Ma and Pa Holliday have taken it upon themselves to feed me and make sure I shower tonight, so I’m currently living it up in the Everett Best Western. Joined the folks for dinner (they’re on their way to Vancouver) and will soon be enjoying a much-needed shower. I haven’t yet noticed that people were keeping their distance from me, but after running every day and then sleeping in the car I doubt that my sink baths have been adequate.
Spent a short time at Mt. St. Helen’s today — great place — and then made my way up to Mt. Rainier. I very nearly managed to escape without doing any hiking, but pulled a U-turn at Sunrise and did a quick hike up to a ridge overlooking the mountain. I’ll have to write more later as Ma and Pa require attention.
While the redwoods this morning were great, once I got onto I-5 and into Oregon things got a bit less exciting — any state where pumping your own gas is illegal is suspect to begin with, and several hundred miles on the interstate didn’t make for any lasting moments. The afternoon’s highlight came when I began filling the tank at the Shell station only to find a rather scary looking man standing behind me saying “You’re in the wrong state for that. Did you know last year over 800 people lit themselves on fire while pumping gas? Better give me the pump.” There was a tale that followed about a guy hauling a barrel of diesel and a spark of static electricity, but fun stories like that one really need to be told in person.
After arriving in Washington I tried to take the direct route up to Seattle, but Mt. St. Helen’s was calling to me, and despite my best efforts to stay the course I’m now camped out in the national forest adjoining the mountain. The plan for tomorrow is to get up early and make brief visits to Mt. St. Helen’s and Mt. Ranier before getting back on the road to Alaska and hopefully making the most of the remaining good weather up there. Whether or not I can actually visit Mt. Ranier without getting out and hiking ten miles remains to be seen.
The trip began yesterday with a head-shaving. The initial cast of characters was myself, my brother, and Chi, although before all was said and done two more had joined the fray. It began with my brother announcing “I want to shave the dome”, was followed by the unlikely response of “Go for it” from me, and immediately proceeded with Chi’s “Dude, you’re letting him shave your dome?!?” Three(!) pairs of clippers, and what seemed like about ten pounds of hair later and the once-proud Holliday locks have been reduced to something that could probably best be described as “fuzzy”. Definite thanks to Adam for coming in to give me a nice fade and clean up the horrible mockery of a haircut that my brother had given me.
After saying goodbye to Aaron, Chi, Adam and friends the last errand I had to run was to renew my driver’s license, and after an ungodly long time at the DMV I finally got onto the road. Nadia will be pleased to learn that “Where the Streets Have No Name” was indeed the song that kicked the trip off, followed soon after by the entire Graceland album. Drove up 101, through Napa and into the mountains, and spent the night sleeping comfortably in the back of the car about twenty miles south of Redwood National Park.
Today I’ve just been kind of moseying along, and after talking to Zac about Stout grove I had to at least make a brief visit. I went for a short run after arriving, and have just been roaming around since. It may sound a bit corny, but when it’s quiet in the grove and no else is around it’s almost possible to feel the trees — not in any sort of physical sense, but more as just an overwhelming peacefulness. Not a bad way to start a trip.