Getting Clear Away

I was in the mood for a long drive. Sometimes when I feel like getting away from myself, I hit the road and get away from home, instead. I chose to head south towards Oregon, and I ended up at Cannon Beach. I wasn't planning to stay, but once I was there I just wanted to find a place to park. The streets were too busy and the traffic too heavy. Every hotel I passed claimed to have no vacancies. I stopped at a place that looked nice and large. I figured that I had a better chance there, but they were also full. They told me that the closest vacancy was likely ten or twenty miles away, at least. And then, while I was standing there, the clerk received a call from a sister property down the block; there was a last minute cancellation, and I was "in luck". Even before I was handed the phone, I knew I would take the room. Of course the person on the other side of the line tried to sell me on the room -- a ground floor suite right on the beach, etc., etc. -- but I had already decided even before they told me what it would cost me, which was more than ten times what I would normally pay for a room. Though the cost gave me pause, I said to myself, "What the hell. I want a place to park."

After settling into my new room, I hopped into a courtesy shuttle and headed towards town. It was nearly dinner time, but I wasn't about to try making reservations anywhere. Instead, I tracked down a place that I'd heard made the best fish and chips anywhere in the world, a place called Ecola Seafood; they catch their fish daily. Admittedly, the fish and chips were very good. A nice and thin, crispy batter, and a homemade tartar sauce. Definitely worth trying, though I'm not yet convinced it was the best.

Then I walked around town, stopped in at a few shops and museums, rested at a beach lookout or two, and wished I had someone to share it all with. The shuttle driver had recommended I try a brewpub called Bill's Tavern, and I headed there next. I sat at the bar and enjoyed a pint of their home-brewed IPA. I also tried a sample of their blackberry beer. It was odd, yet light and refreshing.

Afterwards, a shuttle picked me up and brought me back to the hotel. I then went for a long walk along the beach; the water was freezing, but there's little that both sharpens and relaxes the mind so much as the cold sea along a quiet beach. The hotel was holding a wine tasting that night, but I'd brought my own bottle on the trip and I elected to taste what I had instead. I sat out on the patio, watched the ocean and read a book. When the sun neared the horizon, I went out to the sand and sat, watching it fall into the ocean while I nursed my glass of wine. When the sky darkened, I laid back and looked at how full of stars it was. I miss seeing a sky so packed with stars.

For the rest of the evening, I reclined in my room with a throw blanket over my lap, listening to eighties music and reading a book, all whilst the waves crashed against the nearby shore. The hotel claimed to make fresh chocolate chip cookies twenty-four hours a day, and I padded out to the lobby to verify it once or twice. Or thrice. Their claim was apparently true; that cookie jar kept filling up. And once while I was out there, complimentary cocktails were being served. Nightcaps. So I sat in the lounge and enjoyed one, a sweet whiskey that I can't recall the name of. Then I returned to my room, but not before snagging more freshly baked cookies.

In the morning, I ran two miles or so along the shoreline. Others were riding horses or playing in tide pools. There was a heavy fog, but I liked it. Sometimes it's better not to see too much; seeing my next step or two was enough.

After I checked out of the hotel, I drove north and visited my father. He was planting another tree when I arrived. We went out to lunch at a new Mexican restaurant in the small town where he lives, and then he showed me what he's done with his land since I last visited. I stayed with him for a few hours, talking about little things, and then I drove home. Before I left, though, he supplied me with too many veggies from his garden: a garbage bag full of swiss chard, a bag full of cucumbers, a bag full of green beans, and a bag full of beets. Unless I throw a party, I'm not sure I can finish eating all of it on my own. They are delicious, though.

All in all, I'm glad I took that spur of the moment road trip. It was good to get away. Even though I didn't truly get away from myself, I was at least able to gain some clarity. I was able to relax, and to be a bit carefree again. I needed that.


Kites and sea stacks at Cannon Beach