New Years Eve in Redding

Such a possibility awaited us until a few minutes ago. But first yesterday's driving update: loaded up the car at my sister's place out in the Washington countryside. My windshield was glazed with ice. That meant Monday's rain-soaked roads were also icy. Heading out on two-lane blacktop past alpaca farms, Douglas Firs, and coated horses grazing in early morning fields, we kept the speed down to 30 mph. Even that caused the car to swerve on slick blacktop. A half-hour of tense driving got us on the interstate and a deep sigh of relief. 

Regular motoring down into Oregon, through now-cleared Portland and across the flats to Eugene. Past Eugene, the terrain rose toward Grant's Pass. MDW was driving when a high-pitched squeal sounded under the hood. She pulled over and I checked - nothing. I took over driving as the squeal came and went, usually above 2300 RPMS/63 mph. 

We passed through Medford and Ashland, climbing into the southern Cascades into California. Dusk arrived and the squealing worsened. I began paying attention to exit sign numbers and hoping the engine held up to Redding. We entered a prehistoric lava field, encircled by cone-shaped, extinct volcanoes, snowy slopes aglow in the fading light. Overhead, a crescent moon gleamed above a landscape that seemed as bleak and lifeless as an asteroid. Oh, God, not here, I thought. And we squealed on past.

Finally made it to Redding. This morning the garage checked it out and said a part holding on my fan belt assembly was expiring. They found an after-market item over in Andersen and managed to install it, ensuring New Year's Eve might indeed be spent in the bosom of our condo.  

Ah, but another full day of driving stands between us and home. Adventures abound on the western roads. Let us see what transpires. 

Moist Washington Notes

Down at my sister's house near Fort Lewis. We had a large family gathering last night, with the kids screaming and running around because we're out in the country and who is gonna hear? Today my sister and I drove to Tacoma to see a museum containing nifty glass artwork, but it was closed, so we discussed family business, stopped at a used book store with a cat curled up on the counter, then out for pizza. 

During last week's storm in Portland, cars were following snow plows on the freeway, driving at low speeds. Many ran out of gas as the off-ramps were unplowed and impassable. I passed several such vehicles last Wednesday, sealed in snow by subsequent plowings. Even if cars had managed to exit, fuel trucks couldn't reach many filling stations along the interstate. 

The Washington sky is in constant flux, as if under contract to display as many looks as possible: overcast, sunshine with light shafts so brilliant they make you squint, back to partially cloudy, dark and broiling, but always with rain, or rain mixed with snow. 

Tomorrow, MDW and I begin our thousand-mile drive back to Los Angeles. Lots of rain in the outlook, but hopefully very little snow. This has been a wonderful trip seeing family and the best, most adventurous, Christmas I've had in awhile. 

Red Right Return and Other Nautical Terms

Eleven McCanns took the ferry across Puget Sound to Bremerton on the Kittsap peninsula. My cousin Jim, an old Navy officer, pointed out red marker buoys that vessels entering port must keep to their right. Helmsmen are taught to remember that by this post's title. Land blocking the wind is known as a wind shadow. And green buoys direct returning helmsman to stay to their left, or port side. As a young man in officer training forty-four years ago this day, Jim married his wife Linda. To stay married that long requires some pretty nifty navigation of its own.

We wandered around the slushy Bremerton wharf, ate Belgian French Fries, then sailed back to Seattle for dinner at an Italian restaurant. At least I didn't have to drive today - car or boat.

Dateline: Redding, CA

After many hours of driving, racing ahead and through rain storms, I reached Redding. Check into my room at Motel 6, then hit Denny's for dinner. Three waitresses are seated at the counter in a mostly empty restaurant. They look at me as I enter and one remarks, "Let's fight over him." I throw my arms wide and answer, "A dream come true." They laugh and suddenly the place fills up behind me with three family groups with kids and old people, but no dogs.

I stop in a Shell station convenience store for the next day's road snacks. The woman behind the counter notices I'm carrying a book. In under three minutes I learn:

She had just finished a book by Dean Koontz.

Used to live in Newport Beach, CA - the same town Koontz lives in - and greeted the author as he was driving around town with his golden Labradors.

Has ADD and hasn't seen a movie in years because she can't settle down long enough to focus.

Used to work in Alaska running a tour group.

Has a sister who is super smart and encourages people to read.

Finally I got away after saying I suffer from 24-hour leprosy.

And the night is still young here at the feet of the Cascades.

Hyperspacing I-5

Early this morning, my wife and I exited I-5 Freeway in Burbank, parked, and flew to Portland. Enroute, Horizon Air held a contest: the passenger with the oldest penny would win a bottle of wine. Half-asleep, I watched my traveling companions rummage through pockets and purses. The winner produced a 1942 penny and was awarded a large bottle of wine wrapped in gray paper.

A few hours later, we're back on the northern branch of the same interstate 5, driving south to Eugene. Green countryside everywhere, with small hills rising in the background. Oregon appears to be a teenage version of Washington.

As Oregon has legalized assisted suicide, my wife and I joked how any public expression of discomfort is interpreted by state employees as "suffering" and you are summarily executed.

Our hotel is only ten minutes from the finish line at Autzen Stadium, (home of the University of Oregon Ducks.) I picked up my race number (1116) and goodie bag. I've gone from nervous to excited. Now, out for the traditional pre-pre-race meal of Chinese food.

Going Up

In Eugene, Sunday's temperature is now forecast in the low 70s. I'm going to ask the weather to stop. The mercury has climbed high enough. Let's not sully a fine marathon with excessive heat as was done with certain other races.

A few notes:

A brief four-mile run today wraps-up my marathon training, begun in late January.

April marked the third consecutive month of 100 + mileage. This was a large amount of running for me, aided by steady, persistent unemployment. Sunday will tell whether greater mileage equals faster times.

My goal is to break FOUR HOURS! There. I've used large attention-getting letters. As race day approaches, my nerves have been gnawing on me like rats in a town house made of peanut butter. I've caught myself telling other runners how stressed I've been over moving, thus advancing an alibi for failure. Enough! No! I commit to breaking FOUR HOURS!!

Frosty Running in Washington State

Still up near Olympia, Washington visiting family. Daytime temperatures linger in the teens and 20s. I thought the Phoenix Marathon was cold but today I ran 14 miles on chilly backcountry roads. Frost everywhere, horses in the fields standing head down, motionless as marble carvings. Mt. Rainer rose to the east like a huge white triangle. Dogs ran along split-rail fences, barking as I passed. A gray and black cat slunk across a two-lane, asphalt road, ducking under a fence and into a wrecked out-building, watching me warily from behind a board as I loped on.

Though light, traffic was occasionally a hazard. Certain roads are shoulder-free and I zig-zagged from side-to-side seeking the widest shoulder and trying to avoid cruising around a blind corner into a F-150 pick-up pulling a horse trailer.

Running negative splits, I stopped run/walks and picked up the pace for the last two miles. Most of this distance was on a straight away between Douglas Firs and Western Red Cedars. A Federal Express panal truck drove past me. The driver waved as Mt. Rainer filled the background behind him.

Afterwards, stretching out in the cold, early afternoon, I realized almost two-and-a-half hours had passed and I had hardly seen a single person. Only folk in pick-ups and SUVs, a gas truck, and a county crew that looked lost.

Still and all, a very nice long run.

I'm In A State of Washington

Mount Rainer on a rare sunny day in the Pacific Northwest.