Left Spokane at 1 pm. My sister Maura drove me to the auto repair place, where I'd had a bunch of work done. Car seemed to be in tiptop shape. Visual on the car: it's a grey Mercury Topaz, circa 1992. A boxy, nondescript sedan. If there were such a thing as an undercover IRS agent, this is probably the car such a person would drive.

The first thing I did was replace Hula Girl on her spring. Hula Girl, generously given to me by Ashrita as a going-away gift, fell off of her pedestal a few times this summer. Here's why: On hot days, if I failed to placed the windshield sunshade thingy in the windshield, the glue holding Hula Girl to the top of the spring contraption would melt and she’d land face-down somewhere in the front seat. But the good news is, it's easy to get her back on there.

I took off west on 90. It goes all the way to Seattle, but I didn't—I headed south and west halfway across the state. As I passed through Moses Lake, I heard on the radio that it was the hottest city in Washington that day. 101 degrees. I was going uphill a lot and did not want to overtax the engine by using the AC, so it was all about the open road and the open windows. I decided I liked having the wind whip my hair into a frenzy and chap my face, so I kept that method going throughout the trip.

I stopped for gas and Taco Bell in some tiny little town. In the Texaco minimart, a teenage boy joked with his brother about their father's purchase of Gatorade. "Look—he got GAtorade...for GAY people." Moments earlier, I'd been thinking about how I wanted some Gatorade, but since their dad was blocking those shelves, I got iced tea instead.

Maybe that kid was onto something.

I shunned the AAA-recommended route to Portland and instead took a scenic little road called Rte 12. I was so glad I did. It was beautiful. It winds through the mountains and stays right next to the Tieton River for most of the ride. Look at that whitewater!

I made it all the way to Portland that night, further than I'd planned, but motels were too expensive so I crossed the Columbia River back into Vancouver, Washington, to stay the night.

Mileage for first day: 394

Song heard the most times on the radio: Living After Midnight by Judas Priest, three times. You should have seen how excited Hula Girl got when it came on the third time!

Note: When you're driving the highways in Washington and Oregon, you realize how important logging is to the economies of these states. I saw many, many trucks hauling cut trees and bundles of boards. More than I could count.

At 8:35 a.m. I crossed the 45th parallel, otherwise known as the halfway point between the North Pole and the Equator. Continued south through Oregon. An uneventful ride until I again took the route less recommended, going on 199 into southwest Oregon and Northern California. (By the way, the reason I was going such long distances in such a short time was my promise to meet my friends Danielle and Peter in San Francisco on Friday. That's Day 3.)

I got excited when I stopped at the fruit-quarantine checkpoint and the man said, "Welcome to California." I was thinking it was the first time I'd ever entered California by car. I lived in the state for a total of roughly 12 years, counting vacations home from college, and I was in and out of it a lot of times. But never had I returned by car, I thought. Then the next day I remembered that in early 1993 I took a spontaneous road trip to Las Vegas with a couple of friends from my job. My car was getting fixed, so I had a rental that I wasn't supposed to take out of the state. Of course, my friends talked me into driving. Breakin’ the law! Breakin’ the law! (Sorry, Judas Priest on the mind.) But when you enter California on the way back from Las Vegas, it's just anonymous desert. No one welcomes you. So it’s easy to understand why I forgot about that.

Anyway, on the afternoon and evening of Day 2 I was treated to some of the most beautiful sights I've ever seen. I made two stops. One to hike into a grove of redwoods, the second to hike down to a rocky beach with cool-looking big rocks protruding from the ocean near it. Coastal redwoods are the tallest trees in the world, averaging 300 ft. in height, and they can live to be 2,000 years old. Those trees are amazing! I could have spent a week or more in Redwood National Park.

Ended up at the picturesque Redwood Hostel just north of Klamath, CA. It was right across Highway 101 from the beach. The rooms are all named after Native American tribes. When the woman working the desk said, "You're in Hupa," I thought I was on Survivor all of a sudden.

Mileage at end of Day 2: 765.

Song heard most times: Soak Up the Sun by Sheryl Crow, twice. I like Sheryl Crow. I don't care what anyone says. This song has an appropriate line: "I've got my 45 on." I had 45 sunblock on my left arm because it was soaking up sun all day. My left leg too.

By this time, I was tired of driving. But I did take a special detour, the Avenue of the Giants, through some more redwood groves. Can't get enough of those.

I stopped for coffee and a McMuffin at a McD's in Eureka. The compartment that held the coffee stirrers was labeled "Styx." I briefly wondered if this was actually what McDonald's called them instead of sticks, and even thought, "Is that where the band Styx got their name?" Then I remembered that Styx is a river through the underworld in Greek mythology, and decided I better drink my damn coffee before I tried to do any more thinking.

I passed the 1,000 mile mark at around 1 pm. That's right: 1,000 miles in 48 hours, all by myself.

Once you get close to San Francisco, everyone seems to be driving a lot faster. Even in the slow lane people are going 75. I drove through the city and parked my car at a free lot where you can jump on the BART train. I must congratulate myself on that. Trying to find parking and pay for it in the city would have been hell, I think.

Met up with Danielle and Peter at their hotel. They were kind enough to put me up on a cot in their room. It was cozy but we all survived it. That night we went for a nice Italian dinner and walked around a bit. I had mentioned wanting to see the James Flood Building (I think he might have been a silver baron, or some other kind of robber baron). We were walking through Union Square, turned a corner and Danielle said, "Look—the James Flood Building." Peter took my picture in front of it.

Highlights of this day: visiting the SFMOMA, which had a special exhibit of Yoko Ono's art. She's done some pretty inventive and clever things, it seems. Dug a lot of the other art there too. I got myself and Danielle in for free, on account of being a corporate member of the museum. That’s right, I kept one of my Morgan Stanley ID cards when I quit. Thanks, Morgan Stanley! Peter had to pay for his ticket, though.

In the afternoon, we took a ferry to Sausalito, a good way to see the Bay and its sights, including Alcatraz. On the ferry, I drank the first beer I'd had in over a month. It tasted good!

Sausalito is a pretty little town across the Golden Gate Bridge where, I suspect, no one I know could afford to live. As we were sitting on a bench, a man walked by who had a most unusual mullet. I didn't comment on it to D and P, but decided in my own head that it would best be described as a mushroom cloud mullet. Has that term already been coined? Probably. I think I have very few truly original thoughts.

Back in SF, we had dinner at a laid-back burger joint in Russian Hill recommended by a random guy in a corner store. To get to that neighborhood, we rode...the cable car! It was fun to hang off the side.

Peter, Danielle and I trekked to Coit Tower, a tall, phallic structure at the top of Telegraph Hill. Let me tell you, there was some serious uphill steepness on this journey. (My legs were sore for four days.) It was worth it though. The views were great from the top of the tower. But even better was the fresh, juicy nectarine I bought at a corner grocery on the hill. I love nectarines!

That afternoon P and D took off to go camping in Yosemite. I checked into a hostel, which was in a crappy neighborhood. I walked from there to the Castro Theatre for a silent film festival. Walking was a mistake for three reasons: It was far, and now my legs hurt even more; I had a three-day transit pass that didn't even come close to being worth the $10 I paid for it because I didn't use it; and there were a lot of homeless people and generally depressing scenes of urban blight along the way.

On the plus side, the film was entertaining. It was called Hell's Heroes and was directed by William Wyler. I wouldn't recommend it as a rental, but with a kickass Wurlitzer accompanist in an ornate, historic theatre, it was worth seeing. Two of Wyler's daughters gave introductory comments, as did Terence Stamp (aka the Limey). He starred in a film of Wyler's called The Collector. He was asked if any current directors could be compared to Wyler, and he said Soderbergh, in that both of them are/were always right there on top of the action, making sure every detail gets done right and knowing a lot about the craft.

The cinema was smack dab in the middle of the Castro, San Francisco’s most flamingly gay neighborhood. I browsed in a gay bookstore and walked around for a couple blocks, taking in the sights. Did not make any new acquaintances. Went (walked) about a mile east to have dinner at this Indian place recommended by a guy who worked at the cinema. It was yummy. Then took a cab back to the hostel. No more walking!

Had breakfast, walked all over the damn downtown trying to find the James Flood Building again so I could take some pictures with my own camera. Then I got the hell out of Frisco. I realized on Sunday evening that while it can be fun to visit a city as a tourist, it's much better to have friends there who can put you up and show you around. I am not used to going places in the U.S. where I know no one. By contrast, I feel perfectly comfortable going to national parks and other naturey places by myself. But I guess they could be more fun with others too.

Drove back up the 101 to the Redwood Hostel. The drive up seemed much easier than the one down. I ran across to the beach to see the sunset but got there just as the big yellow guy was going below the ocean. Took some pictures of the water and rocks anyway, even though they were not colored interestingly. And the one arty photo with the driftwood in the foreground.

Hupa was full that night. There was an American guy who looked and sounded just like Tom Waits, except he had blond hair. He said he'd gone over to Berlin to live for several years, but got deported when he was caught stealing food from a grocery store. I made a mental note to sleep with my jeans on and all of my important things in the pockets. Also in the room was a young guy from Germany named Franz. He was one of those Germans who talk all sing-songy, going up and down in pitch and volume all over the place with no logical connection to the words they're saying. It was funny.

Stopped for breakfast at Denny's in Crescent City, CA. The $2.99 Grand Slam: love it. Drove back through redwood country into Oregon. It was cool and foggy out. Took a side trip to the Oregon Caves National Monument. Caves are cool. One disappointment: didn't get to see any bats. If I could pick an animal to be, I think I'd be a bat. They get to do nifty things like live in caves, hang upside down, and echolocate their prey. There were a lot of interesting formations, and the tour guide was competent. I stayed at the back of the tour group with an older guy and his son, who I'd guess was about 35. That guy was wearing a plaid flannel shirt-jacket hybrid (It was cold down there, so we were all dressed warmly) and had a thick handlebar moustache. He looked like a cross between a lumberjack and a 70s gay porn star. In other words: hot!

Also hanging out in the back was a middle-aged Midwestern mom wearing a shirt that had a picture of a kitten on the back of it. She was nice. I enjoyed the way she pointed out things in the walls and floor to me as she noticed them. The one time I ventured toward the front of the group, I figured out why she was hanging out in back with us guys: her son (about 12) was an obnoxious pain in the ass. The guide told him not to lean up against a rock because it would get lint on it. He said, "But it WANTS lint. Ha ha. Ha ha."

Drove on further inland in Oregon. Destination: Crater Lake. Before I left New York, my well-traveled friend Chris Mooney adamantly insisted that I had to see Crater Lake. I spent the night at a ramshackle little motel in a town called Fort Klamath. You could hear everything through the walls. People coughing, urinating, you name it.

In the town’s general store, I bought some shaving cream and pens. The woman working there bore a remarkable resemblance to the actress who portrayed the convenience-store employee in the TV movie/miniseries Stephen King’s The Stand, the one who was mean to Rob Lowe and the big blond guy from Coach (whose character was retarded [in The Stand, not on Coach]). I didn’t mention the resemblance to her.

Mileage at the end of Day 7: 1770.

Song heard the most times: For Those About to Rock by AC/DC, twice.

Band heard the most overall so far on trip: AC/DC. Woo hoo! Second prize in that category goes to Ozzy Osbourne, counting both his solo work and Black Sabbath material. Being on TV is good for your career!

Crater Lake is amazingly beautiful. As with other natural settings I encountered on this trip, it made me think, "THIS is why I left New York, and maybe I shouldn't ever live in a city again." Thanks for the recommendation, Mooney! Note: it was only while actually in nature that I had these thoughts. Temporary insanity, I guess.

Drove to Eugene in the afternoon, on another pretty mountainy road. Stopped off at the University of Oregon to walk around a little and buy a T-shirt. What I remember best about the experience: hot college boys walking around with their shirts off. Nice!!

Made it to Portland at about 9 pm. Went to a bar, had a couple beers and watched American Idol in closed captioning. Never saw it before, can't say it excited me.

Mileage: Over 2,000 now.

Did some exploring of Portland with a guy named Lee from my hostel. He's from Alabama. We hiked around in this park called Washington Park and saw the Japanese Gardens. They were pretty. Then I went to Powell's City of Books. Huge bookstore. I spent about two hours in there, at least. Ate a burrito at a really good vegetarian restaurant. The burrito had edamame in it. How about that.

Note: From here on out, I will not be breaking down my activities day by day, but rather in chunks based on destinations.

I drove two other people up to Seattle with me: that guy Lee and a girl named Sarah. Sarah was incredibly cool. She is a recent high school graduate who chucked her plans to attend college in the fall, opting instead to travel around and see the country. I wish I’d been that bold at her age. I told her that she made the right decision. She reminded me a lot of the new girl from Florida on Freaks and Geeks, the one who befriends Sam and Neil and Bill but ends up hanging with the cheerleaders.

Seattle was a lot of fun. Sam and Nicole are awesome hosts. Had a good time hanging out with the two of them and Kristen and Agnes. Got to see some cheeky Baltimore films, shorts that K and A were touring around with. Also went on a ferry ride during which Sam and Nicole both got bird doodoo on their shirts from leaning up against a railing. I spent most of the ride staring dumbstruck at Mt. Rainier. It’s quite an amazing sight.

Other highlights of Seattle: barbecuing out on Nicole and Sam’s patio, eating huge cookies at the Pike Place market, browsing in a second-hand bookstore that had a bunch of cats living in it. I picked up this one cute little kitten that fit in my hand, and carried it around for a while. Aw.

Not much to say about this city. It didn’t particularly excite me. It’s in a beautiful setting, on lots of water, with mountains all around, but other than that it just seemed like a huge metropolis with very little character or atmosphere.

The hostel where I stayed was right by a beach and a park. I mostly just hung around in that area, reading and people-watching. Drove down the street into a nearby hipster zone, where I found a great record store called Zulu. I spent a while in there, taking advantage of their multiple listening stations. Bought several CDs.

While listening to my car radio in the Vancouver area, I kept hearing this danced-up cover of Heaven, the Bryan Adams song, with a female vocalist. Not sure if anyone’s heard it down here or if it’s just a Canadian thing. The funny thing is, I really liked the song. That scared me. I started to wonder if maybe I’d turned over a new leaf that I would rather have left on the ground, scary side down. So it’s been reassuring to me that when I’ve heard other electronicky pop songs with annoying dance beats since then, I still hate them. It’s just that one that I like. Flukes are okay.

I ended up staying in this ski-resort town for five days, longer than anywhere else. The hostel there was the best one I’ve ever stayed in. It was on the shore of Alta Lake, with picture-perfect views of Whistler Mountain and Blackcomb Mountain, ski slopes and all. Unfortunately, the pictures I took came out far from perfect. I’ll try harder next time.

Whistler Village, about a 15-minute drive or 40-minute walk from the hostel, is an interesting place. It’s all very new (the town was basically invented by the Canadian Tourism Board in the mid 1970s), with an attempted vintage-alpine sort of look. There are lots of rich tourists there, many of them Americans, and young college-aged kids from various Commonwealth nations working at the retail establishments. I asked this one girl at a restaurant if "bacon" on a menu meant Canadian bacon.

"I don’t know where it’s from," she said dismissively.

"No," I said, "I mean, like what’s on an Egg McMuffin. You know, Canadian bacon."

"That’s BACK bacon," she said, frowning.

"Oh," I said. "In America we call that Canadian bacon."

At the hostel I befriended a guy named Dave from Newcastle, England, a math teacher who’s a few months younger than me. He was handsome and nice, but as my luck would have it, one of those guys who likes women. We had a good time together nonetheless—went canoeing on the lake, did a couple of hikes, and hung out in the village some. The hostel had a sauna attached, so a few times I went in there and got all hot and sweaty, then ran out and jumped in the lake. Aaaaah! Cold!! Doing that is a shock to your system, but ultimately invigorating and well worth it. My final night there I did this with Dave and a guy named Jonathan, after dark. There were bats flying over the lake. Not just flying, but swooping down. One came about four feet from my head. Even though I like bats (see Day 7’s entry), that freaked me out pretty good. I swam the heck out of there.

Dave and I went to see Goldmember on Saturday night. My favorite part of the experience wasn’t in the movie itself (which sucked pretty bad), but outside the cinema beforehand. This girl, probably 13 years old, was yelling hysterically at her mom for several minutes. Here’s what it was all about: "No, Mom, you can’t go to the movie. I’m not going if you are. This is SO embarrassing!" Then, to her friends, "If she’s going, I’m not going. You guys go without me. Forget it." Then more yelling at Mom. "You’re ruining everything! Why do you have to go? I can’t be in there if you are!!" Eventually the mom relented. I wouldn’t want to see an Austin Powers movie with my parents either, yet I couldn’t help wishing the mom had smacked her daughter’s spoiled, whiny face.

Another highlight of the Whistler experience was meeting this guy who worked in an outdoor outfitter-type store. I went in there with Dave so he could buy a new "knapsack." This guy told us way more than we wanted to know about his life, starting with, "I’m going to a barn dance tonight where there’s gonna be 500 women, and my wife and kids are out of town. And it’s my birthday!" He told us that he planned to drink an entire bottle of whiskey and hoped to end up naked and face down on the floor by the end of the night. Also mentioned that whenever he goes down to "the States," he ends up getting kicked out of bars. He was a former minor-league hockey player, and had the tooth-sized gaps in his mouth to prove it. The best part was when we somehow got on the topic of TV shows, specifically ones that he thought were appropriate for his kids to watch, and he told us about this animated kid’s show called Caillou (pronounced KY-you) featuring "a little bald-headed four-year-old who has life issues." I’ve since checked it out on PBS a couple of times. That Caillou is a cute little fellow, but I’m still not sure why he’s bald.

When I crossed over from British Columbia into Washington, the border patrol searched my trunk with a dog. Maybe I looked like a pot smoker. Or a guy who would smuggle a trunkful of doggy biscuits to sell on the black market.

Nicole and Sam were nice enough to put me up for another night when I hit Seattle. We had dinner out and watched some TV, I think. (I’m writing this in January 2003, five months later, so my memory of events has grown a bit fuzzy.) The next day I drove back to Spokane, glad I’d had a chance to see some new parts of the world (new to me, I mean) and literally expand my horizons.

Final Mileage: 3112

(That’s a lot of shakin’ and bouncin’ for Hula Girl. She was a good sport about it.)

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