Father and Son Pacific Northwest Roadtrip

by Clinton A. Harris, published in Big Life Magazine, Summer 2021 Titled: Simple Pleasures: a Father and Son’s Road Trip Through the Pacific North West

The inside of my Jeep is a collection of empty pop bottles, chip bags, coffee cups, and yellow Labrador fur drifting through the air.  My seven month old pup, Penny, has begun shedding and so the inside of my vehicle looks like I am driving a fluff-filled snow globe. Opening the windows only makes the effect worse. Today I am traveling with my ten year old son and our twelve year old cousin.  She is still at that fun age before middle school drama begins. 

It’s Spring Break in the time of COVID-19, so my son and his grandma have come up with a plan to visit extended family in Moses Lake, Washington, bookending three days and two nights on the Oregon coast.  My son says that you miss too much of the country when you fly over it.  We have a lot of miles to cover in only eight days before returning to Colorado, which is currently in the eye of a polar vortex.

As the kids and I walk on Cannon Beach, taking pictures of Haystack Rock, my mom, aunt and uncle text us that they have almost reached the Tillamook Creamery, having driven straight through without stopping. No doubt they’ve been swapping the same stories of their growing up they always tell. Taking two cars has given us some flexibility to stop and look at anything we want along the way.  

At scenic overlook near Manzanita, we chat with an elderly couple scanning the open sea with binoculars.  They tell us they have seen a whale breach a little while ago, but we see no whales.  It’s odd to talk to strangers these days, and so we keep our distance.  A trio of college girls pose together for Instagram pics.  The kids mimic them after they leave, posing ridiculously and laughing. 

When we arrive at the Tillamook Creamery, we immediately get in line for ice cream and fried cheese curds.  Entry is limited due to reduced capacity, so we wait our turn outside. The wind is cold, but the sun is shining.  Once inside, we do the self-guided tour.  We can’t help but wander around the gift shop, loading up on t-shirts, aged blocks of cheddar, foam-rubber “Tillie” cows, and snacks we take back to our rental cottage.  

The cozy two bedroom cottage in Seaside is made even cozier by the six of us, so I make a lot of excuses to walk the dog.  With tourism down, rates are reasonable and vacancies abundant, even in a house that would have otherwise been booked solid. The off-season is colder and I am told not as busy, but the lockdowns have left it almost deserted. It feels subdued and dreamlike.

The surf pounds the shoreline, roaring like a furious god in the distance. You can feel it in your chest as much as hear it.  Shattered fragments of sand dollars roll in and out with each wave.  Gulls and crows peck at empty crabs shells on the beach, which Penny flushes out with glee as she runs across the sand.  This isn’t the Pacific I have known with its glistening sunbathers on white sands.   The air is fresh and clean and there are no crowds to interrupt the connection you feel to the Sea. 

COVID mandates have changed the landscape of AirBnBs as well.  Gone are handshakes and introductions, and instead are exaggerated motions and deliberate friendliness to establish trust between masked Host and Guest.  After briefly meeting our Host for the key, all other communication is done via text message; even when she comes to reset a tripped breaker, like some unseen guardian. 

In the off-season, Seaside sleeps, with its t-shirt and souvenir stores, candy shops, and restaurants which sit open-yet-empty.  The aquarium is alive with the sounds of seals, smacking their sleek bodies with their flippers for more fish.  The arcade bustles with kids playing skeeball and video games.  Bars are at low capacity, and finding a seat in the Times Theatre and Public house is easy, but instead of live music or movies playing on the stage and screen, there is a Lakers game on. LaBron James stands twelve feet high as I drink my beer alone, quietly writing in my notebook.  

The menus at some restaurants let you scan a QR code with your phone for a menu, and later pay the check the same way, by scanning your receipt. The food is still delicious, with so many places serving up locally caught crab, clams, and mussels, stewed up in chowder, or boiled in a pot and dumped out directly onto your table like at the SEA Crab House. I am forever ruined for any seafood I could get in Colorado.

Not long after departing the cottage, we pass through Astoria, with its majestic Victorian houses clinging to the hillsides.  There, my son and I part ways with the others, taking our own day trip.  We cross the Columbia river on that blue bridge that seems to twist right into the sky, and head up the coast towards Long Beach.  We stop at the North Head Lighthouse trailhead, hiking until we see a long strand of beach below, then over to the lighthouse which beckons to us through the mossy trees. 

After another lighthouse at Cape Disappointment we realize it is too late to make it to Multnomah Falls, so we eat more seafood in Long Beach and head back to my aunt’s via Tacoma instead.  Road trips aren’t always about destinations, but being in the moment, allowing detours to take you to places you would have never experienced otherwise.  On the drive back to Moses Lake, Mt. Rainier and its snow-covered mass dominate the landscape, making it hard to look away.

My son talks about his favorite parts of the trip, and why he was glad we didn’t fly out.  “Because I would miss time with you,” he tells me. I am the only one awake for the last hour of the drive, listening to music over the hum of tires.  Road trips give you time to think, and appreciate every mile. And nothing is wasted.

Story appeared in Big Life Magazine, Summer 2021 Issue