Great Migration: Day 2

Portland-Cache Creek-Dawson Creek

We started the day around 6:00AM. We're quite bright-eyed at this time.

Asher hated the truck. It was loud, and every time the engine revved, she got nervous. Here, though, she's still rather comfortable. The floor was very warm, and she would climb up into my lap to watch out the window for a while before creeping back to the floor to warm her belly. At all times, though, she kept either a foot or her head, if not her body, on one of my feet.

The UHaul began to give us some trouble today, making for a rather nerve-wracking experience as we tried to find somewhere that could service the truck and make the rather terrifying engine service light go away. We had no luck, though, as it was early Sunday in small town Canada. Instead, Scott checked the oil level, found it to be rather low, so we decided to buy oil and keep the oil fresh. This worked, and so we kept going. 

BC is beautiful country, and I kept the camera at the ready. 

This one.

Driving through Chetwynd, there are these amazing chainsaw sculptures. Some of these were simply incredible, and I cannot fathom how they do these intricate works with something as large and crude as a chainsaw.

Evidence of forest fires in the eerie light. The smoke and haze make everything quite apocalyptic.

We made it to Dawson Creek and stayed at the odd Farmington Fairways and RV Park.  While tent camping is possible, this place is clearly more for RVs since there was only one working shower room, and this included the public toilet. I was told that I could use the shower that the employees used, though I did learn later on that other campers were using this, so my weird guilt and discomfort was misplaced. The employees gathered around the fire and running around in golf carts put me in mind of a strange summer camp. We had our dinner of Thai food, read for only a bit, and retired for the night as another early morning loomed only hours ahead of us.

The (newest) great migration: Day 1

Day 1 total: 10 hours on the road

Our first day en route was split into two sections: the time we left and the time after we slept and kept driving. Our main goal was to get through Seattle before morning traffic hit. If we missed that window, we could potentially be sitting at a stand-still for hours trying to move the hulking vehicle and its tow through bumper to bumper morning commuters.

We left Portland at 1:00AM, freshly showered, the final touches put on the house, and the keys left in the mailbox. It was bittersweet as the truck revved its engine, and we pulled away from the curb. We stowed a sleeping Asher in the car since we would be traveling at night and there wasn't a lot of room for her to stretch out in the truck cab.

We finally made it through Seattle, after getting flagged to go through the weigh station, which was weird and apparently unnecessary based on the UHaul information packet. Our energy flagged finally, the high of pulling away from home for completely knew living territory for us worn away. We pulled into a rest area in Marysville and stared at a family reunion of some kind, which would not have been so unusual had it not been 4:30AM and the party in full swing...at the rest area. There were people everywhere, old, young, and people were bringing food out from their cars, and children were running around like it was an afternoon picnic...at four o'clock in the freaking morning. I stared and finally, still staring, asked Scott, "Are you seeing this weird party?"  He answered, and sounded much relieved, that he was, in fact, also seeing the party. I think, given our state of exhaustion, we wondered if we were individually hallucinating.  This would be the first moment of many of "What are we seeing?"

Once we established that the party was not solely our own visions--though we did agree that perhaps we were having a shared hallucination--Scott grabbed one of the hammocks my father sent to us as a "YOU'RE MOVING TO ALASKA!" gift (thanks, Dad!) and stretched it between two trees in the green space not too far from the truck. I opted to stretch out across the seats of the UHaul cab, partly because I'm a weenie and partly because I was too lazy to mess with a hammock, which for the 17' truck is right about my length if I tuck my legs a bit. And so we slept for several hours.

Once on the road again, we hauled to the US/Canadian border and crossed at Abbottsford-Huntingdon, which had a significantly shorter line than the border crossing to the west. It took at least 1.5 hours to wait, cross through, passports at the ready, answer the questions, and continue on our way. It was one of those "there is absolutely nothing we can do but sit here moments" and so we sat and waited.

Yep, that's the line. The border cross is up there somewhere.

The border! Technically, we're across the border but not yet in Canada.

Once in Canada, Asher hung out with us. She was very suspicious of the loud truck.

Cruisin' through town...very slowly.

The forests are incredibly dense and so green in southern BC. When you cross the border, there is a clear cut in the forest--the no-touch zone--separating the US from Canada (or perhaps Canada from the US).  We had a number of conversations about how difficult it must have been to explore these territories.

Distance is measure in kilometers and gasoline in liters.

The province changes topography quite a bit, and we lost the vast green and shifted to the yellows and taupes of the shrubby low hills.

I have no idea what these are, but they were incredible.

We had decided before we left Portland that we wouldn't drive through the night. There are just too many variables, including animals, and too few towns.  Our first stop was to be Cache Creek. When we stopped at Brookside Campsite, we allowed enough time to set up camp and make dinner. Scott asked the guy helping us if there was a good pub in town, to which we were told, "Well, there's a pub in town." We decided to just stick with what we had in the cooler. 

The wifi was spotty, and we had to go almost to the main office to get reception, but the campgrounds were nice, clean, and everyone was quite friendly. We talked with people on their way down from Alaska. We did get a bit nervous when some kind of youth group pulled up in white vans and set up across the creek from us. A group of the boys took off for the heated swimming pool, roughhousing, posturing and peacocking--oh so cool.  From our spot and the way the fencing cut, though, they looked quite naked. Ah, the juxtaposition of how we look versus what we think we look like, especially as teenagers.

Getting dinner ready.

We realized that cooking the burritos might be a bit more difficult than we originally thought. The burritos didn't fit our camping pots and pans.  I rooted through the camp bag and came up with aluminum roasting pans. With a bit of water in the bottom pan and another pan on top, held in place by a rock, we finagled a makeshift cooker. 

 Waiting...

And so, we concluded our first full day of travel. Even Asher was done and ready for bed. Despite what she wanted, though, she slept in the truck, not in the tent with us.  

The final days of Portland

The moving van was reversed down the alley that backed up to our gate, loaded over the course of two days, and then driven out to the street for the final pieces to include our car, which was to be towed the 2500+ miles from Portland to Alaska. Scott handled the endless back and forth trips, hauling load after load of boxes and what we kept of our belongings. We had a 17' truck, and it was packed from Granny's Attic to the pull down door. I don't think we could have fit anything else in there, and I worried at one point, along with all of the other random anxieties that come with a move, if it would all just come tumbling out when we did have to open the door. Alas, Scott is an ace at packing, Tetris-ing it all in perfectly, and cinched it down with adjustable tie-downs. Also, in a stroke of absolute genius, Scott ordered transit tape and wrapped the car, that was to be towed behind the moving truck, to keep it from inevitable abuse on the roads.

We aimed for August 15 as our departure date, and here it is. Scott packed, and packed, and packed. I wrapped up my last summer class in the wee hours of August 14, and set to work on the last of the boxes and the ceiling to floor cleaning. The cleaning was perfect for the nervous energy.
Friends came by to say their final farewells and offer their well wishes, and some to again express their misgivings about our new adventure. The amazing Sara came by to save us from the madness of packing and being unable to find the corkscrew.

In the midst of the last two weeks in Portland, my parents came for one last visit. We bundled the restaurants and the trips with our own farewell to the city that had been home for four years and which we loved. We took one last trip to Astoria and along the coast with a stop at Ft. George Brewery. We ate at home quite a bit with garden fresh veggies and local fruits. Our garden was just hitting its summer stride and we were up to our elbows in green tomatoes, fresh herbs, hops, and more.

Portland is the Manic Pixie Girl of cities, I have come to realize: leather and glitter, defiance, self deprecation, and enough unself-consciousness to be the quirky place that it is. We went on a food tour--Pete's Coffee, our first Portland coffee shop that led to our first apartment, Screen Door with my parents, Pine State Biscuits, Flying Fish Company, The Waffle Window, Thai BBQ, and even a late night Tecos run for good fast food Mexican food. We ordered extra of the Thai and Mexican food, sealed thanks to our handy food saver and then frozen, to take with us on the long road trip and to save us from road food and days of ramen. I had my hair cut and colored one last time, trading my beloved vintage Raleigh Sprite for it.  Mychal's bike was stolen the week before, and it was a funny twist of fate that my bike went home with her that day. Scott's screaming Italian red road bike was sold on the last day, too, to a guy who fell in love with it at first sight. He hadn't even climbed onto it before he told us he would take it. I believe it found the perfect home, just like my bike did.

Asher wandered around the ever emptier house, sticking close to me as "her" things slowly walked out the door (or were uprooted and given new homes as with "her" garden plants) and her claws hitting the wooden slats echoed more and more. She had to content herself with curling up in what dark corners she could find and just closing her eyes to sleep. While she is amazingly adaptable, change for her is not comfortable, so there was a lot of attention given, extra cherries and other treats provided, longer days out in the backyard.

We drank up the last of the homebrews and, sadly, dumped more than that. We took only a few for the road. Scott bought a half case of New Deal's Portland 88 vodka for me since their distribution doesn't make it as far north as Alaska. Aviation gin didn't make the pack, unfortunately, though I have plans to have it shipped; the cost of shipping is going to be exorbitant, I'm sure. Scott gave us a case of wines for our anniversary this year, and we have been collecting Portland wines and wines we just love for a bit to build up our (eventual) wine cellar). A new state means learning new alcohol laws and strictures. Admittedly, and even despite the additional vice tax, Chicago's liquor availability is the best.

The road beckons, and we have miles to put between our home in the PacNW and our new home in Alaska. We bid farewell to the home that took us in, taught us so much, and shifted our trajectory.

Let things flow naturally forward

We are ten minus and counting to launch day...and I have rounded the corner to a weepy mess.

I love Portland; I have since we landed here thinking we would continue on to Seattle and potentially northward from there, but Portland captured us and held us for four years. I am infinitely sad to let it go, but I realize that my life is shifting, as today has so demonstrated. One of the jobs I have lovingly held is shuttering on our team. Three were let go, and we were treated to a surprise meeting, which both Scott and I attended remotely and stared at each other as we absorbed the news. Scott, we have learned, is essential for a bit longer, but I haven't head about my status. I am not holding out hope that I survive the fallout.  This was my favorite work, a wonderful respite from the exhaustion that is teaching and grading, that exercised my writing skills in unexpected ways and sharpened it into something marketable.  It was quite an unexpected blow. I suppose, like anyone, I imagined the work continuing on forever, even as it shifted and reshaped itself. Alas, it is not meant to be.

This also adds to the errant tear that slips away from me. Today was the first of the goodbyes, really, and my head throbs from the unshed tears, and only giving in to sobs when I am alone, which at this point probably means I am packing boxes.

When we moved to Portland, I knew that it would be a new beginning. As we are leaving Portland, I don't know what to expect. I am hopeful; I am scared. I sent the tearful, fearful email to a friend today: "Tell me I'm not completely crazy for deciding to make this insane move."  To which she responded, as only the most understanding friend can, "Of course you are crazy. Which is why I love you. The move is not insane though...Just be sure to buy some warm fur things..."

I already have the vintage fur hat set out, waiting to be used.