Rolled into town yesterday evening. Four long days of open road.

Glad to be back. A good break all and all. Saw a lot of the upper Midwest, friends and old haunts. Good times.

Those miles gave me a lot of time to think about things. Clear my head and figure shit out. Trying to make a decision about “buying a house” in Portland. Feels right, has for a long time. Just a bit apprehensive about dropping in on such a big deal. Shouldn’t be.

I think I’m gonna go for it. Get myself a little plot of land. Financially, it’s the smartest thing to do with my time and my loot. Geographically, it’s a bit far from home, but things are so good out here and the thought of spending a couple more years here sounds amazing. CINCO is up and up and with quarterly trips home, things could be “real good.”

Glad to be back. Bring on the rain.

HARROWING TALES FROM THE OPEN ROAD: From yesterday afternoon: In Eastern Oregon there’s a little mountain range with a series of mountain passes. I-84 does a good job with the topography. There’s this little section where the lanes were under construction and formed into one lane, far to the left. You come out of a straightaway and gently start to rise over a couple hills. We’re snailing up this little incline, behind a sluggish logging truck. Couldn’t have been going more than 25-30 miles an hour.

So we’re cruising up–a couple of cars behind this truck,–when I glance in the rearview mirror; face to face with eighteen wheels of hell.

In a split second I see a big rig approaching way too fast fast, weaving violently, blasting his horn. My only reaction is that of bracing and pulling off to the left. It was instantaneous. The first thought in my head was, “I’m gonna get hit.”

Next thing I know, I see him in my right peripheral vision turning right into the closed lanes, smashing through the pylons. “Pop, pop, pop!” followed by the groan of his brakes.

Next thought in my head is that he swerved so hard that it’ll result in an overturned rig. Was I gonna get hit with his flailing flatbed? As he turned he kept control and quickly pulled over.

Too close. I would have been pulverized. He was going too fast up the hill and didn’t realize the logging truck was going so slow. So here he is hauling ass up the hill, up around 80-85 mph and the small procession behind the lagging logging truck comes up too quick and he has to react. I’m so glad he didn’t hit us.

As we passed him up a couple hundred yards later I saw a grizzly, mulleted guy looking back down the hill. He looked shook up. I know I was. Fucker wasn’t carrying anything on his truck, which leads me to believe some of his load may have come off in the swerve.

I gave him a stern look and kept going. I enjoyed a couple deep breaths all pointed it straight for Portland.