Day Three: I AM THE SALMON

I was relieved to have been deemed ignorable by the local authorities. Was it the smile I flashed? The branding and artistic flare of the camper? What exactly convinced the trooper to move on? I’ll never know, but I sure am glad I got to wake up here in paradise instead of a jail cell or H.D. Santiago’s shop. No offense to the shop, the shop was really cool, this was just… magnificent.

In short order, I threw on some swim trunks and waded into the water. It was ankle-deep all the way out to the middle and the water was much warmer than I was expecting. Not that it was warm, it just wasn’t the glacial snow-melt temperature I’d become accustomed to in the Willamette Valley.

The water brought me right into a state of being fully present, free from the idle chatter that normally pulls my attention to the near future or recent past. I was just there, in the water. It washed away all the stress and anxiety of the previous two days. I had nowhere else to be. No other job than to enjoy the moment. The shop wasn’t open yet.

I found a deeper spot in the middle where I could, just barely, submerge my entire body. It felt great. I stayed there for a little bit, but the water wanted to carry me downstream, so I let it. I floated a little ways and then decided to turn back. It was still shallow, but definitely deeper. Going back I stayed low with just my head above the water, kind of like my dad used to when we were kids and he was pretending to be an alligator. He’s great with kids, my dad. (That’s actually my mom’s stated reason for marrying him. Lucky me and my sister ❤️)

I had this comical moment, that could have really only been witnessed to fully appreciate it (maybe it’ll end up in the movie, you know, where I’m played by Paul Dano 😉) (of course my head goes there, egomaniac, remember?). I’ll do my best to describe it. A little background* first:

Months ago, Marty, an ersatz uncle, asked me what I was doing when I texted him a picture of my rig. I replied, “swimming upstream.” I left it vague because I hadn’t yet told my parents that I was returning and I didn’t want him to blow it. Maaarrrrrty.

Anyway, it occurred to me somewhere in my decision-making process that there were deeper forces at work. Like a biological clock, like seasons, like the salmon. It was time. I was being called home. I mean, my family had been making the same threadbare argument for me to return for twelve years and it was not appealing. Until it was.

So, imagine me float/crawling on my stomach in shallow water, only my head’s poking out. Going against the flow I’m getting hella splashed in the face, wincing and turning my head away awkwardly. Inadvertently channeling Will Ferrel, I start saying, quietly at first, “I am the salmon. I. Am. The salmon.” And then I’m yelling “I am the salmon! I AM THE SALMON. KEEEAAAHHHH.” Then I just start laaaaughing. Oh god, it was so funny. But there’s no way this is as funny to read as it would be to watch Paul Dano as Will Ferrel as a salmon on the big screen. A girl can dream…

In daylight I could see now what they had planned for this space. Wasn’t quite sure what that concrete pad was, but I got a good laugh out of this angsty scrawl.

Okay, another digression*

So when I saw this tag, I said out loud “get out of my room, mom” in the most emo teenage voice I could pull off. I do this from time to time when I encounter something that reminds me of my own moody adolescence. Usually followed by a giggle.

My favorite time to blurt this out is with the Smashing Pumpkins. During my build process, and definitely now on the road, I’ve had the opportunity to listen to a ton of music. Some new, some old, mostly my go-to’s. It’s been fun rediscovering older stuff, especially stuff that reminds me of growing up. Smashing Pumpkins is probably the best of the re-treads, their stuff really holds up, it’s great music. AND SO ANGSTY. There is this one line, which I had totally forgotten about, and which sent me on this get-of-my-room kick, I forget the exact song, I think it’s on Siamese Dream (amazing album), where Billy Corgan whines “Life’s a bummmmmmmer” and the first time I re-heard it, out of nowhere, I just said my line and made myself laugh pretty hard. So, now it pops out every once in a while. Thanks Billy, you’re a rockstar, couldn’t have gotten through 6th grade without you.

Back to the future.

I limped over to the local Dodge Dealership, finally open after the holiday weekend. Pulled in at 9:23. Saw a coke machine, I’d learned my lesson at the Oregon Trail rest stop and had singles now. Sixty-five cents, hot damn. They wouldn’t be able to see me until Thursday, did I want to make an appointment? Mental calculus: Two-day wait time multiplied by the inverse proportion of Employer’s goodwill squared by Mercury retrograde divided by 25 mph. Sure, let’s make the appointment. (Meanwhile, I’ll see if someone can see me sooner).

I now head over to H.D. Santiago’s, I’m imagining settling up and getting on my way. They had other ideas. This is why I’m using pseudonyms, I don’t want them to get in trouble.

I look for Hernando, he’s up in his shop. I try to pay him but he ignores my handful of cash and keeps spitballing. Let me call Robert, he says, he can delete the codes. I thought your machine couldn’t read my rig’s computer? It can’t, but it can wipe it. Let’s do that. You want to do that? Will that fix it? Yeah, should turn that limp mode off. We do it with all our semis, emissions man, clean air’s important, but hey, truck’s gotta run.

I later learned that this is very illegal. The minimum fine, according to Boise Muffler (who you’ll meet later), is $25K. Hernando was looking out for me, winging it like a goddamn cowboy, but definitely had my back. Very very appreciated, especially after some of the less-than-helpful shops I trucked to in subsequent days.

Roberto is at his other job, but he can come by to get it started. It was confusing to me that they said it would be a multi-hour process- it’s a computer, isn’t deleting shit the fastest part? I didn’t want to mess up Roberto’s day, but the other option was to have him start it at night, which would put me out til the next day. Clock is still ticking, I’ll save time wherever I can, if Roberto is willing to come out now, fuck it, let’s do it. Delete that shit!

Hernando sends me back to the spot where we had lunch the day before. I wait for Roberto to arrive. Good chance to catch some more photos.

I love how much this looks like that drive-in theater scene from Back to the Future III. If they remake the franchise, I hope they will consider ol’ Limpy here as a Dolorean substitute. Lol.

Roberto pulls up, sweaty and rushing, but still very polite. Pull your rig up, turn it on, yes, right there, gracias. While he’s booting up the hardware I’m texting my friend Reid, a diesel mechanic in Eugene. Reid says deleting the codes won’t work. He wishes it was that easy. It’ll go back on the road, get triggered, and throw you right back into limp mode. Fuuuuuck.

As he’s explaining this Roberto is getting frustrated, the computer isn’t reading. Right, I thought it couldn’t read it? No, I mean, it won’t even connect to it, yesterday I could connect, now, nada… It was just as well. I’d found a shop in La Grande that could see me the next day + what Reid said. I tipped Roberto for his extra time and the killer tacos, paid an understanding Hernando, and limped away.

I made sure to stop at Kopacz to see if they had eucalyptus. They misunderstood at first and thought I wanted a potted plant of it, no no, I want to hang it for its odiferous properties. Ah, yes, we have that. I got one of each kind they recommended. Though, I should have stuck with the kind I know and love, it’s the most smelly, the others aren’t even close. Oh well, it’s pretty anyway.

I made sure that on my way out of town I stopped to by this glitching dental sign that had caught my attention on the way into town. It was just one of those weird things that I couldn’t resist. Like a moth to broken LED screen.

The unintended blood-sucking smiley face was hands down the winner. Of this display, I thought my buddy Elliott captured it best “Yeah, really makes me want to let them pull my teeth.”

At 12:17 my Employer called, I assumed they were following up from the call I’d had yesterday. But apparently, the message hadn’t been passed along. This person seemed more alarmed than the first one. I was assured that it could still all work out, but they’d need to get back to me. A minor relief.

For lunch, I stopped at a hole-in-the-wall Thai place. The waitress was a trip. I walk in, the place is empty, she looks at me, sighs loudly, and says “Well, I guess you want to eat.” She laughed, so it was clear she was giving me shit, which set the tone for a lot of mutual smack-talking throughout the rest of the dining experience.

Back to Space Age to refuel, on the road at 2:14.

Driving 25 mph on an 80 mph highway had been fine on the Sunday of a holiday weekend. I threw it in cruise control and literally put my feet up. Windows open, music blasting. Pretty enjoyable really. Doing it midday on the first day back after a 3-day weekend, not so much.

I used my hazards, of course, but that didn’t stop the semis from giving me shit. To be fair, it was only a few of them. But enough to make me nervous. Like when I got passed by two simultaneously, one on the left, the other on the shoulder. Really? You couldn’t wait 45 seconds for the other one to pass me? Unnecessarily putting lives at risk is a dick move. I got honked at a handful of times too, as they passed. Couldn’t be certain that they were expressing anger, but it seemed like a sonic fuck you. My dad speculated that “maybe they’re crying with you.” Maybe. A security guard, and retired truck driver, at the La Grande Inn later confirmed my suspicions. Though, I appreciated my dad’s optimistic read.

The pièce de résistance came on a mountain pass, I think after Pendleton. I saw it coming a mile away and burst out laughing. It was the absurdity of what was about to go down, unbeknownst to everyone west of my tailpipe. A steep climb in elevation, which brings me closer to 20 mph. And there’s construction. Down to one lane.

I merge and shout a boisterous apology to everyone behind me.

The climb continued for what felt like forever. Five miles maybe? Two? Ten? I don’t trust my internal gauge. But I couldn’t stop laughing and looking in my rearview mirror. By the time it reopened to two lanes I’d racked up, I kid you not, 2-3 miles of traffic behind me. But the weirdest part was that no one gave me any more shit. If ever there was a moment to be mad at my slow speed, it was then. Maybe it was the roadway equivalent of punching the bully in the nose. Everyone just sailed by me in silence.

Oh, and of course, I had to make a pit stop in Pendleton to go to the world-famous Woolen Mills. Unfortunately, factory tours were closed, because, pandemic. Bummer. Still open to shop! Lol, of course. I’d been wanting a Pendleton blanket ever since I relocated to the PNW, they are local, beautifully crafted, and hip AF. Great chance to pick up a 40th birthday gift for my sister (Happy birthday Susanna!!!). I was going to surprise her, but my folks wisely suggested I get her to pick it out (even at the outlet, these things aren’t cheap). I would have guessed she’d want the rainbow one, but it was softness that decided the purchase. Went around searching for most soft, til one was sufficient (the one she really loved would have been too scratchy for her household). Mom wanted one too. Thankfully instantaneous electronic funds transfers are a thing.

I’m glad I get to take some of Oregon home with me 🥰

Also, sidenote, it’s interesting that Eastern Oregon is far more western than Western Oregon. I mean western in the sense of Old West, not Western Civ. They are alllll about being cowboys, especially in Pendleton, what with their infamous Round Up.

Once I plateaued with my little-engine-that-could, I pulled over to pee and dump. Dump the pee, I mean. Still, thankfully, hadn’t needed to make a roadside poop (wait for it Reuben).

A little more obvious without a lawn to conceal it.

At 7:37 I finally made it to La Grande. Thank you 10 lb. 8 oz. big baby Jesus.

Shimbone? Still going strong. Shimmy, you’re a rockstar. Someday you’ll rival Billy Corgan.

Drove around downtown La Grande for a minute, taking in the sights. Looked for somewhere to eat, remembered a gyro joint where I first pulled into town. Closed. But across the street was a nostalgic 50’s joint called Hought’s 24 Flavors.

It was exactly what you would expect from a small town mom & pop diner. The nostalgia was comforting after my slow haul. Carla (Brenda?) is the owner, I think she runs it with her husband. Used to belong to the Hought’s, she bought it as a retirement project. God bless the working class.

Mammy and Pappy Hought.

The food was good, ordered a burger called the Mountaineer. Had the best strawberry milkshake I’d had in years.

Carla let me camp out and use the wifi after they closed. She was super friendly, took a keen interest in my relocation art project.

After sitting outside for about 20 minutes, I got a bad vibe from some of the local dudes. Intuition told me to pack it up. I’ve learned to heed those internal alarms.

Decided to scout out the shop where I’d be taking my vehicle tomorrow. Noticed a Walmart along the way. Good place to camp, according to my cousin Sean. And, apparently, everyone knows this now, courtesy of Nomad Land. Still haven’t seen it.

Found my people and parked among them. First spot was too bright. Relocated to a dark corner.

Asleep by 11:45

*Yes, I know, I’m a chronic, digressive over-explainer. It’s a Dyson trait, comes from grandma Sue. Love you Grandma 😘