Escape from Paso Robles

The days had dragged on for what seemed like weeks. Every hour passed too quickly and yet at the time it felt as if every minute merely crawled along the face of the clock. The nights had grown cold and windy and wet. Every morning I awoke damp with condensation, cold with events of the passing morning dew. Every night was battle. Every morning was trek across the heat soaked streets, radiating from the sun soaked streets and sidewalks and reflecting itself upon the weary traveler who was unfortunate enough to have to walk its length.

I had been in Paso Robles for only 3 days, but each day grew more and more exhausting as time flew forward. Each morning the sun would rise and drench the small city with sunlight; a welcomed relief from the damp, windy nights. But soon that relief turned into distress and you suddenly became overwhelmed from the heat of the day. You couldn't escape it.

Finding Wi-Fi in the town was an exercise in futility. Every where you walked to, there were dozens of signals, a myriad of businesses each with their own box of communication to the outside world. But those who offered theirs freely seemed to be having difficulties of their own. Starbucks and McDonald's are 2 of the largest providers of free Wi-Fi in the United States. They are a godsend to the weary traveler trying to find a current that speaks to the greater community. But in Paso Robles, their communication systems were down. With no way to contact the world outside and no rides helping me to escape my limbo, I decided to leave on the bus.

 
Paso Robles was a town of forgotten industry.

Everywhere I turned there were buildings decaying back into the ground from where they'd sprang forth. All around me was the signs of a changing time. Commerical wine making was now the cities saving grace. Some of the old buildings, whose purpose had seemingly been fulfilled were having new life breathed into their steel and concrete skeletons. The Farmers Alliance Flour Mill in Paso Robles was one such building.

It was built in 1922 by an Alliance of Farmers (hence the name). The main tower is 82 feet tall and had the capacity to store 1000 tons of almonds! It was used until 1975, where it has since laid dorment. An almost forgotten relic of the past, from a time when Paso Robles was a contributing industrial factor.

The building will soon be turned into a Winery and Tasting room, a sign of the future of Paso Robles. (No pun intended)

On Tuesday morning, I found myself awaiting the chance to escape my personal limbo. On this morning, the Greyhound bus station would now open. I had my chance for freedom. It took some time and some doing to think about what it was I was going to do or where I would travel.

North?

Or South?

Indeed my location was quite central. The choice now was whether to go someplace potentially colder or move to a more tropical climate? The decision weighed heavy on my mind and took several hours to contemplate. Finally, after hours of deliberation with myself, I decided to go to the most unbiased system of choice making I know. It was a tried and true method, used for centuries to decide the most difficult of decisions. Used by the famous, world leaders, the rich and poor alike. It was the only method of making a choice I could be sure of. The only way I could make a decision and know that it what the fates will from me.

A coin toss.

Yes, I decided to flip a coin. Probably not the best way to make life decisions, but you can't argue with the results. A coin is never wishy-washy. It never has to "think" about it. It makes its choice and you must make yours.

I flipped the coin, its silver finish glinting in the now fading sun. I had but 10 minutes to make my choice, to pick a destination, lest I be stuck in this small city for yet another night. It turned and turned and turned as it defied gravity and then rapidly succumbed to its forces. My right hand caught the coin and flipped it onto my left. I sat for a second and sighed a breath of anxious anticipation. I lifted my right and revealed what the fates had ordained for me. Would the coin be heads, indicating South towards the tropical region of Miami? Or tails? To the potentially frigid airs of Portland? I lifted my hand.

Tails. My journey would now take me north. I paid my ticket and left for my destination. Portland, OR.