During our trips along the Oregon Coast Jordan will sometimes stop at different sites and coffee shops that he had experienced himself while one a few of his bike packing trips years ago.
Exploring the oddities and his favorite places and a little of what he was going through the lead up to and why he had taken those trips.
It’s like a little inside of your partners past bringing up past to the present.
Reliving some memories while also creating new ones.
Over Labor Day weekend we ventured back out to the coast not having a clear idea of our plans. It’s been a theme of late, some times frustrating but mostly it brings out some of the best stories.
Like say being awaken at 1 am by police nocking on the van to let us know that we were illegally parking to then watching as Jordan open the van door to talk to police, to then clear off his drivers seat and drove us out to find a more “suitable parking spot” all while in his underwear.
Or the next morning drive away from town to declare that we will never step foot, by land, or spend money on coffee in said seaside town again. To us driving 30 miles down the highway to locate a coffee shop that was open with decent coffee and hopefully breakfast sandwiches.
We finally made our way into a little larger of a town. On one of Jordan’s biking touring trips he had stopped to rest, warm up and get coffee. He had told me about this coffee shop and how odd it was and that I just needed to experience it myself.
So I did and I am still speechless.
While Jordan was driving I was trying to locate a coffee shop via google maps, nothing was really popping up and most places seemed to be closed due to the weekend and it being Sunday. As we are trying to navigate through the town Jordan eventually decides for us to try this odd coffee shop.
As we walk up to the shop there is a small table with two chairs out front, we then walk in to a long dining room table on the left piled high with magazines, newspapers, odd nick knacks it was a flood of stuff with barely the top of the table untouched. The walls were covered in large frames, clippings, odd signs.
The counter itself was a hodgepodge of papers and what it seemed to be coffee offerings.
Sitting behind the counter was an older man with a mildly long beard, long hair down his back in some what of a ponytail, ruffled tshirt and cargo pants and behind him a wall of more clippings and what I believe half naked women on magazine covers.
I tried my best to not let my face explode in confusion while locating quickly for some sort of sign that explained pricing and whether their was mochas, lattes and the such…
My words failed me and the only sounds I heard where that from Jordan the owner of the shop.
Something of looking for some “sort of coffee” exchange…
“Well hears some sort of coffee”, man points to a medium sized Coffee Thermos
“I’ve got espresso as well, I’ve already put a shot in with it. That’s how I like it”
“Yeah we’ll take two coffees.”
Then exchange of monies and a tirade of pennies and how he never uses pennies anymore because Canada ruined it for us and dollar bills aren’t worth anything so he only uses $2 bills.
Change back was in two dollar bills, a half dollar and a dollar coin.
We walked out dazed each holding pipping hot black coffees with a shot of espresso.
These are the stories that I find we all create, silly, odd, uncomfortable either to share or to keep to ourselves. Each small story adds up to create our experiences, our lives lived.
Saturday we sat on a log admiring the Octopus tree discussing stories each individual story and the experiences and how to go about sharing those. Combing each one to show how everything is layered and relates to one another. How we all impact one another. Do you create a story within a story, share your own experience, share stories of others, tell the story from the beginning.
At what beginning then do we share?
I myself enjoy stories, listening to others, digesting the story of our earth and that of my own story that is in continual progress.
Which is suppose is why I blog on here. Why I have had several blogs that have changed. I have lots of stories that have created my own life.
Jordan said something rather poignant… That we need storytellers, we need the craft to come back alive, to survive. To explain where we came from and how we have survived. The only way perhaps for our country, for humanity to survive are for storytellers to share stories to others and for people to listen.
I try to lean more on the optimistic side.