Farewell Sleeping Bag or an American Roadside Emergency

“How did it go last night?” I said to Mark. He was sitting on his usual sidewalk reading a book and sipping malt liquor from a can.

A cold front had enveloped Portland the previous night and plunged temperatures into the high 30s. Mark was living outdoors in the neighborhood.

“I got some of my stuff stolen,” he said. I've only got one blanket.”

He gestured to a thin blanket folded into a shopping bag. That bag and another one next to it held all his possessions.

A great notion hit me. Yes, sometimes they come in the city.

I had a sleeping bag stored in my vehicle for a roadside emergency. Well, Mark was a roadside American emergency of a type ubiquitous across the land. I told him I had a bag no longer in use and would be right back.

Two minutes later, I popped the hatch on the vehicle and pulled the bag out. I examined the nylon blue bundle and considered its very long and special history with me. Thirty-five years! A 35-year history with a sleeping bag! And here it was time to say farewell.

My father purchased it for me prior to my first of many pretentious trips around the world in an attempt to become a writer. All those attempts failed. The one trip that did succeed was moving to the Oregon Coast almost 25 years ago and finding dogs and beaches.

It cost around $60 and was a fancy Pacific Northwest brand no long in existence. It was designed for climbing Everest.

The sleeping bag accompanied me across four continents, camping all over Oregon, and saw me through a dangerous existential crisis a few years ago. It was a reliable friend and never once had to be repaired.

Oh what when on in the bag! I smiled at the particulars of these indelible private memories. Mexico. Turkey. Ireland. Egypt. Israel. Italy. Portugal. Alaska Marine Highway. Top of the World Highway. Bay of Biscay. Black Sea. Nestucca Spit.

And now it was going to help Mark survive the hard life of a homeless man during the New American Diaspora with winter coming on.

It took all of ten minutes to return to Mark. I presented him the bag and other items such as a flashlight, stocking cap and Pendleton shirt, a classic, sewn by union women in Portland 70 years ago.

I told him the bag had traveled all over the world with me and been part of many adventures.

“I can't take this from you,” he said.

“Sure you can. It's not doing anyone any good right now and it's ready for a new adventure.”

He laughed.