To no surprise, it took all day to walk the 25+ miles from Brookings to Crescent City, walking near the coast, between farmlands, and into the redwoods. If the previous night’s eye-opening experience at the Outreach Gospel Mission hadn’t already been enough to hammer home how important it had been to listen to intuition and come out to the coast, then dropping into the redwoods would immediately confirm my coastal calling and wipe away any wonderings to the contrary. I can’t even describe what it’s like to breathe the spiritually intoxicating clean air that these massive trees pump out. They stand as caretakers, as guardians, as comforting providers of the important message of how sacred our precious planet is.
I arrived to Crescent City just before sunset. I hadn’t heard back from any of the contacts I’d tried to make in Crescent City: Couchsurfing.org and phone calls to a few (not all) local churches had resulted in nothing. I figured I’d have to find somewhere to camp, but as I saw the California Highway Patrol (CHP) kindly chatting with some people across the street, in front of a Subway, I figured I’d go ask them for advice. My signs “WALKING ACROSS AMERICA,” along with the backpack and reflective vest, make me very obvious, but nonetheless I presented myself to the officers, gave them my business card, and asked them if there were places to camp locally or a shelter I could stay in.
“There’s no shelter here– but there’s a campground about fifteen miles up the road,” one tells me.
“I’m sorry, I’ve just walked 25 miles already today. I won’t make it another 15.”
The officers were interested in my story as I told it to them; so were the couple whom they’d been speaking with just before I walked up: Carol and George Layton. Carol Layton is the pastor of the Crescent City United Methodist Church, and after hearing the conversation with the CHP, she jumped in and mentioned that she would find a place for me to stay for the evening. “We have a fund at the church for just this sort of situation (people in need of shelter). Let me stop by the church and get a voucher, and we’ll give you a night at the Gardenia Motel, where you can rest up and shower.” (SCORE!!!)
Carol had actually heard my story from someone else already. “I think it might have been from Facebook,” she tells me, “I know a lot of people up in Oregon. I remember hearing something about walking 20 minutes per day.” Carol and George proceeded to buy me a sub sandwich as well, and George gave me his California state map. I’d met the guardian angels of Crescent City, and every last part of me was smiling big as I pondered such “coincidences.” Carol and George had saved me from an uncertain night of searching the sands for some hopeful, discreet location to pitch my tent. They hosted me to an ultra-comfortable experience at the simple motel, and I couldn’t describe how blessed I was feeling to have been so privileged to meet them.
The Gardenia gave me a great and relaxing rest before climbing through the pass toward Klamath the next day…

Having crossed once into California via the 4300+ ft Siskiyou summit, it was time to make the coastal crossing the second and final crossing into California. I’d make the second crossing into California from Brookings, Oregon– located only about five miles north of the CA border. The Outreach Gospel Mission of Brookings had invited me to stay the night on their floor, so immediately upon arriving Brookings, I proceeded the couple of miles down Highway 101 to the Mission. I showed up to a store + living quarters of about ten guys who were staying there– a full house. Art, the ultra-kind parishioner, showed me to where I’d be sleeping, on the floor of the shop. I was kindly invited by all to help myself to anything I wanted from the kitchen, which was located in a small but cozy living area just behind the second-hand store. Settling into sleep on aisle 1 of the store, I felt very fortunate for the warm hospitality I was receiving here. A night on the carpet of a warm store floor is a very welcome gesture after experiencing multiple nights out in cold, precarious places.
I was treated to a tasty breakfast before hitting the road the next morning. I also had a chance to meet the rest of the guys who were staying at the Mission, a total of about a dozen, as I sat in on their morning meeting. I don’t know all of their stories; I do know that some were formerly inmates. Having spent just an evening and a morning with them, I felt great value and appreciation for the fact that such organizations exist to support people in need, and to help them make the transition into brighter and more promising tomorrows. Hearing about such concepts doesn’t hold a candle to actually going there, meeting the people in transition, hearing their stories, sharing meals with them, and spending a night with them.
It would have been great to spend more time with them and get to know them better– but the morning was moving on, and the 25-mile walk to Crescent City awaited…

Days before reaching the California border across the Siskiyou summit, along I-5, the decision to transfer to the California Coast had already been made. I had seriously been considering a shift to the coast since leaving Roseburg– where upon my departure from the city– a motley band of bikers strongly (and kindly) recommended that I descend the coast instead of I-5. “You’ll find good people there!” were the obvious words of experience coming from one of them, the others quickly agreeing with him. As the days passed, the miles continued compiling, and the California border drew closer and closer, helpful people kept recommending the coast over the I-5 corridor. People warned me that the California Highway Patrol would not tolerate a walker along given stretches of I-5 (where CA Hwy 99 would not be an option to me); Oregon road crews alerted me to the presence of cougars and bears in remote, wooded stretches where I may have to try to pitch a tent somewhere near the road; and, Couchsurfing.org seemed to hold very few promising connections between Ashland and Redding.
I’ve received mixed messages both through the planning stages of this walk as well as during the walk. Some have been worth taking seriously, others have been brushed aside– I always let intuition make the final call. Intuition really called on me to listen to the recommendations to walk the coast, however, and by the time I’d reached Grants Pass, where host JB, a retiree originally from California, showed me a much more detailed map of California’s northern coastal highway 101, also strongly recommending it over I-5, I’d finally settled on the decision to walk the coast.
Highway 199 descends from Grants Pass directly to Crescent City, California, at a distance of 82.3 miles. As Medford TV stations had been eagerly been anticipating my arrival, however, and as I’d always wanted to reach California by climbing across the Siskiyou summit, I decided that I’d simply split the walk into two legs, adding distance in the process. My first leg would have me continue 60+ miles down Oregon’s hwy 99 and into Hilt, CA. The second leg would take me further from my ultimate destination of the White House, add miles (and days) to my descent into San Francisco, and have me crossing the California border a second time– this time from Brookings, Oregon– in a 26-miles descent to Crescent City.
Once the decision to walk the California north coast was made, there was no looking back– just proceeding with this modification to the plan. As walking across America could validly be done by starting in San Francisco or LA, cities I’d eventually be arriving to anyway, I found it unimportant that I’d decided to split my north-to-south descent into two legs, especially since I’d be adding distance, overlapping the latitude at the California border, and coming from further west in the process.
After very slowly taking the last step across the clearly marked I-5 California border and then proceeding the next mile into Hilt, I received a ride back to the Medford area from Kathy, the mother of Tia, a wonderful friend I’d been staying with since reaching Medford. From Medford, I would wait two more days to meet up with my parents, who were scheduled to drive through Medford on October 22nd, on their way to California. The afternoon of Thursday, 10/22, I boarded a shuttle from Medford to Brookings, and reached Brookings after dark on Thursday, Oct. 22, whereupon I immediately proceeded to the local Episcopal Church’s Mission, just south of town, as they’d invited me in for the evening.
Immediately upon arriving to the coast, everything about the decision to walk the hwy 101 corridor into San Francisco coast just seemed to feel oh-so smilingly right– and there would be no looking back…

Exactly one month after I took my opening steps, today the very challenging and very enlightening first month of the Walk of Inspiration Across America has made it completely through a full state. I stood for probably close to an hour at the state OR-CA state line, laughing-happy at the achievement. Amidst the sun, rains, blisters, soreness, heaviness, and nights in the middle of nowhere, I’d passed through harrowing moments wondering how I was going to make it through. Today, despite still wondering how I’ll make it across the long empty stretches of northern California forests and then the open deserts of the Southwest, making it through this first state makes it very clear to me that I’ll make it all the way across America. I’m not even 10% of the way to my final goal, but I’m now exactly where I need to be mentally to take it all on!!

Bring it on, America!!

Today I made it all the way to Ashland, and the apartment that Tia Michelle is moving away from. I met her friendly roommates, yet after the day’s walk, returned with her to where she’s been house sitting. I’ll use mass transit to return to my stopping point tomorrow, and continue on foot from there to the California border!!

After a long, 27-mile (new record) day from that rest stop where I’d spent the previous night, CS hosts Jed & JB put me up for the night in Grants Pass. They’d been expecting me for days, and instantly made me feel right at home!
JB recommended I proceed on the Rogue River Hwy the next day– an excellent recommendation which made for a fantastic fall experience away from the freeway. An interviewer from the local newspaper came over for the story before I left the house.

After spending an extra day for Prince Blister to heal, AND psychologically recollecting myself in Canyonville, I returned to the road amid today’s rains. I walked 17 miles south, and, ready to scale the tall pass ahead of me, I ended up stopping short for the night. This seemed as safe a place as I’d find. Good thing! It rained all night and I would have been wet & exhausted in the middle of a mountain pass had I chosen to march forth. Instead, I spent the night on the bench at the rest area, sitting up every time a car entered– ready to explain my story to Oregon State Patrol, if need be. Luckily, I faced no problems here.

Having awoken early to the heavily breathing beast outside of my tiny tent, I embarked on a pre-dawn start down the long road ahead. Nearly ten miles into the day, frustration flushed over me as I felt a companion blister heating up next to the callus I’d painfully earned en route to Sutherlin, just a few short days ago. Behind schedule and seeing the beloved sunshine shift to rains, Canyonville has become a breaking point. Had this just been some simple “home-study course” project, I would have thrown in the towel here.
However, I’ve told the whole world that I’m walking across America. High-level officials have met and walked with me. I can’t just give up here. But– if I can’t even make it across Oregon, how am I supposed to walk thousands more miles — across the rest of America?!?!?!?

Following the advice of a local sandwich shop worker, I set up camp down by the creek, just feet from the water. Small animals pawed at my tiny tripod bivy tent throughout the night. Then, at 4 AM, a very large animal appeared outside my tent, breathing heavily. I wasn’t sure quite how to react, but I had to do something…

After a couple of days off, allowing the big, ugly blister– the one that Roseburg’s daily newspaper just had to take a picture of– to at least feel as if it’s healed enough to walk, I walked 13 miles of Oregon’s Hwy 99, the Oakland-Shady Hwy, to Roseburg.