A Living Magazine - Day 52 - Watching The River Flow

Again, I really wanted to sleep more. The morning came too quickly. I had to remind myself what town I was in. Being in a new place every day certainly can be confusing when I'm sleepy, but I got over it, packed up and hit the road...                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          

The first stop was McDonald's (I know the place gets old--believe me--it gets old!) to get a coffee and perhaps do the day's post. When I got there I noticed my laptop power was very low. I had to find an outlet, which meant a coffee shop, cafe or the library. The library didn't open until 1:00 pm, and I wanted to be walking by then, so I went to a place I saw on Google Maps right next to it, a cafe and deli called, "The Place to Be". It was neat place; a polished concrete floor, old couches, chairs, many small tables, with plenty of outlets. I settled in for a good writing session.

As I mentioned in a past post, I'd been transferring photos the night before each post whenever possible, and that sped things up on this day. I really got into the account of the girl from the night before and the social aspects of why it concerned me. I always feel, after writing such "rants", that this time it's gonna hit home! But, when I was done and the post was published, I felt I still hadn't said things clearly enough to demonstrate just how strongly I feel about the non-action taking place around the subject of homelessness and human suffering. I resolved to get better at this in the weeks to come.

Finishing a little later than I wanted, I left the cafe at 2:00 pm and began the interesting walk to Oregon City, following Route 99E, north...

Found this little dead snake near the very edge of the road. It was probably

just nipped by a passing car, which flung it off into the break down lane.

"Flower Farmer", what a great name for a short story! (wink)

I was following the Willamette River, and at several places there were cozy

little places where a weary walker could step off the road and simply view

the river valley below. This was the first.

Almond trees! I hadn't seen any since my time in Livermore, California.

I was wondering when this was going to come!

A secondary title for this post could have been "Trains and Snakes", because both seemed to keep presenting themselves. I had just talked about my fascination with how smoothly the rail system worked, despite all the potential problems and dangers. Specifically, I was curious about how trains were able to be switched at just the right time to keep them from colliding. Well, since I was walking next to the train tracks for nearly the whole trip on this day - watching Amtrak periodically speed one way, alternating with freight trains running the other way on the same single set of tracks - I finally had the opportunity to see for myself (and show you) the actual switch itself...

This is the box that receives the signal and operates the switch.

Here is the switch itself. For a wonderfully detailed study of train switches, click: here.

I saw quite a few of these memorials. There are not as many as in Tucson,
Arizona--every mile or so. White bikes too, would be chained to a place
where a biker was killed, as a memorial (pictures of those tomorrow).

The ivy-covered trees of Oregon are one of my favorite things to photograph.

Another viewing spot.

And, another.

But it wasn't all ivy-covered trees and river views. A solid 5 miles was simply the black-topped freeway of 70 mph traffic, narrow shoulders and precarious bridge crossings. These are - perhaps understandably - my least favorite part of hikes. On a day like this, at 89° F, with radiant heat being pumped back up into the air by black tar, and then swirled around by passing cars and trucks, creating hot vortexes--with no trees for shade, it was an ordeal. 

Psychologically, I know how to handle such oppressively uncomfortable walks. It is a coping mechanism developed from experience. I'm not sure there is any other way to harden yourself? Yet, that doesn't mean that I'm not spending every minute wishing it would end. The trick to enduring hard traveling is the reward system of intentionally-delayed gratification. In fact, I use the assumption that things will eventually get easier as my only lifeline to sanity under many different scenarios--some of which I will discuss in future posts.

I saw the trains come and go, but this was something different, with 105 mm Howitzers, supply vehicles, ammo, etc...

Must be Obama, setting up FEMA internment camps

and getting ready to take our guns away

After having to switch from one side of the road to the other several times in the last two miles, to variously avoid having no shoulder to walk on and avoid being squished into the guardrail, I reached the top of a hill to find some encouraging sights...

This might be a cool place to buy, renovate and have a restaurant

and also service boats as they cruise up and down the river.

Bang, bang... Maxwell's silver hammer.

The old, but vast paper mill complex just before the downtown area of Oregon City.

One last cliff side viewing area, and a dangerous one at that.

Step too close to the edge and you will plummet 75 feet to the rocky water's edge below. 

I finally got to see the "Father of Oregon", Dr. John McLoughlin--a rather intimidating and severe looking gent...

"Now say 'Ahhhhh', damnit!"

At last, I could get off that road.

The light at the end of the tunnel... Is it heaven? 'Fraid not. It's just Oregon City.

Paddleboarding people doing a stand up job.

Salt production. I drank 64 ounces of watered down lemonade and never had to pee it out.

People don't realize how essential replenishing salt is to hiking.

I knew if I went far enough up 99E I would run into a McDonald's. Sure enough, right by the river side the golden arches appeared; the promise of a plastic oasis. I stopped in for an online fix, and hopefully a charge up. I ordered a large drink and found the only - slightly over-used - outlet in the place. Immediately, I noticed about four guys inside with large backpacks. But, these weren't travelers. They were homeless "residents". An oxymoron? Not really.

Since I had unknowingly grabbed the most sought-after table on the block, I suddenly became the go-to guy for AC power usage. I transferred as many pictures as I could and answered a few emails, when a gentleman named Steve asked me if he could plug his phone in the same outlet.

The rivers of humanity have many different streams that flow into them. We label these streams, pigeonhole them, need to classify and clarify their types. The homeless (both hopeful and hopeless) float down their respective streams, entering the river with their backpacks, dirty blankets, pizza-box beds, adopted stray pets, shopping carts and broken bicycles. But they are still human beings. They are not the flotsam and jetsam of the Universe. Perhaps - in some way we have yet to fully grasp - they are among its most interesting and noteworthy creatures? I think so.

Steve plugged his Android phone in, and gently laid it on my table to charge. We began to talk. Steve spoke very well, like an educated man. He was clear-eyed and sober. He told me much about the homeless population and about the city in general. As we spoke, an older woman came in holding her small white dog. She pushed her way up to the counter and asked the manager if they had any boxes. He patiently strolled out back to check. Steve was distracted by her. It became obvious that they knew each other - maybe by appearance rather than by name - and she asked him if she could use his phone.

He readily unplugged it, disappointed that it had not taken the charge, and handed it to her. While she made her call, a young woman who worked there commented on his nice new looking sneakers. All these folks seemed to know each other pretty well. I wasn't the only person who found sanctuary at McDonald's. Steve had gone to the mission for clothes (all of these Oregon towns and cities have "missions" for the homeless, where that can shower, sleep, get a meal and even spend the day playing games or watching TV). Some missions are clean and tolerant; some are dirty and prohibitively rule-laden.

According to Steve, Oregon City had one of the nicest missions he'd ever seen. I spoke in the last post about how it would be nice if the social religions would practice what they preached and actually serve the underprivileged; the suffering masses... Well, these Catholic organizations do exactly that. The money they raise is used exclusively for these people.

The girl, who was pretty and nice, said that she had been looking for some clothes too. He apologized for not picking some out for her. He explained though, that most of the ladies that were checking out the clothes were "bigger" and so that's what was placed outside. Nothing was in her size. Steve had a kind of centering demeanor. By that, I mean that other folks would come to him for information and assistance with various things and he would gladly help them if he could.

The older woman finished her call, and told Steve that she wasn't able to sleep inside that night, and needed the McDonald's box as a bed. He said he understood. The manager came back out and handed her something adequate to last the night. Her dog was getting antsy and she kept telling the pup that it wouldn't be much longer before they could go outside.

Steve tried plugging his phone back in, but still failed to get a good charge. I realized that I had an AC adapter and USB cord for an Android (from the phone I lost way back on the last journey), and proceeded to dig them out for him. He connected them together and they worked well.

We continued our conversation. I told him I was from Maine and introduced my project, handing him a card. Like everyone I've told about this journey, he was definitely interested. There must be something very appealing about seeing someone (me) who dresses like the poorest of the poor but has a connection to "the normals" of society.

We talked about the winters in Maine. I asked if they ever got snow in this city. He said they will have an inch or two, several times throughout the winter, but it always melts. He did say, however, that the city has had some very strange environmental events. They had a wind-storm once, with sustained gusts that blew down the river basin at speeds exceeding a hundred mph. It blew out windows in houses and took down trees.

The river itself - according to Steve - was in bad shape. Its water level was about ten feet lower than it should be. The regular rains (as in California and all up and down the West Coast) had been absent for the last couple of years. It upset the balance of the water cycle enough to kill fish. They found dead fish every day.

Eventually Steve took his half-charged phone and stepped outside onto the patio to make a call, smoke a cigarette and hang out with a couple other guys there. I'd meant to take a picture of him to post here, but never really got the opportunity. I have to admit that asking people if I can take their picture is a pretty awkward thing for me. I've missed the chance on several occasions to get photos of the people I speak with. This was something I would have to get over in the next few days, if I was to do what I'd planned to do in Portland.

I left once the sun was low enough, knowing that I'd have to cross the bridge to the other side of the river, where a park seemed to have plenty of places where I might be able to nest for the night. It is always a crap shoot, when I vet places by Google Satellite alone, but once it is dark enough outside, the job becomes easier, as long as I am in the right kind of area...

A small snake that hustled out of my path and off the sidewalk.

I crossed said-bridge and walked until I found the street that would lead me down to Dahl Park. the sign covering all rules and regulations, did not prohibit "camping" but did state that the hours of the park were 3:00 am to 10:00 pm daily, which gave some excusable wiggle room. I took advantage of this.

First, I found that a large soccer field would lead me away from the bright lights of the roadway and deeper into the park. No one was around except for a couple who were walking their dogs off-leash, way across the field. I walked through a boat landing area where a white Dodge conversion van sat, with the murmur of hushed voices coming out of it. I had a few false starts, thinking certain places would be good, but then deciding that they were inadequate for one reason or another. I'd become very picky; this being my 81st outside-sleeping experience in less than a year.

When I'd passed out of the parking lot, with all of its buzzing street lights, and into an area that was blocked off to traffic by a large gate, my instincts told me my spot was nearby. My eyes adjusted to the ambient light of the woods and I located a tree with a spot just big enough to lay out the tarp. I really wanted to sleep somewhere on the soft grass that was all around. But I settled for the hard ground beside this tree, because it was particularly well-hidden.

I passed over it about ten times, scraping the rubble and dead sticks away with my boot, until some semblance of leveling-out was achieved. I had much on my mind and it took me quite a while to fall asleep.