Driving to Portland

I spent this weekend helping a friend move to Portland. We packed the U-Haul Friday night then drove it up on Saturday. The drive took us about 14 hours, including stops for food and gas. We arrived in Portland around midnight, by which time exhaustion and caffeine had turned me into a jittery zombie. I slept fitfully.

We had professional movers unload the U-Haul on Sunday morning. While they navigated the two flights of stairs, I dozed like a cat near her apartment's bay windows. We spent the rest of the morning exploring the city, and had a snack at Backspace Cafe.

I took Amtrak's "coastal starlight" back to the bay. Slow (20 hours), but much more civilized than flying. I spent hours post-processing photos while sipping from a flask of tequila. Later I wandered the train, had dinner, and eventually found myself in a late-night conversation with a young graphic artist with dreams of working for Pixar. She showed me her work, and I showed her some of my photos. I wandered back to my seat and somehow managed to sleep in the tiny bunk, my face a few inches from the ceiling. I suppose submarines are like that, but worse.

It took until Thursday before my body regained its circadian rhythm and I felt like a normal human being again. Seeing my friend off properly was worth the lost sleep. I'd do it again.