I am humbled every time I am given the chance to cross the drama of the American landscape. This time was no different as I made my way across the North Cascades in Washington State, then making some impromptu calls to cross the border south into Oregon.

This would be my first time car camping, since I could now take advantage of being free of the shackles of an age deemed by the actuaries to be "high risk". There were some fears I had coming in, mostly to do with being seen as a vagrant especially in some of the touristy towns I visited. Several nights, I was woken up by police, either as a spot check or to tell me to move on to somewhere outside their beat, shoving me along as another precinct's problem. 

The first time was probably the scariest: I had parked by the turnout of an old highway well after dark, thinking that no one would be driving down this road at night next to a forest. Then I dreamt that a light was being shone into my eyes, and then woke up realising that a car had parked behind mine with its headlights blasting straight into my cabin. I didn't know whether to lie low and act as if I wasn't there, or to get up and tell them to shoo. I was trying to burrow deeper into my under-rated sleeping bag when from behind me someone started knocking on the window and telling me to open up. Being the ultimately compliant person that I am, I cracked open the door and had a torchlight shot straight into my face, and all I could see were the silhouettes of two men with wide-brimmed hats. The guy with the torch had his hand on his holster, while his partner asked me who I was, what my birth date was, where I cam from. I sincerely thought that I was going to get cited for some petty crime like vagrancy, but it turned out that they were just taking precautions and wanting to know what I was doing. They eventually left me alone, but at the time I was fearing it could've gone much worse. And this turned out to be something I would face at the end of each long day. The problem I had to deal with each night was that I couldn't be somewhere too far from the main road that it would be hard to call for help, but neither could I be too close to the road or a public place that I would draw attention, either by tweakers or cops or nosy residents.

I had to acknowledge that despite the experience, it is still nothing compared to what truly homeless people would have to deal with. I could move place to place and still be able to cook a hot meal on my stove, and secure food so long as there was a grocery nearby. And even if I smelled like a dead raccoon, so long as people didn't approach me, they would only see a sloppily dressed guy making some tea by the side of a sports field.

The solo aspect of hiking similarly presented some dangers. There were times when I was trudging on trails where I couldn't make out the path because of fresh snow and I didn't have mobile reception. Combine that with steep and slippery ascents, and I thought at times that this would be a stupid time to require rescuing. The hairiest moment was on the Skyline Trail at Mt Rainier, where it was snowing so hard that I couldn't even spot the footsteps I had made in the snow. I had to regrettably turn around approximately 1 km before Panorama Point, simply because I didn't know if I'd be able to make the trip back down in those conditions.

Poor visibility on Mt Rainier

Even my hair had frozen over

But with the hard hiking came rewards. Being solo, I was able to push myself mentally and physically along some trails, with the most difficult ones being Colchuck Lake at Leavenworth and Lake Serene in Mt Baker-Snoqualmie. For the latter, it seemed like the ascent would never end, and the cold and the rain was completely sapping my morale. I was soaked through my rain jacket and my supposedly waterproof boots (they were work boots by the way, so their weight and the metal plate in cold climes was a big crutch). I can't say I got a serene view when I got to the top, but I know at least that the hike deserved a revisit in the warmer seasons.

On the trail to Colchuck

Colchuck Lake

At Lake Serene

The Cascades at Washington were all that I could want with mountains, but being able to make it to the Oregon Coast was a pleasant change of plans. Being able to see the Pacific again with clear skies made me miss home in Australia. I lingered a little longer than what I would normally allow, letting the sound of the waves take me some place else. It was calming to be able to enjoy the unfettered liberties of the open road, and feeling as if I had the whole world stretched out in front of me all the way to the horizon. Even in the interminable stretches on the trail or on a highway, the expanse of the land and its sensual gifts never got boring. Instead, it was a kind of revival, a reminder of the beauty and discovery--of place and of self--that exists. A reminder that things taking a wrong turn is a kind of adventure in itself.

The main difference with this trip compared to others was that there was much less thought put in to the itinerary. Of course, I had the luxury of having a car, which gave the trip a fluidity and flexibility that public transportation simply can't match. And I'll have to admit, there was trepidation with each new destination: Would there be cell service? Would I get there before dark? And if it got dark, is it a safe place? I could only find out in the revelation of the morning.

I think I benefited from flitting on the wings of whims. By letting go of the reins of control, I was able to discover more, or at least allow myself to be content with the present. It's all right if I didn't tick off everything I needed to see. Maybe I just needed to take stock of what's in front of me instead. There's a joy in that, in just catching your breath on the summit of a trail, or listening to the waves as the sky cooled to dusk, or listening to a beach bum natter on about his life story and potentially making you late for the long road back ...

I met a surfer on Cannon Beach who was hopping on his feet, trying to get warm before he started cutting the waves. He quoted to me lyrics from the Grateful Dead, and told me stories that he only half-remembered because he was "too bonged out" at the time. But for no reason, he started telling me he was happy he'd met me then munching away at my oatmeal, and happy that I'd found myself on this little piece of coastline that he thought everyone needed to see. "Sometimes you've just gotta go with the flow man," he told me, looking out into the distance.

A healthy start to each morning!

Wallace Falls

Heather / Maple Pass

Blue Lake, North Cascades

Lottie Bay, Whidbey Island

Ebey's Landing, Whidbey Island

High Rock Lookout, Mt Rainier

On the way to Mt St Helens (no, I didn't see it lol)