Back in 2007 and 2008, I went on several road trips and put together a travel journal after each trip. I selected photos, arranged them in chronological order, then wrote some words to accompany them. They were saved as PDFs and emailed to a short list of people I knew.

I’m at least a decade late to this blogging thing but I thought I would dig up some of those travel journals and convert them to blog posts. This is the second half of Beyond Evanston.

card statement.jpg — July 12, 2007

Ink is still drying on the credit card statement from my last trip and the journal for that is far from finished. Here I am in another rental car going north on the 101.

I’m only going as far as Oregon this time because I’m not in the mood for another marathon of a drive. Many of my early road trips took place there but I’ve seen the coast only once in 1994 and I wasn’t taking pictures then.

Although a camera is a constant companion on every trip now, I sometimes miss the way I traveled before, when the camera had no say on where I should go next.

*“Seaside is a seedy resort town of dreary motels and crude carnival rides where an endless parade of pimply teenagers and middle-aged burnouts patrol the town’s main concrete walkway.”*

Based on that glowing review, I just had to see Seaside.

This is the only movie theater you’ll see for a while, because there aren’t any on the coast, except for 1 or 2 modern ones in the bigger cities.

I stopped here, on the Avenue of the Giants, to eat one of the Vietnamese sandwiches I brought from SF. I’ve shot this a few times but I still like this first one taken in 2001.

Trinidad, CA

Thought this was going to be a quick stop, but I stayed until sunset.

Great. It’s only the first day and my shoes are soaked and I’m down to one pair of pants.

I obviously have no idea what’s in store for me on day 2.

It was late but there was a vacancy in Orick at a motel next to a biker bar.

Crescent City, CA

The lighthouse/museum can only be reached during low tide. I didn’t get to see it.

An old man on a hill above the sea spoke to me. I know that sounds like some mystical song lyric from the 70s, but that’s just what happened.

John moved to Crescent City from Redding a year ago. Although he has cancer and this town has limited medical facilities, he couldn’t stand the heat in Redding. He told me that he hasn’t felt sick since he started living here. He spends his days walking to the beaches in the area.

I helped him walk down the hill to the sand below.

“I hope to meet you again, Keith” he said. I watched him continue down the beach then I got back on the road.

Not far into Oregon, I was enjoying the drive in the late-afternoon sun as Highway One curved gently when I saw something suddenly appear out of the bushes on the right side of the shoulderless road. In a split second, my mind somehow worked out “too big to be a dog” -> “not a person either” -> “oh shit, it’s a small black bear!!!”

But my body and the car were not as quick. I heard a crack when the front of the car smashed into the bear as it ran across the road. I smelled burning rubber, then a grinding sound as the car rolled on. In the rearview mirror I saw the bear tumbling away to the other side of the road.

Since there was no shoulder, I rolled on despite a bad grinding sound until I could get the car off the road. I think it was a cub but it probably weighed about the same as the deer I killed 11 years ago. Surprisingly, the car seemed fairly intact except for a cracked plastic plate underneath, which is what was making the grinding sound when it touched the ground.

Yes, I did consider going back to photograph the bear but my mind was in no condition for it... also, when there's a cub, chances are the mother bear is nearby.

I drove to the next town, Port Orford, and asked a mechanic to check the car. He said the car was alright and tied the broken plastic plate to the lower bumper with a bungee cord.

Doesn’t look bad considering that it just killed a bear.

Bandon, OR

Bandon looked like a nice place to stop for the night. It was still early but I got a room, showered, then sat on the beach thinking, What. A. Day.

At least I didn’t get stuck in some place like Evanston this time and the car was okay. Also, if I encountered any chatty motel staff, I now had a story to share.

wooden man.jpg — Wooden man with a dislocated penis

Went to a market to get beer and emergency food. I realized what today is when a couple of teenage girls walked into the store and yelled “Woohoo, friday the 13th!!!”

Winchester Bay

misty morning.jpg — Woke up to the sound of tires on wet pavement and got back on the 101. Every time I drove through an area with a lot of trees, my mind kept replaying the movement of that black bear.

Waldport

Darlingtonia Wayside

These are carnivorous plants called cobra lilies. I was a bit late to see their flowers which bloom in May and June.

IMG_1574 window.jpg — Looking out from the lighthouse keeper’s residence at Yaquina Bay

Newport

Garibaldi

It was Autumn when I drove up the Oregon coast in 1994. I remember how peaceful and remote it felt unlike much of California coast with its boutique B&Bs. Despite the change of season this time, this side of Oregon was like how I remembered it.

I spent the night here just because I like the name of the town. The motel manager told me how much she likes the towns on the coast of Oregon, then she added, “Well, except places like Seaside.”

I almost laughed, and looked forward to seeing it for myself the next day.

IMG_1639 seaside.jpg — Seaside

turned out to be such a disappointment. Where is the hideously photogenic splendor the writers of Rough Guide made me dream of? It’s ugly alright, but not in a fantastical, photogenic way. I lived in Huntington Beach, CA for 3 years and the grossness of this place was nothing new to me.

I got the hell out of there and drove on to the northwestern corner of Oregon.

Astoria

This is the view from the top after climbing the narrow spiral staircase of the Astoria Column, which is the highest point in the bordertown of Astoria.

I think I have a bit of acrophobia.

bitter bitch.jpg — Not a bad town… almost decided to spend the night here, especially after a few pints of Sharkspit IPA.
The logo on the bartender’s shirt says “Bitter Bitch” which is the name of another IPA this place — The Wet Dog Cafe — has on tap.

I could’ve used another night or two in small towns but I didn’t see anything appealing as I drove east, so I ended up going all the way to the bigass city of

Portland

Well, it felt like a big place after having spent the last few days in one-Starbucks towns.

I got here during rush hour (a concept easily forgotten after a few days on the Oregon coast) and it took me over an hour to get off the freeway and get a motel room. After that, the only thing I was in the mood for was a nice tall glass of people-killin’. So I called it a night and stayed in my room.

I didn’t leave the room until noon the next day, and it wasn’t until around 6 pm, when the July sun was still high in the sky and I was standing on this bridge, that I started to relax and enjoy this city once again.

This is one of several bridges that connect downtown Portland (on the west side of the Willamette river) to the east side.

I thought about moving here before, and still wouldn’t mind living here for a year or two. But the last time I checked, Portland had one of the highest unemployment rates in the U.S.

Went out for a movie.

In the 90s, I had spent many hours in this place where you can get pizza, local beer, and see a movie, all at the same time. This was the first time I saw a movie here though, because on my previous visits they were showing stuff that I absolutely did not want to see, such as Independence Day, The Pelican Brief, The Net, etc.

After 3 lazy days and 3 diligent nights on my laptop, the journal of my trip to Deadwood is done.

It begins to rain as I head south out of the city and a feeling of Now what? creeps up on me. I am aware that the car is now pointed homeward.

I am back on long stretches of small roads suspended between places I haven’t heard of. I want the return journey to be long and unfamiliar.

Sweet Home really is the name of the town this covered bridge is in. I would not have followed the signs to see this if The Bridges of Madison County weren’t one of my favorite movies (haven’t read the book, yet). It’s one of my so-called guilty pleasures. I liked it long before I got into photography and I like it even more now.

This probably wasn’t the best lighting condition, but I’m no Robert Kincaid and there was no restless married woman in her autumn years making me want to linger in town for 4 days.

Brownsville, OR

The movie adaptation of Stephen King’s Stand by Me was filmed in and around this town.

After breaking out the tripod and taking my sweet time with these photos in the museum, I noticed the “No Photography Allowed” signs.

This theatre is actually a converted train car that is attached to the museum. I think it is used mostly for showing... you guessed it: Stand by Me.

Left Brownsville in the afternoon and drove through many towns along and around the 5 without any noteworthy stops... Eugene, Drain, Elkton, Yoncala, Sutherlin, Roseburg, Myrtle Creek, Riddle, Canyonville... until it got dark and mountainous, and I didn’t want to meet anymore animals.

I checked into the only motel in Sunny Valley.

Sunny Valley wasn’t always the name of this place. The original name can be seen on the covered bridge just down the road from the scummy motel — Grave Creek. I wanted some beer but the only store in town was closed. The motel owner was willing to sell me some Weinhardts he had in his fridge. He drank with me at a little table in his office and stopped charging after the second bottle. I got to hear about how he made/still makes a lot of money as a tanker captain, visited just about every city in the world (with an ample supply of women to accompany him and his crew), bought several motels scattered throughout Oregon, and has a wife from an arranged marriage living in another town but he likes living out here with his girlfriend. Maybe it was BS or I just couldn’t understand why anyone with his means would choose to live in this squalid hole of a motel. He told me that the motel is occupied with people staying long-term and he only keeps 2 rooms vacant for other guests. Something wasn’t right about this place.

After about 6 beers each, I said goodnight and walked down to the covered bridge to take pictures. After a few shots, I looked up, and was stunned by how amazing the night sky was. And I could not believe that it hadn’t occurred to me to look up during my last trip. It was simply breathtaking. I fumbled with the tripod to point the camera up and shot a few frames of the sky, but I guess I was a bit too inebriated. All of those came out blank.

Let’s pretend that there’s a spectacular photo of the starlit sky here..

Spending the night here made me feel like I was in some obscure movie where the antihero of the story sleeps in his clothes in the most unappetizing motel in a god-forsaken town then leaves early in the morning without a shower. So I did just that.

IMG_1759 bear.jpg — There were many unnecessary reminders along the way.

Ashland

My first road trip out of California was in October 1994. That was the first time I saw Ashland. I hadn’t seen such magnificent Autumn colors after moving to Southern California from Korea in 1980. Life in So Cal had been one season-less year after another. Walking on Ashland streets strewn with red and gold and candy-coated apples in shop windows was another one of those moments where it felt like I had stepped into a dream.

I’d visited Ashland several times since then but this was the first summertime visit.

This was taken at Lithia Park in the fall of 2000. This is the largest park in Ashland. Improvement designs were made to the park in 1914 by the same dude who designed the Golden Gate Park in San Francisco. Autumn is an amazing time to be here. It is so easy to lose yourself in the red and gold, and water fowl if you’ve got bread.

This time, however, there were no ducks. But I did see two little deer walking through downtown.

And this.

Montague, CA

The heat keeps getting worse down the 5. The colorful buildings in this empty downtown reminded me of freshly repainted seesaw and swingsets on a playground that kids don’t visit anymore.

Callahan, CA

Miles outside of here, on a deserted mountain road, I helped out a mapless and hopelessly lost German couple who was trying to make it to the town of Weed with GPS alone. They were low on petrol, too. It looked like they had been fighting right before I showed up.

Speaking of Weed...

This was taken during a road trip to Seattle with a friend in 1995.

And this was taken last December (2006). The building has been converted into a recording studio. I was photographing the town’s main street when the owner of the studio (who thought I worked for a magazine) introduced himself and invited me in.

I liked the place. They kept most of the original decor. The stage and all the theater seats are still there and the projection booth is being used as the console room.

While I was there, the parents of one of the employees brought something. It was made with something they found under their house...

It’s a mummified cat that’s been shellacked then nailed to a board

It was offered as a gift/art for the studio wall.

I didn’t stop in Weed this time and continued taking small by-ways. Ended the day in Williams, CA. The bottom cover of the car is dragging again. It was about 85° here at night but the motels were cheap and the AC worked.

I bought water, iced tea, and beer at a convenience store. The clerk put them in a black plastic bag, which made me look and feel like I bought cheap booze and porn.

Winters, CA

Rather than doing more exploring in the rising heat, I decided to leave the obscure roads for the 5 and make it back to San Francisco by Tuesday to catch the Jesse Sykes show at Cafe du Nord. I figured it would be a nice way to make up for missing Pat Benatar at the beginning of my previous trip.

Back in SF, I thanked the rental car for surviving the crash and getting me home, and drove it to the lot to return it and tell the bear tale one more time as I filled out the accident report.

Then I loaded a roll of Tri-X in the camera and headed to Cafe du Nord.

Feels like I spent most of my nights in motel rooms this year and my apartment looks like I’m somewhere between unpacking and re-packing.

Home, this city full of people, can sometimes be the loneliest place.

It would seem that I got what I asked for. I had set out on another road trip feeling that the one to Deadwood and the site of the deer incident 11 years ago seemed incomplete somehow. Then, Okay here you go! A bear was thrown in my path.

This wildlife encounter was just jarring enough to remind me of the first one but not so hard that it knocked me down into the same predicament. I am grateful to have made it back safely with a story to finish telling. But as my senses slowly re-adjust to the cool San Francisco summer air and to waking up in the same place every morning, my mind wanders back out there in the heat on some long by-way that GPS can’t find.

Evanston Reprise