Blurs in the road - April 1 and 2

The next two days were a bit of a blur, the road and landmarks all fading into similarity. I have started to notice that the intent of this trip - to stop and smell the roses - has given way to a very noticed schedule as my pace and focus have been on arrival at destination rather than journey. I have already experienced too many missed photo opportunities, shunned in favor of an unneeded internal clock, and have decided to attempt to commit myself to a journey guided by patience rather than practicality.

With this in mind I stopped off at a little spot just south of Prospect, OR called Mill Creek Falls. Within a half mile hike down a beautiful forest lined path, the crashing sounds of water flowing heavily over rock in the distance, I was at a large rock quarry. An earlier sign warning of "possible large quantity water run off, find high ground" gave me momentary pause, but I hustled into the heart of the gigantic, rain slickened boulders to photograph the bustling river from the highest vantage point. Climbing out to these precarious spots, their reach obtained only through multiple jumps over rapidly flowing river, was something I definitely enjoyed - the necessary athleticism and breathtaking scenery eliciting an excitement noticeably missing in years past.

Returning to the van I continued further south and noticed the road to Table rock, one of Oregon's most enjoyed hikes, intersecting with my southerly path. Again I decided to let time be my friend rather than judge - though the recesses of my brain were calculating distance and time, a dinner reservation etched in the back of my brain - and turned sharply to follow. Along this drive I viewed unbelievably flat rocks perched high atop hills; a 45 minute hike of switchbacks brought me to their peak, an opening of surreal beauty and physical bewilderment. The shelf of rock, flat as any Kansas cornfield, was one mile long by quarter mile wide and looked to extend further around a corner, a desired adventure disallowed due to my unfortunate timetable.

Perched on the edge of the cliff, looking out over endless miles of Southern Oregon farm and mountain, I was struck with a sense of awe that only true beauty can elicit.
Sadly, that timer in the back of my head dinged and I was forced to fly back down the trail, the trip infinitely shorter due to the use of shortcuts unseen on the uphill climb and a downhill sprint, and I was connected with my van in record time. Hopping in I was off to Grants Pass for a dinner of chicken teriyaki and sushi with my half-sister Brin who was as sweet and polite as promised.

A dinner's discussion of parenting habits, the musings of two childless people who profess to have knowledge about problems never before truly experienced, connecting and bonding - it seems we share opinions about the complex of being "cool" and the lack of parents who truly reprimand their children.

With a full belly and an excitement about a newfound connection I aimed my van southwest towards the coast of California. And though the perfect resting spot along the shoreline was passed due to an ignorance of uniqueness, I was still able to spend the night listening to the far off sounds of waves crashing endlessly on the beach.

The next day's drive took me further into the heart of California, my final destination a city I quickly learned cannot go by San Fran or Frisco, rather necessitated the connection of both, The City.