Somewhere back in 2007, or maybe 2008—I bought a used RX-8.
I liked the look of it, even though the back seating area seemed like an afterthought (along with the trunk), it had a rotary engine (a novelty, but not really a master innovation) and a manual transmission (I'd never really driven a stick shift before).
There wasn't really a justification for getting it, other than it got me out of the Hyundai Sonata (the older body style, not the new one) I'd traded in my new Volkswagen Beetle for (newer model at the time, before the newest body style) because my wife wouldn't let me buy Hyundai's sportier version of the Sonata, the Tiburon.
You see, I'd been wanting some kind of a sports car for most of my life. Better said, I'd always wanted a Corvette, but I could never justify spending more for one than I did for our first house (a double wide manufactured home we paid $45,000 for).
So, when the opportunity to get the RX-8 came around (and my wife knew how miserable I was with the Sonata), I couldn't pass it up.
I was 42 back then. My mother dubbed the RX-8 my Mid-Life Crisis.
I really liked the RX-8, mostly for the handling. You could feel the car sticking to the road like a magnet. There was just something about the combination of being at speed and sitting down in those curves that thrilled me then, and still now, just thinking about it.
After a while, though, the redundancy of constantly shifting gears and the wear and tear on my knees working the brake and the clutch started to slowly negate the exhilaration of cornering.
It was my birthday, 2011. I'd arrived at the realization previously that I needed to trade the RX-8 in for something automatic. I'd been searching for a couple of weeks for a replacement, not really finding anything I wanted, when I came across a sale a dealership was having north of us.
After doing some math, I figured it might actually be worth the two hour round trip plus two or three hours dealers liked to keep people around dragging them through the car buying process. For me to think that, since buying the car, for me, is generally the absolute worst part of owning one, I had to be pretty motivated.
Well, I was. Why? I'll show you.
Remember that Corvette I always wanted to own? Well, this particular Chevy dealer certainly had them, and they were all on sale. Cheapest one—$70,000. Man, was it nice. I sat in it for several minutes, just soaking it in, smiling like a fool.
Then I test drove the vehicle I went up there for.
Yep. The new Chevy Camaro. The model had actually been out of production for a few years, but in the meantime, it was getting a redesigned body style, which subsequently made an appearance in the first Transformers movie (remember Bumblebee?).
So, I traded in the RX-8, put some money down, and along with the sale price, I was paying the same amount on a loan as I was before, but this time with a late model, more powerful muscle car.
It. Was. Awesome.
Funny, but after having some fun in the RX-8, I didn't really miss it much. Between the two cars, there really was no comparison. The Camaro flat out destroyed the RX-8 in every way that mattered to me, except for one.
Cornering.
The Camaro wasn't bad, especially after the new tires were broken in, but it never did achieve what the RX-8 could in the turns.
But, the rest. Oh, man.
We're talking V8, 420 HP, 415 lb-ft of torque, 0-60 mph in 5.6 seconds.
It had power all through the gears. Off the line, mid-stretch, top end.
And it had a mind of its own. Forget driving 55. It couldn't drive 65, 70 or 75. Before I knew it, it would settle in at 80, no problem. Highest speed limit at the time in Oregon was 65, so I would try to inch it back down within reason. Before I knew it, however, it would take me back to 80.
My Mom got to see the Camaro a couple years after I got it. What did she call it?
Crisis II.
I bought the Camaro when my newspaper business was still grossing in the upper six figures. A year and a half later, I shuttered the doors on the company for good. That was December 31, 2012. I probably should have traded the Camaro in for something more practical then, but at the time, the memory of the Sonata was still fresh, and I was still somewhat in denial about the business. And more than a little angry.
I wasn't ready to give up my car yet. We had money saved from the good times, I'd been paying off a bunch of other debt, I was eligible for unemployment, and so with our monthly expenses relatively low in comparison to our resources, I held onto it.
And made the most of it.
We started taking longer family trips with it. In September of 2012 we went to Crater Lake, which at maximum depth is the deepest lake in the United States. It's basically a dormant volcano filled with rainwater.
It's pretty much a guaranteed postcard perfect image every time. Trouble is, because of the elevation at the rim (7,000-8,000 feet), it can be snowed in for the most of the year, making the roads getting to it impassable. Even after the temperatures warm up in late June and early July, you might have to wait a few more weeks to get up there.
The Camaro climbed the mountain road to the top, no problem. It was just like being on the flats.
That was one of the best things about it. It didn't care if it was on miles of straight, or ascending six degree upgrades. It could accelerate with ease on any of it.
The next road trip in the Camaro wasn't until we headed to Salt Lake City in October of 2013. Salt Lake City has been a frequent destination, one, because of church (the global headquarters of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints is there—it's also where they hold the semi-annual General Conference, which we were attending that time around), two, because of friends, and three, because I later attended school at LDS Business College.
I made at least a half dozen round trips alone in the Camaro to the area while I was going to school, along with Conference and visiting friends after seeing our sons.
We were home for just a little over a month after the Salt Lake trip before my wife and I were on the road again, this time to the Reno, Nevada area, and nearby Lake Tahoe. Reno is the younger, quieter sibling to Las Vegas, and we liked it a lot. Temperatures were nice in early November, and the city seemed welcoming. While essentially high desert, there was some green, too.
One of the places we stopped at was an outdoor mall that is really in Sparks. The towns are divided only by their own city limits. At this shopping complex was a place called Scheels. I've never been to any other, so I don't know how each location compares, but this place was like a large Cabela's on steroids. It's like they took the motto Go Big Or Go Home to heart.
This is what I mean.
That's an actual sized single engine plane with pontoons, hanging from the rafters. I've seen that in museums a few times, but never in a store.
Then there was what amounted to a rocky outcropping filled on all sides with life-sized wild animals.
Oh, and a fully functioning ferris wheel.
As you might imagine, there was a pro gun shop, aisles of fishing and camping gear, and more. There was also a golf simulator (where you swing the club) and a couple of lanes to bowl on.
I'm not much of an outdoorsman, but just spending a half an hour in there, I was pretty close to becoming one.
The trip over to Lake Tahoe and Tahoe City did not disappoint.
These photos were taken on the eastern side. To get to Tahoe City you need to go around the lake (no bridge across it). The way we went took us up to the highest passable elevation in the Sierra Mountain Range.
As far as I know, that's the highest elevation I've ever been at. No, the Camaro didn't care. It simply growled its approval.
Of course, we hit some snow.
We stopped for a picture in it. My wife decided to throw a snowball at me while I was taking one of her.
She's got a good arm and great accuracy. I learned I don't want to be in a snowball fight with her.
The next long-ish trip wasn't until February of 2014.
It's supposed to be less than a four hour drive, but the closer you get to Seattle, traffic slows down and it takes forever to get anywhere. There's not a whole lot of parking once you do get there, and you have to pay for most of it (and it's not at all cheap).
We knew all of that going in. We've been there a time or two before. But it had been a while and we were interested in checking out a couple of Daiso stores that were up there. (Daiso is the name of a store in Japan. It's similar to a dollar store, only with Japanese and Asian items.) Mostly, we were just ready to go somewhere.
The one we found was super small and didn't have very much. The layout is designed to maximize as much merchandise in the smallest amount of space possible, but we didn't really find anything we wanted.
With Daiso a bust, we considered going into the Space Needle, but after seeing what it would cost to park and then go up to the top (for a ridiculously priced lunch), we ended up down at the wharf at the Public Market instead.
What I remember of that place now was there was plenty of fish and seafood on ice, along with curiosities and baked goods. We ended up eating their (still kind of steep, but still cheaper than the Space Needle).
It was a dreary day, and we didn't end up doing much, but I think I had more fun than my wife did. I got to drive the Camaro up and back.
There was this ferris wheel along the docks up from the ferry boats and bridges, so, yeah.
Later that year, my oldest son got married. That meant a trip to Portland where the nearest LDS temple is. It's not a church, but rather a place where different types of religious ceremonies take place, like weddings.
One of the best things about having children is getting through all of the different stages of raising them to where they're becoming adults. That's when things start to come full circle, and you see them start to form their own special relationships and families. That's what I remember feeling that morning sitting in the sealing room listening to the officiator talk to them about the road ahead.
I might have shed a tear or two.
With a reception afterwards, it ended up being a pretty long day. I don't know who was more tired after—me, or the newlyweds. Somehow, we all made it through.
On one of our forays to Rexburg, Idaho, on a day the others couldn't decide what to do, I got in the Camaro to take a drive. I didn't really know where I was going to begin with—I just knew I didn't want to hang around there doing nothing. So, I took off. I ended up, eventually, in Jackson, Wyoming, a little over a 2.5 hour drive (it would have been shorter, but I headed to Idaho Falls, first).
The route took me down along the Snake River, passed a place called Palisades where there's a huge body of water. I thought it was a natural lake, but it turned out to be a reservoir, and the largest I've ever seen. Not only that, but the mountains in the background were enormous, too.
I took pictures, but it was tough from where I was to get the magnitude and the majesty of it all. I discovered very quickly that at least on this side of Wyoming, everything was just on a grander scale. Something to do with the movement of ancient glaciers, apparently.
To get to Jackson the way I went, I came through some of those mountains. It's truly one of those experiences that images don't do justice to.
I really enjoyed the scenery. I was fortunate not to hit any snow or ice on the roads, though, and thankful I didn't get lost.
When I finally got to Jackson, it was kind of a let down (like Seattle, only less expensive). There was road construction happening on the main drag through town, and some of the unique restaurants I might have tried were closed. I ended up stopping at a Pizza Hut instead. I was actually pleasantly pleased with the spaghetti I had, but when I'm away from home, I much prefer eating at places I can't find there, or just anywhere.
All-in-all, it was a good drive, and I was able to cut an hour off it by taking the shorter scenic route back.
I tried to, more or less, give you an idea of the size of these trips. To get to Salt Lake or Rexburg supposedly takes 12 hours with minimal stops. Since the Camaro is not a gas sipper, I had to fill up twice each way. When I went by myself, that was no problem. I was actually able to make the journey once in about 10.5 hours. Most, however, took somewhere over 11.
Our trip to Reno was done over the course of two days, so we took our time getting there. We did the same on the way back.
The trip into West Yellowstone was yet another jaunt from Rexburg. There was such a long line to get in, it started at least a mile from the gate. I didn't want to wait, so we left and went elsewhere. Mainly, I wanted to say I'd been to Montana.
Mission accomplished.
There's basically two main roads that make the most sense for us to take when driving to either Salt Lake City or Rexburg. The one we took the most was I-84, which comes off the I-5 freeway coming out of Portland.
After leaving the greater metropolitan area, I-84 soon runs along the Columbia River, one of the largest rivers there is. That stretch of it eventually ends up in the Pacific Ocean. To me, it's absolutely gorgeous.
It can be a very windy, snowy or icy route, though, so it's good to come prepared for inclement weather.
During nicer weather, you can see the only Steamboat on the river, various tugboats and barges, all sorts of windsails, jet skis and other recreational aquatic vehicles, as well as some birds.
Multnomah Falls is right off the I-84. In fact, if you're not careful, you might wind up in its parking lot.
Leaving the gorge, the land opens up through Pendleton, where you go through a portion of the Blue Mountains. Once you come down and into the foothills (essentially Baker City), the rest of the way tends to be flatter and drier, with not much to see. After Ontario, you're into Idaho. An hour or so after that, you hit the greater Boise metropolitan area, and then, again, you're into nothing.
Thankfully, it's legal to travel 80 mph.
Or thereabouts.
I have to admit, though, that whole jaunt through southern Idaho has some of the newest, nicest and cleanest rest areas I've ever seen. You actually want to stop at one of them.
The lesser taken route, which could be faster since its shorter but the speed limit is 55 mph for nearly all of it before reaching Ontario, eventually meets up with the I-84.
In this case, you start with the Cascade Mountains first out of Sweet Home and then eventually come down from them into Sisters, Bend, then Burns. Bend is the largest city along this route. After that, the towns can be no larger than a store, or if you're lucky one with a gas station. There are some straight stretches where it's safer to exceed 55 (if the road isn't covered with ice), but the corners can be hairpin in some areas.
I came around one of them once going way too fast in the Camaro and almost ended up in the river. I was very fortunate that day, out in the middle of nowhere, with cars passing maybe every twenty minutes, that I didn't.
The most scenic parts, for me, are on the west end of it, thanks to the mountains, trees, lakes and rivers. After that, it's basically high desert.
One of the trips up or back, I don't remember which, I got bored and decided to take a route I hadn't been before. After a while you get tired of seeing the same old thing over and over again. Especially, when there's nothing to see.
Well, there's something to be said for boring. It's often safer.
Another image where it doesn't do it justice, but this one lane road (if that), was literally carved out of the mountainside. I have no idea what the drop off was, but terminal velocity and sure death come to mind. Spectacular view, though, if you like brown and flat.
This was somewhere either in south eastern Oregon or north central Nevada, in the longest bit of lonely road I've ever been on.
The Camaro loved it, even if I didn't.
There were other trips, many of them closer to home, including jaunts to the Oregon Coast.
They all took place between the summer of 2011 and late November, 2015.
From January, 2015 through April, 2016 was when I started running back and forth from college. I took advantage of any long break I could to be with my wife, who stayed behind working while I tried to get an AAS in Social Media Marketing. I missed her dearly during those weeks I was away.
Eventually, the cost of driving the Camaro got to be a bit much. I finally surrendered to the fact, after four-plus years of fun, that I was doing more and more of this:
Those images were taken when Unleaded Supreme was actually cheaper. It went up from there.
In addition, I needed new tires, new brakes, new windshield (a semi threw up a rock and chipped it, which subsequently grew into a six inch long crack), and I was putting a lot of miles on it—Over 800 miles one way.
Over Thanksgiving break, 2015, I traded it in for a 2015 Nissan Altima, which gets 35 mpg to the gallon (the best on the freeway I got in the Camaro was 20), and with no monthly payments.
The Altima is better than the Sonata was and I could make the trip to Salt Lake stopping once for gas.
I really, really, really liked the Camaro, but I've been at peace with moving on. My mother might say my mid-life crisis was finally over.
After all, thanks to these obsolete bits of technology—an iPad 2 (2011) and an iPhone 4s (2013)—
—along with these long in the tooth DSLR camera and lenses (Olympus E-3, Zuiko and Sigma zooms)—
—I was able to capture the above images of our travels in the Camaro (when I actually remembered to use them).
While I'm not a professional (maybe one day), I enjoy taking images, especially when the subject matter is unique to me. Thanks to the digital age, I've been able to preserve them all these years on the devices as well as accumulating them in the cloud.
My understanding is, once I post this, it's on the blockchain forever. I've heard that enough to start to believe it. I'm not sure what's supposed to happen if there's an EMP, or the witnesses all decide to stop running their servers. I could get a copy of the blockchain and run my own, I guess.
Still, I'm very glad that HIVE exists. It gives me a place, among many other things, to preserve my images, my writings, my experiences, my creations, etc.
A place to put me, if you will.
May HIVE live on long after I'm gone, so future generations can read about the life and times of their great-great-great-great-great grandpa Glen.
Or whatever nickname they come up with to call me.
I wonder, after writing all of this, what you think I enjoyed the most? The Camaro? The traveling? The photography? Preserving it on HIVE?
Truth to tell, I'm grateful for all of it. Without the car I don't know if I would have been up to all the traveling we did. Without the traveling, there wouldn't be so many images (there's plenty more). This post would be all text without the images. Sometimes that's not a bad thing, but I think in this case, they help tell the stories. And without HIVE, no incentive to put this online.
However, I think what I enjoy above all of any of that is simply having had the experiences themselves. The thrill of discovery. Feeling like I was the first to see the lake, the mountain, the valley—whatever it was—even if thousands have come before and will come after me.
That's because the experiences will always be first for me.
The fact that I could share those experiences with my wife and family is even more near and dear to me. I don't know how to express through words or pictures what that means to me. I can only hope you've had similar experiences that will conjure up your own emotions.
In the end, it's the memories and the associated feelings and sensations that I cherish most. Cars come and go. After a while, traveling becomes a chore. Digital images can't fade, but they can be deleted, or becoming otherwise unavailable. A blockchain might be immutable, but it doesn't necessarily mean it's readily accessible.
I know. Memories and emotions can get jumbled, too. It's not quite been nine years since I bought the Camaro, yet my recollections of all of it is dimming. I just have to try to keep as mentally sharp as I can, keep putting more of me on HIVE, and trust that some things I'll never forget.
Like meeting this little guy on my way off Antelope Island.
We were both heading in the same direction. I think I scared him. Or the Camaro did. I took this picture a second before he took off down the embankment. Not much down there, especially to eat. Eventually, you get to the water's edge of the Great Salt Lake. I hope he found his way back up.
Something tells me, though, he'd done it before. I hope he didn't use me as an excuse when his parents found out.
No Bison have shown up at the doorstep, so I think that's good a sign I'm in the clear.
For now...
All images courtesy of Glen Anthony Albrethsen
