Display comments (3)
Post: The B through Y part two.
Small towns fascinate me. I watch as every community slowly installs the exact same set of big box stores, in virtually the exact same pattern. But not towns too small to warrant a Wal-mart. Some of them remain unchanged, and thus their character intact. The first little town in Idaho sported a rusting air raid siren atop the rundown brick buildings on main street. This also posed another dilemma, as I quickly discovered doing a circuit around the small town. Everything is run down and in poor repair. A building could just as easily be occupied as it could be abandoned. My first night alone found me walking the streets of Sandpoint, Idaho, reliving childhood memories of childhood summer vacations. Downtown Sandpoint is beautiful, with dozens of historic buildings lovingly restored, and only a single pesky Starbucks hinting at what year it actually is. Crashing pulled over at a roadside turnout on US 2, and then showering at the nearby Riley creek campground. I decided to take a tour of the Albany Falls dam, having taken it once before when I was little. this time round however, photography was prohibited and the tour was considerably less in-depth as I remembered. I guess the terrorists have won.
I encountered my first interstate driving around Spokane, and it was mind-numbing. Huge noise barriers obscuring the view, and eliminating distractions for the overclocked traffic. I resolved to stay on the US 2 west, owing to better opportunities to pull over and the chance to actually see something interesting. Broken windows drew me to my first significant target. My preliminary scout flushed out a pair of taggers, who abruptly turned tail and ran. Squeezing through a too-small opening in a corrugated tin shack, I drop down into the conveyor belt tunnel underneath one wing of the silos. The basement of the tower is flooded in septic black water, while the base of the man-lift and spiral staircase are 30 feet away. Now I'm wishing I wasn't wearing hiking sandals, as the grain dust has turned to slippery mush under my feet. I tighten my backpack straps, and begin to monkey-bar through the haphazard maze of rusted pipes, conduits, support trusses, and splintered trusses. Sheer force of will, based on the horrifying image of my camera succumbing to the oily black depths, manage to land me safely on the stairwell. Next step, a dizzying 15 storey climb. The pool seems to have been an effective deterrent, as none of the graffiti or evidence of squatting was recent. It's 110'F, I'm standing on the top floor of an abandoned grain terminal in midday. I couldn't be happier.
I pull out of Spokane after refueling and head towads the incoming sunset, It's getting dark when on a whim, I decide to make a detour towards electric city and the Grand coulee dam. A day area provides me with another place to shower, and clean out the van, and I watch the moon break through the clouds over Banks lake, and I find an equestrian trail head parking lot to spend my second night on the road. Driving in the dark can be an interesting experience, as it turns out I slept in Northrop canyon, one of the most scenic landscapes I've ever regained consciousness to. Checking into the Spectacular Grand Coulee dam interpretation center, I find out that photography is also banned on this tour. Forgoing it, I head back to the US 2 towards Wenatchee. Jumped into the Columbia river and had a nap under a tree. Life is hard.
My next target was to be Western State hospital and the ruined historic buildings. After touring the campus briefly, and using satellite images to try and find a bushwacking route, I stumbled across a paper mill in the process of being demolished. A word of warning to those attempting to blaze their own trail in the Pacific northwest; don't. Huge 10 foot stalks, lined with hooked needles, slashed through my clothing and shredded my skin, while thick mud removed my *still* inadequate footwear. Sweating, itchy, filthy, and bleeding, I gave up attempting to get up the hill to the hospital grounds, and snapped a few shots in the paper mill before the daylight faded.
Display comments (0)
Post: B through Y, part one
The beginning of my journey wasn't ostentatious. There were no crowds sending me off, or bands playing a gaudy tune. The weather even saw it fitting to send a personal pan-sized storm my way. Everything was packed, the supplies for three weeks on the road seemed insignificant neatly piled in the back of the cavernous pedo-van that would be my home for a fortnight and a half. Estimates were at roughly 4200km (2610miles), though I expected more due to my meandering exploratory forays. Alberta and its decided lack of a summer bid me an angry farewell as I made my way through the Crowsnest and I was passed off into a glorious cloud break crossing the continental divide. Arriving at the border into Montana, I had compartmentalized the entire van to be easily ripped apart and repacked after being searched. The border guard went about his routine until he noticed my custom license plate, at which point he emitted a sigh that I took to mean "I really should search this vehicle, but that would involve me getting out of my seat." with my 100% previous record of an invasive search any time I drove across the border, I was more surprised that he DIDN'T pull my van apart and simply waved me through. 
As we were setting up camp a pair of guys in an inflatable raft came over and informed us that when it got dark they would be launching fireworks. From their inflatable raft. Half a kilometer offshore. We finished making camp grabbed a few lawn chairs, cracked the alcohol, and waited patiently for the up coming redneck hilarity. A few dozens fireworks in we finally hear the much anticipated "uh oh", proceeded by the frantic paddling of two drunken pyromaniacs. The first four days of my trip were spent relaxing in the sun and water, tossing "Voight", our adopted spherical beachfront companion. Don't let his nametag fool you, he's a bloody liar. After finally breaking camp and bidding my friends farewell, i begin my solo journey.
Display comments (1)
Post: The eulogy I wasn't strong enough to say
Nearly two years ago at Sean's funeral, a few people made some speeches that I will never forget. Most vivid in my memory are Ty's (both of them), and Ashley's. I remember laughing. I remember crying. I remember laughing AND crying at the same time. I remember sobbing uncontrollably. I also remember that I really felt the urge to get up to that podium and pour my soul out. But I didn't. I couldn't, I didn't have the strentgh to even stand at that point. It's been almost two years now, and it's been eating at me to finally get it out, so here goes.
I can't pinpoint the exact day I met Sean, but I know for certain that I first encountered him online, be it Subtutious or Electrocalgary. I remember his uncanny ability to use his wit and intelligence and creativity to easily counter my then clumsy attempts at what we now call internet trolling. I remember getting to know him much more closely at Society Thursdays at Manhattans. Cheap booze, free pizza, and good friends. Every week I was there, and I can recall the night when Cait and Sean sat me down and asked me to move in with them. I was a baby apprentice, still living at home. That house was my first family away from my family. Cait still laughingly remembers how she had to teach me how to use the laundry machines,
Sean was the big brother I never knew I wanted. His ability to mediate, educate, humor, and entertain really had an impact in how I viewed (and still view) the world. It still amazes me to this day at how four guys, complete individuals in their own right, managed to coexist in that house with next to no friction whatsoever. I moved in with my then girlfriend and out of 1519 in 2006 after spending two years there. My first home away from parents. My sink or swim in the real life. Sean definitely made the first steps to individual freedom and responsibility a lot more manageable and less traumatic. Sometime about a year later I had a bad night, and was driving aimlessly. I stopped by the house and Sean's light was still on. At one in the morning on a Tuesday, I knocked on the door. and Sean took me in, where we had the most in-depth conversation on every topic we could think of. I hugged Sean, I went home, and I slept easy. He just did that to you.
That was the last time I would see Sean in real life, my last interaction with him was an MSN conversation where we discussed our favorite new found beer, Wild rose Velvet fog. Sean was always incredibly supportive of my photography, and definitely pushed me to continue my pursuit of the hobby. And for that i am thankful. He encouraged me t follow my dreams, live life with a smile.
The only physical thing I took of his from the house after his passing, was one of his pairs of sunglasses. I keep them in their case, and whenever I go somewhere interesting, I bring them with me, so that he can (metaphorically) see what I'm doing. I have felt his presence on more than a few occasions, and I think of him almost daily still. I have a big road trip planned in the near future, and those sunglasses will be making the trip with me. Sean once told me; "Everyone is so busy trying to get from A to Z, that they forget there is 24 letters in between". I will be calling the journey;
"The B to Y adventure", with no set goal other than to stop at every letter in between.
Happy birthday Sean
I miss you
Display comments (3)
