The view of the Sawtooths in Stanley, ID
Actually, we've been here. some of us have even left here already. the rest of us are just lazy bloggers as it turns out. either way, after a whopping 4500 miles of wet woods, rolling hills, endless prairie, granitic domes, gaping valleys, long downhills and even longer uphills, all four pf us made it to the pacific ocean to dip our bodies in the chilly waters.
after the deserts of Idaho, the brigade shot north, deep into the sawtooth mountains and kissed the edge of Idaho's vast Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness. we rolled out of the mountains along the Payette river and flowed across the snake into eastern Oregon where we were met again by dry prairie, rolling mountains, and the kindness of strangers. we shed a salty tear when we crossed the last pass of our trip, thankfully entering the moist forest of the cascades, an environment we had not seen since at least Minnesota. out of the hills we came once more into the bosom of Eugene to waiting friends and a beer store/bar with 938 selections to quench our tired thirst, and then on again until we ran right up against the mighty pacific.
Tom, taking in the salty Pacific outside Florence
a day and a half up the coast with a stiff seasonal headwind was plenty for this brigade, trying to absorb the scenery of that beautiful coast and avoid being run off the narrow roads by the weekend warriors out to enjoy the same place as us. when we got into Portland, item number one on our list was to bake a blackberry pie with as many himalayan blackberries as we could get our grubby little hands on, and then hop downtown to oggle the sweet singies and fixies locked so elegantly to the curb. we could only imagine how hip their owners had to be to have assembled such dope rides.
Tom, proudly displaying his cargo after being
spontaneously hired to transport human organs
for transplant across state lines to Oregon.
it was here in Portland that the brigade officially disbanded. Kylie and her giant box labelled "ferdinand sculpture: part II left-right piece" (which actually contained her entire life), were dumped in a heap in the check-in for continental airlines at 3:45 in the morning to catch a flight back to Cleveland for some paperwork and bodily maintenance before continuing on back to school to complete her studies in animal altruism and dinosaurs, with a minor in oatmeal smacking and grapefruit slurping. From The terminal, the fractured brigade headed north to give Brigadier Biggs a head start to olympia, and his lady in waiting.
Kylie, reviewing the local zoning laws
in eastern Oregon.
After a few days of depression, lonliness, and phantom pains from the loss of a brigade, the three remaining members were reunited in a lovely craftsman home in a quiet Wallingford neighborhood in north Seattle. sadly, though, this has lasted only until now, as Brigadier Hughes has left us already, headed east to Glacier National Park via train where he will pedal his own pile of rags and wires solo-style through the park, and then continue his steel-railed journey eastward to his homeland of Connecticut.
Casey, gorging himself on Oregon's most delicious invasive...
Brigadier Gish will continue on as a yet another shiftless Wilson Alum as he makes his way down the west coast and eventually to the burning man festival on the scorched playa of Nevada. perhaps someday he will finally make his way back to the fertile eastern shore of Maryland where his loyal wench waits on the dock, darning the socks of wayward sailors.
Brigadier Biggs will soon devalue his entire journey to the fullest extent possible by flying all the way to the other coast of the continent, at night no less. here he will gather his sundries, visit with family and friends, attend the wedding of Allison Shannon and David Lier, spend some time on the flatwater of the northeast, and then begin anew, heading back west again to settle in the Seattle area for a time, working for a tree company, making friends, and living as well as he possibly can.
and so it is with great sadness, and enthusiastic anticipation, that this chapter in all the brigadier's lives comes to a final close. we have seen beauty and death, farms and forests, mountains and valleys along the road from hither to tither. we met the most wonderful people imaginable, and some that were less than enjoyable. we have laughed more than any person should be allowed to, and dwelled on frustrations for hours on end while pushing down an endless white line. we have seen, heard, felt, smelled, and touched so much in the last 2.5 months, but seem to have so little now to show for it. though we do still have the dwindling callouses and (slowly) fading tan lines to remind us of the things we have learned, and the lessons to be remembered. i think that most important to remember, though, is that the Lightweight Touring Brigade was not a group of people on a trip across the country. the brigade was a way of life for a time- not a trip but a kind of living that holds so much learning and experience both for the individual and for the group. it was just how we were.
Lighweight Touring Brigade 2007
The brigade takes a breather at an overcast
lake, deep in the Idaho mountains
Soaking in a hot spring high on the banks
of the Payette river
The Brigade and friend Colby Spends a
night in a flophouse in Bend
The Last of the Mountains as they
poured us out onto the ocean...
The Brigade, victorious on the Oregon sands
The Brigade coat of arms, represented here on a napkin from a Starbucks outside of Portland featuring a depiction of our country, coffee, a picnic shelter, and a bicycle, all centered around the likeness of none other than our dear John Dunbar (not Dumb Bear... DUN-BAR)
