In the autumn of ’99, Keith and Sam, both 24 and armed with flannel shirts and a taste for adventure, crammed into Sam’s battered Tercel, its trunk loaded with tents, a cooler of cheap beer, and a mixtape that seemed to transcend time. The tape, a mosiac from the pogues to unbunny, accompanied their journey as they embarked on a cross-country pilgrimage from the rocky shores of Maine to the evergreen landscapes of Seattle, landing them in the indie haven of Portland.
They weaved through the heartland, crossing state lines, tracing the sinuous roads dictated by an old paper atlas that never quite folded the way it should. Whitefish, Montana, unfolded before them like a postcard, where the jagged peaks played host to their tents under the Montana sky, stained with the hues of a setting sun.
In Wyoming, they discovered solitude amidst the vast expanse of rolling plains and majestic mountains, the echoes of their laughter carried by the winds that swept through the open spaces. The Upper Peninsula of Michigan greeted them with the crisp bite of autumn, as they marveled at the copper-colored leaves reflected in the still waters of Lake Superior.
Crested Butte, Colorado, had a quiet charm, where the colors of the changing aspens mirrored the transient nature of their journey. Ohio, with its rusted industrial landscapes, stood as a stark contrast to the pristine beauty of the previous stops, yet it held its own charm, a testament to the diversity that unfolded mile after mile.
The nights were a blur of camping beneath unfamiliar constellations, of beer-soaked conversations around crackling fires, and the rhythmic hum of cicadas drifting into the silence of high desert nights. Bar hopping became a ritual, each tavern a chapter in their story, etched in the fading neon glow of jukeboxes and shared laughter.
In Portland, weary but invigorated, they found a modest studio apartment in downtown, a refuge amidst the hustle of the city they had journeyed so far to reach. Rent, a mere $450, felt like a steal in a city brimming with possibilities. The walls echoed with the stories of their adventure, and the apartment became a sanctuary after nights out exploring the new city.
And so, their wanderlust waning, they reminisced over the scattered 35mm photos that chronicled their odyssey—the sepia-toned snapshots of sunsets over Montana mountains, the silhouette of their tents against the Wyoming night, and the radiant hues of an Ohio sunrise. These are the only photos that remain, taken before digital cameras existed, tangible relics of a journey that shaped their youth, a pilgrimage that whispered of the end of an era.
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Prompt: “write a short story about two friends, age 24, and set in 1999. They both get in a friends car and drive across country, from maine to seattle and ending in portland. stopping in whitefish montana, wyoming, the Upper pennisula of michigan, and crested butte colorado, and ohio. The story ends after renting a studio apartment for 450 dollars in downtown portland. There was lots of drinking and bar hopping involved, but no real trouble. it was an incredible adventure, camping some different every night. Traveling by old paper atlas map, and looking for the campground symbol on the map. They met many interesting characters along the way. End with something like… “these are the only photos that remain, taken before digital cameras existed”. Write in the style of gen-x writer Douglas Coupland.
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