Werewolves

Upon consulting with my GPS for my route back to Vegas, I discovered that I could possibly, with a slight detour, reach the northwestern most part of the United States. I decided it would not affect my trip by that much, and I’d already been to the southwestern and southeastern most points, so why not?

Let me tell you why not. Because, as I was soon to discover, the GPS failed to mention that part of this route would be by boat. Specifically, by ferry. Which typically would be no problem: I like boats, am not afraid of water, etc. Except for one simple fact: I had to wait for the ferry for two hours.

I know what some of you are thinking: why didn’t you just turn around and go back, idiot? Well, at that point, if I’d attempted to simply drive my way out, it would’ve taken three hours to get back on course. So, at two hours of wait, the ferry was actually the best game in town.

Of course, the GPS didn’t tell me I’d need to get on the ferry. It just, once again, tried to kill me:



After the two hour wait and the hour long ferry ride, my plan was in serious jeopardy. So, I sped along the 101, stopping in Forks, WA (the home the Stephanie Meyer vampire books). Which, let me just say, no vampires would ever choose to live in this place.





I then sped down the 101 to Astoria, OR, where they filmed the Goonies. I wanted to get some shots of the town, but it was dark by the time I got there. However, let me just tell you something about Astoria: if you are entering from the North, prepare for a bridge of amusement park ride proportions. It starts off innocent enough, just regular bridge stuff. But then it abruptly inclines so far upward that, literally, I thought the car was going to tip over backwards.

After the Astoria mission was declared a failure, I decided I had to abandon the plan to drive down the rest of the 101. Plus, I wanted to get to Crater Lake before getting to Vegas. It was not about 10:30 pm. I was supposed to be in Reno, NV by now. Undeterred and fueled by an inappropriate amount of caffeine, I asked the GPS the quickest way to the interstate.

I don’t know if it was the quickest route, but it was certainly the most terrifying. The GPS sent me on a 20 mile route that was, constantly, telling me to slow down to take hairpin turns. Signs commanded me to travel only 20 or 25 mph. Bear in mind it is pitch black outside. The windows are open, so as to keep me awake. And then I begin to have the fear.

Anyone else ever have that irrational fear when you’re driving through unfamiliar woods in the middle of nowhere? I know some of you know what I mean: you start to become convinced that there are crazy serial killers around the next corner. That after you turn the next corner, you will be confronted with a vision of sinister, robed figures, their arms outstretched, blocking your path. Or that, as you slow down to take a turn at the recommended 20 mph, an arm will reach in your window and jerk you from the car.

These are the things running through my mind as I try to speed through these woods. While I’m sure there were diabolical forces at work in the forest that night, they chose not to attack. It was probably the Coldplay album I was blasting.

After 30 minutes of jaw-clenching fear, I made it back to the interstate and then collapsed in a motel at about 1:30 a.m. I was about 500 miles away from where I was supposed to be.