september 2007

lights are swaying
windows cracking, spidering,
splintering apart

walls are falling and the ground beneath
me is disintegrating, sinking away

my eyes lose focus, ears permeated by ringing
suspended, planes are flying overhead

the ceiling collapsing on my shoulders

shards of glass coat my lashes
my stomach filling with water
the remaining air pumping from my lungs
forcing up my throat and out my mouth
the current rushing forward
my lack of breath unnoticed, awestricken, attention diverted
the light caught in pieces in fractions
making tiny prisms in my peripherals

rock (and roll), paper, scissors afternoon.

Road Shot: Just into Montana on the way to Glacier National Park

Banff National Park, Alberta, Canada

I'd never seen the Canadian Rockies, neither had Ben. The night before we left Portland, we changed our first destination from Vancouver, BC to Banff National Park on a whim and a recommendation from Michelle Field. It went like his: I googled Banff. Said, Ben look at this. He looked. We re-routed. The whole trip had moments like that actually...

Driving into Canada along the Colombia river was stunning and we stopped often to check out the Southern part of the Rockies...

We found a campsite, bought some firewood, and went for a stroll.

benjamin looking super handsome... marveling.

Banff itself was familiar feeling: swanky mountain town complete with novelty shops and embroidered fleece sweaters. The mountain the town is set under however, is breathtaking.

We settled into our campsite, warming with whisky, some music, and all our layers. We were unprepared for freezing mountain sleeping temperatures! Amateurs....

The water along the Canadian Rocky Mountains is an icy blue that I haven't seen anywhere else in the world but Iceland. Even still, it has a slightly different hue. The color of the water comes from the mountain glaciers. As they melt, the water carries silt down into the streams, also called rock flour. The sediment reflects light in such a manor that it ALL looks this amazing color.

Day two in Banff National Park, we took a drive and explored as much of the park as we could in daylight. This is crow-foot glacier; the name coming from its three toe'd appearance. The bottom "toe" has been receding rapidly over the years due to.. ya know... increasing temperatures.

Before bed, more whisky, cards, and singing. We shivered ourselves to sleep.

Vegan Potato Salad!

That's it. No photo. It's been eaten.

fast-forward.

impromptu

Three years ago, nearly at this moment, I arrived in my new home, hand in hand with an amazing human. Portland, a city outside California, on a little dead end street, with a little yard, some hope and a lot of love.

James backed up the truck. We unloaded in one night. We ate pizza. We drank some beers.

Coeur d' Alene, Idaho to Banff, Alberta, Canada.

We stopped in Irrigon, OR to check out their skatepark on the way to Idaho. It's one of the gnarliest parks in small town Oregon that I've ever seen. It smelled like cows ta'boot.

Woke up in Idaho after some tasty beers at Moontime and campsite hunting the night before. Alberta bound.

The first of many amazing RV's spotted on the road. Much more amusing than the "RV across America" rentals swarming National Parks and highways.

Breathtaking views of the Colombia River, all the way into Canada.

Beautifully impressive, really.

worthy of archival.

http://triumphofourtiredeyes.blogspot.com/2010/05/you-being-in-love.html

As good a place as any.

To start that is.

We packed most of the truck the night before. We sipped wine and took polaroids of ourselves, our friends. We folded and packed what seemed to be the proper number of pairs of underwear. I debated one black hooded sweatshirt versus another, one blanket versus another. Packed a bathing suit I never thought I'd wear. Outside, I sat on the tailgate and stared at the bed, filled neatly and geometrically with our sunny desires for the next two months: guitars, skateboards, tapes, movies. I considered ditching all the extras, panicked about overpacking. We brought pieces of ourselves, our home. I didn't scrap anything last minute.

We woke early and walked to JAM for one last hot breakfast, some Portland coffee, and friendly faces before hitting the road.

I wrote down the number of miles on the odometer, 87, 435, and we drove down the hill.

Song one: Going to California. I cry before we hit the freeway onramp.

for hire: co-pilot

i wake

at six am

every day,

my body

bent

to your shape

two hearts are better than one.

baby if we cut out what’s between us, all the miles & the mountaintops, i know that we could count on this. honey, we could live a life of cowardice, or we could build a little bower nest, something to believe in besides all this awful mess. i got this anchor on my finger now, i got yr blood pumping through my veins & still somehow... when i am with you dear i cannot breathe, i gave my heart & then you took my lungs from me. baby, get on an aeroplane to napoli, let’s buy some land & start a family--whatever you ain’t never had. honey, we could stay in bed for hours, talking shit & telling stupid jokes & working on our garden, where we will sow all of our restless hope.

not me.