A brilliant blue sky greeted me that morning, cloudless as far as the eye could see, and the rush of the open road felt limitless and intoxicating. The plan was to cross the entire lone star state that first day. Maybe it was a little ambitious, maybe na\u00efve. But I wanted out of Texas. If I had bothered to check I would have known that the western border was 800 miles from Houston, and that was as the crow flies. At a minimum, it would take 16 hours to traverse. Not easy on a motorcycle. But I didn\u2019t care. I was 17 and impatient to taste my independence. Accelerating through the side streets, I quickly found the entrance ramp, and burst up and onto the interstate. Speeding through the thinning traffic, heading due west, I felt the sun on my back and the thrill of an unknown future ahead. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
The image of Dad waving goodbye remained strong in my mind. I imagined him still standing in the carport long after I had disappeared, thinking of the day he’d run away from home at 17. He had been determined to cut loose from an unhappy childhood as soon as he came of age, and never looked back. So, when I told him I wanted to leave Texas and go home to Oregon and that I could get there on my own, he didn\u2019t fight me. He understood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Hour after hour, pushing through the increasing heat of the day, my initial exhilaration gradually settled to a steady determination. This seemingly endless straightaway was no match for my imagination. I would be in New Mexico before this day was over. Pressing through the unchanging landscape, keeping my focus on the distance ahead, I was unwilling to concede even a sliver of doubt that I would get to the border before the sun set. But 12 hours later I was still in Texas, and the broad and flat, desert-colored horizon began to fade, whispering for me to surrender to the approaching night. Which I did, reluctantly, at the first cheap motel I could find.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The next morning I was back on the interstate, two hours east of El Paso. I would eat when across the border in New Mexico. It was another brilliant morning and I carried the same inner excitement as the day before. It was as if something unarticulated was waiting to be discovered, a pot of gold in front of me, getting closer with every mile. Or maybe I was hungry. If it was imagination, it felt real enough to make the object of the pursuit seem tangible.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I made my first pit-stop of the day on the western side of El Paso, fueling body and bike at the largest truck stop I had ever seen. A sea of 18-wheelers crowded the immense parking lot, the operators paying me no mind. Indeed, I seemed insignificant. Making my way into the bustling diner, I was engulfed by the loud clatter of plates and dishes and cheap utensils slamming onto tabletops, barking waitresses shouting orders to the kitchen, cooks shouting back through the chrome-framed window, and busboys hustling to keep up, desperate to earn their cut of the tips. The muscular voices of patrons came from every booth and every counter seat, drowning out the country-western music competing weakly in the background. All of it assaulted my senses like a slap in the face. It was as if I had walked into a community of chaos, an alien tribe, and I immediately felt out of place. Standing by the door, unnoticed, I wanted to shout above the din, \u201cI\u2019m one of you now! I\u2019m a traveler too! I have a destination!\u201d But of course, I said nothing. I waited near the entrance until a counter seat became available. Chowing down the breakfast special and slamming a cup of coffee, I was on the road in less than half an hour. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
If I made good time, I could be in Phoenix before nightfall. Settling into the day, the steady growl of the engine my constant companion, I thought of the bundle of letters from Gloria that I had packed away. My intention was to return them to her as soon as I got back to Oregon. This way she would know she couldn\u2019t be compromised. It felt like the honorable thing to do.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Having been warned that it was not advisable to cross the Mojave Desert during the day, the extreme heat a serious consideration, I waited until early evening before leaving Phoenix, and set out for southern California just as night fell. There was something different about this straightaway, something hard to define, but noticeable nonetheless. As the lights of Phoenix disappeared behind me the darkness of the desert seemed to contain a glow of nearly imperceptible light, with shifting colors like steam rising from the sand. Yet higher up, the enormity of the sky was black and glittered with infinite stars, vibrating in inconceivable silence. Long distances went by without passing another soul, and in those solitary stretches it was as if I became part of a timelessness impossible to describe. As the highway began its long gentle descent to the Los Angeles basin, still hundreds of miles away, the warm desert air held me firmly in its soft embrace. I was one state away from home. I wanted to connect again with that person who made me feel worthy and loved. Gloria.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Arriving in Costa Mesa, I met up with a couple of friends. They were enthusiastic surfers and urged me to give it a try. Borrowing a board, I paddled out to what seemed like an appropriate distance from the shore, where the more experienced waited to catch a wave. I watched them stroke their arms as fast as they could at the base of a wave surging behind them, and once catching that wave, they stood up and began the ride. It looked easy enough. Waiting a few moments for the perfect wave, it didn\u2019t take long for one to emerge like a beast from below. Laying flat on the board, aiming for the shore that now seemed suddenly far away, I paddled to gain as much speed as possible before the wave arrived. It seemed suddenly much larger than I had anticipated. Within seconds I was lifted up by a force far more powerful than I ever imagined. My heart froze and my breathing stopped. But the board beneath me seemed to level off for a second, so I began to crouch up, intending to stand, marveling at how fast the wave was pushing me forward. For a split second, I felt in command, but a split second was all that I got. Roaring with earsplitting laughter, the wave flung me into the air, like a weightless twig, then plunged me violently into the wave itself, where I churned in circles, thrashing in an endless spin cycle, instantly losing all sense of what was up or what was down. My lungs screamed for air. Panic set in. The shore was too far away. I couldn\u2019t hold my breath any longer. But just as I was about to gasp my last, the wave spit me out onto the wet sand, landing me facedown, heaving greedily for the precious salt air. Narrowly escaping a humiliating death, dazed and happy to be alive, I thanked my friends for the fun day at the beach and wasted no time getting back on the road. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Pulling into San Francisco and crossing the Golden Gate Bridge, I decided to track north on Highway 101, a more scenic route than I-5. As the evening set in, a light rain began to fall, so I pulled over and put on a rain slicker. Getting back on the highway, the cloud-covered night darkened and the rain reflected glare from oncoming traffic. After several miles, with few cars to be seen, something strange appeared in my rearview mirrors; a whirling cluster of lights was approaching, rapidly gaining on me. With no distinct pattern, seemingly unconnected, the lights were like dancing white orbs, oscillating in the darkness. Essentially alone on this dark highway, this bizarre phenomenon worried me, conjuring thoughts of alien abduction. With no available option to avoid this looming confrontation, I did the next best thing and began humming an old country song. But the mystery lights drew swiftly closer, and finally close enough to identify. It was a pack of Hell\u2019s Angels, maybe as many as 15. Swarming all around me, their beefy Harley Davidsons, large and loud, penned me in, overwhelming my inadequate two-cylinder Honda. Had I intruded on their territory? Did they plan to conduct a ceremonial punishment on me of some kind, like death? Up ahead in the darkness, there appeared a lonely gas station, a small little oasis of light, a sliver of hope. With nonchalance I engaged my turn signal, carefully maneuvering to the off-ramp, thinking that maybe these leather vested bikers had more important things to do than waste their time murdering me. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
As I cautiously peeled away from the pack, edging toward the exit, however, my newfound escorts executed the turn with me, like syncopated swimmers, dashing any hope this impending nightmare would soon be over. Pulling up to one of the gas pumps, I took off my helmet, and the earsplitting roar of the raging Harleys pulverized my brain. Standing aside my bike, I looked around at these bearded men with their steel-toed boots, wondering what direction the violence would come from. Trying to look as neutral as possible, surveying the faces staring at me, I had the sudden thought that maybe I was just an object of curiosity. Then the biker who had parked directly behind me got off his hog and walked toward me. Stopping a few feet away and giving me a hard look, he glanced down at my license plate. Looking back up, he nodded a few times, and then said in a deeply graveled voice, \u201cTexas?\u201d And I heard myself shout, \u201cYes! Yes! Texas!\u201d He nodded again, seemingly impressed, then turned and walked away. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Having crashed at one last cheap motel, I crossed the border into Oregon the following morning. The weather was perfect, a departure from the usual rain. Cruising north on the coastal highway, every curve, every turn, every undulation was breathtaking. I had one stop to make before turning east. Aunt Edith, my grandmother\u2019s sister and my favorite aunt, lived by herself in a small beach cabin, in the small beach town of Yachats. I hadn\u2019t seen her in several years and knew that she\u2019d had a stroke. Finding her cabin, we visited. What stood out from the visit was not that she was partially paralyzed and nearly confined to a chair, or that she was so happy to see me, but that she said, \u201cI\u2019m so lucky! The stroke paralyzed my right side and I\u2019m left-handed!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Saying goodbye to Aunt Edith, I followed 101 north. The original plan was to get to Seaside and turn there for the last leg to Lake Oswego. But after a couple of hours, I felt an excitement too urgent to ignore and decided to head directly home. At Lincoln City, I turned off the 101 and cut onto a two-lane state road, following along the banks of a small river, lush with green vegetation under a canopy of tall trees. At Interstate 5, heading north again, I was almost there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Entering Lake Oswego, I felt a happiness embrace me from head to toe. Everything was familiar. Every road and street, every house and building, every grove and field, all of it was a part of me. As I circled the lake my heart wanted to shout, \u201cI\u2019m back! I\u2019m back! Here I am, I\u2019m home!\u201d Making my way around the entire lake, I cruised slowly through the small village. There was the J.C. Penny store, Our Lady of the Lake Church, Rexall\u2019s Drug Store, the Lake Theatre, everything the same. It was a beautiful afternoon and with my amazing journey complete, I wanted to share the exuberance of that achievement, but as I continued my silent victory tour, I began to sense a slight deflation. I had been gone for nearly a year and now I was back, but life had carried on as it always had. My two closest friends, John and Kerry, were nowhere to be found. When I finally located my brother, Bill, he was at a friend\u2019s house working on a car in the driveway with four other 19-year-old boys, all too intrigued with the workings of an eight-cylinder engine to be bothered with my travels. The event of my return wasn\u2019t significant to anyone. Bill barely acknowledged me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Except for Marnie, my grandmother. She was there, as she had always been, welcoming me into her home with her gentle love.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I put off seeing Gloria until the next day, then drove over to her and David\u2019s house. Carrying the small bundle of letters, I parked my motorcycle next to the pathway that led down to their house. I heard animated voices from inside as I approached the side door that led into the kitchen area. The door was slightly ajar and I knocked softly, saying, \u201cHello?\u201d Through the door window, I saw Gloria coming toward me and I began to feel awkward and nervous. When she fully opened the door, there was an instant look of surprise on her face. In the next instant, she smiled broadly and called out my name. \u201cOh my god, you\u2019re back! Come in, come in and say hello to David and Timothy!\u201d I hadn\u2019t anticipated David being there, much less Timothy, who was a friend I knew from school, and a year younger than me. I stepped into the little room adjoining the kitchen, where we exchanged pleasantries and perfunctory questions about my trip, and my plans. At some point, still holding the bundle of letters, I realized I had no idea how to make them disappear. They felt increasingly cumbersome. Not having thought this through very well, I decided to ignore them, and hope for the best. But just as I had settled on this strategy, David pointed at what I was clutching and asked, \u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d Thinking quickly, I replied, \u201cOh, those are Gloria\u2019s.\u201d and I put the bundle on the counter. The room went silent as David immediately picked them up, turning them over in his hand, giving them a cursory examination. Holding my breath, I quickly glanced at Gloria, who stood next to Timothy. She watched David intently. After a moment David put the bundle back down on the counter. He turned to me and said, \u201cWelcome back, it\u2019s great to see you. Sorry, I have work to do, but hope to see you again soon.\u201d He turned and left the kitchen. Exhaling a deep breath, I could feel my heart beating in my chest. Turning back to Gloria and Timothy, I saw that they had seated themselves on the floor together, leaning against the wall. They were side-by-side, shoulder-to-shoulder, hips and thighs touching. I felt like an intruder. Gloria was staring at me with what can only be described as an expression of challenge. This was confusing and unexpected. Staring back at the two of them, I saw a visual of familiarity and intimacy. It was shocking to recognize and too shocking to understand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0I immediately buried the feeling, when moments later, I rode back to Marnie\u2019s house on\u00a0my\u00a0motorcycle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/p>\n\n\n\n