Ten days out from an eight-day stretch on the road, I already felt lighter. The kind of light that comes from knowing there’s nothing pulling at you—no deadlines, no feeds to scroll, no reason to rush. Just the 101, a camper shell rattling softly, boards overhead, and time finally moving at my speed.
The drive north unfolded slowly, exactly how I hoped it would. Long stretches alone with my thoughts, music playing low, birds lifting out of roadside trees as I passed. Somewhere between San Luis Obispo and San Francisco, the trip stopped feeling like a plan and started feeling like a state of mind.
San Francisco greeted us cold and clear. My close friend and I wasted no time exploring— walking farther than expected, hopping on scooters when our hands went numb, warming up with coffee before wandering again. We drifted through neighborhoods, paused inside museums, talked with strangers, and let the city reveal itself without forcing anything. Later, on my own, I found myself in the middle of SantaCon without knowing it—hundreds of Santas spilling through the streets. Alone but completely content, I stood back and watched it all unfold, amused by the chaos and grateful to just observe.
The next morning I headed north again. The coastline tightened, trees closing in, the road bending inward. I stopped when something caught my eye—a turnout, a break in the clouds, warm light cutting through. Then I was back behind the wheel, winding deeper into forest until Fort Bragg appeared almost suddenly, plain and quiet in a way that felt right.
I made my way toward Glass Beach, pulling off almost instinctively when I saw a small swimming area tucked away from everything else. It felt nearly unreal—quiet, still, almost glowing. I wandered for a bit, then sat on a rock for twenty minutes or so, letting the thought of “maybe I should go home” pass through my head without settling. I was already deep into the trip at that point, and I knew there was more road ahead than behind me.
By the afternoon I found myself in Garibaldi Bay, where I planned to spend the night. The day started slower than the others—coffee from a small stand, gas from a station that felt frozen in time—before another long stretch of driving. I crossed the 1,000-mile mark somewhere along the way, which felt like a quiet milestone worth acknowledging but not celebrating too loudly.
The highway changed again as I pushed north. The 20 felt rougher, less romantic, debris lining the shoulders and the mood shifting with it. After a quick detour into Washington—just long enough to say I’d crossed another border—I turned back, grabbed breakfast in Portland, and kept moving. Fatigue crept in, and I spent more time talking myself forward than enjoying the drive.
Grants Pass arrived just as I was running low. I stopped by the river, took a few photos, then checked into a simple motel. Tomorrow’s plan was already forming—early start, long miles, Auburn by the afternoon. For now, though, it was enough to sit still. The road would still be there in the morning.
My dear friend showed up not long after, and just like that the room felt fuller. Familiar. We stood around the studio talking through ideas, projects half-finished, thoughts that hadn’t fully landed yet. Nothing forced. Just the kind of conversation that reminds you why certain people stay in your life no matter how much time passes.
A little while later I said my goodbyes and pointed the truck south again. Auburn came and went, then the long stretch back through familiar ground. The road felt different this time—not new, not heavy, just steady. I thought about how many miles were behind me now, how much quiet had been packed into such a short window.
By the time I pulled back onto Neptune Avenue, the light was starting to drop. I went straight down to the water where my old man and family like friends were finishing the day, catching the last waves of the sunset. I sat there for a bit, tired in a good way, the kind that only comes from being fully used up.
Mentally and physically, I was home. The trip had ended, but something about it felt like it would stick around longer.
