Off to a Damn Good Start

On August 5th Continental Airlines served me Mr. Z's beef jerky and full cans of pop on my way to California. This and the feeling of being on the move again was enough to leave me grinning shamelessly, and after being reunited and spending quality time with my SF family, I was on Cloud 9.

Ashley and I left The City bright and early on the morning of the 7th and took our own sweet time - fourteen hours in fact - getting up to Portland. This leisurely stroll was marked by the drive-thru Redwood (just a $5 thrill), and the hippie who yelled, "I thought you guys were Bigfoot!" when we were pulled to the side of the 101 on Avenue of the Giants.

In North Portland we were greeted by my cousin Jeff, a first-cousin who I had never before met. (Perhaps this tidbit seems less surprising when I say that I have thirty-eight first cousins, of whom Jeff was the only one I hadn't met). Jeff opened up his home to us; served us mojitos and a meal of jerk chicken, potatoes and broccoli from the grill upon our arrival at almost ten o'clock at night; and took us to breakfast and one of Bridgetown's local artists markets the next morning before seeing us off.

And I have to say that the best part of the start of the trip, trumping the scenic coastal drive, savory food and free and comfortable bed, was shooting the breeze with Jeff as if we had known each other all along.