Sadly In PARK

Crater Lake to the Oregon Coast and back to Portland

Departing Crater Lake came a little late as I fit in a last minute run at elevation around the Annie Creek. The route was easier than the previous day's multi-thousand foot elevation changes (I only had 150' of elevation change to contend with), but I managed to loose the trail on my second lap around the creek and the motivation began waning from there. It seems I'm good now for a week of solo training before I get distracted and require company.

A short shower set me back $0.75, so I no longer smelled like feet and my hair lost its Brillo pad consistency for the hours ahead on the road. The ride west took me through more beautiful country sprinkled with volcanoes waiting to blow their tops and set the region back a few thousand years. At a wayside looking back to Crater Lake, the interpretive sign read IF YOU WERE STANDING HERE 7,700 YEARS AGO YOU WOULD BE VAPORIZED. Conveniently, my parents waited to have children, but either way you look at it that's not a fun picture.

Before returning to the road, a minivan driving woman approached me asking if I was really from Maine. No, it's just an act and I talk funny because I was dropped as a child. She told me she visited Maine once. Well, actually, she was in Connecticut seeing family and decided to quickly skip up to Freeport. Sorry minivan lady, that doesn't count and we parted ways.

After winding along the Rogue River for what seemed like endless miles, I had dropped enough elevation to enter a climate much like the San Francisco area. It was quite odd, one minute I'm cruising through dense pine forests and the temperature is somewhere near 60, the next minute I'm flying through a tinderbox of golden farmland and the Wagon's thermometer is hovering around 95. In Roseburg, I accidently robbed a Republican in his Dodge (fully equipped with a loaded gun rack in the rear window) of his gas pump. I quickly fueled up while failing to look intimating and did my best to avoid his irritated stares. Because I was in running shorts I think he thought I was gay, and that didn't help my side of things very much.

The rest of the ride to the coast was through more California-esque mountains and farmland along the Umpqua River. Eventually I crested a ridge line and the vegetation suddenly changed to a deciduous forest. Oregon's quite strange in how suddenly and definitively nature changes itself. In Reedsport, I updated myself on Library time, then got back in the car to start the journey up Highway 101 to explore the Oregon coast.

Although it was beautiful, I was let down. For the past months people had been telling me how gorgeous the coast was. "I've been to Maine before and, although it's nice there, this is much prettier." Well, I agree, but only with 50% of that statement. At Heceta Head, I stopped to watch a moment of the sunset and explore the picturesque lighthouse. I was suppose to pay, but the view wasn't worth the $3.00 parking fee.

A few miles up the road, I found Rock Creek Campground in the Siuslaw National Forest. My site was on the banks of what I assumed was Rock Creek and it was a fine place. The $22.00 they were asking for the night's stay was a bit over zealous, so I paid half-price, thanks to my creative interpretation of the breadth of power our National Parks pass withheld.

Thursday morning started foggy and chilly, but I awoke from one of the warmest sleeps of the trip. I can also say safely now that I survived my mold intake without a problem. I hadn't mentioned this yet for fear of being stricken once I said everything was alright, but on Tuesday I planned on having the rest of my hummus for lunch. Diving in blindly with a piece of fiber loaded bread, I scooped up a large section of hummus and swallowed it down. The taste was something like vinegar and flatulence, a flavor I first attributed to the unknowns of FiberPlus bread. Well, upon closer inspection, I noticed the hummus, specifically the crushed red pepper variety, had taken the appearance of a furry white-haired creature that had died. I quickly contemplated shoving a toothbrush down my throat until my stomach contents were emptied about Crater Lake, but I sided against that. My solution was two packets of Mannatech vitamins consumed simultaneously. The wonders of Mannatech worked, I haven't died to prove it, and I send a thanks to Liv and Bonnie for their assistance. It really would have ruined the trip to die.

Back to the coast. I pulled into Yachats, Oregon, a peaceful oceanside community that felt like one of Maine's coastal town transplanted to the hippie infused environment that is the Pacific Northwest. The Green Salmon coffee house provided me with some fine coffee as I took care of some WiFi business before heading north. A pretentious faux-artist type behind me kept commenting "those are the best portraits of birds I've ever seen. Look at their character. He really captured their spirit. I hear crows are really smart, for birds that is." I looked over and saw his excitement was directed at an article in USA Today. Tons of character.

The rest of the drive along 101 was scenic but not spectacular. I stopped at a wayside for a beach run and lunch, which included the obligatory dip in the Pacific Ocean afterwards. The blazing sun did not effectively offset the 60 degree air and colder water, but I had to do it and I spent the rest of the drive smelling like ocean filth, salt, and feet. No matter what I do on this trip, I seem to spend a lot of time smelling like my feet.

In Pacific City, I took a break when I saw the largest pile of sand my eyes have ever set their gaze upon. The walk up the 500' high dune was slow going but the view from the summit was worth every sandy step. To the north, was what I would describe as a sand glacier, gradually calving its way into the ocean. Back towards Pacific City, I heard the sound of an overly powerful truck's engine and watched as a jacked up pickup pulled an SUV from the grips of the sand. I can image what the driver of the SUV said, "No, don't worry honey, we have 4-wheel drive. I'm sure we can drive on the sand. Look, everyone else is dong it just fine." STOMP. Then the wheels all spin, throwing sand every place and the little Blazer is committed with the tide coming up. "Now Frank, how are we going to get to soccer practice?" the mother would have followed with.

CAMPGROUND FULL the sign at Cape Lookout State Park read as I drove along the access road. Shit. My backup plan was to ask the ranger what campgrounds were close by, but before I could, he said, "Well, I have one site left for one night. And it's a tent site." I'm a tent. I only need one night. "You, my son, must have good karma" was his reply. I'm not his son, but if it gets me a night's stay I'll fake it.

The spot was surrounded by more travel trailer and it reminded me of the Indiana Dunes National Lakeshore during last year's July 4th weekend. Only this time around the neighbors were much more considerate and the burritos weren't flowing as freely. After making camp and enjoying a fine pasta supper with veggies, I walked to the beach with the rest of the campground and took in the sunset. It was mediocre at best but relaxing none the less. The evening closed out with a phone call from Olivia before I showered off the foot smell accumulated during the day's travels.

Friday began foggy and with little motivation. After a massive breakfast of pancakes, I killed away a few hours digesting before lacing up the shoes and running to Cape Lookout Point. The steady 5 miles uphill was taxing but the view was amazing after I managed to weave my way around all the grandmothers lumbering along the trail. At points my run took me within inches of a horrible tumble hundreds of feet down to the ocean, but I kept my eyes on the trail and refrained from a less than glorious passing. Conveniently, the last few miles of the trail were above the fog and I managed to warmup considerably. But, the run back to the campground put me back into the mist, which was interesting since I realized sections of the Oregon coast were essentially parts of cloud forests.

The drive Friday was more business related since the final goal was to make it to Portland by 5PM. I took a short break at Cape Meares lighthouse, the shortest lighthouse on the coast, and saw the Octopus Tree, a Sitka Spruce that had eight trunks but no main base. On the road again, the drive into Tillamook saw the scenery suddenly change from foggy seaside to rich fields and the ever-present aroma was one of manure. The oddest thing was I welcomed the cow shit smell with open arms as it reminded me of earlier days on Hurricane Road. It's funny how we remember our childhood, be it sprinkled with crap or not.

Running short on time, I had a ceremonious last road trip meal of Velveta Shells & Cheese at a wayside in the Tillamook State Forest. The staple food of any camping trip was delicious and I may have gained twenty pounds enjoying the artery clogging meal.

By 5PM, I had arrived at the terminus of my journey, 3650 SE Johnson Creek Boulevard in Portland. The landlord wasn't around as he had promised, but I found the backdoor to be unlocked and I successfully broke into my new home for the next two months. Unfortunately, it smells like old people carpet, and since I don't own any furniture, it looks like I'm spending the night sleeping on my bedroll on the floor. What an inglorious finale to a glorious trip.

Wagon Miles: 301,091 to 302,347

Total Trip Length: 1,893 Miles. Pretty good for only 2 weeks.

Run. Hiking Takes too Long

Crater Lake National Park, Oregon

I opted to spin the tires instead of spending Sunday night socializing with elite runners at the post-Nationals part. It was a good decision. On Route 58 east of Eugene, Liv called and I took a short break catching up with her. Although my journey towards Crater Lake was delayed while engaged (that's what the British people refer to as being on the phone), it was worth it and I managed to find a campsite at Black Canyon Campground within the Willamette National Forest. Since I arrived well past bed time, I planned to poach the streamside site I took up residence at. But, I ended up staying up past midnight writing a 12-week training schedule for Olivia's half marathon beside the campfire and I sided with extra sleep instead of departing at 4AM. Then, like clockwork, I awoke at 8:00 and within two minutes the campground host arrived to take my funds. He was a kind gentleman who wanted to bust chops since I hadn't paid upon arrival, but my beard and groggy state disarmed him. I think we departed best of friends.

Since the weather was glorious, I took my time leaving Black Canyon. I made a small fire, had some pancakes, reloaded the 6-gallon water buffalo jug, then just relaxed and read around Emil Zatopek. He was one hard core Czech distance man, so hardcore that he ran for two hours in the bathtub when his wife asked him to do the laundry just as he was leaving for a run. Hardcore indeed.

Monday morning traffic on the roads leading to Crater Lake was s a delight. There are roughly no cars past five miles of the little town centers scattered throughout the mountains. There were plenty of log trucks, but the state was kind enough to provide passing lanes every so often. After 2 hours of easy beautiful driving, I took a left onto Route 138. The greatest thing about this road is you literally don't need to turn for about 20 miles until the gate for the park. Seriously, the road is perfectly straight and if the Wagon's alignment was what it was 300,000 miles ago, I could have napped peacefully at 55 mph.

The National Park Pass Liv and I got at the Badlands last year granted me free admittance to Crater Lake National Park, a savings of $16.00. The first few miles were typical Cascade forests with dense evergreens growing perfectly straight. Then I began to drive slightly uphill and entered the Pumice Fields, an area essentially devoid of life but handsome. The volcanically created fields had a slightly red tint that was a fine complement to ever present blue sky and deep green of the outlying forest.

A few miles later I reached Rim Drive, found a parking lot and climbed to the crest of the crater for my first view of the lake. It was jaw dropping. The lake has the greatest, most powerful blue coloration I've ever seen and 2000' high caldera walls confining it are diverse and magnificent. I use the word diverse because the geology as you gaze around the circumference changes constantly. I had imagined the walls to look nice on calendars and post cards but up close to look kind of like a quarry; just gray gravel sloping to the water line. Nope, that's not at all the case. I won't describe it here with words. Hell, I bought a new camera a week ago to take more than enough pictures so I wouldn't have to use words to account the wordless. So, enjoy the ensuing flood of pictures.

I ate a short lunch of grahams and peanut butter before driving the few open miles of the East Rim Road before heading to Crater Lake Village via the open western route. At the Cleetwood trailhead, my eastern progress was stopped by a large metal gate, so I pulled into the parking lot and investigated the trail's potential. A sign read that this was the only safe access point to the lake, but that was 770' down (or as the sign read, "It's the same as climbing 175 flights of stairs") and over a scant mile worth of trail. Since I wanted to see as much park as possible and get a run in, I figured this was a prime opportunity for multitasking.

Donning my Vomeros, I began the immediate descent, passing plenty of hikers and trail crew members looking at me with a mixture of curiosity and admiration. A few people even cheered be on. At water's level, I dropped the shoes and jumped from a 20' ledge into Crater Lake for a swim/bath (sans soap). The water was a little cold but very enjoyable with the near 90 degree air temperature. What was truly stunning was the clarity of the water. Without hinderance, I could see the cliff move smoothly into the water, then stop a little at a ledge probably 25' below the surface, then plunge endlessly into oblivion. Nearest the surface the water was actually green as the depth wasn't deep enough to absorb the green wave-lenghts.

After feeling cleansed and rested, I took off again for the "175 flights upstairs". The shocking thing was how seemingly easy the climb was. I figured the grade and the 7,000' elevation would be enough to just about kill me, but I made it back to the the car with enough pep left in my legs to continue the run a few miles past the ROAD CLOSED sign before returning to my water and grahams.

For the remaining duration of my Monday afternoon, I drove Rim Drive towards the Crater Lake Lodge, stopping repeatedly to marvel at the remnants of the collapse Mt. Mazama. (History Lesson: Crater Lake was formed about 7,700 years ago when the 12,000' composite volcano Mt. Mazama erupted the collapsed in on itself. The leftover was a 4,000' deep caldera that became sealed by subsequent eruptions and eventually filled in with a 1,943' deep lake. Pretty crazy stuff.) At Crater Lake Village, I walked a little along the rim, explored a very informative info center, and dragged my filth past the snobbish guests of the Crater Lake Lodge. The elitist people were actually wearing church clothes and prom shoes while in the wilderness of the park. Odd.

Eventually, I made it away from the rim and ended my day at Mazama Village, a small gathering of Park Service concessionaire buildings and a large campground. All the tent sites were taken, so I was given a beautiful spot behind a bear-proof garbage can and surrounded by travel trailers. The site was adequate but the constantly running generators of the RV crowd could have been removed. I debated pouring a little sugar into he generator's fuel tank, but I gave that up when I realized my mechanical prowess would have been defeated by the built-in nature of the generator.

For dinner, I made a pepper and rice teriyaki concoction that tasted good enough for the state of my kitchen. While cooking, I realized I still haven't fully conquered the loneliness of traveling without Olivia. I thought I won since the entire day went fine, but again the bear jumped on my back once I started with the domestic side of camping. I knew the general campsite atmosphere we created while road tripping last summer was pretty solid but it turns out it's one of my fondest memories of the journey. Luckily, the beauty of Crater Lake is enough to distract me for 95% of the day. I'll gladly live with that.

After dinner, I returned to the Lodge to watch the sunset and get a drink in their Great Room. The sunset was spectacular, especially when I was able to view it looking west past the crest of the rim. I took enough photos to take care of describing it with words. Back at the lodge, I realized I still wasn't high class enough for the Great Room-I had put on jeans and a clean shirt but I think the beard is what broke the deal-so I took a seat next to a natural gas fueled fire in the entry way. It was a relaxing place of luxury away from the snobbery taking place in the next room. I avoided treating myself to a drink and instead chose to people watch.

Finally, I returned to site B12 and my lonely tent. The sky was cloudless but the canopy blocked out most stars. I had read the weather report and dressed in my arctic running gear for a fine night's sleep, albeit amidst the 40 degree temperature.

Tuesday (June 30th) arrived brightly and optimistically. The generators were purring, a few diesel engines were idling, and the mosquitos were treating themselves to my blood like a football team at the Old Country Buffet. I still hadn't shaken the feeling of absence I took up last night while I made this morning's breakfast of oats and coffee. With my stomach filled, I walked to the check-in booth and purchased a second night's stay. Appeasing my desire to camp amongst other tent people, I relocated to site G20, a fine spot nestled beneath lodge pole pines and perched above Annie Creek. And the travel trailers were out of earshot.

Avoiding the standard hassle of moving, I haphazardly tossed my belongings into the Wagon, then placed the tent, fully pitched on the roof. The quarter mile drive was slow, but I was able to arrive at the site without the tent blowing away and within 5 minutes my new residence was properly established.

Around noon, I stopped at the visitor's center to quickly mail some postcards and inquire about trail running opportunities. Unfortunately, snow was still keeping a majority of the trails closed to the public, but the lady did tell me the East Rim Road had opened earlier this morning, essentially doubling my ability to explore the park.

For the run, I took off from Crater Lake Village and quickly ascended Garfield Peak, a constantly vertical 1.5 mile run that was an easier version of my runs to the Kennecott mines. Again I was amazed at how well my body held up to the altitude. The summit, which was closed due to snowpack, was at 8,034' and I arrived tired but feeling a hell of a lot better than my sea level lung expected. I was pumping 170 bpms, but taking in the commanding view above Crater Lake upon the snowcapped knoll relaxed me enough get my heart rate down before I began the descent.

On the ride down, the people I passed generally applauded my feat. A couple in their late twenties that I startled while attempting to take a kissy picture on the way up, was standing at the base of a snow slide, where the TRAIL CLOSED sign failed to stop my upward progress, watched me with curiosity as I negotiated the steep snow covered slope. Falling on my ass, I said, "Hi, would you like me to take your picture?" They were trying for the self-shot portrait and I wanted to make up for interrupting their failed romantic encounter a few minutes earlier. With the picture taken, I departed and found myself falling in a controlled manner the rest of the way down. It was a hell of a lot of fun and I used as much self-control as possible to keep from shouting and fistpumping the rest of the run.

Back at the car, I took in some calories and took off on the East Rim Road, stopping at every overlook I passed. A short diversion brought me to The Pinnacles section of the park. When Mt. Mazama was erupting thousands of years ago, gasses vented up from the magma chamber through chimneys called fumeroles. After the final eruption 7,700 years ago, a stream began eroding the ashfall around the fumeroles and what's left is a steep canyon with countless hollow pinnacles. Since hiking would take too long, I grabbed the camera and ran the 1/2 mile trail above The Pinnacles, then continued onward since the legs were feeling good. The hikers here were more confused and disrespected by my feat of athleticism, but so be it.

Further along East Rim Road, I stopped at Cloudcap, the highest point on the road above the lake, and met a multi-thousand pound boulder resting in the middle of my lane. A wise park service employee had marked the boulder by draping a reflective vest over it, but it was still unnerving to see such a massive piece of geology so easily discarded from the cliff face.

My journey along East Rim Road stopped, as planned, back at Cleetwood. Yesterday's swim was so enjoyable I returned for round two. The run down was much easier but the 5PM temperature was a little cooler than I had hoped. At the water's edge, I was reunited with the kissy-faced couple from Garfield Peak and the female member of the union was going through a humorous routine to get the nerve up to jump. First she would stand at the ledge's edge, then she's step back and grab her sunglasses. With the glasses on, she'd return to the edge then take them off and set that back where she found them (10' back from the edge). Next she'd return with a renewed sense of bravado, which would wear off when she realized her glasses weren't on. It was back to put the glasses on and the process repeated. All the while her boyfriend was poised with the camera cocked awaiting her plunge. I offered to push her in but she declined.

Finally, she stepped back and gave me the ledge, which I quickly flew from and discovered the water temperature to be colder than yesterday's. Almost cold enough to start a torrent of swearing but I kept my head and refrained. Climbing out of the water, I discovered my running shorts had ventured northward upon impact with the water. Although there was slight discomfort the real problem was finding a remedy for the problem without any place to take cover from the watching eyes above. I quickly reminded myself I didn't know these people and in roughly twenty minutes I'd probably never seen their observing faces again. Back at the top of the ledge, a hiker wearing a polo shirt asked if I was a PCT (Pacific Crest Trail) hiker. Nope, just road tripping I responded, but I was flattered that my solo presence and earthy appearance gave way to the look of someone who's been hiking for a few thousand miles. And, I had this look even though I shaved this morning. Go me.

The run back up the trail was easy but still steep. I used the terrain to work on my knee lift but gave that up when I found myself running too fast to hold the pace for the steeper sections just prior to the parking lot. "Are you crazy or have you run a marathon?" a women I passed on the trail asked when she made it back to her minivan. Trail running apparently is only fit for the clinically insane, but having run a marathon makes it acceptable. It's still three months until my marathon debut.

By 6:30 I had returned to G20 and cooked up 28 ounces of baked bean goodness and finished with a desert of canned peaches. With sunset approaching, I seized the camera and tripods and made a hasty escape to Sun Notch on the eastern face off the rim. The view was stunning as expected, the colors of the cliffs made more vibrant with the shallow rays of light, and the mosquitos quite ravenous. I thought for a moment about throwing myself off the 2000 foot cliff to flee their blood sucking ways but put that idea away when I remembered I'd have to swim 6 miles across the lake to safely climb back out. With my swimming skills I just didn't have the time for such a long workout. Plus it was getting dark.

Around 9PM I was back at G20 with a fine fire rolling to keep the bugs at bay. With tea warmed by the flames I sat down and began writing this entry. It feels a bit sacrilegious to be on the laptop in the middle of the woods, but it was a nice night and I wanted to write. However, the lengthly nature of this entry gave way to going to bed when the temperature dropped to 45 degrees and I finished it up Wednesday morning after some excellent pancakes. At least I think it's Wednesday.

Wagon Miles: 301,626 to 301,901