate the pizza and went to bed.
Today I got up and figured I’d head down to the bike shop and let them know I was in town and ready to pick up the bike whenever it was ready. Of course I have no car, so I had to walk to the bike shop. I get going, knowing it’s about a mile and a half to the shop. I make a few calls to friends, so the walk doesn’t seem all that bad. After an hour and ten minutes or so I cam across a little country store and decided to stop in for a drink and a guestimation of how much farther. As I’m paying for the drink I ask about 8th Street. “Oh, 8th Street, that’s into town, a good 3-4 miles, right..?” The clerk says as she calls upon the expertise of another local. After telling my story of walking over an hour in the Wrong Direction, hoping one of them would offer a ride, the best I get is one of the guys telling me to stick my thumb out there and I may get lucky.
Well, after walking an hour in the wrong direction the last thing you want to do is walk an hour back to the starting line. I walked close to five minutes, I guess that’s how long it takes for me to bury my pride, before I stuck my thumb out there. And let me tell you, it takes a good sock to the ego to do that. I just couldn’t believe, for the first time in my life, and hopefully the last, I was HitchHiking, on the first day of this “great adventure”! A few cars passed me and I said a little prayer that someone would pick me up, preferably someone that wasn’t carrying a gun.. Within five minutes a little orange truck slowed to a stop and put it in reverse. It was just like a movie. Just as he put it in reverse I ran and met him half way, just beautiful...
And if he had a gun, I never saw it.
I finally picked up my bike around 3 and went for a ride. They did a great job of putting it back together for me and tuning it up. I rode around Florence a bit and headed for the beaches. I ended up finding them and it was amazing. I actually gasped a bit when I saw the coast for the first time, it was a great surprise. I was up on a hill and saw it as I rounded a corner. It's much more majestic than the Atlantic, and I don't think it's just because I'm so used to the East Coast. It's really great. It seems to command respect - okay, maybe now I'm pushing it. But it truly is amazing.
After gettting directions from a nice older couple I made it down to the beach, parked the bike and started exploring the jetty, taking pictures and such. It was drizzling by this point but I didn’t mind, He did a great job of holding it off while I was walking to and from the bike shop and enjoying my ride. It kinda felt good as I walked up and down the jetty enjoying the beach. As I was walking back to the bike, I started to wonder if I should just have my little wheel dipping ceremony right then. And then I did.
As I was walking the bike down to the shore a group of people enjoying a driftwood, Oceanside campfire watched me muscle it through the sand. When I reached the water I asked a group of three guys if they wouldn’t mind helping me commemorate the start of the trip. They were glad to help and enjoyed being apart of it. Turns out they were with the group enjoying the fire. As we were walking back another guy came down from the fire and asked if I had just finished crossing the state and I told him I was just starting, the other guys filled him in on the rest. They got to their group before I got to the jetty and the road and, as I passed them, they, with the rest of the group, clapped and cheered. So thanks to the group from Churchill High School here in town for helping commemorate the start of the journey.
Tomorrow the real fun begins. I leave to comforts of the Motel and move into the campgrounds and all that brings with it. I just finished my first load of “sink laundry,” so I guess I’m already halfway roughin’ it… But I am excited, I’m excited to see who else I’ll meet, what other odd twists and turns the trip will have in store. I’m interested, not necessarily excited, but interested to see how my body responds to the physical challenges of the trip, I know it’s gonna get rough pretty soon. And it’ll be great to find out how mentally sound I am. I know the majority of the battle will take place upstairs in my head, just gotta stay strong…
I’m not sure when I’ll be able to update the journal again. I’ll be writing everyday and when I update it I’ll outline it day by day. It is my hope to update it no less than once a week, but that will all depend on how often I’m able to find internet access. But stay tuned! I’m sure I’ll have lots to share…
Now for some pictures of the day in Florence. First, The Wheel Dipping! Wish you could have been there!
In a journey that will, no doubt, be filled with great stories, I guess it was only fitting to start the memory-making off with a bang…
Sunday, the day before my 6:25am flight out to Oregon, was a great day. It started off with sharing the trip with the home church in Portsmouth and was followed by a great send-off cookout at the house with friends and family. It was a great day and after the cookout I was exhausted. Knowing I would be filled with anxious energy and would having difficulty sleeping if I waited, I decided to take advantage of my fatigue and take a long nap while I was able. I woke up around 8 and finished getting things wrapped up and ready to leave. After packing and such I ended up laying down for another nap on the living room sofa around 2:45am. I set the alarm for 4am with the intention of waking up, showering and heading to the airport with my family at 5 for my 6:25 flight. I never truly fell asleep, only ten to fifteen minute catnaps, which was fine. I heard my mother’s alarm go off at 4, two minutes before mine was supposed to go off, so I turned off my alarm and figured I’d rest for another few minutes and then go jump in the shower…
When I woke up from my “few minute ‘rest,’” it was 5:40am. We were supposed to leave at 5am. My flight left at 6:25am. It takes a solid 20-25 minutes to get to the airport. All these things were flying through my mind as I sorted through the situation, making sure this was really happening; five months of prep thrusted into jeopardy. I kinda slipped into panic mode. Remember, this is a true story. I ran into my mother’s room and woke her up with a, “I have to leave, Now.” She, of course, woke in a panic, woke my dad and sister’s up. I ran into the bathroom and threw on my clothes. Luckily, I was a good little boy and packed everything and had it all by the door ready to roll, I even layed out my outfit for the morning… It really was a good thing. I got dressed, told my mom I had to leave again, Now. She told me “just one second,” I told her I didn’t think I had one second. My dad must have slept in his clothes, he was ready in no time. I kissed my sisters goodbye, gave my mom a hug and kiss goodbye and jumped into the van with my dad and flew to the airport.
I remember it being 5:50 in the van, not sure at what point though. We pulled up to the airport right around 6:15, the flight was supposed to leave at 6:25, so I had to hustle. I hugged my dad goodbye at the curb, grabbed my bags and ran into the airport. I told the lady at the desk I was on the 6:25 to Atlanta and she kindly informed me I was running late. Thanks. I took my laptop out of my bag as she was processing stuff, getting my boarding passes. She told me to run to gate 24 and they wouldn’t hold the plane if I got held up at security. I thanked her, grabbed my stuff and ran up the stairs and over security. And this is no lie, when I say, “ran,” I mean it. I was literally running through the airport. In the van, and even as I was running, I was thinking of backup plans incase I missed the flight. And then I would tell myself to stop thinking of that ‘cause I was gonna make it.
So I get to the baggage check and find out where all the fun happens in the airport. They start asking me their questions. They ask me about a video camera. I tell them what I have, as I'm ridding myself of my cellphone and any other potentially hazardous goods. They ask me if it’s a video camera. I tell them it’s a Digital Camera. They ask me if it takes videos. I tell them no, its a camera, a regular still digital camera. They say, "Well, that’s not a 'Video Camera.'” Again, Thanks.
Now, I'm really starting to feel the urgency of the situation and with it I say, “I’m Really Sorry, but I am extremely late for my flight! If we could somehow speed this up I’d really appreciate it..!” The guy spying into my bags with his little television evidently spots my silverware with a fun little, “..And the Fork ran away with the Spoon..” I’m real tempted to correct him with, “It was a Dish..” But I let it slide.
They finally send all my gear through. As I grab it all off the rollers and head for the gate, my map set falls out of one of my bags. I turn back, throw it in my bag and run down to “gate 24” as the lady said with both Panniers, saddle bags for my bike carring all my earthly possessions for the trip, in one hand and my laptop and its sleeve under the other arm. I get to the point where I think I can see gate 24 and find nobody, I look down at my boarding pass and see “21E.” Thinking, or not thinking, anything… I head back to gate 21. By the way, I’m still running.. I get to gate 21 and find a handful of people but no airport personnel or airplane. I ask them if a plane just left here for Atlanta to which they reply “No, when’s it supposed to leave?” As they’re asking their reasonable question I remember the lady downstairs again, “gate 24.” So I abruptly answer, “Now” and I take off back down, all the way this time, to gate 24 where I find a pleasant gentleman who greets me with, “Cutting it pretty close, huh?” “Too close” is my reply as he hands back my boarding pass and wishes me a safe flight. Just as I breathe a sigh of relief with my first step onto the porta-tunnel, I realize my laptop has vanished. I drop my bags right there, turn around, lose my flip-flops somewhere around the nice man’s desk and tell him I left my laptop. He asks me where, but I don’t hang around to tell him. Now I’m no longer running - I’m sprinting, but of course, by this time I’m so exhausted I probably look like one of those ladies power-walking through the mall... I left my laptop at the desk of gate 21 while I was trying to figure out what in the world was going on.
And yeah, "21E" was my seat number...
Finally I get on the plane, of course I’m the last one on, and just as I’m sitting down they’re going into their, “Welcome aboard flight 1284” speech and telling me to turn everything off.
Feeling the G-forces of take off had never felt so much like a Victory before in my whole life. It felt so great to feel the plane lose the ground and lift into the air; finally I was on my way.
The rest of the flights weren’t nearly as thrilling, thank the Lord! But oh, one more thing about that flight.. I’m settling in, counting all my blessings that I made it and had everything and just - everything.. And all of the sudden, from two rows back, I hear the worst sound of a snoring man ever! It was ridiculous. And it lasted the whole flight, I was able to tune it out now and then, but of course, just when I realized I had tuned it out, it returned to the frontal most part of my consciousness all over again. Why isn't there some kind of policy for that? If the man were playing some god-awful music at the same level he was snoring, they’d ask him to turn that down.. Right...? Trust me, if you had heard him you’d agree I’m right. Nobody wants to hear that. I need to write a letter...
Anyway, I made it safe and soundly to Oregon. Sorry for the long story, but it was too good not to share.
Oregon is a pretty state. Lots of tall green trees. A lot of hills, hills that may be called mountains in some parts of VA. Hills that I’ll be getting to know pretty personally in a few days…
I checked into my motel last night, made a few phone calls, ordered a pizza, ate the pizza and went to bed.
Today I got up and figured I’d head down to the bike shop and let them know I was in town and ready to pick up the bike whenever it was ready. Of course I have no car, so I had to walk to the bike shop. I get going, knowing it’s about a mile and a half to the shop. I make a few calls to friends, so the walk doesn’t seem all that bad. After an hour and ten minutes or so I cam across a little country store and decided to stop in for a drink and a guestimation of how much farther. As I’m paying for the drink I ask about 8th Street. “Oh, 8th Street, that’s into town, a good 3-4 miles, right..?” The clerk says as she calls upon the expertise of another local. After telling my story of walking over an hour in the Wrong Direction, hoping one of them would offer a ride, the best I get is one of the guys telling me to stick my thumb out there and I may get lucky.
Well, after walking an hour in the wrong direction the last thing you want to do is walk an hour back to the starting line. I walked close to five minutes, I guess that’s how long it takes for me to bury my pride, before I stuck my thumb out there. And let me tell you, it takes a good sock to the ego to do that. I just couldn’t believe, for the first time in my life, and hopefully the last, I was HitchHiking, on the first day of this “great adventure”! A few cars passed me and I said a little prayer that someone would pick me up, preferably someone that wasn’t carrying a gun.. Within five minutes a little orange truck slowed to a stop and put it in reverse. It was just like a movie. Just as he put it in reverse I ran and met him half way, just beautiful...
And if he had a gun, I never saw it.
I finally picked up my bike around 3 and went for a ride. They did a great job of putting it back together for me and tuning it up. I rode around Florence a bit and headed for the beaches. I ended up finding them and it was amazing. I actually gasped a bit when I saw the coast for the first time, it was a great surprise. I was up on a hill and saw it as I rounded a corner. It's much more majestic than the Atlantic, and I don't think it's just because I'm so used to the East Coast. It's really great. It seems to command respect - okay, maybe now I'm pushing it. But it truly is amazing.
After gettting directions from a nice older couple I made it down to the beach, parked the bike and started exploring the jetty, taking pictures and such. It was drizzling by this point but I didn’t mind, He did a great job of holding it off while I was walking to and from the bike shop and enjoying my ride. It kinda felt good as I walked up and down the jetty enjoying the beach. As I was walking back to the bike, I started to wonder if I should just have my little wheel dipping ceremony right then. And then I did.
As I was walking the bike down to the shore a group of people enjoying a driftwood, Oceanside campfire watched me muscle it through the sand. When I reached the water I asked a group of three guys if they wouldn’t mind helping me commemorate the start of the trip. They were glad to help and enjoyed being apart of it. Turns out they were with the group enjoying the fire. As we were walking back another guy came down from the fire and asked if I had just finished crossing the state and I told him I was just starting, the other guys filled him in on the rest. They got to their group before I got to the jetty and the road and, as I passed them, they, with the rest of the group, clapped and cheered. So thanks to the group from Churchill High School here in town for helping commemorate the start of the journey.
Tomorrow the real fun begins. I leave to comforts of the Motel and move into the campgrounds and all that brings with it. I just finished my first load of “sink laundry,” so I guess I’m already halfway roughin’ it… But I am excited, I’m excited to see who else I’ll meet, what other odd twists and turns the trip will have in store. I’m interested, not necessarily excited, but interested to see how my body responds to the physical challenges of the trip, I know it’s gonna get rough pretty soon. And it’ll be great to find out how mentally sound I am. I know the majority of the battle will take place upstairs in my head, just gotta stay strong…
I’m not sure when I’ll be able to update the journal again. I’ll be writing everyday and when I update it I’ll outline it day by day. It is my hope to update it no less than once a week, but that will all depend on how often I’m able to find internet access. But stay tuned! I’m sure I’ll have lots to share…
Now for some pictures of the day in Florence. First, The Wheel Dipping! Wish you could have been there!
posted by SuperByron3000 at 5/31/2005
1 comments
