There are a lot of ways you can start a monthlong roadtrip. Massive amounts of excitement, nervousness, blasé indifference. How did I start it? With a supreme FREAKOUT. Being the normally even-keeled guy that I am, this may come as a surprise to you. Well, let me explain:

When I first got my invitation back on Black Friday (a day that seems so distant now that I may as well have been shopping with a Utahraptor), it came in a big, blue, imposing folder with velcro clasps and too many sub-folders. Most of these sub-folders were filled with imposing, bureaucratic-type papers that the anti-adult in my immediately ignored. The folder sat alone, unloved, in the corner of my room for the better part of a couple months. A few days ago I received an e-mail with staging (PC’s term for the one-day orientation I will get before going to Georgia) information. Included in the e-mail was a note that I needed to bring all of the forms that came in the folder, completed, or I wouldn’t be going to Georgia. I had already packed my car at this point and realized that I hadn’t actually remebered seeing it. Cue about 40 minutes of panicked unpacking and repacking, throwing pillowcases and mugs and cat food containers unceremoniously onto my lawn, frantic calls to Serena followed by similarly frantic calls to my cousins and aunts in an attempt to canvass every area where the folder might be. Thoughts of “Oh god I already quit my job can I get it back?” and “How do I tell everyone in my life I missed out on Peace Corps because I lost some stupid papers?” flashed unpleasantly through my brain with alarming ferocity. Eventually I made a last-ditch, desperate call to Mom, asking her if she had seen it. Apparently, in my infinite wisdom and foresight, I had brought the folder home over Christmas break and told her to safekeep it until I came home in April. I just wish I had a memory of the same caliber to go with that foresight.

My nerves assuaged, I started off. The first leg of the journey was mildly exciting for me because, with all the times I have gone to and driven through Washington, I had never actually seen the I-5 corridor south of Tacoma. The few times that I had driven through there (once when I first moved to Washington, the other when I went to Salem with Brambles), it was dark enough that I couldn’t discern anything about the area that yes, there is a sky, and yes, there are trees (maybe). SPOILER ALERT: Washington on I-5 between Tacoma and Vancouver looks pretty much exactly the same as the rest of Washington on I-5.

I will let the photos I took of the rest of the drive speak for themselves (when I put them up, eventually), but be assured that it was COMPLETELY GORGEOUS. I spent most of the drive being amused by roadsigns, as I often am. On this particular drive, I was most amused by signs that did not say the typical “WATCH FOR FALLING ROCKS” or “DANGER ROCK SLIDE AREA”, but instead simply stated what was in the area: “ROCKS”, “BLOWING DUST”, “WATERWAY”, etc. I’ve always felt that signs that warned you about dangers were mightily presumptuous. Most rocks in mountainous areas are more interested in being part of the mountain than being part of the road; who are we to paint all rocks as dangerous hooligans hell-bent on attacking cars when most of them just want to hang out? They might as well say things like “ROCK AREA, WATCH OUT BECAUSE I THINK THEY ARE DOUCHEBAG-Y”. I much prefer signs that just tell me what’s going on to ones that try to tell me how to feel about it.

Eventually, I ended up in La Grande, where Brambles currently lives. I met with her and her friend Cody in the park, where we waited for Amanda’s mom to deliver a fantastic present to me (a necklace of St. Christopher). We spent the rest of the night doing what people do in La Grande: drinking at the bars, drinking in the room, sleeping (eventually). It was a fantastic night with a fantastic (former) roommate. I only got about two hours of sleep, though, which made Day 2 even more interesting than it already was (stay tuned!)