Animal House

We woke up the next day, checked out, and immediately remembered the seething Cashbook and the events of the previous evening. Excercising extreme caution, we transfered a deflated Cashbook from its solitary confinement cell back to the glovebox, it had learned its lesson. After passing several hundred car dealerships and auto shops on the way out of Portland, we took the opportunity to get official black tints for Spot's windows which would guarantee privacy, not to mention Gangsta status.

We hit Highway 1, the stunningly beautiful road that runs along the pacific coast. We drove for hours, soaking up the beauty of the ocean, a constant companion out of the passenger's window. Being out of season however, every community on the road, which was almost built for people staying in the summer season, had become a ghost town! We headed inland.


Eventually we hit Corvalis. With no knowledge of the place, we had to assess its potential as a place to stay from the road. After a few minutes, we had passed several groups of scantily clad teenage beauties on an evening run, and a bountiful abundance of ridiculously hot girls lining the streets. We decided to stay!


In a state of confusion as to the sudden increase in gorgeous females, we stumbled into a nearby supermarket to get supplies. Once again, we were surrounded by beauty and it suddenly became clear that we had stumbled into a college town: A place where the university campus becomes the epicentre, and practically the soul reason for a town's existence.


We got supplies, hit a nearby residential area in close proximity to a bar and parked up. Still hesitant about sleeping in the van on a public street we got out and assessed the pleasant suburb. A chap from across the road wandered over, and explained to us that if we didn't turn the van around to face the same traffic direction as the side of the road we were parked on, we would be given a ticket by the University Parking Enforcement.


As he gave us his kind advice, he spotted through the open side door our decadent interior, fully kitted out with mattress and sleeping bags; it didn't take a rocket scientist to establish our intentions. With our cover blown and fully expecting to be told to get lost, we were shocked and touched to be asked if we needed anything for the night. He introduced himself as Keith, said it was fine to park there but we should just let the lady who owned the house next to the van that we were there. We explained our story to her, and with her blessing (and recommendation to go and enjoy the town for the evening) we returned to the van and got on our slickest threads.


As we set off into town, Keith leant out of his window and said he had phoned the University Parking Enforcement and told them our van was owned by friends of his family visiting for the night and that it was not an illegitimate park up. 

On the way to the bar, we popped into a local High school football game. We paid up, went in, and sat ourselves down. We were blown away by the scale of the event. The school had its own 3000 capacity floodlit stadium, full brass band, cheerleading squad, digital scoreboard, food stands, even a merchandise shop where you could buy 'Corvalis Spartans' hoodies and baseball caps. Again, this is high school.



After a few minutes, our presence began to collect some interest from our youthful stadium companions. Feeling we had garnered interest from the surrounding youngsters due to our exotic accents, we felt comfortable enough to lean to the side and ask if the group next to us were students. They explained to us that clearly they were, as we were sat in the Student Stand. Feeling slightly like peadophiles, we left and headed for the bars!


Upon entering the first bar, we immediately struck up a rapport with a cool dude named Paul, who was working there to fund his university education while he prepared his own business. As the pub steadily filled up with squeaky clean college students, he gave us the lowdown on the American College system, culminating in a guided tour of the local Fraternity and Sorority houses. It was a truly eye-opening experience and a real insight into American life. The movies are much more accurate than we thought likely, and we were left spellbound, confused and slightly disgusted with what seemed to be a very corrupt system. After a few more local beers in Paul's bar, we ended up wandering the streets, at one point stumbling across a Fast and Furious gang in their garage, which was bristling with show-standard American muscle vehicles.


We returned to the shady security of Spot, had several I-COPS and slept.

Mike: Fast and Furious

Ken and the rapper

The next day passed by in a flurry of blog updating and freelance work activity. We shifted to a different part of town, but couldn't escape the onslaught of beautiful girls - this time the streets were swarming with the entire population of the Sorority Houses (all female dorms) dressed up for their start of term ball. Naturally, we installed ourselves in a bar and watched the proceedings. That night we moved to a downtown location, attempting to find a more mature scene. We found it in the shape of 'The Peacock', a dive bar inhabited by grizzly locals. Two of such characters were Ken and Joe, the former of which entertained us for hours with his insightful and world-wise brand of irony. The night went on and we discovered 1 dollar pints of PBR, made friends with a rapping nuclear physicist, and discovered a nightclub above the bar. Neither of us have any recollection of how this day ended.

The Revolution Will Not Be Televised

Another successful urban camping mission

We awoke to our first truly urban scenes in the Pearl District. We cracked open Spot's side door to reveal a morning haze lingering over the fashionably converted warehouses of the area. Our eyes comfortably adjusted to the incandescent glow from the towering streetlights which drenched our pre-dawn surroundings. Our earliest start since the beginning of the trip: 6:30 AM


We promptly slapped ourselves awake, as showers were not an option, disposed of our luke warm P-UNIT, grabbed our laptops and returned to the Barista coffeeshop. We slurped on a big mug of coffee while we planned our day and then cut loose, returned to Spot and headed East of the city to the hipster/hippy district at Hawthorne Blvd to do some laundry and get a bit more work done.


After several days of van sleeping, we were feeling and smelling undesirable. We were desperately in need of a bed and showering facilities, but feeling the wrath of the fascist Cashbook dictatorship we knew we would never get authorisation for such reckless spending.

We celebrated our new found freedom in style

We went to a nearby hotel and tried to barter for showering facilities instead of a full room for the night. The guy behind the desk gave us a dumbstruck look then asked us to leave.


We walked slowly back to Spot, discussing our options outside the hearing of Cashbook. The resistance had begun. Cashbook had become too powerful, he was exercising a brutal regime of low spending that was beginning to affect our wellbeing.


Our plan laid, Tom hopped into the passenger seat and began indulging Cashbook (who was sat arrogantly on his Dashboard thrown) about how we would sleep in Spot once again as the hotel was beyond our means. Meanwhile, Mike silently slipped in from the driver's side, and with Cashbook distracted, pounced!


After a flurry of frantic wrestling, we had Cashbook locked in a duffel bag.


We returned to our seats, shaking and afraid of what we had done, but excited by the prospect of having at least one night of luxury! We crossed the street psyched by the night of pure decadence ahead: a twin room in Econolodge!

Rogue Squadron

A real feature of the trip has been arriving in an area in the dark, then waking up the next day to discover a whole new scene around us that we had no idea was there. When we woke up in the forest, with light blaring in through the windows, the full impact of our surroundings was revealed.  Spindly pines surrounded the van, snaking up towards the fresh morning sky, and a short stumble towards the sandy river bank revealed a jaw dropping vista of forested mountains sloping down to meet a vast, peaceful river. Eyeing the inviting aqua green water, Tom decided it would be reckless to not take advantage of such a beautiful natural resource. We were going for a dip. After some planning we got the van running, cranked the heaters to the max ready for post swim heating, prepared the towels, stripped down to our keks and braced ourselves. After a shivering run to the water's edge, we jumped in. Once we had got our breath back, a swim in the crystal clear water, surrounded by such natural beauty was the perfect start to the day.

We fired up Spot and after few hours on the road we were entering Portland city limits. A succession of increasingly impressive bridges revealed themselves as we entered the city. A quick blast through downtown to get our bearings revealed a neat cosmopolitan area buzzing with cyclists. Bridges and bikes, we both had a good feeling about the place. The plan was to use Spot in accomodation mode for our first urban camp. Slightly nervous at the prospect, we headed for the edge of town in search of a quiet leafy residential street, preferably within walking distance of a good bar. 

After a brief recce (reconnaissance) mission, we found our location and took on supplies for Spot's transformation. With the van positioned inconspicuously between other vehicles and in the shadow of a tree, we used the wealth of resources gathered on the trip to elegantly cover any viewing access into the van. A map of Wyoming made sure onlookers wouldn't spot us from the road side, a roll of till receipt paper blocked off the view through the back windows and a spare sheet rigged up behind the cockpit completed our sealed undercover operational area. Satisfied with our handiwork, we strolled around the corner to the bar to celebrate.

Beaulahland - as we walked into the gritty dive bar, we couldn't shake the feeling that we'd heard the name before. We delved into our wallets to search through the stacks of old scraps of paper we'd accumulated over the trip. Suddenly Tom triumphantly pulled out a creased post-it note, and there it was a drunkenly scrawled remnant handed to us in a Seattle pub weeks ago. We couldn't have hoped to find a better venue: loads of character, fascinating inhabitants, the internet, and plenty of good beer to fuel an epic blog update session.

We staggered back down the peaceful street, and climbed into our covert barracks for the night. With every movement potentially leading to our discovery and arrest, we attempted to organise sleeping arrangements as quietly as possible, worried that the van's bare metal interior and formed steel structural channels would act as a huge amplifier, broadcasting our sounds over the surrounding neighbourhood. Somehow we made it through the night. The next morning brought its own unexpected problems, however...the night's drinking had taken its toll on Mike's bladder and without the luxury of an ensuite toilet, we were forced to employ our first ICOP (Inner City Operational Piss), with the aid of an empty water bottle.

The following morning we woke up to the realisation that we had pulled off our first successful urban camping operation. Celebrations were short lived however as we both had a full day of work to get through to maintain our travel funds. With this in mind, we headed downtown to find a coffee shop where we could dig ourselves in for a day of productivity.  We found Barista, a cosy little independent cafe and motored into our workload.

Having seen the early morning Portland coffee crowd come and go, followed by the lunch break crew then the after-work community, we started to wind down for the day. We pinged out a few emails to the couchsurfing community and within a few hours we had a date set for some drinks with Yu, a seasoned Japanese-American traveller! We powered through the work day safe in the knowledge we would be sitting and getting an inside rail on the Portland scene in a mere few hours!

Yu arrived, followed promptly by her friend, James who treated us to some amazing Vietnamese soup at a swanky restaurant. Then we marched to the Rogue Bar, a fiercely independent north-west based brewery. It was a paradise of custom, all-American beer labels! We explained to them our beer label quest, dismissed our hosts slightly bemused looks and set about consuming and collecting as many bottles as possible. We got drunk. Obviously.

As Yu walked us back to our car park, she explained that our beards, which were generously displayed on our Couchsurfing profile pics had made her sceptical of our demeanours.

We explained to her that even though we owned a sex-offenders van, and had uncontrollable facial hair that we were in fact trustworthy people. Her new found trust of the beards was short-lived as Mike bundled her in the back of the van. We'll let her out one day.

Carry On Camping

With German accordian music still ringing in our ears, we set Spot to task again and thundered south west and out of the Cascade mountains. With no solid plan, we simply enjoyed the winding forested roads as rusty waves of autumn leaves showered down around us. 


Passing through the volcanic Gifford Pinchot National Forest, the roadside was marked every few miles with exceptional natural formations to go and explore. Recognising the name from a past conversation, we followed the sign for the excitingly titled Ape cave. The cave is a lava tube, formed millions of years ago by an ancient eruption. It was discovered in the 60s by a farmer who apparently drove his tractor into the concealed cave entrance, opening up the previously hidden crevice.

      

Displaying our trademark organisation and preparedness we gathered together as many half-working torches as we could find in the van, put on all our layers  (several pairs of shorts) and struck out towards the foreboding cave entrance. The light quickly faded away as did any warmth as we ventured deeper down the arched tube. With our flickering beams of weak light just about illuminating the closest outcrops of jagged rock on the cave floor, we started to regret not shelling out a few bucks for some slightly more heavy duty torches. Being self-appointed aficionados of night photography, the pitch black conditions of the cave presented an irresistible challenge. We set up the tripod and with the camera drinking in light for 30 seconds, we began 'painting' in the cave's features with our torch light. 

As we pressed on down the ice cool channel the sides of the cave started to close in on us, the tube becoming narrower towards the far end. Having recklessly blasted through the batteries during our photography escapades, the light from our torches was now struggling to reach the treacherously uneven ground. We had come too far, our only option now was to reach the end of the tube and climb back to safety. Looking for any glint of light at the end of the tunnel, we nervously edged into the blackness confident that almost half an hour into the cave, we would reach the end soon. Suddenly the cave's ceiling started dropping alarmingly, restricting the passage to crawling height: we had reached the end. Somehow in our extensive planning session we had overlooked the basic structure of the cave (only one entrance/exit) and now faced a 30 minute trek back to the other end with the looming possibility of being plunged into total darkness at any point. Throwing caution to the wind/cavernous breeze, we rushed into the darkness, dodging the unpredictable rocks that loomed out of the darkness in a race against the rapidly fading torches. As our dim light finally flickered out completely, our path was revealed before us, picked out by natural light flooding in from the tunnel entrance. As we emerged from the cave, our senses were blown away by the wealth of colour and contrast that the darkness had deprived us of.

Shaken and awestruck by our subterranean adventure, we retreated to the comfort of Spot where we constructed more sarnies, had a quick lunch and got back on the road. Within minutes another volcanic landmark revealed itself: Lava Canyon. In 1980, Mt. St Helen's exploded, sending thousands of tons of mountain hurtling through the neighbouring valleys in a catastrophic landslide. It was this violent event that exposed Lava Canyon, a brutal boulder-strewn scar on the lush forested slopes of the mountain. We explored the rocky trails, negotiating precarious sheer drops, and drinking in the majestic view of a huge waterfall. As the trail criss-crossed an angrily frothing river we found ourselves shimmying across an Indiana Jones style rope bridge, suspended high above the cascading water. We headed back along the other side of the valley, scanning the canopy for the scarred trees that serve as a lasting reminder of  an eruption that was measured to be equivalent to 500 times the power of the atomic bomb that flattened Hiroshima.

At the end of such an action packed day, it became obvious that we weren't going to reach our intended destination; Portland. We began searching for a place to stay for the night.  With darkness closing in around us, Spot's headlights picked out a sign by the side of the road signaling a camp ground. We pulled off and drove around the abandoned camp site, bemused as to what to do. Eventually we sought help from the only other campers in the site, who revealed that they had been camping free of charge for a week, as out of season, the warden wasn't on site to collect money. The cashbook gave a nod of approval and we parked up in one of many free spaces. We scavenged the surrounding area for firewood and made our first fire. Sipping on a couple of PBR's in the warm glow of our own fire was a pivotal moment in the trip; campsites would become an important new mode of accommodation.

As the last embers faded, we hopped into the van, constructed a few forest sandwiches with our makeshift Kitchen Management System (KMS) and continued slurping our luke warm beers. Inevitably, the causal chain of excessive PBR consumption led to a strong need to jettison excess fluids. Peering out of Spots' windows revealed a wall of blackness, and with imaginations running wild we pictured an amphitheatre of bears awaiting a delicious feast of unprepared campers. Hesitantly, we wound down the passenger's window and with a pose that any contortionist would be proud of, lurched our upper bodies outside to release a steaming torrent of processed PBR. Relieved, we crawled into our sleeping bags and fell into a deep slumber.

Oktoberfest

The grand finale of the Seattle experience came as we joined Elisa and her friends for a weekend out in the Cascade mountains for Oktoberfest: an annual German-themed beer festival at the permanently Bavarian-themed town of Leavenworth. 

Leavenworth, WA

Tom's branding senses were tingling as we rolled into the town and noticed all the familiar brands had changed their logos to fit the fairytale Alpine theme, with gothic German fonts and carved wooden signs aplenty. We arrived at the rented luxury lodge with night already enveloping the valley, making the surrounding mountains seem impossibly huge. 

Our original plan to park Spot outside and bed down for our first official 'in van' night was quickly abandoned as the newly christened 'Team Brit' (thats us) ended up drinking with our new found group of friends well into the night. 

The following morning revealed the full extent of the mountainous region we had entered. With oompah music from the festival already echoing around the valley, we set out in convoy with Kelly, Patrick, Matt and Elisa for a day of bouldering and mountain exploration. 

Ignore the yellow car

undercover cooking

As we left the town behind the road became impossibly picturesque with dramatic forested peaks towering above glassy burbling streams. Suddenly the convoy turned off onto an almost invisible trail. We eventually found our climbing spot and we were soon tackling the first 'problem' (massive rock). 

Off Road!!!

Team Brit instantly showed up the more experienced climbers with an exciting brand of freestyle climbing. Worried that our awesome technique would embarrass our hosts, we quickly retired to do some scenic keep ups and watch the others trying to follow our perfect lines. 

World's biggest twiglet

After several hours exploring the rocky forest environment, the heat became unbearable and we were forced to cool off in an ice cold river. 

International keep-ups

Fully revitalised, it was time to head to Oktoberfest and replace our climbing shoes for lederhosen and bottle of water for a liter jug of German beer. With hundreds of half cut revellers to interact with, a lager-lubricated Team Brit was in its element. We bounced from group to bewildered group, using a quintessential range of stereotypical english that would have been at home in a manor house, to melt the hearts of our new American friends until the night finally came to a slurred, swaying, bleary end.

 

The next morning we said our goodbyes and left Seattle for good. Next stop: Portland.

Sleepless in Seattle

Hands trapped under wheel

Without planning to we ended up staying in Seattle for a whole week! Our host Elisa has been so warm and welcoming that at times her 1930s flat in the leafy neighboorhood of Wallingford has felt like our own personal base. Her incredible openess has also led to some great experiences...

Bigfoot sighting

After a honeymoon period following in the wake of the dark financial cloud that was hanging over us, we got down to business and set about putting our plan to action. Part two of our financial bailout solution was to purchase a vehicle that could fulfill the twin roles of accommodation and transportation. Having already identified said vehicle online, we embarked on the hellish journey across the city by bus, which strengthened our resolve to rejoin the car-driving public as soon as possible. 

any ideas?

We arrived at the garage with a clear game plan to start negotiations at $1600, a comfortable $400 under the asking price. Mike strode confidently up to the salesman, delivered a perfectly rehearsed monologue detailing the van's weak points, then in the heat of the moment blurted "will you do it for $1850?" As Tom's head hit his hands in disbelief, Jeff had already shaken on the price and presented us with the paperwork.

Meet Spot!

In our hurried excitement to make Spot (the van) our own, we had overlooked the problems inherent with getting insurance as an international driver, especially on a Saturday afternoon. Three major insurance companies had outright refused to cover us and we were beginning to wonder if it was even possible. Clearly nervous about an imminent sale slipping away, Jeff assured us that a guy in the deserted shack-like building next door would definitely be able to sort our insurance on Monday. Still clutching the van keys, we convinced ourselves that Jeff was a trustworthy chap, handed over the credit card, and braced ourselves for a weekend of tortured waiting. 

To take our minds off the potentially huge mistake we had made we accepted an invitation to spend the evening with Elisa's friends and parents. Friendly Seattlites flooded into the neat suburban house in Ballard, a few miles from Elisa's home, carrying swathes of home cooked delicacies to contribute to the meal. We brought a crate of PBR. We had a great night, savouring our most wholesome meal so far, mixing with people of all different backgrounds and ages, and learning a lot about Seattle from its natives. We left feeling honoured to have been involved in this family of close friends that meet up for such get-togethers at least once a week - a truly admirable and for us unusual thing. As the crowd of friends (and our PBR's) dissipated, and keen not to outstay our welcome, we decided to walk home and struck out into the drizzle. As the rain intesified we had no choice but to dive into the nearest drinking establishment; Hazelwood, on Ballard High Street.

Seattle friends!

We perched ourselves at the bar and explained our American beer label quest to Jessica, the barmaid, who tentatively revealed there were no bottles (ie no labels) on sale. Visibly heartbroken, we sulkily resigned ourselves to the bar's cheapest brew...in label-less can form. A mischievous look lit up Jessica's eyes as she turned to fetch our beverages. As we filled the suspiciously long wait for our drinks, we were arrested by the conspicuous tones of a South London accent drifting through the bar. The instant banter with our newfound compatriot was briefly interrupted by a beaming bar maid proudly presenting our cans - complete with custom drawn post-it note labels! 

ltd edition labels

Tom was disqualified for his sneaky unicorn entry

We discovered that Jessica is a comic artist, soon to release her first book of comic strips (raincloudwithabartab.wordpress.com) confirming our new labels' status as the most valuable in our collection. The night descended into a blurry kaleidoscope of memories including a pony-drawing competition and an invitation to stay in a wooden cabin on Mt Ranier. The night came to a memorable end with the wind whistling through our steadily thickening road beards as we thundered through the streets of Seattle in the back of Elisa's pick-up truck. 

crossing the border

So much happened in Seattle that to do it justice we'd have to (and will at some point) cut together a film montage with some cheesy music, maybe something from the Sleepless in Seattle soundtrack. The written blog equivalent won't be quite as impactful but just try to imagine it: Drinking red wine and discussing language and politics with our host's parents, meeting a local radio D.J in a bar, then hearing her on her show the next day, meeting the Mercury Prize winning band The XX and discussing life on the road (their tour bus was only slightly more impressive than Spot), watching the Seattle Sounders soccer team in the Champion's League, shooting pool with the gentle giant Darwin, eating the best pizza of our lives for next to nothing in one of the ubiquitous Seattle happy hours, playing football in the back-streets with homeless Mexicans, late night drunken parkour run with some local kids, meeting a car full of Portsmouth fans as we did keep-ups at the base of the Space Needle...the list goes on. Seattle was a rollercoaster of experieces, all made possible by our amazing host Elisa.

On Monday morning we returned to the insurance shack, and after some worryingly simple paperwork, we were legitimate owners of a '92 Chevy Astrovan: Spot. 

We cut Seattle loose and headed East to join Elisa and friends in the Cascade Mountains for Oktoberfest: an annual German-themed beer festival at the permanently Bavarian-themed town of Leavenworth.