Middle of Nowhere, Oregon – Heading due West on Highway 140 toward “the best Belgium waffles in the state” I pick up a drifter. Thumbing his way to the Bay Area and beyond, not enough years behind him to order a drink, Simon schools me in the way of “I Spy.” As a herd of adolescent Elk out of the line of my opponent’s sight assures my victory, a shot echoes through the mountains and a piece of black rubber streams past my rearview. Fourth flat tire in two months - since the spare was already on, and neither of us is trained in the art of tire repair we put on our packs and head for Klamath Falls. FYI – I Spy is so much easier when you’re not driving. Thirty minutes felt like three hours and the next three hours seemed like days. Seeking shade beneath branches of a double-wide Pine, I give up on the idea of waffles while Simon prays for a ride. The boy would have you believe it was God answering his prayers, though I think it’s just good Karma from picking up all those wanderers and hoping they weren’t serial killers. Either way, a truck pulls beside us and offers a lift to town. Stuck in the back with the little ones, kids and dogs alike, we talk about the definition of Hippie and Justin Bieber’s stupid new haircut. Ma and Pa Lawson spring for – at least the best waffles in the county – as they take in the stories of these two vagabonds. Not a damn repair shop open on Sunday within a hundred miles, we remain stranded until morning. “That’s it, you’ll stay with us,” Ma insists. Pa seemed a bit more reluctant about the idea of these two tattooed travelers becoming houseguests. Although, the Lawson’s didn’t live nearby; they were camping at the Lake of the Woods Resort. Every magnificent natural hue on the spectrum coming together to form a canopy of seclusion - I could live here. I may live here, for a bit Tree trunks more spacious than your average studio apartment, but the views are unparalleled. Pines line the landscape as far back as these eyes can see and envelope a lake that mirrors the clear blue above us. We walk through more spider webs than doorways. The digs: An old camper with barely enough room to fit four Lawson’s, us outsiders take refuge beneath the trees. As the sun sets I learn the fine art of fire-starting, Drew Barrymore - eat your heart out. Pa supplied the Pabst, and as a thank you (or a punishment, depending on your view of things) Simon and I supplied the entertainment. Wrapped in a burlap sack, the boy unveils a Ukulele. With my drum safely secured in my truck a hundred miles away, I make due with palms and piece of plywood. A hand full of splinters and one angry patron aside the show was a success. (She wanted to hear Taylor Swift’s Trouble, and we just didn’t know it.) The boy wonder and I sleep propped up on a stump laced with poison Sumac. Another lesson learned. Before the water dressed in brown has the chance to nurse my hangover, Pa is ready to load us up and get on the Highway. A lumberjack of a man, he looked more at home in the woods than I imagine he did in the suburbs of Boise. While I expected to be dropped off at the truck, no better off than we were the day before, Pa Lawson had other plans. Armed with tools “every smart traveler needs” he patches my tire before I can finish my second cup of coffee. Simon hugs our new friend, and what I thought to be an awkward farewell, Pa grinned ear-to-ear as the boy squeezes him tight. Red faced and humble, he shakes my hand and wishes us “kids” luck. I took Simon as far as Medford, but this Betty is making a U-turn. Perhaps I’ll find a tree that’s not too big, not too small, but just right for me. If you came for the music and not just the story – allow me to introduce Miss MaesYn maesyn/fr_music.cfm Quite possibly the coolest person I’ve never met, her nature infused gypsy-funk-soul sessions are the perfect pairing to this adventure. See MaesYn @ Pranafest in Ashland, Oregon on September 19th Same time next week - VB
Posted on: Tue, 13 Aug 2013 00:06:37 +0000
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