North on the 101

We leave behind our clippers and our shovels, and our shivering sojourns across the moonlit grass, and drive north on the 101. Open rolling hills with vineyards give way to towering trees, and trucks filled with loads of giant logs. We pass through tiny towns, and trailer encampments tucked among the redwoods, everything dripping and mossy and green. Small sodden shacks are hidden everywhere, smoke trailing out of chimneys, trash melting in yards. I picture shotguns leaning in corners, rabbit pelts dangling from rafters, and butchered deer stockpiled in freezers. I imagine outlaws and survivalists and fugitives from civilization of every make and model. I hear banjos in my head.

We stop in Arcata for the night, home to Humboldt University. A sweetly pungent herbal odor permeates the air. The Howard Johnson's feels like a five star luxury retreat. I take a long hot shower and let the water just run. When I get up in the middle of the night I am overwhelmed with gratitude for the proximity of the modern and miraculous motel plumbing. No outerwear required.

The next day the road climbs up high over rivers and streams. Sunlight filters through dense forests. The highway hugs the coast as we cross into Oregon. Every bend in the road is more beautiful than the last. It's windy and rocky and wild. Campgrounds and parks are everywhere. Chainsaw wood carvings are for sale in the stores.

We arrive at The Itty Bitty Inn in North Bend, and Rik the innkeeper greets us with open arms. He bustles us into our room and makes sure everything is just so. He whisks away the vase with the Oregon flowers and fills it with fresh water. He notices our Oregon chocolate sample is missing and scurries away for a new one. He explains how the coffee in the little glass jar was freshly ground that morning, and that if we prefer a French press to the drip coffee maker that he has one we can use. He calls us by our first names, and talks with his hands. He is passionately exuberantly and genuinely glad that we have come to spend the night at his inn. Gary tells him stories about our work exchange and Rik wraps him in a bear hug and says, "Duuude! Welcome home."

And the next day, as we're checking out, Rik tells Gary, "Duude, you should move here, the real estate's cheap, you could open some kind of eco-tourist place." And his hug is so long and so strong and so real that we tell him we'll be back to visit one day. He says, "Duude, I'm so glad you came." And our waitress at breakfast is so attentive and kind that we write her a note to say thank you. And the light is just right as we drive that day through the ravishing valley of the river named Umpqua.

Rik and Gary