Tijuana to Vancouver - kleer001
In the space between my last job and the next job I have time for the trip I've wanted to take for a long time. It's my love poem to the west coast. It's visiting family and friends. It's...

Day "-1"
Berkeley, United States
Though not technically on the road yet I wanted to test out this blogabond stuff and reach out. I should probably twitter this too.
Here's the plan: Down to San Diego tonight and spend the night and tomorrow with family. Give friends in LA some kind of warning. Drop down to Tijuana for a beer and tourist crap. Then zoom up to Los Angeles for a couple days and visit more family and friends (if I can ferret them out). Then it's up the gorgeous coast to Santa Cruz for a couple days. More friends. Then probably up to Los Gatos for lots of childhood memories and beautiful cityness. San Jose for more family for a day and change. San Francisco, Berkeley, Oakland, then across the bridge to Marin and continue up the coast some more. There's not much until Eugene and Portland for more friends. A few days up there and then Seattle, even more friends. Vacouver for family for a couple days. Finally back to Seattle and a flight back to SFO. Hopefully I'll be ready to work by then. Damn, I love driving.
written by  kleer001 on November 14, 2008 from Berkeley, United States
from the travel blog: Tijuana to Vancouver

Day 0
San Diego, United States
blissful in berkley
Suze is the bestest Slurker any Slurk can ask for in any dimension possible in all of possible existences. This wonderful lady picked me up and drove me to bliss at a real honest to god awesome Mexican diner in Berkeley. I cried in my Horchata. She grinned and at her salad.
Her domocile was home base for the few days I was in the East Bay juggling all my shizzle. She is the red haired fiery creator and we talk in LOLspeak all day long.
oakland airport
It was odd not going through passport control in the airport, not hearing a dozen languages from passers by, and these thin little green bills are atrocious. And, oh my, the free Wi-Fi. Free as in beer. Free at last.
Up in the air, during take off I was witness to the bruised red full moon set above the fungal growth like circut diagrams gone mad of the city below. I wanted to stay up there forever, witness at five thousand feet to the noise and fury below.
birthday boy
Like many families we have traditions. This particular one stretches back to my own first birthday where I devoured my cookie monster cake with my furious fists and even got a little in my mouth. Ever since then and with the enthusiastic participation of the babies involved we have reveled in the cake destruction. NOM!
1st birthday fam gather
Simply focused on the birthday boy, all attention and joy. Oh, family, I love them so. To be in such an extended tribe here is me and witness to the continuation plain and simple. Sorry to poetify, but is so precious.
playafied duckies
Box of playa dusty ducks my sister brought me back from the 2008 burn. I hope I wasn't too harsh in refusing them, or showed disgust. It seemed in good humor, but white elephant gifts I will refuse when possible. The smell though, wow, brought back some serious memories and the heat and the dust.
written by  kleer001 on November 15, 2008 from San Diego, United States
from the travel blog: Tijuana to Vancouver

Day 1a
Tijuana, Mexico
Tah-da, the requisite beer. One frothy cold and delivered to my table with chips and salsa. Just outside the resturant was a family band, brothers and cousins on accordian, bass, drums, and tiny preteen cousin on the mike belting out the lyrics like she owned them. I wish I had gotten them in the beer pic. It's not just a treasure hunt, damnit. I missed out on the picture of the fly dying on it's back in the urinal at the Burger King outside of the border, but I think that was more a matter of good taste. Right as my alarm went off, in the middle of a conversation with an American prophet, there had started a troupe of costumed Mexicans doing an apparently traditional dance. They were in full feathered regalia, young son on the skin drum and infant shaking a rattle. The prophet was an older woman, her pale makeup was smeared around and her maskara caked lashes behind large dark glasses framed pale green eyes. She wanted me to warn my father about the dark forces, the ones he has abandoned, for they are angry. I'm sure he'll be fine.
Apparently it's not cool to buy glassware and take it over the border. Next time I'll just put it in my fucking pocket. Oh, yeah, and you need a passport to get back into the states. Well, they let me through, "But remember it next time." I'll surely remember it for Canada. The only borders I like are on imaginary planes and shift based on your calculations. I did however get away with some lovely jewlry for some select lady friends.
Amsterdam Pharmacy, Srsly, wtf? SmartShop it ain't.
This one too. Multinational Mexico, go go go!
Ok, I've seen these damn things all over the world. London, Amsterdam, Seattle, Boston, Los Angeles... this however is the first one to grace my data stream. Lovely. Frida. Lovely.
written by  kleer001 on November 16, 2008 from Tijuana, Mexico
from the travel blog: Tijuana to Vancouver

Day 1b
Laguna Beach, United States
Ahh, the landmark boobs. I've saw these things many times while commuting to San Diego with my ex and her daughter. Tijuana brought back plenty memories, the good times mostly. I'm not an astological kind of guy, but it was a house of three scorpios. Just sayin... Lot's of drama, basically a tar baby.
Wet toes, soaked cuffs. As I write this in a Starbucks ($4 for wifi, dejected pirate "Arrr") my cuffs are cold and wet. I do not fear for my ankles to getting the flu, but should probably change them away.
Laguna Beach. There were dozens of wake boarders. 12 year olds to a couple mid thirties scruffy guys in lazy goatee and all watching the waves with perfect relaxed zen lasers beaming fiercly from their 6th chakras. I wandered through the wave beach interface up past a few clusters of photographers and shiny white families all dressed in white. Walked up to a rocky area with tide pools and didn't trust my feet to the sharp and slippery. The people are familar, not as individuals but the spread of the phenome. I fear I shall always ache for the true multiculture stew of the megalopolis London. The guy sitting next to me at the starbucks has a russian accent and that makes me happy.
Crystal Cove and the sun is setting. 2 hours and two blog posts in the previously mentioned bucks of stars. Upper class and white, I gotta keep going. Going to head up to Mom, Step Dad, Sisters in Altadina tonight. More friends tomorrow and then outta this crazy place. I am not looking forward to the thick rush hour craptastic traffic.
written by  kleer001 on November 16, 2008 from Laguna Beach, United States

Day 1c
Pasadena, United States
It was the night I was moving out of Pasadena. The new job was a terrific opportunity. The car was packed to the brim. I was making my way back to the uhaul van that my step day was driving. We were in for some serious driving. 300+ Miles
This is the corner where I saw a man get shot. What would you have done? The memories are fuzzy, staccato like a damaged film reel. The roaring sound of traffic. I think he was unarmed. He pulled over and got out of his truck. He wore a white t-shirt. The absurdly small pop of guns. Yes, it was a white t-shirt and the bullet hole blossomed on his chest like a red carnation as he fell. The light turned green and I went on my way. I'm no hero, man. Fuck that shit. None of my business. I only add it here for local color.
written by  kleer001 on November 17, 2008 from Pasadena, United States

Day 2
Santa Monica, United States
Los Angeles is of course a city for by and about cars. I was surprised how quickly the old driving patterns returned. I'm an asshole on the road. Get outta my fuckin' way. Go faster, it's the pedal on the right, signal you bastard signal! I hit the tail end of rush hour traffic getting to the beach. Technically I missed running the beach from Laguna Beach to Venice. I think a negotiation is in order. I'll run the coast during the day and drive up the highway during the night.
The Jolly Roger is flown proudly over the main building at Digital Domain. Finest moments I remember there are 4am smoking out of a janky aluminum foil pipe, I was that poor, and watching the 4th of July fireworks with a work pal. I've noticed an independent spirit in fellow DD grads. Maybe I'm projecting. It takes all kinds. But there's a technical panache and carbon fiber titanium reinforced work ethic I seen shine out when I've worked side by side with those peeps.
This freakish sculpture is on the corner of Rose Ave and Ocean. A quiet icon no one talks about, but you can't miss it. If anyone knows the story I'd love to hear it. You live around there it becomes a welcome sight on drunken nights unless you've gotten drunk at the Firehouse across the street from it. That just means that you have to get back to work.
I don't know how I could have feared that Venice would become any less freakish. Nothing's changed except for some innovations in bong technology. Harry Parry still jams on. Chill dance music still pumps out of the native American boutique. Hippies still ply their wares on the side walks. The walls are still covered with awesome murals. Now they're just a little older, a little faded.
I didn't go out to the water, but I did get some cheap sandals, got some postcards. I couldn't find the guy selling fresh incense. There will be plenty in Berkeley. It's probably just because it's Monday. I want to bike up and down the strand next time I'm down here, oogle the bikini clad babes with silicon tits and slathered in coconut oil, get a white egg omelet with goat cheese and broccoli.
written by  kleer001 on November 17, 2008 from Santa Monica, United States

Day 2-3
Buellton, United States
Night driving. It's all ink and stars. Bright white dwarf stars red shifted and dancing through curved space-time. There were Symmetric motorcycle cops waiting at the top of a hill as I exited Malibu. Oh, the patent leather tight laced melange of paranoia and sex. I'll be the first to amid that a good latex cop outfit and hot body poured into it can give me chub.
Was exhausted and making more and more mistakes of attention and fine motor control by Buellton. Stopped at the fine Marriott and tucked into some delicious wifi.
I don't have a tea problem, it's a habit and I can quit whenever I like. The only problem here is that my cup is empty, damnit.
Here's that shirt I picked up at the Crow Bar restaurant near Laguna. It's a bit thin and would be great in a wet t-shirt contest, probably not on me though.
This is the California highway I remember from my youth. The pale yellow grass and deep dusty green trees. I passed by a few wineries. Their rows and columns were not properly aligned to the road for the optimal effect, but I shall describe it in hopes that you recall your own similar experience of delight when the lines are right.
It's after hour 3 on a drive that's not quite half done. If you're lucky you've brought plenty of music, but still your immobile human body protests. Green, yellow, gray, blue, it all mushes together. Then there's an orchard or a factory plot and your view goes all Phillip Glass. The lines of vegetation are perfectly perpendicular to your sight and they thrum away into perspective. They look like the thin legs of some giant running along side your car. Maybe it's only one that you saw, maybe you were lucky and you passed by seemingly endless plots of cabbage and oak and apple trees and strawberries and bare tilled fields. That's what I looked for as a child on long road trips. The running thin green giant.
written by  kleer001 on November 18, 2008 from Buellton, United States

Day 3
Monterey, United States
On the last sun drenched beach I saw a huge flock of seagulls and had to stop. You would too, wouldn't you? I had to chase them around like the sincerely naive man child I let myself be more often than I probably should.
The gulls were oddly quiet. The sand was rough between my bare toes. The smell of rotting seaweed and salty air rejuvenated me. I imagined an art project I could have started, but didn't have the care. Collecting a teaspoon of sand from all the beaches I visit. Such a collection of matter probably exists in one form or another and will probably be distributed through the rental car and my shoes.
Drove though Big Sur, big windy mountainous pass. Lots of mist rolling up and over the road. Coming out of southern California into northern California was a wall of cloud. I could see it looming on the horizon. Gone was the blazing hot rays of merciless sun, grated through eucalyptus and filtered through mist. Up and down, sharp to the right, sharp to the left, switch backs and what seemed like loop-de-loops at the time the road rippled up the coast.
In Big Sur, while listening to Plaid's song Rakimou, 3 bloody times, I was finally able to start a little healing, repairing the loss, that distance from home, oh-god-I'm-finally-back feeling. While in London I had a bad acid trip, my very first. It was the end of my employment and Halloween. The fear, the fear, I had "The Fear". Like a cold shiny black needle through my heart I was pierced with the deepest most baroque paranoia I could imagine. I literally felt my heart was stabbed through the 6th dimension. I knew there was a secret ninja technique of stopping one's heart. I knew that I could stop if it I wanted to. Death was just a breath away.
I stopped at a little ditch to call my grandparents, to let them know I'd be in in a couple days. There were crows on the road. Lovely crows.
Drove up through Los Gatos and Campbell.
written by  kleer001 on November 19, 2008 from Monterey, United States

Santa Cruz, United States
I went to the eucalyptus forest at Natural Bridges state park after a lovely breakfast with friends. I visited with the butterflies hanging in massive clumps. Lovely monarchs. My friend seemed to be enjoying a little synthenesia as he swore he could hear their wings flapping. Sadly I was not in such a state and they were quiet. I continued on to the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk, landmark of my youth.
Here's the empty boardwalk on an early Wednesday night. There's such high contrast here against all my memories of the place. It should be packed with people. There should be cries and laughter and loud music and the thunderous rattle of the two wooden roller coasters. It's dusk and there's a handful of people staring out at the ocean or holding hands and walking along the beach. My graduating high school class had a field trip out here years ago. I've been here on dates and lone wolf journeys, usually in the summer and it's always been packed. I simultaniously felt the empty present and the seasonal inertia of the 100 years it's been here. My own presence a tiny golden thread in its vast rolling tapestry.
Sunsets are such simple things repeated over and over again, every day, everywhere, continuously. Winter has robbed us of long sultry days, but the sunsets are still glorious. It's the clouds that make it for me. I even see god in there sometimes.
There was a little section of the arcade that had classic games. The kind of games that now-a-days come free with a cheap cell phone (if the licenses have run out). Tempest, Ms. PacMan, Frogger, Asteroids, et al. Peak evolutionary coin predators. Like sharks that go straight for your pocket. I had my Nintendo DS in my pocket at the time. With the right software it could simulate all the hardware in those games. What it wouldn't have is the grime and texture from years of hard banging by adults and kids. The controls had a solid feel, a realness that's smoothed over by the brightly colored games these days, the brain training games and collections of micro-games and cooking simulators.
Oh, the hard fought treasures of yesteryear. How they seemed so far away and high above. Spend 20$ on skeet ball to get a 2$ stuffed bear, of course. It's not the prize but the fighting, it's not the destination but the journey. I'm pretty proud that I can walk into any candy shop and buy whatever I like. Not that I would, but I could. That CD alarm clock, I'm not going to spend 2 hours and 30$ racking up 2500 tickets. Sadly that naivety has washed away never to return.
written by  kleer001 on November 20, 2008 from Santa Cruz, United States

Day 4b
Campbell, United States
This is from one of my first memory clusters. The Day Care was just down the street from this sign which has miracuously arrived unharmed in the present.
written by  kleer001 on November 20, 2008 from Campbell, United States

San Jose, United States
While driving from Sata Cruz to San Jose I felt all the previous journeys across the same strech of road like clouds of ghosts. That family trip when my sister was just an annoying preteen, that school trip at the end of the year, that 3am slow drive, and so many more. The road twists and turns, ups and downs in a very pleasing manner. That is driving pleasure.
Before I made it to my grandparents' house I drove through old haunts, down familar streets. Los Gatos, Campell, old town areas, tree lines suburbs, strip malls. I drove up to the old scenic view by a water sanitation plant. That spot where I we were caught by the police and questioned seperately about the goings ons. Luckily my dumb pleasure of having a drivers licence to show them overrode any kind of reasonable fear I should have had. The windows were steamy, so, I can see why they shined in their overcompensatingly large maglights to see what was going on. This night it was only me and my memories and my tears.
Rolled into my grandparent's house around 9:30. They've been there for more than 50 years. This is the house where my mom, aunt, and uncle grew up. There's art on the wall I recall from my presentience youth, abstracts, landscapes, and abstracts.
My grandfather is a master locksmith. It was his hobby and now there's a glorious glass case in the foyer filled with padlocks and combination locks of all shapes and sizes. Some are clean and brassy, some are grey and pitted, some are bizarre mutations of what you thought was a lock. And that's just in the front room. Out in the garage are metal filing cabinates filled with sorted locks and near endless key blanks. He thought me how to copy a key when I was 12. I remember a christmas when he handed out lock picking tools to the young'ns and had us all practice on a plain vanilla 6 pin tumbler Master padlock. It usually took us a couple minutes to pop the thing open with the right jimmying and twisting.
It may sound odd, but I got my first professional haircut in 16 years. It was at this place with a spinning red white and blue barber pole. It was at this place where my grandfather and cousin have been getting their hair cut for decades. There was baseball memorabelia on the walls, baseballs, bats, and dozens of signed pictures. The guys behind the chairs were a gas. They tossed the one liners back and forth, kept the vibe light and friendly. When my guy was cleaning up the edges at my neck and ears he joked
"Oh, so, yeah this is the first time I've used this thing a 6 months."
one of the other guys piped in "Is that the rusty blade?" "Yes," he said "There was all sorts of bleeding last time." and on like that, you get the idea.
Dinner was with a good portion of my family sitting down at Chilis. Not exactly like the dinners out of yor, but damn close. Everyone's doing well. There's new pets, book deals, business meetings, and I was so damn happy to see more of my fam.
After dinner we headed our seperate ways. To Berkeley for me, and beyond.
written by  kleer001 on November 22, 2008 from San Jose, United States

Berkeley, United States
Arrived in Bazerkeley around 11pm, finally got to sleep around 2am. Got up early to give an old friend a ride to the airport. Hugs and kisses all around. It's so good to be back in the home hood.
I made it to Lanesplitters Pizzaria for lunch, was greeted enthusiasicaly by old workmates and saw some new faces too. Predicably not much has changed on the work side. There was a very simlar feeling in seeing and talking with biological family as this motly crew of crafty type computer nerdy art people. I made a horrible mistake at Lanesplitters. I've seen this mistake before. I don't know why I didn't catch it. Direct experience I've heard is the best teacher.
When my lady and I went to Morrocco more than several months ago she had a beer with our last meal. Sadly this I fear made her sick. Sick for 8 hours, laying passed out on the bathroom floor back in our hotel room. We were both very scared in that foreign place and we nearly called for an ambulance. Thankfully she was able to power through it and quickly recovered. Thankfully we were able to make our flight the next morning.
For lunch I had a couple slices of NY style pie, oh so good. For lunch I also had a few beers. I'm not sure how many, but at least 3 and all of different types, something pale, something dark, something rusty. Had it been two years ago I'm sure everything would have been fine. I would have been acclimated to the yeasty beasties and the level of booze, but I'm not and I wasn't. All my microbe belly beasties are without a doubt acclimated to the life of a keyboard jockey and mouse pusher in London. And my liver is used to near teatotaling aesteic existance. I attribute my sickness to the mixture of beers, the alien tiny biologies, and that massive bong rip. I spent the evening curled up next to the toilet. Equal parts puking my guts out and passing out. My body and I had a little tet-a-tet in there. It told me what was going to happen, I understood it and then it happened. Reverse peristalsis is the term. My biggest concern was blood. Was this ripping me a new one? Was it just food rejection? Yay, it was just the second one.
My good friend J let me crash on his couch and slowly I recovered. I have learned now 1) take it easy for a while after a long move with the beers 2) Your bud that brings you back gatorade after your night of excess is a brother indeed.
written by  kleer001 on November 22, 2008 from Berkeley, United States

Berkeley, United States
This was a recovery day. Organic Chamomile with Lavender, a couple rolls of Rolaids, organic Peppermit tea, "Digest More" enzyme formula, sweet rice and tofu roll, a bunch of mutant tiny bananas, two pieces of toast, a good ol' fashioned constitutional, and I'm right as rain, well, maybe a misty mountain top. Definitly not at 100% and it'll be bland food for a couple days, but I'm definitly improving.
I found this lovely stencil on my walk to the nearest Starbucks (where I could have uploaded pictures, but didn't remember). It was a whole bloody mile away, uphill.
If you have never seen a cat nomming on a piece of dry toast before, then you are in the large portion of people. I was just eatin' and the cat came up and plopped down and went to town. So. Cute.
It's nearly midnight and I feel great.
written by  kleer001 on November 22, 2008 from Berkeley, United States

Stinson Beach, United States
This is my very generous host becoming intimate with her coffee. Sadly I can't handle coffee myself, more for everyone else. I'm a builder's tea kinda guy, and maybe a ginger biscuit too. Sweet and creamy.
Now that I'm nearly halfway, let me introduce myself. I'm just a dude in the world. I'm a second generation California native. Mom is tall skinny blonde with blue eyes from the Bay Area, dad is a big ol' black man from Los Angeles. I grew up in the South Bay Area, San Jose, Campbell, Saratoga, Los Gatos. Went to school in the deep south, Savannah, just long enough so that I say y'all quite comfortably and have an occasional desire for grits, okra, corn bread, black eyed peas, fried chicken, deep fried cat fish, and a tall mint julep. I've been in London for the last 15 months and it's becoming more and more apparent how much I missed home. Dude!
Stinson Beach was gorgeous. All the beautiful landscapes and scenery, I keep weeping over the views, they're so grand, all the life and natural high frequency detail. It just seems everything is alright in the world.
Passing through towns with 2 and 3 digit populations. Passing large rolling green hills dotted with cows, sheep, horses, eucalyptus trees. Rolling through tight corners and narrow bridges at exactly the speed limit. Stopped at some general store and was witness to the power of a small troupe of grey haired vets on Harleys. Oh, the sound, the rumbling fierce burbling sound of a Harley.
I did a little dance at sunset, said a little prayer and was off. Oh, the rolling green hills and sparse trees at sunset. It seems it was a good idea to ride highway 1 (2 lane rustic and sweet) during the day and the 101 or 5 (fully modern freeways). No reason to drive slow if I can't see the scenery, and a damn good way to make time.
Maybe I can make Eureka tonight, though it's more likely I'll end up in Mendocino.
written by  kleer001 on November 23, 2008 from Stinson Beach, United States

Day 9a
Humboldt Hill, United States
Oh god the driving. I only made it to Humbolt. I was subject to full brain failure. Little jerks here and little twitches there, small gaps in attention and overall drowsyness. Not good things that you want while you drive unfamilar roads. The sign said "Rest Stop Ahead" and I thought it best to strech my legs, throw away some trash, make some water. This is the creepyest rest stop I've even seen. Sure, there were signs that said "Patroled by CHP", but I had a hard time believeing it. It was tucked away about a quarter mile from the actual road and so dark and quiet. I didn't even get out of my car.
Slumped into a hotel with no wifi. Damnit. I just wish I had gotten up earlier as there was a strange long line of people all checking out at the same time. Trucker guys wearing jackets of camo and stinking of the cheap beer that saturated their grizzly beards. Good people. There was the cutest little old lady at the counter. She carefully addressed every detail of the person she was serving, offered opinions and suggestions, and was generally the polar opposite of the big city experience. That was good too. After about 30 mintues it was my turn, I paid up got some postcards and was on my way.
Let me rewind just a moment for breakfast: apple, oatmeal, tea, juice, and background noise from the idiot box. The sky really was that even grey color, man. This is rain forest area.
I told my friend that 18 days is way too short for this kind of journey. Tragically too short. This is the gorgeous Avenue of the Giants. Next time I do this kind of thing I'm thinking more 180 days. Drive about an hour a day, setup camp and explore, get to bed early and up with the sun. That sounds good. I would have time enough to visit all the wonderful state parks and take in the local color be it brown, green, tan, or a little red.
written by  kleer001 on November 24, 2008 from Humboldt Hill, United States

Day 9b
Eureka, United States
That's lunch. There's a lot of information to take in there, let me walk you through it. The juice on the left is a pomegranate raspberry 100% juice drink from Nantucket Nectars (happily no high fructose corn syrup). Yes, those are Trivial Pursuit cards in the sugar dish. They're well loved and placed on every table. Requisite salt and pepper, natch. Did I ever tell you that my great grandfather insisted that there was no difference between katsup and mustard save the color? Yes, well, I can tell, but I don't mind them mixed. Then the good stuff. This place had a heated tureen of bbq sauce. It was de-lish. At the end of my meal I had abandoned any pretense of civility and proceeded to slurp the sauce directly from the small serving cup. NOM! That little betsy in the foil is a "small" chicken sammich. I'm glad I didn't get the large. It was at least a third of a pound of slow white roased chicken meat dumped between a quarter bagette of savory butter infused garlic bread. So damn good. Last but not least are the fried potato wedges. Simple but effective. Was at least two medium potatoes. This monument of nom was brought to you by the good people at Eureka's 'Porter Street BBQ'. If you're in town, go.
I love maps. These folksy ones especially. This is at the 'Porter Street BBQ'. I had just finished a chapter in the pulpy sci-fi book I was reading (Joe Haldelman's "Camoflage") and the couple below the painting had just left.
Eureka I found was truly out of my ability to safely drive. From the hotel I had a two hour ride through misty mountain roads and dog leg turns, steep hills. And that was during the day. I could have made it if I were a coffee fiend with a cast iron stomach. I'll be taking it easy with the stomach abuse for a few more days.
On the way to Eugene I stopped at a state beach. It was a wide beach, a good 100 yards from end of the dunes and scrub to the waterline. Low tide most probably. I saw a raven. It was obviously not a crow, more stately, thicker beak, maybe a little wiser, maybe I'm projecting. They were pecking at large lumps of sea weed. Sacrificing my good taste and respect I startled them a little and captured their flight for your pleasure.
More things I will not be seeing on this trip, damn damn damn. Though that's true, I wonder what my tolerance for this high percentage of oxygen is. Will I merge with the soil and undergrowth on a longer trip? Will my beard grow and branch and be home to birds and squirrels?
This is basically the drive. Toss in some turns and twists and hills and views. I wish I had a fish eye lens for this view business.
Had to stop for water, pulled into this town, Tiberon? Just a little beautiful cove. See, If I had time I could have walked down to the virgin beach, swam out to the rocky island and munched on some wild berries and bark.
Check it, yo. Old dude with a covered wagon. I doubt he has a cell phone or wi-fi in that thing. I could be wrong though, he could be a deep sleeper cell from the civil war. The driver was, yes, a grey old gentleman with a giant beard and leathery face, ancient and patient.
written by  kleer001 on November 25, 2008 from Eureka, United States

Eugene, United States
Was welcomed heartily by my hosts R and P. Old friends back from early 00's Burningman style. The two humans of the house serve kindly three cats, two of which I renamed (temporarily) to Stubbins and StepCat, see below. The third cat, who's royal sounding name I cannot recall. She was old (15 I think) and I think it best if I respect that cat.
Again it was quite the relief to get out from behind the wheel. This is the bedroom door in their guest house. As you can see it's lovingly covered with words and designs of thanks and signatures and funky awesomeness. I did my little doodle there too.
R is quite the painter I insist. We spent time trading stories in his studio down stairs, catching up on histories and sharing the joys and life. This is one of his first paintings. I definitely get a Vinny Van Go-go vibe from the foreground character, don't you? The little curvy lady off to the right, as she poses and blends in she elicits closer inspection and offers only mysteries. This delight was in the bedroom and greeted me in the mornings and saw me off to sleepy time. Dude also set me up with a Hip mix cd. Freakin' awesome. I'll definitly be coming back. So lovely gracious the hosts, thank you thank you.
This is StepCat. StepCat is on the step. There is no explanation. That's just where he wants to be. His eyes really aren't glowing, that's the flash. Maybe his cat soul shines out like that, but I couldn't tell you. At parties StepCat is on his step. At night, StepCat is on his step. In the morning? Yup, you know it, StepCat is on his step. I think this orange beauty is getting along in years too.
Everyone, this is Stubbins. He has a stubby tail. Don't no one know how it came to be, just another one of those cat mysteries. It is a fact that the ungrateful little tramp scratched me while I was feeding him toast. Seemed he wanted to eat off the floor. Well la-de-dah yah fuzzy bastard. Otherwise a nice cat, I'll give him 8 out of 10, just a small penalty for the drooling and scratching.
Helped out a friend of R's dump some refuse at the dump. A little hard labor is good. I stated that I wouldn't mind 2 hours a day. This was more like 5 minutes. I think a few hours would keep me in good spirits and fit. I read it in Aldus Huxley's "Island" and it stuck. Well, sounds like a good idea to me. Too much of this monkey puzzle sitting behind a screen and tap tap tapping away, not so good for the soul.
This is the dump. It's this big trough of filth and debris, a tractor rolls endlessly up and down the ramp pushing it into a container and compressing it. I thank the gods for the cold weather as it did not smell bad at all. I can easily imagine that during the summer months the miasma becomes truly fetid. It was entrancing to watch the garbage rolling over than through the tractor treads, something dry and fluid at the same time.
Anatolia, Traditional Green and Indian Food
R's friend D sprung for lunch at Anatoia, Greek and Indian food. I had the spanicopita. Too bad they were all out of the special, some indian dish. Greek and Indian, wtf? The decor was chill northWestern, wood everywhere and huge rugs and tapestries on the walls. We sat near the large bay window in the front, fishbowl out to the street. Big burly man on two crutches worked his way by, a woman with a trench coat made of ornate carpet and jogging sweats under neath, small clots of people walking, sporadic traffic.
D has a lovely house, sprawling space and a labradoodle and a pug.
Jump cut to later that night at a local used book store. Sure, they had your best sellers and new books, but where they really shined was their taste. They had featured things relating to living off the land and sustainable practices, poetry, languages, and a whole section on the beats. Yum.
As you can see I got some serious treasure here. Marshal McLuhan's War and Peace in the Global Village, I'm not 100% sure what the gibberish is about at this point, but it's strongly peppered with quotes from Finnigan's Wake. That book with a white spine is "The Manifesto" by Anonymous. There's no ISBN #, no publisher, no author information. It starts rolling on the first page and on the last page it's done. Sure, it does come with a little red mimeographed page foled into it with more specific informations, but the insert reads like the grandson of the Dr. Bronners bottle. Something about "dedrabbit". My goal was to pick up unique books, books that I would have a hard time picking up at the local library. Then there's "The Medium is the Massage" and "The Gurenberg Galaxy". Take a moment and look up Mr. McLuhan. I'll still be here when you get back.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marshal_mcluhan
The next thin little spines are three chap books for writers, two by Gregory Benford, woot! Some good looking stuff from my favorites over at the magazine "Fantasy and Science Fiction". I was raised on that stuff. After school at my grandparent's place, just around the corner from grade school. I would have a ham and cheese sammich on a plate and milk in a glass. The magazine would be turned to some thrilling tale of hard sci-fi or a stimulating essay by Issac Asimov. Then there's "Mind Parasites" by Colin Wilson. It looks intriguing, something about a horror from beyond or somesuch. Printed in 1972 in Berkeley, no ISBN # and amaturish pen and ink drawing on the cover. I'm not expecting "The Darkening Sky", that's a hope beyond hope. Finally a compilation of "Lively" folk tales, "Lovers, Mates, and Strange Bedfellows" compiled and edited by James R. Foster. Again, yum.
For those following with baited breath there may not be an update until after Thanksgiving. Just sayin' I'll see you on the other side.
written by  kleer001 on November 26, 2008 from Eugene, United States

Day 11-12
Portland, United States
I arrived in Portland in the late afternoon.
There was crazy thick traffic.
The skyscrapers and overpasses were a comforting sight. It's been years. Too many years since I've been here.
I love my friends here. Someone asked me while I was in the fierce glow of my first post Burningman experience if I had met any new friends. Yes, yes, I did.
This was my first Thanksgiving with 90% new people, and I liked it a lot. New stories, new faces, friendly faces and stories about how happy people were to get away from their families. Quick aside, I know I'm very lucky to have a family that I dig, that there's no overt and fantastic drama, that we're all mostly chill.
My host A and I enjoying a post dessert Lemoncello, so tart.
At big loud raucous parties I enjoy the small times where I can be at the quiet center and just watch the madness spin and roll around me.
written by  kleer001 on November 28, 2008 from Portland, United States

Portland, United States
Thanksgiving, day 2, part 3. What a lovely spread prepared by the B family. This is a snap at the presentation of dessert.
What I saw was love and the deep tendrils of this arm of my social network, of the social network which radiates around from me, from which I am but a small part, but for my ego I could never say "this is mine". Oh, the flow. I had come to this house, years ago, guest of one of its occupants, S, and now I feel dug in and branched out: friends, friends of friends, children, parents, friends of children, soon to be married partners, strangers and old friends. It's embarrassing to say, but it seems that the only way I could stay grounded was to claim a seat and plant my ass there. Through dinner and dessert I had the following view (faces chaging, of course):
The population of this house has changed. What was once a party nexus populated by singletons and beautiful has grown. Now it's a family home, friends moved out and fiance moved in, sister, husband, daughters. A new chapter? A new book!
As for the new people my social toolbox had little to offer. One on one would have been preferred, to make any connection. It's fine to go slow, like "Hey, didn't I see you last year at Thanksgiving?"
Everyone takes pictures of bathrooms, no? Of all the sweeping change I saw in the house and her participants this bathroom seemed to be nearest the eye of the storm and has changed little.
written by  kleer001 on November 30, 2008 from Portland, United States

Seattle, United States
I want to see this in my dreams, solid and pulsing with spoiled organ music, reaching out oily rainbow tentacles to gather the ripe fruit of my soul.
Not a lot to say here. Gas top-up for a 20$! FTMFW!
Was blessed by a train splattered with graffiti. Hey, kids, don't take pictures while driving.
Tacked up on a telephone pole were two pairs of shoes. I wasn't able to tease a story out of them, maybe you can make heads or tales of this bit. It's comforting to see the palimpsest poles, generations of bill detritus, ripped letters and words and graphics. They just layer them in Berkeley. I guess they're a bit more fastidious here.
L, D, and I went to see the "Clumsy Lovers", a wonderous bluegrass band from Canada. This is the jug band that opened for them. I don't recall their name, but they freakin' rocked the Led Zepplin "Whole Lotta Love" with mighty aplomb.
Yes, my hat gets around.
The band was great. Such high energy hoe down madness. These guys (and a girl on violin) rocked it with such high intensity. I really should get out to live shows more often. I wonder what the scene in Novato is. Hmmm.
I twittered while I was drinking here:
"They drink 16oz PBR without irony. The wear flannel without irony. Seattle."
"Bluegrass cover of "You shook me all night long" with sing along FTW!!!
"Thunderstruck" into "Dirty Deeds" into "You are my sunshine" boot stomp till midnight.
written by  kleer001 on November 30, 2008 from Seattle, United States

Day 15a
Seattle, United States
I love cats. I've just realized that every friends or family member's house has had a cat or three. I wonder how far the human/toxoplasmosis symbiosis has gone, how deep it is, how its changed over the last dozen millenia. I have cat sat these little kitties in the past, back in Berkeley.
These cute little monkey coconuts sit proudly in my hosts entertainment center. They're from Aruba. I love the sustainable nature of these things. Yes, they're kitschy and nonfunctional objects, curios, tschotchkes, etc... I remember similar ones in Hawaii, but they were nothing compared to these in terms of detail, character, and expression.
As far as tourist attractions go I'll go out of my way to avoid them. At least that's how I used to be. If it wasn't for my friend's vertigo and anxiety issues I would have gone up the thing.
Tourist BS aside ("Always a traveler, never a tourist"), we did get to the EMP museum. Mad rock guitar god Jimi Hendrix featured heavily as did an exhibit on old school block printing art. There was a very through sci-fi museum downstairs. There was all sorts of lovelyness collaged up, old movie props, sound bites, vintage books and fan magazines, an on... I wish I could share some images from this meuseum, but a kind looking portly man with a bit of facial hair kept haunting me and pointing out the "No Photography" policy. What's the worse that could happen? People see my pics and decide to visit? People see the pics and decide not to go? People see the pics and decide they want to make their own sci-fi museum? People see the pics and try to sell them? I'm confused.
don't be sad
this is an adventure
written by  kleer001 on November 30, 2008 from Seattle, United States

Vancouver, Canada
a gorgeous adventure, a lovely trip, a solo journey. Sunset on the way to the Canadian Border. Did I ever tell you that I see God in glorious sunsets? I do. Not necessarily this one. The detail, the glowing colors, the scale of the thing triggers the god chord in my 8th circut, the Psycho-atomic Circuit. God bless you Saint Leery.
The US/CA border was a little rough, but no worries. I had my Zertifikate in order. Thankfully I had remembered my passport. During the short interview I told the officer that I had been traveling for the last 14 days, all alone. I did get a little lonely in a few spots and had to call a friend. I'm not 100% lone wolf, I do run in a few packs, strong ties to family and friends. More like a lost crow, maybe. The officer seemed quite confused that I would want to go it alone for so long, anathema. I don't think that was reason for keeping me, but he was genuinely confused. It wasn't really the best time or place, but I regularly am entertained by the trippping I radiate.
a little meta here with the fam. Sushi, all you can eat. The menu was a little limited and the presentation of food was a little lacking, clean, but the decor was nice. Strangely all I heard over the dinner table about the place were comments about how the place sucked. It was alright.
I'm looking forward to not driving tomorrow. I need to trim my nails. I need to do laundry. I'm looking forward to spending some time with my family.
written by  kleer001 on November 30, 2008 from Vancouver, Canada

Vancouver, Canada
I admit this is a poor image of the breadth of family I experienced though it is just uncomfortable enough to be genuine. Here is a small moment we shared. Sister was covering for the office receptionist, step mom is the regional manager (or some such high level), dad is visiting with me behind the camera. Do notice there are very few pictures of me in this thing. I'm not one to pose with cardboard cutouts or wax figures. Man, wax figures freak my shit. When my dad and I walked into the building there was the strong smell of paint. I thought it was latex based, he said water based. It wasn't overwhelming, but it was pervasive. The kind of smell you get used to after a few hours. The kind of smell that reminds me of summers painting houses, summers long ago.
I did say that I was looking forward to not driving today. Sadly I forgot about that and volunteered to drive us around town running errands and visiting his coworkers (he does tig welding). So, here's a couple dudes in a car. He wanted to go over the boarder to get gas. I was having none of that. They stopped me last time going US-CA. Didn't need to do that again. We did stop frequently which was a relief against the 2 hour bursts of the previous few trips.
Here is the machine shop where he works part time. There was the smell of oil, ozone, graphite, and what I now think was a melange of atomized metal. There was a large vertical lathe, there were several drill presses. The men who worked there, their blue overalls were splattered with black stains and pockmarked with holes and rips, their hands were roughly callused and scarred. Sadly the work board was mostly empty.
Looking back on it I think it was a bit of dog-and-pony show with me. All I wanted to do was go to the park, but whatever.
My step-grandmother had a quadruple bypass surgery a month ago. We stopped at the florist he frequents to pick up a bouquet for her. I smelled patchouli, cinnamon, winter holidays, sweet florals, scented candles, more perfume than alive. The smell of a pleasant death.
When we stopped by their pace to drop off the flowers I got to quickly see her scars on her pale wrinkled legs. Very impressive, lots of black stitches and puckered wound edges. Grandpa gave some good hugs. There was an old snoring beagle in there too. The place was as clean as the prototypical grandparents place, a little sterile and well dusted.
We stopped for lunch at an Indian buffet. Before the meal I washed my hands. There, hidden under the soap dispenser, was this strange little sticker. Sanitation is such a fleeting thing. Why would there be a sticker to loudly announce the obviously false claim of cleanliness? A perfectly and beautifully absurd little nugget of filth.
Lunch was pompadoms, dal, chicken curry, chutney, pickle, paneer. They had chow-mein in a warming dish next to the curry. Eeew.
My dad is a jack of many trades. He's done contracting, construction, sales, charity work, painting, pressure washing, and general all around hustling. When I was born he was working on the Alaskan pipeline. One of his newest hobbies is wine making. The wine cellar was just around from my room. I smelled dust and fermentation, a little bit of old saw dust as well.
I'm just not really into the story. It wasn't traumatic, I swear. I'm just trying to let out that last bit of steam. Go see the movie, The Tale of Despereaux. It'll be ok, I swear. Don't expect it to resemble the book, if you've read the book. I hear the book is good, but I never finished it. If you want to know what I worked on, it was the candle flames and the cobwebs, some torches, and lots of web surfing. Ha.
written by  kleer001 on December 1, 2008 from Vancouver, Canada

Cloverdale, Canada
Here's my dad's messy office. It seems that clutter propensity is highly communicative, either genetically or by early exposure. Now, keep in mind that I didn't grow up with my dad and yet I still share the same penchant for messy messes with the messness. Growing up with my dad was summer and winter vacations up to British Columbia.
Don't feel sorry for me, but it seems to be a trend that I spend less and less time visiting every time that I'm up here. Two years ago it was for less than a week and this time only a day. A quick personal note about my relationship with my dad. I have recently realized that it's futile to be mad at him. That it's futile as well as try to explain why I'm mad or expect any type of sympathy/empathy/generosity. I don't think that he's survived with his sense of humor intact by being "soft" or open and generous. That said he's still my dad and I love him. I'll just be keeping him at arm's length for the time being.
That's my dad's Porsche as I set off on my 30 min short cut to a different US/CA boarder to save 20 minutes from going through the main boarder. It could be that I did save some headache too as the more obscure boarder I went to was manned by an elderly gentleman. There must be some kind of interesting thing on my passport as I was stopped on the way out too. The bespectacled and gray haired old man told me to open my trunk, ruffled through my suitcase and did who knows what else poking through my trunk. He did let me go after a few minutes of remedial searching. A dedicated smuggler would have been relieved at his cursory job. Thank goodness I'm clean as a whistle.
The shortcut did send me past a tiny park. I had to stop and go for a little walk. The way was paved and I saw an elderly couple making their way back to their car with their little dog in tow. There were many signs warning people not to leave valuables in their cars. I didn't get a crime vibe from the place.
Mushroom, mushroom, mushroom! The trick to getting into the mushroom groove is to walk until you feel like stopping, go off the trail a few yards into the forest, drop to a squat and look. They'll pop out quickly. The teeny tiny brown ones, the orange slimy ones with vertical gills, the tall thin white ones being chomped on by a slug. They're all down there. Each time I did that the ability stuck. I saw the little guys everywhere. That little gray circle next to a leaf, those scale-like shelves growing out of a felled trunk. Oh, yeah, don't eat them unless you know exactly what they are and you're really only in trouble if you swallow several grams. If it tastes nasty then spit it out. This is not intended to be medical advice, but you'd do best by following it.
I like maps. Here's the park map from the pictures above.
Lunch time = taco time. Fish taco time, if you know what I mean. This was technically over State side.
And I don't remember exactly where this one was, but I wanted to include it and remind you kids not to take pictures while you're driving. No one appreciates your swerving and slowness as you wrestle with your obstinate cell phone camera. So, stop it.
written by  kleer001 on December 3, 2008 from Cloverdale, Canada

Seattle, United States
My flight wasn't until 7:30pm, but my time in Canada was done. I headed back to L & D's place in Seattle. Watching her wrap presents and helping her clean house was more relaxing than being shown off like a purebred. Here we have their lovely little Christmas shrine. She told me she wanted a full live Christmas tree, that maybe there would be one next year. She's sadly wasting away in a shit job, mind numbing and seductively offering her medical benefits. This woman is one of my oldest dearest friends and it hurts to see he so bored at a job AND she has to work weekends. She's kind to a fault, generous with her time to the right cause, she fights the good fight. She speaks fluent french and is very smart. Does anyone here know of anyone in the translation biz, or anything French related in Seattle? Please, please, please, someone must have connections somewhere up in there. I would love to see her working for a place that appreciated and challenged her.
A Seattle building snapped as I left with a bit of anxiety about getting to the airport on time.
The car. The Car. THE CAR!
2100 Miles, 18 days, 40 Miles per hour average, 29 Miles a gallon, 0 problems. Well, the arm rest folded up and down over the emergency brake, but that was the only roughness in the interface business. I didn't name her before I set off or during my journey. It was only as I was leaving the Advantage car rental lot that I realized her name was Justine. Hunh, who knew?
On to the airport I went. Everything went according to schedual. I had 45 minutes to kill. The flight was actually 30 minutes late so I had some time for data management. Ooo, exciting. I had a sandwitch and a Jack and Coke at the bar nearest the security check point. The "grilled" chicken sandwitch I scarfed down had been microwaved to a blistering temperature before serving. It wasn't a comlete waste as thankfully I was accosted by a cute young lady, T. She had come from Vegas and was heading back to Portland. So, when girls do that playful hitting you in the arm thing, that's good, right? Because she must have hit me in the arm at least a dozen times to make a point, enjoy a joke with me, or admonish my rudenesses. She has four brothers so it could have been that that motivated her to extreme bouts of frindlyness. Or she could have been drunk. I was a bit tipsy myself. And so we passed like ships in the night, drunk and happy.
While waiting at the gate I did have a little fun tying to find other macs with my mac who had open drop boxes. There were none. This missing pay phone symbolizes my inability to connect with other people at the gate through data drop vandalism. All I wanted to do was upload a picture of the Burningman man getting burned. It's a really pretty picture. I mean that'd be totally awesome, right? To find a randomly dropped image on your computer?
I arrived an hour late into SFO, picked up by my good friend Suzanne in her gorgeously decorated car. I was so excited to see her, to be home again. Home again, jiggidy jig.
written by  kleer001 on December 3, 2008 from Seattle, United States

Day Ω
Novato, United States
What did I learn?
- I can live out of a suitcase no problem as long as I have daily access to interwebs and upload capabilities from my phone.
- I'm not entirely a lone wolf, sometimes I really need to talk with someone, but not very often.
- Beds are better for sleeping than couches. American beds rule, European beds suck.
- Flying by the seat of your pants limits your access to sleeping places. Had I kept to a schedule I would have been able to communicate with people through couchsurfing.com and saved myself a few hundred bucks in hotel fees AND met some cool people along the way.
- I thought the views were going to be the driving goodness, but they were just scenery. It could have been the lack of pure highway 1 goodness, but I doubt it.
What was awesome?
- Seeing all my peeps. The people were the best part. Family, friends, lovers, the whole enchilada.
- Being in a great financial place where I could afford to rent the car, get the hotel room, buy easy foods, occasionally treat friends.
- Being so well received. Awww, I am loved by wonderful people.
- The smells, all the varied smells. Living in one place reduces your exposure to new smells.
- Even though it was a bit on the expensive side I'm glad I paid for a month (and soon to be paying another month's worth just to cancel) of AT&T internet access. Available at your local Starbucks and Airport terminals.
- Feeling my social newor(k/th) grow and expand. I met lots of new people and connected with known people in new ways.
- Free time to process my past, all the emotions and memories.
What sucked?
- Not enough time to see the rest of my peeps in LA, the Bay, and Portland. I saw about 60% of the people I really wanted to see and spent about 40% of the time that I really wanted to spend, face to face.
- I bought two west coast travel books that I didn't even crack open. I'm sure I have the receipt somewhere.
- Lack of kick ass music on mp3 cd. I had brought way too much chill music. While chill music is usually safe for mild mental distraction it's deadly at 10pm when my eyelids were open with caffeine and a prayer.
- The US/CA boarder kinda sucked. Next time I'll be taking my birth certificate and something else. It seems my passport is jinxed.
What would I have done differently?
- Obviously, more time to travel, sight seeing, hanging with friends. I'm thinking 6 months next time. Maybe from Point Barrow to Baja. Now that's a road trip!
- I would have sprung for internet via my cell phone as the wi-fi at hotels was spotty at best.
- I would have traveled during the summer, at least in the north west. It wasn't snowing, just a little chilly. That said, I do miss the snow, just a little bit.
- I would have posted my pictures to my flickr.com account at the same time I was posting to blogabond. One better I would have made a list of all my social networking sites and posted daily to them linking to the blogabond.
- I would have at least invited a navigator for a few legs of the trip.
Would I recommend this trip to others?
- Yes, if you don't mind spending gobs of time alone OR have a navigator. You'll be able to make better time and you'll be far from boredom.
- No, if you have no psycho-social-spiritual connection to the North American west coast. Check out a national park or two. Without familiarity I fear the whole trip would be a waste for you.
So, thank you dedicated readers for checking in when I bugged you, or even checked on your own recognizance, or even has me on your rss feed. Thank you dear readers who have come here after it was all done. And an extra special thank you to all my hosts:
Dawn and Brian
Mom and Phil, Heather and Ivan
Marriot
Grandma and Grandpa
Suzanne
Some hotel in Humbolt I can't remember
Ralph and Patty
Autumn and Sara-Jane
Libby and Dave
Dad, Louanne, and Crystal
and, of course, BlogaBond.com
Aloha!
written by  kleer001 on December 4, 2008 from Novato, United States

Anatolia, Traditional Green and Indian Food

thank you caffeine, i loves you