The Pursuit of Singletrack: Ode to the Green Machine

For 11 years now, I have had the pleasure of knowing one fantastic individual. We’ve had many good times together, but have also seen our fair share of turmoil. Together we’ve been as far North as the North Cascades National Park, South down to the banks of the Wild and Scenic Rogue River, East as far as the Bitterroots and West to the shores of Olympic National Park. She’s taken me over steep, loose switchbacks on old logging roads deep in the Willamette National Forest, over countless snowy and icy passes in the Cascades (Santiam, Snoqualmie, Stevens, McKenzie, Hood, & N Cascades) across endless deserts of Central Oregon, around flooding backroads in the Coastal Mountains, on miles and miles of I-5 cruise control and around congested streets of the concrete jungle.

Ecola State Park. Mobile Basecamp

She’s been a trusted chauffeur for friends and family. A warm, dry sanctuary after many dark, wet and overdue adventures. A bed when I’m too tired to set up camp. A gateway to a world beyond familiar streets. An seemingly un-fatigable moving machine with endless space for gear and furniture.

Camping Trip. Cape Lookout State Park

I’ll never forget the first time that I laid eyes on her. Rounding the corner on Jesuit’s campus after finishing up hard test, an unfamiliar set of keys jangling in my pocket, a wonderfully maintained, used 95 Ford Explorer covered in streamers and pom-poms. It wasn’t my birthday. It wasn’t Christmas. It was a standard spring Wednesday afternoon, and my world was forever changed. I hope that I thanked my parents accordingly because my range of adventure activities was about to change substantially.

Stevens Pass

Towards the end of my reign at her helm, she had many modifications made to extend her useful life: new set of all terrain wheels, a new transmission, fuel injector, fuel pump, new keys, windshield wipers and new brakes. The back right passenger door couldn’t open from the inside, both front window would routinely get stuck halfway down, large horizontal crack on the windshield resulting from a slip of the arm when trying to install new wipers and headlights which barely shown 40 feet.

Timeout Ranch. Rogue River

I’ll miss the Green Machine. Very few will ever measure up to its passion for the open road and paths less travelled. Some day its end shall come, I’m just happy that she’s moving on to a new captain. I’m sure my sister will treat it better than I did. It’s range has diminished, but it’s responsibility has doubled. Take care of her Green Machine. I’ll see you around the driveway!

UNT

Bryan