It's not really a secret that I have an intense dislike for coffee that I am not familiar with, and for coffee that comes in cans. However, my distrust of gas station coffee far outweighs those concerns, which is why I'm drinking a Starbucks doubleshot.
I'm sitting in my mothers car (because my beloved 1995 Thunderbird is in the shop, again) in front of the Pilot gas station/Subway/convenience store in Chemult.
Ten minutes before this moment, I was inside the eerily modern (because it's in Chemult) building. I held my doubleshot and my brother's gas station coffee (he has no taste, we have discussed this). I wondered if that man with the 64 oz. soda is aware that he's drinking something the size of Dwight Howard's shoulder. AKA huge. I also wondered why the music playing was such a horribly awkward combination of country and pop. Most of all, I wondered why the tinny, sugary music coming from the claw machine in the corner, when combined with the countrypop, did not cause every patron in the building to run away screaming, clutching what little was left of their sanity. I told my brother I would wait in the car.
About half an hour before that, I was headed East on the road of life. It's most commonly referred to as the North Umpqua Highway- a long long straight straight uphill uphill road that leads from Highway 97 to Diamond Lake and Crater Lake. I call it the road of life because it reminds me of life itself - the end is always so far away, until it's upon you.
For the time period between ten minutes before that and about 23 hours before that, I was at Diamond Lake with my family. It's hard to describe how I feel about that place... how do you describe your childhood best friend's house? Your favorite pet growing up? Your first car? Your favorite sweater? Your grandparents? Something that contains some of your favorite memories, sights, smells, and feelings. Everything about it is familiar, even though it has changed over time. It's a piece of you.
Probably twenty minutes before that, I was driving West on the road of life. It's the perfect end to my favorite drive - right when you hit the top, if you peek over the trees, you can catch your first glimpse of the lake. It's like coming home, every time.
Between that time and an hour and forty minutes before that time, I was enjoying the beginning and middle part of said favorite drive. I love the southbound stretch between the Baker Road exit and the High Desert Museum, and I love the view of the mountains from LaPine, and I love the wooden huge bear and logger in Crescent.
Right before that began, I filled up my travel mug with coffee.
But now, right now, my brother is coming out of the Pilot Station, and I get to finish the last leg of my trip home.
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