A trip takes you

One of the first caveats put forth by John Steinbeck in “Travels with Charley” goes like this:

"A trip…has a personality, temperament, individuality, uniqueness. A journey is a person in itself; no two are alike.
And all plans, safeguards, policing and coercion are fruitless.
We find after years of struggle that we do not take a trip; a trip takes us."

I hoped that yesterday’s side-trip to the top of the Olympic Peninsula would be a case in point. The five-day weather forecast indicated a weather front was moving in and that I should act immediately or deal with rainy weather later in the week. I was eager to avoid stormy weather; and I was looking for some magic that would transform a lovely drive into adventure.

I have, from time to time, attempted to detect my current trip’s temperament, to become familiar with its personality, even to adapt to or accommodate its individuality.

When something catches my eye, I’ve entertained the notion that my road muse might be trying to tell me something. On occasion, I’ve responded to these observations as if they were directives and have changed course abruptly in hopes of being led somewhere unexpected and wonderful.

Some of these trip-induced decisions have resulted in interesting discoveries; but others have seemed more like wild goose chases (see below).

Yesterday’s trip north was pleasant enough, but the weather never broke. As morning turned into afternoon, it became evident that this was not going to be a great day for bright colors and warm temperatures.

I toured Bremerton and then Port Townsend by car, taking short walks near the docks, by the point, and a shorter one by the county courthouse; but I never ventured too far from the shelter of my Saturn.

I shot plenty of photos; but the gloomy skies precluded the kind of images that would do justice to the landscape.

It was too cold for shirtsleeves and too warm for my light jacket – one of those can’t-get-comfortable afternoons punctuated, despite the forecast, by sprinkles and light showers.

Refusing to give up hope that this little day-trip would somehow lead me to unforeseen adventure, I turned homeward, still scanning the countryside for some clue that would signal opportunity.

It wasn’t long before I arrived at the Jefferson County Airport where, I noted, the pilot’s café was named “The Spruce Goose.”

Having been in the belly of Howard Hughes’ original “Goose” less than two weeks ago at the air museum in McMinnville, Oregon, I considered the possibility that this newfound “Goose” might put food in my own belly and lead to something more than just a late lunch.

Safely parked near the café, I grabbed my camera and PDA. I was ready for some food and a respite from driving and I had high hopes. Who knew what adventure might await me inside the Spruce Goose?

Well, I enjoyed a tasty burger and a frosty glass of root beer, all the while straining my ears to overhear something of particular interest from the half-dozen other patrons.

I kept one eye on the runway, hoping to see Bill Gates arrive in a jet or helicopter from his digs on the other side of the Puget Sound; and I scanned my surroundings for the next clue – trusting that my trip would deliver something of interest.

Then, it began to rain for earnest. The temperature dropped and the road home began to look longer and longer. Having not found adventure at the Spruce Goose Café, I raced to the shelter of my car, tucked my camera away and put my PDA back in GPS mode.

No longer interested in suggestions from the trip, I focused on taking the shortest possible path between Jefferson County and the Tacoma Narrows.

Sometimes, it seems, a trip is just a trip – enjoyable, but not magical.