The Moments We Came For

Yesterday, Steve and I took a spontaneous day trip to the coast. Neither one of us had been to Astoria, so we finished our coffees, grabbed our coats, hats, and cameras, and set forth on our journey. Clouds filled our rearview mirrors and we hoped to find some blue sky. We passed through rodeo country on Route 219, crossed over the Willamette River, then eased through Newberg before the clouds gave way to patches of wild blue yonder. We zigzagged up a mountain and hung a left at Bald Peak Road, sending us in a northwesterly direction.

Upward we continued along a ridge made for motorcyclists –– smooth roads, lots of switchbacks with enough straightaways to really grab a handful of throttle, and very few cars. Between whizzing by trees, I glimpsed a grand valley below with mountains on the other side. Within a few miles, we arrived at Bald Peak State Viewpoint. Wild daisies and dandelions and pine trees overlooking the lowland beckoned us to turn off the engine and stay awhile, so we did.

Sometime later we met a motorcyclist who had stopped there too and we had a brief conversation before we moved on. We forged ahead on Bald Peak Road then switched to some other backroads until we merged onto Route 47. We passed through towns we never saw signs for and noted Oregon's penchant for naming towns after already famous places –– Pittsburg, Kansas City, Detroit, Salem, Portland, just to name a few.

We turned right at a one-horse town called Buxton and continued north on Nehalem Highway. We pulled off in the hamlet of Vernonia for coffee at the Blue House Cafe. Enticing aromas penetrated our senses the moment we stepped inside the indigo and gold painted building and our desire for coffee quickly retreated. Roasted garlic and other intoxicating flavors made wet our appetites. We feasted upon traditional Mediterranean fare and drank some of the smoothest coffee I've had outside my own home. The cafe was quiet and charming, and for that time, we could have been in Europe because it felt like that inside. The proprietor was European or Russian –– I couldn't place his accent –– and that made our fantasy of being farther away that much more real.

 

Afterward, we sauntered through town, intrigued by the many motorcyclists that had made this a destination. Adventure bike after adventure bike was parked right along main street just outside the Black Iron Grill. We discovered a dog-friendly cove alongside it where tens of people dined and imbibed. The sun intensified in the clear blue and everyone, including us, beamed with contentment.

We drove on from there, passed through Pittsburg, which wasn't, headed westward at Mist, and followed Route 202 along the Nehalem River. We went through Birkenfeld and Neverstill, which we never saw. Then, we arrived in Jewell, which was exactly that. The route ran through elk country where there were numerous pull-offs to stop and observe them grazing and doing elk things.

We did not see any elk but we were overwhelmed by the fragrance that I surmised was gardenia. I have no idea if that's what it was, but we were drunk on the magic we felt there. I could have, and wanted to, lie down and never leave. The bouquet penetrated my spirit and the breeze that carried it wrapped around me like linen and lace under the warm sun.

Finally, and with some reluctance, we forged ahead. We whirled through Olney, not in Maryland, and drove the road along Youngs Bay then the Columbia River. We made a few turns and climbed roads that Steve imagined to be like those in San Francisco. He was more fascinated by this small civilization built on the edge of a mountain along the water than I was. For a moment he felt like he'd missed out on something having not grown up in a place like this.

We drank coffees, indulged in dessert, and watched cargo ships pass by our river-facing window table at the pier. Coffee Girl cafe had a nice vibe and I imagined for a moment what it would be like to have my own cafe in a place like this. I asked Steve, "If you were given the chance to go for free to college and earn a degree in anything you wanted, what would I be?"
Without hesitation he said, "Forestry. I'd want to be a park ranger." Indeed. He would be an excellent park ranger. And he looks the part already, to be honest.

Thick clouds along the western horizon were rolling in so we made our way back though town and turned south to journey home. Our long-lived and ongoing discussion about Van life re-emerged as we considered how nice it would be to pull off, stay for the night, and worry about going home tomorrow.

It was at this point that I realized that the list of all of the things that I still want to do in this life was quite long. I've spent so much time in a constant state of temporary that I have not had the space or time to develop any passion beyond its fleeting passage through my mind. I've had 10,000 ideas and little capacity to nurture them. However, my constant state of temporary is no longer. Now I have the time and space to do many of the things that I've wanted to. I can try this and that and this and that or even that and that. I am no longer constrained by the temporary.

And beyond that, beyond all of those things that I want to try, I've realized that those things don't have to all be done today. Perhaps, at times, I feel a surge to do as much as I can right now because I might otherwise forget what it was that I wanted to do. Perhaps it is time to make that list of dreams, to write down the experiences that I want to have so that I don't forget them and that I can, one by one, do them in their own time. After all, isn't this why we are here?