tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31908915374297762652024-03-20T20:12:28.986-07:00Breweries, Ballparks, and the BardWe drove 3,120 miles along the Pacific Coast. We stopped for beer.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934717704107119309noreply@blogger.comBlogger38125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190891537429776265.post-12642018395181834962013-07-29T08:09:00.000-07:002013-07-29T08:09:35.626-07:00Portland to Ashland<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_6FgNRDcalRjOklo7NuU7SPWRUKoYqQc3zCx75R9U1fKkJQHXfacypL8rAqoqik6WChOM3_nSk1nZULFjuS9VmvByiLk8rm1-B_HjJ_A4CSc-IhJqjVAjsfoQ1PEY9aDRgfntMQ7z7w3S/s1600/IMAG0750.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_6FgNRDcalRjOklo7NuU7SPWRUKoYqQc3zCx75R9U1fKkJQHXfacypL8rAqoqik6WChOM3_nSk1nZULFjuS9VmvByiLk8rm1-B_HjJ_A4CSc-IhJqjVAjsfoQ1PEY9aDRgfntMQ7z7w3S/s400/IMAG0750.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Bridge in Lithia Park, Ashland, Oregon</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
Several restaurants are within a few
blocks of our hotel. One is Besaw's, which claims to have been
granted the <a href="http://www.besaws.com/core/about/">first liquor
license in Oregon</a> after the repeal of prohibition. I can't vouch
for that, but I can vouch for the quality of breakfast.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
Sandra has farmer's hash, which is your
basic eggs, potatoes, bacon, cheese type mess. I have wild salmon
scramble.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
The food is simple but tasty, the space
small and well-lit. Despite the best efforts of Morrissey whining in
the background, the place buzzes with people starting their week on a
happy note.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
We gaze at passersby on the sidewalk
out front while navigating our way through the meal. As sendoffs from
a town go, this works just fine.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
Back on I-5, there is a fleeting sense
of melancholy at leaving a good place. But it soon dissipates as we
discuss plans for a return trip to Portland.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
We prefer to look forward rather than
backward, and today is no exception. After a brief stop at Gettings
Creek Rest Area, we arrive in Ashland in time to rest before meeting
up with my mom and stepfather for an evening at the <a href="http://www.oregoncabaret.com/">Oregon
Cabaret Theatre</a>.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
The key to enjoying dinner theater is
to enter with an understanding that it will be <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MQns4NGoQBk">ridiculous</a>.
Tonight's performance is called <a href="http://ashlandplayreviews.com/2012/06/10/life-could-be-a-dream-feel-good-musical-delights-at-oregon-cabaret-theatre/">“Life
Could Be a Dream”</a> and is based on songs of the '50s and '60s,
which is when most of the audience attended high school or college.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
The canned soundtrack will annoy you if
you let it. But the vocal harmonies and choreography are solid, and
the story is sufficiently inane to keep from distracting. One of the
actors has a visible tattoo, providing an unintentionally amusing
anachronism.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
There is no pretense of high art here.
It's just stupid fun, enjoyed with loved ones. After 300 miles on the
highway, I'm cool with that.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934717704107119309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190891537429776265.post-25963753499059061392013-07-22T08:04:00.002-07:002013-07-22T08:04:51.896-07:00Portland<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheZjVXQTDiRYzzOysobW-Q0UcIJ5uWQjPgsdx5DceDJMOyCaJYE-SepQObDjSctpOxDA6OP00FkGI50Mu7XaON_4PVWkrf-avlmFSOhx5nCSE5kQG42ZJdQvMJF_VIlIavNFVAzruOgim6/s1600/IMAG0744.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheZjVXQTDiRYzzOysobW-Q0UcIJ5uWQjPgsdx5DceDJMOyCaJYE-SepQObDjSctpOxDA6OP00FkGI50Mu7XaON_4PVWkrf-avlmFSOhx5nCSE5kQG42ZJdQvMJF_VIlIavNFVAzruOgim6/s400/IMAG0744.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Deschutes Brewery and Public House, Portland, Oregon</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
I leaf through <i>Eiger Dreams</i>
while sipping coffee on a rooftop patio overlooking Northrup Avenue
and its streetcars. I get distracted and scribble nonsense into my
notebook:</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-left: 0.49in; margin-right: 0.43in;">
Hypothesis: It is possible to identify a woman's attractiveness by
the sound her shoes make against a hard floor.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
Portland is starting to wake up and
return to work after the weekend. I stare at trees lining the street
and think about the day ahead. Again, I get distracted:</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-left: 0.49in; margin-right: 0.43in;">
Sometimes the most beautiful women wear sandals, which obliterates
the hypothesis. Are they aberrations, or do they prove the need for
an alternate hypothesis?</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
Sitting on a patio with coffee and my
thoughts soon grows tiresome. I check on Sandra, who is now awake and
who looks great in whatever footwear she chooses.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
After a quick hotel breakfast, we take
the streetcar downtown. Our first stop is <a href="http://www.powells.com/locations/powells-city-of-books/">Powell's
City of Books</a>, where I keep the damage to a minimum:</div>
<ul>
<li>Seamus Heaney, <i>Selected Poems 1966-1987</i><span style="font-style: normal;">;
several people have recommended his work to me</span><br />
</li>
<li>Chuck Klosterman, <i>Eating the Dinosaur</i>; someone once
compared an <a href="http://www.baseballprospectus.com/article.php?articleid=15975">article
I wrote</a> ($) about scrappy baseball players and the band Pavement
to Klosterman's work, so I had to find out why<br />
</li>
<li>Jonathan Raban, <i>Bad Land</i>; I loved his <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/books/99/11/07/reviews/991107.07gorrat.html"><i>Passage
to Juneau: A Sea and Its Meanings</i></a><span style="font-style: normal;">
and thought I'd try another</span><br />
</li>
<li>John Thorn, <i>Baseball in the Garden of Eden</i>; Thorn is
Major League Baseball's official historian and also once bought me a
beer in Phoenix, but that's another story<br />
</li>
<li>Bruce Weber, <i>As They See 'Em</i>; this is a book about
baseball umpires, a copy of which unbeknownst to me lies on a shelf
back home<br />
</li>
</ul>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
We somehow escape Powell's
gravitational pull and walk two blocks north to Deschutes Brewery and
Public House. We enjoy several of their beers (the rich, dark, and
creamy Black Butte Porter being my favorite), along with
well-prepared pub food.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
Sandra has Black Butte Porter chili
potato cheese soup, and pork belly with egg and toast. I have a bacon
burger and fries.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
After lunch, she wanders off to nearby
boutiques and I beeline to Portland Central Library. We each have our
vices.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
Effective today the library is closed
on Mondays, which leads to amusing reactions from potential patrons.
As I later note in <a href="http://www.baseballprospectus.com/article.php?articleid=17322">an
article</a> ($), “you haven't lived until you've heard a woman
pushing a stroller launch F-bombs at the city government.”</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
Plan B involves walking off the beer
and/or reading books I just bought. I find a coffee shop and crack
open Klosterman. He starts with some choice quotes from film director <a href="http://errolmorris.com/">Errol
Morris</a>:</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-left: 0.49in; margin-right: 0.43in;">
I think we're always trying to create a consistent narrative for
ourselves. I think truth always takes a backseat to narrative.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
And, a few pages later:</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-left: 0.49in; margin-right: 0.43in;">
If you asked me what makes the world go round, I would say
self-deception.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
It's compelling stuff, but a bit much
after a few pints. Eventually Sandra rescues me from my thoughts and
we further explore Portland on foot.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
Walking makes us hungry, so we head to
<a href="http://www.thesquarepdx.org/">Pioneer Courthouse Square</a>,
which contains the indispensable Visitor Information Center. We
arrive just before closing and ask a woman who clearly appreciates a
good meal for restaurant recommendations. She gives a detailed
response, along with coupons for several places.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
We end up at <a href="http://www.ringsidefishhouse.com/">Ringside
Fish House</a>. Sandra has seared day boat scallops (similar to <a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/the-best-of/pan-seared-day-boat-scallops-over-sprout-salad-with-cranberry-horseradish-dipping-sauce-recipe/index.html">this
recipe</a>), while I opt for the pan-roasted Oregon Troll King
Salmon, accompanied by BridgePort Summer Squeeze.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
Portland is hosting a barbershop
quartet convention this week. A group of attendees at the table next
to ours gets up and sings. Their harmonies are ridiculously tight.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
We finish dinner with housemade ice
cream. Sandra has peanut butter, I have cherry. Both are served with
fresh mixed berries.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
Back at the hotel, we close the night
with a bottle of Rogue Shakespeare Oatmeal Stout. I read a little
more Klosterman:</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="font-style: normal;">
If you stare long enough at anything, you will
start to find similarities.</div>
</blockquote>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
It is best not to stare too long.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934717704107119309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190891537429776265.post-76637450919135694072013-07-15T07:54:00.000-07:002013-07-15T07:54:05.364-07:00Seattle to Portland<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyAa9hMlDheAoSzxlWAST6VmJKyxICVIzWogRWiZ751nwkJ3lYHfJwz8jth8R8V3dPad4qbirwmLHLdapwCmCmBoBIqXmr1hoKa85Q4Ldlltq7F0J_3mSSGg_G5RMIVcRIWsNbPmhJzP5y/s1600/IMAG0739.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyAa9hMlDheAoSzxlWAST6VmJKyxICVIzWogRWiZ751nwkJ3lYHfJwz8jth8R8V3dPad4qbirwmLHLdapwCmCmBoBIqXmr1hoKa85Q4Ldlltq7F0J_3mSSGg_G5RMIVcRIWsNbPmhJzP5y/s400/IMAG0739.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Pike Place, Seattle, Washington</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-style: normal;">Alas, staying in Seattle is not
our fate. There are other places to see, although we vow not to wait
another 12 years for our next visit.</span><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-style: normal;">We take one final stroll to the
famous and, on this day, claustrophobic Pike Place. The last time we
were here, we ate lobster rolls while listening to a street musician
sing and play Bruce Springsteen's “Tunnel of Love” on acoustic
guitar.</span><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-style: normal;">We find a booth that serves
Mexican food. I am skeptical of Mexican food north of San Francisco,
but the people here are from Mexico and we can see everything.</span><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-style: normal;">Sandra orders scallop and prawn
ceviche served with tortilla chips and guacamole. Although the
seafood tastes fresh, it is drowning in tomato sauce. Nothing against
tomato sauce, but the stars of this dish should be the scallops and
prawns. (<a href="http://mexican.food.com/recipe/citrus-ceviche-with-shrimp-and-scallops-305111">This
recipe</a>, which I haven't tried, sounds much better.)</span><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-style: normal;">I have banana leaf tamales with
diced pork and spicy tomatillo sauce. The tamales are moist and
flavorful, as is the pork. The tomatillo sauce is surprisingly spicy.
As a pasty white guy well-versed in the ways of Thai, Indian, and
Szechuan cuisines, I've grown accustomed to being disappointed by
claims of spiciness. This delivers.</span><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-style: normal;">Thus satisfied, we continue
trudging through the market. It is <a href="http://nwroads.blogspot.com/2013/06/butchart-gardens-to-tacoma.html">Butchart
Gardens</a> crowded and so after picking up a copy of Jon Krakauer's
</span><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1897.Eiger_Dreams"><i>Eiger
Dreams</i></a><span style="font-style: normal;"> (he has been
recommended to me by several people) at one of Pike Place's
bookshops, we return to the hotel and check out.</span><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-style: normal;">Between Tacoma and Olympia, we
pass Sleater Kinney Road, made famous in some circles by a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qOM107PIxV8">band
of the same name</a>. Singer/guitarist Carrie Brownstein has since
gone onto greater fame working with Fred Armisen in the quirky sketch
comedy television series </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Portlandia_(TV_series)"><i>Portlandia</i></a><span style="font-style: normal;">.</span><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-style: normal;">After quick stops in Chehalis for
gas and at Gee Creek Rest Area to stretch our legs, we arrive in
Portland just in time to clean up and grab dinner. We are staying at
the <a href="http://www.northrupstation.com/">Inn at Northrup
Station</a>, a quaint hotel in the northwest part of town, near Nob
Hill and Pearl District. The inn is next to the station after which
it is named, where the <a href="http://www.portlandstreetcar.org/">Portland
Streetcar</a> stops to take folks downtown.</span><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-style: normal;">That's not quite true. The
Northrop Street stop is for streetcars traveling toward 23rd Street.
You'll need to walk two short blocks to Lovejoy Street to get
downtown.</span><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-style: normal;">We walk the other direction
instead, toward a restaurant suggested by the front-desk clerk. It
sounds like a place we might enjoy; unfortunately it is closed this
week for renovations so we explore the neighborhood on foot and
stumble into <a href="http://www.dkportland.com/">Dick's Kitchen</a>.</span><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-style: normal;">It's almost impossible to get bad food in Portland. Same
with coffee and beer. People love their food and drink,
and visitors benefit from the local obsession with all
things delicious.</span><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-style: normal;">The menu is simple–burgers and
“not fries”–but delicious. The beef is from Oregon, and the
“not fries” are air-baked potatoes. I don't know what the exact
process is, but the results are satisfying. We order ours with a
Cambodian garlic sauce that should be a controlled substance. The
stuff is addictive.</span><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-style: normal;">I wash down the meal with a
Vortex IPA, from <a href="http://nwroads.blogspot.com/2013/04/tillamook-to-astoria.html">Astoria</a>'s
Fort George Brewery. The beer is a tad hoppy for my taste, but so are most West Coast IPAs. Then again, it helps offset the garlic sauce.</span><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-style: normal;">After dinner we wander around
before returning to our room. There we open a bottle of
Pelican Doryman Dark Ale procured some days earlier in <a href="http://nwroads.blogspot.com/2013/03/newport-to-pacific-city.html">Pacific
City</a>. This beer is more my speed.</span><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-style: normal;">The air is cool and crisp.
Streetcar sounds outside our second-floor window remind us of the
movement of travel while we remain still after a day in motion. The
clacks and dings promise to deliver us into the city tomorrow, once
we have slept off today's drive.</span><br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934717704107119309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190891537429776265.post-36547142696831773872013-06-24T06:36:00.000-07:002013-06-24T06:36:10.282-07:00Seattle<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9-XmpJ-643-l_Wl3TLWtlfwMR5NyngMm3hfsepGdFlvJz3OKBpi2teytDJhTXi9JEX-lbrzQRDZaLrAqlaUl-ACyy-3ffMIt53fVirqv-swO8JVacWB08dLvoHbKJWGFeW1LMHgYrwTBi/s1600/IMAG0713.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9-XmpJ-643-l_Wl3TLWtlfwMR5NyngMm3hfsepGdFlvJz3OKBpi2teytDJhTXi9JEX-lbrzQRDZaLrAqlaUl-ACyy-3ffMIt53fVirqv-swO8JVacWB08dLvoHbKJWGFeW1LMHgYrwTBi/s400/IMAG0713.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Malcolm Young's Gretsch guitar, EMP Museum, Seattle, Washington</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
We are staying near the south shore of
Lake Union. Next door to us is a cancer research center, across the
street is the lake. From our hotel-room window, we watch aquaplanes take off and
land.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
It is a healthy walk to most places
from here, but as long as the weather holds, Sandra and I are game.
Traveling by foot is a good way to learn a city. Feeling the slope of
hills in your calves and quads gives a greater appreciation for the
terrain, as well as a sense of satisfaction at arriving anywhere.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
This belief betrays a bias. I prefer to
move as slowly as practical. I prefer to observe along the way,
sometimes at the expense of reaching a specific destination.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
The means justify the ends.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-style: normal;">We are here in time for the <a href="http://www.cwb.org/2012Festival">36th
Annual Lake Union Wooden Boat Festival</a>. It's a large and friendly
looking event that we pass on our way to <a href="http://www.empmuseum.org/">EMP
Museum</a>.</span><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
I prefer to observe along the way, but
sometimes there is a destination worth reaching. And so we must
bypass the wooden boats in favor of <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PklZPUCrqHA">all
things Jimi Hendrix</a>.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
At EMP, we hear original mixes of
Hendrix's “Crosstown Traffic” on headphones. Turn down the vocals
and listen to Jimi <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cLTqZ7nmxEI">play
rhythm guitar</a> like the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=usP3yLGru1Y">bad-ass
Motown cat</a> he was.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-style: normal;">We see Malcolm Young's Gretsch
guitar and Angus Young's Gibson SG. We learn that an older brother,
George Young, played with the Easybeats and co-wrote their 1966 hit
“<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rBJLoYd8xak">Friday on My
Mind</a>.” And that AC/DC once shared a bill with <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FeKdUeb1InI">Split
Enz</a> in 1975, which is hard to imagine nearly 40 years later.</span><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-style: normal;">We see footage of old <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000484/">John
Landis</a> films and interviews with the famous director. We see
uniforms from various flavors of </span><i>Star Trek</i><span style="font-style: normal;">,
</span><i>Stargate</i><span style="font-style: normal;">, and other
classics.</span><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-style: normal;">Upstairs is <a href="http://www.empmuseum.org/at-the-museum/museum-features/sound-lab.aspx">Sound
Lab</a>, where you can play instruments and record music. I jam on
guitar and bass for a while, then watch others do the same. Folks
with no or limited experience are the most fun, because once they
conquer their initial self-consciousness, they discover what
musicians know: this is a blast.</span><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-style: normal;">So is the museum, and it is
difficult to pry ourselves away after only a few hours, but we have
packed too many activities into too short a time period and so we
must. Back at the lake, we eat at <a href="http://www.dukeschowderhouse.com/locations/lake-union/">Duke's
Chowder House</a>. Our concerns that it might be too touristy are
soon alleviated by fine food and drink.</span><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
Sandra has crab chowder, steamed clams,
and a cherry mojito. I have Northwest seafood chowder and salmon
stuffed with Dungeness crab and Oregon bay shrimp, washed down with
Mac & Jack's African Amber Ale, which is similar to Ballast Point
Calico back home.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
From Duke's we return to Safeco for
another ballgame. We stop at Pyramid Alehouse, which has good beer
but too many people and plastic cups.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-style: normal;">At the ballpark, Miss Washington
2011 throws out a ceremonial first pitch. She is <a href="http://blog.thenewstribune.com/street/2011/07/04/edgewood-woman-crowned-2011-miss-washington/">kind
of gorgeous</a> and has a surprisingly good arm. Former Mariners
left-hander Mark Langston, now 51 and a dozen years removed from his
last game, throws out another ceremonial first pitch. He is also kind
of gorgeous and has a surprisingly good arm.</span><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
The home team wins in extra innings.
Chone Figgins is the hero, one of the few times that word could be
applied to him during his Mariners tenure.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
Longtime star Ichiro Suzuki, now in the
twilight of his career, collects two hits. He will play seven more
games at Safeco as a member of the home team before being traded to
the Yankees. Sometimes there is a destination worth reaching.
Personally, I'd have stayed in Seattle.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934717704107119309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190891537429776265.post-58622607920339936422013-06-17T07:59:00.000-07:002013-06-17T07:59:31.038-07:00Federal Way to Seattle<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHq2CWinGzyOnWRIBy1pTZwMhK5eRHdEfTZOCpjv7aoUlc0aY2CgREUgxJTRoNE6Rwg9PwThBfkqqYhKzi8hkkZyFSBu3rxP8WWxXkwkqm_EvbyYhPjYJ05wHZV-cv6IyWgHkzsPBTOrAX/s1600/IMAG0695.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHq2CWinGzyOnWRIBy1pTZwMhK5eRHdEfTZOCpjv7aoUlc0aY2CgREUgxJTRoNE6Rwg9PwThBfkqqYhKzi8hkkZyFSBu3rxP8WWxXkwkqm_EvbyYhPjYJ05wHZV-cv6IyWgHkzsPBTOrAX/s400/IMAG0695.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Safeco Field left-field entrance, Seattle, Washington</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
Our seats are in Section 116, field
level along the right-field line. The stadium organist plays Weather
Report's “<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pqashW66D7o">Birdland</a>”
during warmups.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
Dark clouds hang overhead, but no drops
fall, as they <a href="http://www.wunderground.com/history/airport/KBFI/2013/06/29/PlannerHistory.html?dayend=29&monthend=06&yearend=2013&req_city=Seattle+Boeing&req_state=WA&req_statename=Washington&activity=Baseball">haven't
for several years</a> on this date. The temperature at first pitch is
71 degrees, and there is almost no wind. The retractable roof remains
open as the Mariners <a href="http://www.baseball-reference.com/boxes/SEA/SEA201206290.shtml">host</a>
the Boston Red Sox.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_mNn5IbPxV_kkyoifk6NF6r4eQ6h5iDkSeEPxUHvt6FaXiKruqFFRV8iyV2yyx6XFRbEcCKURp08Q1e1oglChGnKAYIv-0wh7uxYGVvkxymM36FVCuWIQfz7a60BEKOeGW4DUX_FiqS3r/s1600/IMAG0696.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_mNn5IbPxV_kkyoifk6NF6r4eQ6h5iDkSeEPxUHvt6FaXiKruqFFRV8iyV2yyx6XFRbEcCKURp08Q1e1oglChGnKAYIv-0wh7uxYGVvkxymM36FVCuWIQfz7a60BEKOeGW4DUX_FiqS3r/s400/IMAG0696.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>View from Section 116 of Safeco Field, Seattle, Washington</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
The gameday program, called “Grand
Salami” (a play on the baseball term “grand slam”), features
contributions from industry friends such as <a href="http://cmdr-scott.blogspot.com/">Jeff
Angus</a> and <a href="http://www.fangraphs.com/blogs/author/david-laurila/">David
Laurila</a>. Not the usual extension of a team's public relations
department, this program is independently produced and disarmingly
honest in its assessment of the Mariners.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
Seattle is shut out by a mediocre
veteran pitcher named Aaron Cook. I've documented the <a href="http://www.baseballprospectus.com/article.php?articleid=17322">gory
details</a> elsewhere ($), but this excerpt is relevant to our story:</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-left: 0.49in; margin-right: 0.43in;">
It is understood that when I refer to the Mariners as the home team,
I mean in name only. Red Sox fans outnumbered Mariners fans by plenty
at both games we attended. Many stayed in our hotel, a fact not lost
on folks who worked at said hotel. They expressed, in the diplomatic
way that hotel workers must express things to customers, displeasure
at seeing so many people root for the “other” team.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-left: 0.49in; margin-right: 0.43in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-left: 0.49in; margin-right: 0.43in;">
This was not an issue before 2004, when the Red Sox broke a
nonsensical curse, attracting in the process a legion of people who
self-identify as “long-suffering,” which might be the only thing
more nonsensical than the notion of a curse. What bothered the hotel
workers most was that many of these “fans” called Washington
home. Their connection to Boston was that, frankly, that city's
franchise had been successful where Seattle's had not.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-left: 0.49in; margin-right: 0.43in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-left: 0.49in; margin-right: 0.43in;">
The hotel workers seemed disappointed at my lack of outrage. As a
customer, I could be more passionate about such matters without fear
of appearing unprofessional. Instead, I nodded my head and explained
that the situation is pretty much the same in San Diego.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-left: 0.49in; margin-right: 0.43in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-left: 0.49in; margin-right: 0.43in;">
They shrugged their shoulders and returned to being diplomatic. I
shrugged my shoulders and, blissfully indifferent to outcome, boarded
the shuttle that would take me to Safeco Field.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
After the seventh-inning stretch, we
explore the ballpark. Another industry friend recommends visiting the
upper deck for a view of the city. We are not disappointed.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-lmm85NOPOhd97vKX6F9jDsr0eeJ6o5OGwJlHuDZtAgBEQkOFHXtzxg5T8sKorzLtCZ0KZfUaFaMH8NZe68HfryKxcxobavswc0-7xASc2pbCCaEop_RBMb8Iv2rX_AB6STGvvxjXDChM/s1600/IMAG0705.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-lmm85NOPOhd97vKX6F9jDsr0eeJ6o5OGwJlHuDZtAgBEQkOFHXtzxg5T8sKorzLtCZ0KZfUaFaMH8NZe68HfryKxcxobavswc0-7xASc2pbCCaEop_RBMb8Iv2rX_AB6STGvvxjXDChM/s400/IMAG0705.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>View from upper deck of Safeco Field, Seattle, Washington (Space Needle in background)</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
Former Padres left-handed pitcher
Oliver Pérez finishes the game for Seattle. He is a favorite of ours
from his days at Lake Elsinore in the California League, and we cheer
when his name is announced. We cheer again when Pérez strikes out
another former Padres player, Adrián González, to end the eighth
inning.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
After the game, on our way back to the
hotel via their courtesy shuttle that is nearly an hour late, we pass
a man on the sidewalk playing a miniature drum set. I'm reminded of
Soundgarden's “<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T0_zzCLLRvE">Spoonman</a>,”
which celebrates and features Seattle street performer <a href="http://www.artisthespoonman.net/">Artis
the Spoonman</a>.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
This is a city of music and musicians.
And even as the thwacking of drums recedes, the rhythms resonate
within us and lull us to sleep in preparation for tomorrow.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934717704107119309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190891537429776265.post-9568543128320673922013-06-10T07:37:00.000-07:002013-06-10T07:37:01.969-07:00Tacoma to Federal Way
The drive from Tacoma to Seattle is short. We make it last four
hours thanks to a stop in Federal Way for lunch with a friend.<br />
<br />
Brandon Isleib and I used to write for <a href="http://www.hardballtimes.com/">Hardball
Times</a>. We've spent a lot of time discussing baseball with each
other, as well as another common interest, music.<br />
<br />
He is a fellow <a href="http://soundcloud.com/earth-dyed-red">composer
and musician</a>, so we end up talking about geeky stuff like time
signatures. Brandon also writes about Magic the Gathering, another
geeky pastime I would lose myself in if I gave it the
chance.<br />
<br />
Our friendship has thrived in virtual realms for years. Until now,
though, we have never met in person.<br />
<br />
Sandra and I swing by Brandon's place, and he guides us to <a href="http://www.hawaiianstylebbq.net/">Pac
Island Grill</a>, which serves real Hawaiian plate lunches. We spend
the next two hours and change snarfing a steady stream of grilled
meats punctuated by the occasional starchy item.<br />
<br />
The food is <a href="http://www.kaleo.org/features/da-pidginary-broke-da-mouth/article_5c6db932-8393-11e1-a2a9-0019bb30f31a.html">broke
da mouth</a> good, albeit not as good as the company. Our conversation
is of no consequence to anyone other than ourselves. It is the best
kind of conversation.<br />
<br />
Later, when we drop Brandon off, we meet his wife. Amber is a huge
<a href="http://www.usanetwork.com/burnnotice"><i>Burn Notice</i></a>
fan, which helps when I cannot remember the name of one of that
show's villains.<br />
<br />
It came up at lunch for reasons forgotten. When I describe him to
her, she immediately recognizes him as Simon Escher, played by the
exquisitely creepy <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0226813/">Garret
Dillahunt</a>, who also has a B.A. in journalism from the nearby
University of Washington.<br />
<br />
Now I don't have to think about that anymore. Amber has relieved
me of a great burden. Now I can concentrate on the short drive north.<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934717704107119309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190891537429776265.post-16899710658698309912013-06-03T07:43:00.003-07:002013-06-03T07:43:54.152-07:00Butchart Gardens to Tacoma<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdw4KW5f-1dlXjQayohRrDZ4JECMPfqhd3qq-ZmZMpTU8q5nqVme2gLrlukP1KDgWa8ET22-2c7SzzamV5hKN1SY5tf-_hKgXwEae2KszFNlo0Ier1HjKxiG-pfuL1xwptN6WbZjfBCqvi/s1600/IMAG0691.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdw4KW5f-1dlXjQayohRrDZ4JECMPfqhd3qq-ZmZMpTU8q5nqVme2gLrlukP1KDgWa8ET22-2c7SzzamV5hKN1SY5tf-_hKgXwEae2KszFNlo0Ier1HjKxiG-pfuL1xwptN6WbZjfBCqvi/s400/IMAG0691.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Butchart Gardens, British Columbia – A rare sight... no people</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Butchart Gardens oozes tourists. We permeate the place like a
plague, pausing only to gawk and bump into other tourists. The ones
from Japan are most charming, neither giving nor taking offense when
bodies collide. It's bumper cars with flowers.<br />
<br />
The garden's story is long and convoluted, winding like its many
paths. Two brothers made a fortune in the cement business. One of the
brothers married a Scottish lass, Jennie, who became so famous for
her hospitality that she reportedly served tea to 15,000 visitors in
one year.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.butchartgardens.com/the-gardens/our-history/our-history.html">She
built a garden</a>, and it kept expanding. Fast forward several
decades, and here we all are, bumping into one another.<br />
<br />
After a morning of bumping, we eat lunch at the
cafeteria. The food is expensive but tasty.
We share a salmon noodle salad (vermicelli with black beans, corn,
garbanzo beans, peppers, and edamame) and blueberry cheesecake on the
patio.<br />
<br />
To drink, we have a pint of <a href="http://beeradvocate.com/beer/profile/492/11880">Hermann's
Dark Lager</a> on tap. Hermann's is brewed in Victoria, and it's good
to see the local product represented.<br />
<br />
* * *<br />
<br />
Back on the coach, Lyle is up to his usual tricks. “What an
idiot,” he says calmly as a car passes him on the right. “Sorry,
he probably doesn't know it's illegal. He's probably from
Van-COU-ver.” It's the worst swear word he knows.<br />
<br />
* * *<br />
<br />
On the ferry, across the strait, off the ferry. Dogs sniff our
bags and we return to the car.<br />
<br />
More driving. US-101 to WA-104 to WA-3 to WA-16. We cross the
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tacoma_Narrows_Bridge">Tacoma
Narrows Bridge</a> in a carpool lane that confuses us. We can stop at
the toll plaza and pay Washington $4 now, or we can pass without
stopping and pay $5.50 later. The confusion arises over whether or
not carpools must pay a toll.<br />
<br />
Either way, we are in a hurry to catch a ballgame, so we keep
moving. Months later we receive a bill.<br />
<br />
The game–Tacoma Rainiers vs Las Vegas 51s–starts at 7:05 p.m.,
and we arrive at the 19th Street exit by 6:55. We didn't buy tickets
in advance because we weren't sure how long it would take to get from
Port Angeles to Tacoma. Besides, when I checked last night, good
seats were available for cheap.<br />
<br />
Traffic stops. The van in front of us unloads three kids, who walk
off the freeway off-ramp and up the hill toward the stadium. It will
take us 40 minutes to go that final half mile.<br />
<br />
We fail to find the Rainiers game on the radio, catching instead
the Mariners up the road in Seattle. Félix Hernández is pitching
against the Red Sox.<br />
<br />
One of the announcers notes that top prospect Danny Hultzen is
making his home debut in Tacoma against ancient left-hander Jamie
Moyer, who played for the Mariners from 1996 to 2006. Moyer is 49
years old and returning from a season lost due to elbow surgery. He
puts us all to shame.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, we miss the game. This spawns <a href="http://www.baseballprospectus.com/article.php?articleid=17534">an
article</a> ($) that describes, among other things, what happens next:<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in; margin-right: 0.43in;">
Whatever the
case, we continued along 19th Street to a hospital, not because I
needed mending–although this could be another metaphor–but
because we had to find our motel. We got directions from our somewhat
trusty phones and proceeded to a part of town that defies reasonable
description.</div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in; margin-right: 0.43in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in; margin-right: 0.43in;">
To the north,
there is an adult bookstore, a thrift shop, and an empty lot strewn
with trash. To the south, a dingy-looking Chinese buffet. The freeway
was spitting distance from our room, which I know because I felt
droplets while we walked to the pizza chain just past the adult
bookstore. Or maybe that was rain.</div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in; margin-right: 0.43in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in; margin-right: 0.43in;">
There were some
negatives as well, but I'll spare you the details.</div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in; margin-right: 0.43in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in; margin-right: 0.43in;">
Either way,
Hultzen was pitching against Moyer about five miles from us.
Hernandez was pitching against the Red Sox 35 miles away. And we were
carrying a box of chain pizza back past the adult bookstore, the
thrift shop, and the empty lot strewn with trash to our room, where
we dined in luxury, washing our pizza down with fine craft beer [ed
note: Kiwanda Cream Ale and Tsunami Stout] procured some days earlier
in Oregon and now sipped–in the mode of Paul Giamatti's character
from <i>Sideways</i>–out of paper cups generously provided by our
motel.</div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in; margin-right: 0.43in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in; margin-right: 0.43in;">
So if you ask my
opinion of Hultzen, I will tell you that his presence in Tacoma
helped destroy a perfectly good evening of baseball for me. If you
want to know what I thought of Alex Liddi, I can tell you only that
the beer was delicious despite being consumed out of paper cups and
that the flowers on Vancouver Island made our delay worth the while.</div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in; margin-right: 0.43in;">
<br /></div>
Still, the motel looks like the kind of place that would find you
hookers if you asked at the front desk. Not that we ask.<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934717704107119309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190891537429776265.post-89445890186366796482013-05-27T05:39:00.000-07:002013-05-27T05:39:52.089-07:00Victoria to Butchart Gardens, Part 2<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0giKL0Aht55Oi_pf0aepUDAXry4WCrZCAoS1Mc9gxaa0QmlQLeI6HUdt1P3oWcZRbpdJJVcAxBmktm1QdCINpq0_GDsFyoiSyHAQhwsBRQSbeV3skrMGUmp9TtbFx3T017NvS6jGWqSEc/s1600/IMAG0657.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0giKL0Aht55Oi_pf0aepUDAXry4WCrZCAoS1Mc9gxaa0QmlQLeI6HUdt1P3oWcZRbpdJJVcAxBmktm1QdCINpq0_GDsFyoiSyHAQhwsBRQSbeV3skrMGUmp9TtbFx3T017NvS6jGWqSEc/s400/IMAG0657.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Butchart Gardens, British Columbia</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Lyle rattles off facts like the crazy Canadian fact machine he is.<br />
<br />
“There's a new hockey arena on Blanshard.”<br />
<br />
“The <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/bobkh/430907883/">Bay
Street Armoury</a> was built in 1913 and currently houses two regular
units, cadets, and a marching band.”<br />
<br />
“The original jail is now a high school.” (I remind myself
that the territorial prison in Yuma, Arizona, later <a href="http://ducksnorts.com/blog/2010/11/i-almost-prayed-in-albuquerque-halfway-to-phoenix.html">became
a high school</a> as well.)<br />
<br />
“The <a href="http://victoria.rasc.ca/observatory/">observatory
off Saanich Road</a> is the largest in the British empire and is
affiliated with the Hubble Space Telescope.”<br />
<br />
Lyle's voice swells with as much pride as his Canadian citizenship
will allow. And I say this without any hint of mockery, because he is
wonderful. If not <i>Kids in the Hall</i>, then maybe <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0397138/"><i>Corner
Gas</i></a> or some other underappreciated television show.<br />
<br />
“Victoria is the only part of Canada considered sub-tropical. It
averages one snowfall per year.” He explains that the Olympic
Mountain Range to the south picks off all the potential snow. A
passenger adds that one of those mountains–<a href="http://www.nps.gov/olym/planyourvisit/visiting-hurricane-ridge.htm">Hurricane
Ridge</a>–received nearly 700 inches of snow last year.<br />
<br />
Lyle acknowledges this and then tells us more about the
sub-tropics of Canada. “There is no rain in Victoria between
late-April and late-August,” he says. “That's good for tourism,
but tough on locals.”<br />
<br />
Then, without transition: “Vancouver Island has the largest
cougar population in the world. Every now and then, one will wander
into town.”<br />
<br />
I cannot speak to the veracity of his claims, but he sure is
entertaining. Crazy Canadian fact machine.<br />
<br />
A cell phone rings. Lyle pauses, but says nothing. A few moments
later, it rings again.<br />
<br />
“I might have to confiscate that annoying cell phone,” he says
in his gentle, measured tone. It is a threat delivered in the
Canadian style, as an apology.<br />
<br />
Upon arriving at Butchart Gardens, Lyle informs us that he will be
handing us tickets as we disembark the coach. “Now,” he says,
“these tickets are crucial.”<br />
<br />
He pauses
to ensure that all are paying attention, then delivers the reveal:
“You'll need them to get through the turnstiles.”<br />
<br />
Indeed. Because this is how tickets work. And turnstiles, for that
matter.<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934717704107119309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190891537429776265.post-70813902995300637322013-05-20T07:59:00.000-07:002013-05-20T07:59:28.821-07:00Victoria to Butchart Gardens, Part 1<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOxsyNHiquaew8XCfRnMVdgLt0hipztbD-nf7Qj6ppy3_K_m2mwg1felasoWDFeiCMpT7ATy4gYDmwKcrFNtvHlo5TaeP0-VzamF9sjkcnoIKV9eKAxptLRzLYlKK5BZB3euk3tRcN85a8/s1600/IMAG0654.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOxsyNHiquaew8XCfRnMVdgLt0hipztbD-nf7Qj6ppy3_K_m2mwg1felasoWDFeiCMpT7ATy4gYDmwKcrFNtvHlo5TaeP0-VzamF9sjkcnoIKV9eKAxptLRzLYlKK5BZB3euk3tRcN85a8/s400/IMAG0654.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Butchart Gardens, British Columbia</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
A man in dark slacks and vest, with medium-length wavy grey-brown
hair and wire-rimmed glasses, stands next to the coach. He introduces
himself as Lyle, our driver. In his early-sixties and slight of
build, Lyle speaks with a lilting cadence that makes everything sound
like a question. He could be a character out of a <i>Kids in the Hall</i>
sketch, played by <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mark_McKinney">Mark
McKinney</a>.<br />
<br />
Lyle is so stereotypically Canadian that it's difficult to keep
from smiling whenever... well, whenever he does anything. His
anecdotes are torpedoed by odd tangents, and punctuated by nervous
laughter and sighs of “ANY-way” that connect non sequiturs.<br />
<br />
After apologizing for being 5 minutes late and then admitting that
he is 15 minutes early instead of his usual 20, Lyle takes our
tickets and welcomes us aboard. Sandra and I sit on the right side
toward the back, and soon the coach fills with people much older than we
are.<br />
<br />
The gentleman across the aisle notices me taking notes by hand and
taps my shoulder. “It's so unusual to see someone doing that,” he
says, pointing at my spiral-bound book. “Everyone uses a computer
nowadays.” He points at the book again. “I like it.”<br />
<br />
“So do I.”<br />
<br />
Lyle fires up the engine and starts us on our 21-kilometer (when
in Canada...) jaunt to <a href="http://www.butchartgardens.com/">Butchart Gardens</a>. He has lived here his whole
life and tells us about the city, the gardens, and Vancouver Island.<br />
<br />
We learn about Victoria's architecture and the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Empress_(hotel)">Empress
Hotel</a>, famous for its high tea. <a href="http://www.victoriabc.ca/victoria/government_street.htm">Government
Street</a> is the oldest street west of the Canadian Rockies. There
are more than 700 restaurants in town. Blanshard Street is named
after <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_Blanshard">Richard
Blanshard</a>, the first governor of British Columbia, and is home to
<a href="http://www.gvpl.ca/">Andrew Carnegie Public Library</a>.<br />
<br />
Gold was <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fraser_Canyon_Gold_Rush">discovered</a>
here in 1858, shortly after British Columbia became an official
colony of Britain. Migration from California during the Gold Rush
increased a settlement of 600 to more than 20,000.<br />
<br />
The city of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Victoria,_Canada">Victoria</a>
now has a population around 80,000, with a greater metropolitan area
around 350,000. This constitutes roughly half of the people that live
on <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vancouver_Island">Vancouver
Island</a>, which at nearly 300 miles long is the largest island on
the West Coast of North or South America. The island is named after
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Vancouver">Captain
George Vancouver</a> of the British Royal Navy.<br />
<br />
Lyle could go on, and does, but that's a story for another day.<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934717704107119309noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190891537429776265.post-45976131274478239282013-05-13T06:33:00.002-07:002013-05-13T06:33:44.866-07:00Port Angeles to Victoria<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvqkavxR7nQoXDGKRC2Au08TMr8Tvp3jDsNQCmMffh7RQef7NHhmHaIWIGVh7JaRhn7XcF5qcv1APTkYOb_R7K02g_kkKgaHNu2WEzOBKV8v0nlVUPF3urIEzFXtOwNf362NLinQxPKNDX/s1600/IMAG0643.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvqkavxR7nQoXDGKRC2Au08TMr8Tvp3jDsNQCmMffh7RQef7NHhmHaIWIGVh7JaRhn7XcF5qcv1APTkYOb_R7K02g_kkKgaHNu2WEzOBKV8v0nlVUPF3urIEzFXtOwNf362NLinQxPKNDX/s400/IMAG0643.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Entering the port at Victoria, British Columbia</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
At the ferry terminal, one woman operates the ticket booth, which
explains last night's attempt to get information by phone. “There
is a boat leaving just now,” she had said before putting me on hold
and rushing off to ensure that it did so without incident.<br />
<br />
We buy tickets, fill out forms, show our passports, and board the
ferry.<br />
<br />
<i>Back in the 1980s, when Americans didn't need documentation to
enter Canada, I was visiting family in Michigan one summer. One day we drove across the Detroit River to spend an afternoon in
Windsor for some forgotten reason. The gentleman at the checkpoint
asked us our purpose, and I blurted from the back seat–I was a
teenager and knew everything–“tourism.” This fellow's eyes lit
up and he asked again. My father and stepmother made it clear that my
involvement in the conversation had come to an end, and after they
discussed the issue further with our wide-eyed checkpoint friend, he
let us pass into the Great White North. Later, I realized that he
must have thought I said “terrorism,” which would indeed provoke
a wide-eyed response. Something rather like terror, I should think.</i><br />
<br />
We sit at a table inside. There are chairs outside also, but it is
cool and windy. An upper deck offers views of the mountains behind
us, although they are obscured by clouds this morning. Also, this is
where the smokers congregate to form their own clouds.<br />
<br />
After snapping a few photos, I return inside to the galley and buy
some Boyd's Coffee and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ivar%27s">Ivar's
Famous Chowder</a>. When we visited Seattle in 2000, Sandra enjoyed
the clam chowder on a ferry to Bainbridge Island. She still talks
about it.<br />
<br />
Ivar is <a href="http://www.historylink.org/index.cfm?DisplayPage=output.cfm&File_Id=2499">Ivar
Haglund</a>, a folk singer from back in the day who opened a fish and
chips bar in 1938 as a companion to Seattle's first aquarium, which
he built. Ivar's Acres of Clams opened in 1946, and two more
locations have opened since. Ivar's chowder is famous, as is his
saying, “keep clam,” which calls to mind Spinal Tap's “<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KAibjHPEfKg">Clam
Caravan</a>.”<br />
<br />
Haglund, for his part, kept impressive company as a folk singer.
He hosted Pete Seeger and Woody Guthrie when they traveled to Seattle
in the 1940s. And Haglund's “Old Settler's Song” served as the
theme for his restaurant, the song's first stanza concluding:<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in;">
No longer the slave of ambition</div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in;">
I laugh at the world and its shams</div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in;">
As I think of my happy condition</div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in;">
Surrounded by acres of clams.</div>
<br />
We can agree that not everyone would think to rhyme “shams”
with “clams.”<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, the jaunt across the Strait of Juan de Fuca–that
95-mile-long strip of water that separates the Unites States and
Canada–takes about 90 minutes. Plenty of time for us to enjoy
Ivar's chowder and contemplate this <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Juan_de_Fuca">Juan
de Fuca</a> fellow.<br />
<br />
So named because he served under Phillip II, King of Spain, Juan
is Ioánnis Fokás, a 16th-century navigator who claimed to have
explored what was then known as the Strait of Anián. The veracity of
his claims likely will never be known, but the English captain
Charles William Barkley renamed the body of water in Fokás' honor in
1787.<br />
<br />
To further confuse matters, it is called Juan de Fuca Strait in
Canada. Whatever the appellation, we cross it and arrive in Victoria,
where we pass through customs and walk up to street level in search
of the coach (Canadian for bus) that will take us to Butchart
Gardens.<br />
<br />
Between customs and the street, retired folks in bright red tops
greet visitors with a smile and a map of Victoria. The man who gives
us our map asks where we're from.<br />
<br />
“San Diego,” I say.<br />
<br />
“Oh,” he replies. “That used to be a rough town but it's
nicer now.”<br />
<br />
He gives a knowing nod. I respond in kind (when in
Canada...) but have no clue what he means. Sandra suspects he is
thinking of downtown. I suspect he is thinking of Bangkok.<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934717704107119309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190891537429776265.post-44660573600729388642013-05-06T07:39:00.003-07:002013-05-06T07:39:48.135-07:00Forks to Port Angeles<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit8T5qlkmbO_Pq9nVfTStfjyD2TnVM2tIEQpzCUKUaqNfMI2GmeuC5oPcPqGsEm0DZsRYh8cS0I5ibWaL7mR96JY2ddZs6eeJccoRXrQzO_afPpau9o2wzdm_elpz-E-KQ7OkJnncfO9vH/s1600/IMAG0636.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit8T5qlkmbO_Pq9nVfTStfjyD2TnVM2tIEQpzCUKUaqNfMI2GmeuC5oPcPqGsEm0DZsRYh8cS0I5ibWaL7mR96JY2ddZs6eeJccoRXrQzO_afPpau9o2wzdm_elpz-E-KQ7OkJnncfO9vH/s400/IMAG0636.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Looking back at Port Angeles, Washington, from the Strait of Juan de Fuca</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Half the motel decides to leave Forks at 6 a.m. A smiling
gentleman in his mid-sixties mentions this to me as we pack our
respective cars. Everyone has somewhere to go.<br />
<br />
Sandra and I are headed to Port Angeles. The drive takes us along
<a href="http://www.nps.gov/olym/planyourvisit/visiting-lake-crescent.htm">Lake
Crescent</a>, which looks <a href="http://www.visitolympicpeninsula.org/images/inset_lakecrescent_large.jpg">beautiful
and serene</a> but which is also the site of at least two nasty car
wrecks. Russell and Blanch Warren <a href="http://www.windsox.us/VISITOR/HISTORY_BUILDINGS/LAKE_CRESCENT_MYSTERY.html">lost</a>
their <a href="http://john-rawlings.newsvine.com/_news/2008/11/09/2091424-return-to-the-mystery-the-warren-case-and-lake-crescent-part-2">lives</a>
to the lake in 1929, while a <a href="http://www.seattlepi.com/local/article/Booty-from-Lake-Crescent-s-murky-bottom-1144533.php">1960
accident</a> had a happier ending, with all four occupants surviving
a plunge into the icy waters.<br />
<br />
The road winds along the south shore, through the massive (i.e.,
larger than Rhode Island) Olympic National Park. Sunrise reflects off the lake's surface, illuminating cabins on the other side.<br />
<br />
We finish <a href="http://nwroads.blogspot.com/2013/04/pacific-city-to-tillamook.html">yesterday's
Tillamook cheese</a>. Nothing says “good morning” like chunks of
garlic chili pepper cheddar.<br />
<br />
The drive takes 75 minutes. Once at Port Angeles, we find the
ferry landing and park. Leaving the car alone in a lot for 10 hours
as we sail off to some other country fills me with an unexpected
anxiety. Who will feed it? What if it has to go to the bathroom?<br />
<br />
But these are silly concerns. It can always pee on the asphalt.<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934717704107119309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190891537429776265.post-49187679945911359212013-04-25T06:21:00.000-07:002013-04-25T06:21:00.261-07:00Recap: First Five DaysIn case you missed it, here's the story so far...<br />
<br />
<h2>
Day 1: San Diego to Paso Robles</h2>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF8QclPHVFrEHbTzNzsO6pDVjZbZT5y2fsHpQf16JsByyfPRNXp86LssgJsyVctut1G5K6M5QuyRCIOMhIKYkydEp3_Fuo4eEh_U-x6vDmlpPMtejT3Kbd2cE_ODYbqz0ab7cQCuZshyphenhyphenYi/s1600/IMAG0461.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="119" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF8QclPHVFrEHbTzNzsO6pDVjZbZT5y2fsHpQf16JsByyfPRNXp86LssgJsyVctut1G5K6M5QuyRCIOMhIKYkydEp3_Fuo4eEh_U-x6vDmlpPMtejT3Kbd2cE_ODYbqz0ab7cQCuZshyphenhyphenYi/s200/IMAG0461.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<a href="http://nwroads.blogspot.com/2013/01/san-diego-to-ventura.html">San Diego to Ventura</a><br />
<a href="http://nwroads.blogspot.com/2013/01/ventura-to-santa-barbara.html">Ventura to Santa Barbara</a><br />
<a href="http://nwroads.blogspot.com/2013/01/santa-barbara-to-san-luis-obispo.html">Santa Barbara to San Luis Obispo</a><br />
<a href="http://nwroads.blogspot.com/2013/01/san-luis-obispo-to-paso-robles.html">San Luis Obispo to Paso Robles</a> <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<h2>
Day 2: Paso Robles to Bodega Bay</h2>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMmpy5PhhbA2P3VPvL5BZfhJZGzyUMWQGS_BbcfRR4DZzPBNSKIduuUQwnY7JXYCil2F8wEJCfVmj8sV4xHVXRRXiOPZrO1UnrE_CjHxUf3-9sgXUzJSrIIRsrQXLSgOOsYlov8v2uKz1n/s1600/IMAG0498.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="119" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMmpy5PhhbA2P3VPvL5BZfhJZGzyUMWQGS_BbcfRR4DZzPBNSKIduuUQwnY7JXYCil2F8wEJCfVmj8sV4xHVXRRXiOPZrO1UnrE_CjHxUf3-9sgXUzJSrIIRsrQXLSgOOsYlov8v2uKz1n/s200/IMAG0498.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<a href="http://nwroads.blogspot.com/2013/01/paso-robles-to-prunedale.html">Paso Robles to Prunedale</a><br />
<a href="http://nwroads.blogspot.com/2013/01/prunedale-to-mountain-view.html">Prunedale to Mountain View</a><br />
<a href="http://nwroads.blogspot.com/2013/01/mountain-view-to-point-reyes-station.html">Mountain View to Point Reyes Station</a><br />
<a href="http://nwroads.blogspot.com/2013/01/point-reyes-station-to-valley-ford.html">Point Reyes Station to Valley Ford</a><br />
<a href="http://nwroads.blogspot.com/2013/01/point-reyes-station-to-bodega-bay.html">Valley Ford to Bodega Bay</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<h2>
Day 3: Bodega Bay to Eureka</h2>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiykstrB6cYYyncG-XvFyaBgMdXaj-d621lXnW_FC4pVkdeOAlC1q7QjgGc0yP9ztvaWk_BRHzHqer6QBmVr4CadkdjAagyu2f6DFbMiZ5mNuvbQDXzb29lIDOlVyteuLlCmuCMHru9G3_Q/s1600/IMAG0539.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="119" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiykstrB6cYYyncG-XvFyaBgMdXaj-d621lXnW_FC4pVkdeOAlC1q7QjgGc0yP9ztvaWk_BRHzHqer6QBmVr4CadkdjAagyu2f6DFbMiZ5mNuvbQDXzb29lIDOlVyteuLlCmuCMHru9G3_Q/s200/IMAG0539.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<a href="http://nwroads.blogspot.com/2013/02/bodega-bay-to-sea-ranch.html">Bodega Bay to Sea Ranch</a><br />
<a href="http://nwroads.blogspot.com/2013/02/sea-ranch-to-point-arena.html">Sea Ranch to Point Arena</a><br />
<a href="http://nwroads.blogspot.com/2013/02/point-arena-to-fort-bragg.html">Point Arena to Fort Bragg</a><br />
<a href="http://nwroads.blogspot.com/2013/02/fort-bragg-to-leggett.html">Fort Bragg to Leggett</a><br />
<a href="http://nwroads.blogspot.com/2013/02/leggett-to-eureka.html">Leggett to Eureka</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<h2>
Day 4: Eureka to Newport</h2>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0p1ctMwtH4KMbBkMA0eVQd4pLO5KYJXmekfnoMUm4uu_xQEGyR_Gj4a4k5ZrGGw6fJsfmt0DiDabhT52D0gSOIfFk_V77c9OGu628PABCNgR-OGvqZuU7ff8VCr5IiIc63q9IuLtesIHh/s1600/IMAG0587_roxio_2675x1600_70quality.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="119" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0p1ctMwtH4KMbBkMA0eVQd4pLO5KYJXmekfnoMUm4uu_xQEGyR_Gj4a4k5ZrGGw6fJsfmt0DiDabhT52D0gSOIfFk_V77c9OGu628PABCNgR-OGvqZuU7ff8VCr5IiIc63q9IuLtesIHh/s200/IMAG0587_roxio_2675x1600_70quality.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<a href="http://nwroads.blogspot.com/2013/02/eureka-to-crescent-city.html">Eureka to Crescent City</a><br />
<a href="http://nwroads.blogspot.com/2013/03/crescent-city-to-harris-state-beach.html">Crescent City to Harris State Beach</a><br />
<a href="http://nwroads.blogspot.com/2013/03/harris-state-beach-to-port-orford.html">Harris State Beach to Port Orford</a><br />
<a href="http://nwroads.blogspot.com/2013/03/port-orford-to-umpqua-river-lighthouse.html">Port Orford to Umpqua River Lighthouse</a><br />
<a href="http://nwroads.blogspot.com/2013/03/umpqua-river-lighthouse-to-heceta-head.html">Umpqua River Lighthouse to Heceta Head Lighthouse</a><br />
<a href="http://nwroads.blogspot.com/2013/03/heceta-head-lighthouse-to-newport.html">Heceta Head Lighthouse to Newport</a><br />
<br />
<h2>
Day 5: Newport to Forks</h2>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYQK5i1e3sRvqT8fQyXkEy_NtRdojK_pbEIlE-VvKfmiT6I5R1Cn-uGRbsfbAcI28Ie1MOBPcvTyYJ-ckR7-Hk_jQlVrL1EAtc-fPuYShJ9byvaWDryZGbwBuj5ct6NaKgHAKf36fqpiM_/s1600/IMAG0623.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="119" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYQK5i1e3sRvqT8fQyXkEy_NtRdojK_pbEIlE-VvKfmiT6I5R1Cn-uGRbsfbAcI28Ie1MOBPcvTyYJ-ckR7-Hk_jQlVrL1EAtc-fPuYShJ9byvaWDryZGbwBuj5ct6NaKgHAKf36fqpiM_/s200/IMAG0623.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<a href="http://nwroads.blogspot.com/2013/03/newport-to-pacific-city.html">Newport to Pacific City</a><br />
<a href="http://nwroads.blogspot.com/2013/04/pacific-city-to-tillamook.html">Pacific City to Tillamook</a><br />
<a href="http://nwroads.blogspot.com/2013/04/tillamook-to-astoria.html">Tillamook to Astoria</a><br />
<a href="http://nwroads.blogspot.com/2013/04/astoria-to-aberdeen.html">Astoria to Aberdeen</a><br />
<a href="http://nwroads.blogspot.com/2013/04/aberdeen-to-kalaloch-lodge.html">Aberdeen to Kalaloch Lodge</a><br />
<a href="http://nwroads.blogspot.com/2013/04/kalaloch-lodge-to-forks.html">Kalaloch Lodge to Forks</a><br />
<br />
I hope you are enjoying the journey. Feel free to say hey... Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934717704107119309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190891537429776265.post-89386958496440645702013-04-22T06:18:00.000-07:002013-04-22T06:18:06.275-07:00Kalaloch Lodge to Forks<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGn7X5S2sMi0f_AlYCjH5gZBkdtzajSm76RH8CCV7RDTZAjoSy7nZho7jH3KTK6CEDxifBO_lQh74j6Q2AbFhnS2Agxwvv5_QY1yqCSXp7UoXWrxpHbe4axUd3ous4EYHmQNyYTilg8NLj/s1600/IMAG0631.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGn7X5S2sMi0f_AlYCjH5gZBkdtzajSm76RH8CCV7RDTZAjoSy7nZho7jH3KTK6CEDxifBO_lQh74j6Q2AbFhnS2Agxwvv5_QY1yqCSXp7UoXWrxpHbe4axUd3ous4EYHmQNyYTilg8NLj/s400/IMAG0631.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>From the log book</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We drive past Destruction Island and its lighthouse, as well as
the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hoh_River">Hoh</a> and
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bogachiel_River">Bogachiel</a>
rivers, finally arriving at <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Forks,_Washington">Forks</a>
around 7 p.m. Just before twilight.<br />
<br />
Before <i>Twilight</i>, published in 2005 as the first of what I
later refer to as “a popular emo-vampire book series whose
essential message is that women are only as valuable as the men they
covet,” Forks was a small logging town in a remote corner of the
United States. It is still that, but because the characters from
<i>Twilight</i> live in Forks, it is also a town full of shops that
attempt to capitalize on the series' popularity by slapping the name
“Twilight” onto everything.<br />
<br />
The motel we stay at offers <i>Twilight</i>-themed rooms. You pay
extra for those.<br />
<br />
We stay in one of the cheaper, less creepy rooms (these are
teen-aged lovers, after all) that is best described as being devoid
of anything to do with <i>Twilight</i>. This is its charm, and so we
celebrate by sharing a bottle of MacPelican's Scottish Style Ale
brought with us from <a href="http://nwroads.blogspot.com/2013/03/newport-to-pacific-city.html">Pacific
City</a>.<br />
<br />
Sandra tries to make reservations online for tomorrow's ferry from
Port Angeles to Victoria, but that doesn't work. So we call the ferry
company. The woman at the other end of the line says that they can't
offer reservations this late but assures us that there will be plenty
of room for passengers and cars alike on the 8:15 boat.<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934717704107119309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190891537429776265.post-86594466063331706762013-04-18T06:37:00.000-07:002013-04-18T06:37:06.090-07:00Aberdeen to Kalaloch Lodge<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh29dQVWgU7pc9EsPkFtVoQ-SCxYS7y1UwJ1Ls0y2A6c2JF2b1ILLvbS-2UknnZdP1gDXvNq1t7dm3Jewh_q7qcZjziOD-u3CeokbVfDmeIztqE_t961Izf9oU4W704TZwDwuQNxo6_yhu6/s1600/IMAG0625.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh29dQVWgU7pc9EsPkFtVoQ-SCxYS7y1UwJ1Ls0y2A6c2JF2b1ILLvbS-2UknnZdP1gDXvNq1t7dm3Jewh_q7qcZjziOD-u3CeokbVfDmeIztqE_t961Izf9oU4W704TZwDwuQNxo6_yhu6/s400/IMAG0625.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Kalaloch Lodge, Washington</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Washington_State_Route_109">WA-109</a>
is supposed to <a href="http://apps.leg.wa.gov/rcw/default.aspx?cite=47.17.200">hug</a>
the coast and <a href="http://apps.leg.wa.gov/rcw/default.aspx?cite=47.20.710">span</a>
from Hoquiam to Queets. However, this crosses the <a href="http://209.206.175.157/">Quinault
Indian Reservation</a>, and the tribe <a href="http://washingtonhighways.blogspot.com/2010/09/washington-state-route-109.html">does
not wish</a> the road to continue so it does not.<br />
<br />
We continue instead along US-101, through dense forest. An
isolated nation lies to our left, and beyond it the ocean. Eventually
the highway returns to the coast, and we stop at <a href="http://www.thekalalochlodge.com/">Kalaloch Lodge</a> for
dinner and one final glimpse of the Pacific.<br />
<br />
The lodge is part of the <a href="http://www.olympicnationalparks.com/">Olympic National Park and Forest</a>, which
means that although this appears to be a restaurant, it really is a
catering service. People around us complain about the food's price
relative to its quality (similar laments appear in various online
reviews), but there is nowhere else to go and besides, the view makes up for a lot.<br />
<br />
A middle-aged man (not much older than me, come to think of it)
sits with his teen-aged daughter at the next table. She has blonde
hair pulled back and spends much of her meal trying to text on a
phone that gets poor service in this remote area.<br />
<br />
They have returned from Forks, home to characters in the <i>Twilight</i>
series that is popular among teens and other people with questionable
taste. To his credit, the father attempts to engage the girl,
feigning interest in Edward and Jacob. She occasionally looks up and
says something excitedly, then notices his glazed look and returns to
silence. Nobody understands her.<br />
<br />
Ah, the joys of adolescence. Someone on one of the podcasts we've been
listening to asked, “If you had only 15 seconds on the phone with
yourself when you were that age, what would you say?”<br />
<br />
I would say, “Hi, this is you in the future. Weird, right? So
life sucks, but it gets better. No time to explain, just trust me on
this one and be nice to Mom.”<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934717704107119309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190891537429776265.post-14892293418164526882013-04-15T06:10:00.000-07:002013-04-15T06:10:33.536-07:00Astoria to Aberdeen<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjpScsDizqUBz3mdqRm8Pv2lcXO5sRsQoFswc9FPxUQVFk6bzJme3w5-8DfqMfZinAbMVsBFRCrrGXv8Wj7ulT-3vyYHZjiVpbjN_triyeftqvBD-IjcOK2MLeVSOH5uzfVT_Ff2q_ZU3r/s1600/IMAG0627.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjpScsDizqUBz3mdqRm8Pv2lcXO5sRsQoFswc9FPxUQVFk6bzJme3w5-8DfqMfZinAbMVsBFRCrrGXv8Wj7ulT-3vyYHZjiVpbjN_triyeftqvBD-IjcOK2MLeVSOH5uzfVT_Ff2q_ZU3r/s400/IMAG0627.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Ubiquitous purple flowers, somewhere in Oregon or Washington</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
These flowers are everywhere along the coast. They look vaguely
like <a href="http://plants.usda.gov/java/profile?symbol=phvi8"><i>Physostegia
virginiana</i></a>, but that plant is not found west of Utah. More
likely they are <a href="http://plants.usda.gov/java/profile?symbol=PHPA10"><i>Physostegia
parviflora</i></a>, although it is equally possible that I am
clueless.<br />
<br />
An earlier version of our itinerary had us spending the night in
Aberdeen, where Nirvana's former lead singer and
guitarist, the late Kurt Cobain, spent his formative years. I didn't adore Nirvana's music the way many did, but I liked it well enough, and Cobain symbolized a
post-modern apathy that spoke to my generation.<br />
<br />
After he committed suicide in 1994, I wrote a poem based on a
<a href="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m5dv1vp0xZ1qd583yo1_400.jpg">photograph</a>
of the death scene. I also wrote a song for a band I played in at the
time (our singer named his first son Kurt and had invited me to see
Nirvana live on the <i>In Utero</i> tour; “next time,” I said).
The poem was called “Burning, Not Fading” and ended up in a
chapbook I published a year later for my own amusement:<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in;">
Two glass doors with wooden frames,</div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in;">
one open, the other shut;</div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in;">
branches of a tree or bush not quite
in focus;</div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in;">
pills or gun shells on the linoleum
floor</div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in;">
laid out in perfect, retreating
squares;</div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in;">
a bald-headed man in a dark suit</div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in;">
behind the door that is closed;</div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in;">
an open box, socks,</div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in;">
a baseball cap, towel,</div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in;">
unfolded wallet, driver's license;</div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in;">
a man in black shoes, squatting,</div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in;">
holding a notebook in his hands;</div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in;">
to his left a tennis shoe</div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in;">
whose toes are slightly off the
ground;</div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in;">
to his right another shoe,</div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in;">
dark, canvas, with a star on the side,</div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in;">
neatly laced and tied,</div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in;">
wrinkled jeans,</div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in;">
long-sleeved shirt,</div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in;">
a wrist,</div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in;">
and a clenched white fist.</div>
<br />
I will never forget the photograph, nor the experience of studying
it. Neither will I forget the feeling of helplessness at knowing this
young man wasted his future. He was 27, which is when all
the great ones seem to die–Brian Jones, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin,
Jim Morrison. It's a romantic thought, but also a sobering one for this
then-25-year-old trying to figure out what the hell to do in life.<br />
<br />
This is my role model? A guy who mumbles, doesn't shave, then
shoots himself?<br />
<br />
The title of the poem was supposed to be patterned after
Stevie Smith's “<a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/175778">Not
Waving but Drowning</a>,” only I got it wrong. I forget the name of
the song I wrote. Maybe “No Apologies,” as a play on Nirvana's
“All Apologies.” It is the sort of title I would have liked.<br />
<br />
I forget many of the lyrics as well. The chorus went something
like this:<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in;">
Anger of a generation</div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in;">
Forgotten but not gone</div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in;">
You were seen as their salvation</div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in;">
Something they had won</div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in;">
No apologies will be</div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in;">
Necessary</div>
<br />
Musically it borrowed from several Nirvana songs–an
homage–starting with a low murmur in the style of “All
Apologies,” rising to a frenetic “Smells Like Teen Spirit”
style chorus, and ending with a call to “Heart-Shaped Box.”<br />
<br />
This was a long time ago, and all I have now are fragments...
“Bullet to the head, better off dead... you could teach them
something... bitter, angry words.”<br />
<br />
I am 43 now, and what little sense of romance there may have been
in suicide at the time is long gone. Days, weeks, and months are
cherished as singular, unrepeatable events on a one-way trip.<br />
<br />
This afternoon, Aberdeen is a balmy 74 degrees. We stop at a
convenience store to buy water, then drive through town, with its
front yards full of beer-gutted women. I have been to places like
this, but in very different parts of the country. The scene runs
counter to my stereotype of the Pacific Northwest, reminding me that
stereotypes are rarely as useful as reality.<br />
<br />
In a flash, Cobain's angst makes sense to me. His death, not so
much, but I get him in a way that I didn't before spending 10 minutes
here. Aberdeen had no clue what do with him, and vice versa.<br />
<br />
Back in San Diego, I will ask a friend who grew up in the area
about his impressions of Aberdeen. I want to be certain that I am not
making a snap judgment based on an insufficient sample of the place,
that I am not reporting a stereotypical view and feeding the romance
of Cobain's life and death. My friend will assure me that what I saw
is what there is.<br />
<br />
This is both comforting and disturbing. We continue driving.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934717704107119309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190891537429776265.post-38896957051882159272013-04-11T05:54:00.000-07:002013-04-15T05:44:39.884-07:00Tillamook to Astoria<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5E7A9hJgjxHW16vStMb42YILVGvwCm_YBL5t6wnC3E3FwOP5SBM9eVLYwbPn3IfeE0nQ0w2SKgh1zIDCFHDsVWvpnj7YVK2GoOTkb1PicFEP4bfA1mKHrUkzoxRSvhlW0eHgQxQZ1ah7E/s1600/IMAG0623.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5E7A9hJgjxHW16vStMb42YILVGvwCm_YBL5t6wnC3E3FwOP5SBM9eVLYwbPn3IfeE0nQ0w2SKgh1zIDCFHDsVWvpnj7YVK2GoOTkb1PicFEP4bfA1mKHrUkzoxRSvhlW0eHgQxQZ1ah7E/s400/IMAG0623.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Bridge from Astoria, Oregon, to Washington</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
“Padres!” exclaims a twentysomething outside the Wet Dog Cafe
and Brewery, which overlooks the Columbia River. It appears
promising, but our schedule calls for the briefest of stays in
Astoria and keeps us from conducting a proper investigation.<br />
<br />
“Right on,” I reply. I am wearing a blue Padres shirt with
Trevor Hoffman's name and number 51 on the back. As we walk past the
young, excited bar patron, he notices the back of my shirt.<br />
<br />
“Hoffman!” he cries. “That's old school.”<br />
<br />
He then mimics an exaggerated version of Hoffman's delivery that
looks more like Juan Marichal with the high leg kick. But he's
excited, and it's rare to find Padres fans outside of San Diego (or
even, if we are to be honest, in San Diego), so I smile and give him
the thumbs-up.<br />
<br />
Then his friend drives up and he gets excited about that. He's not excited to see me in a Hoffman jersey, he's
excited about everything. There are worse ways to go
through life.<br />
<br />
Sandra and I stroll along the river and pop into a used bookstore. It's hot
and muggy here, at least compared to where we've been.<br />
<br />
Repairs on the bridge connecting Oregon to Washington force us
to stop and wait 5 minutes. This is an inconvenience to locals but
allows us to savor a spectacular view and me to snap a photo from the
driver's seat.<br />
<br />
The bridge, formally known as the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Astoria%E2%80%93Megler_Bridge">Astoria-Megler
Bridge</a>, spans 4 miles across the Columbia River and is the
longest continuous truss bridge in North America. Construction began
in November 1962 and was completed in August 1966. The bridge has
appeared in movies such as <i>Short Circuit</i>, <i>Kindergarten Cop</i>,
and <i>Goonies</i>, which probably isn't sufficient reason to see any
of those, but there you go.<br />
<br />
And here we go, headed into Washington, searching for Nirvana.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934717704107119309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190891537429776265.post-15202309223370942722013-04-08T07:55:00.002-07:002013-04-08T07:55:55.530-07:00Pacific City to Tillamook
After spending much of our time in remote areas, the booming town
of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tillamook,_Oregon">Tillamook</a>
takes us by surprise. We drive north along the so-called <a href="http://pacificcity.org/3capes/drive.html">3
Capes Scenic Drive</a>, which goes from Cape Kiwanda (where Pacific
City is), through Cape Lookout, to Cape Meares.<br />
<br />
There is a lighthouse at Cape Meares, but we miss it. I misread a
sign and hang a right at <a href="http://www.oregoncoast.com/netarts/">Netarts</a>
instead of continuing along the coast. Soon after, we find ourselves
in Tillamook, which is famous for its cheese and... well, just its
cheese.<br />
<br />
The <a href="http://www.tillamook.com/">factory</a> is in the
middle of town. You can't miss it, because that's where everyone is,
eating cheese and ice cream.<br />
<br />
We enjoy samples of cheese, some of which are good. We buy a block
of garlic chili pepper cheddar to go with our Pelican beer tonight.
We also eat ice cream for lunch–a combination of black cherry,
white chocolate/raspberry, and caramel crunch that is smooth, creamy,
and flavorful.<br />
<br />
The moment we finish, we bolt for the exit and return to our car.
There are a lot of people in this place, and they really like cheese.
It's a little weird.<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934717704107119309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190891537429776265.post-27095331187003094742013-03-28T06:01:00.000-07:002013-03-28T06:01:37.324-07:00Newport to Pacific City<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDsHqyT78gIE9z2BiaDYniV2weiFYi4DMapWEly7sZjIgofnIbg6u1_zcCSB5yN83nRMYrAljWnLwx6-0eGMA5hD3BiKqzeAWw91sEAXTvbT5rB2kjhRCqKwhidAK6vfTt8fFSNy9TiTXG/s1600/IMAG0616.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDsHqyT78gIE9z2BiaDYniV2weiFYi4DMapWEly7sZjIgofnIbg6u1_zcCSB5yN83nRMYrAljWnLwx6-0eGMA5hD3BiKqzeAWw91sEAXTvbT5rB2kjhRCqKwhidAK6vfTt8fFSNy9TiTXG/s400/IMAG0616.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Beach at Pacific City, Oregon</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
While the vampires are sleeping, or doing whatever it is they do
when they are not sucking, we drive to <a href="http://pacificcity.org/">Pacific
City</a> for breakfast. Although the town boasts barely 1,000 full-time residents, it features one of the world's finest
breweries.<br />
<br />
Fortunately for us, <a href="http://www.yourlittlebeachtown.com/pelican">Pelican
Pub and Brewery</a> also serves food and opens at 8 a.m. Only an
hour north of Newport, this place piqued my interest by winning
several medals at the 2012 <a href="http://www.worldbeercup.org/">World
Beer Cup</a>.<br />
<br />
I thought it might be worth a visit, but our friend Didi–who
knows a thing or two about beer, food, and cool places to
visit–insisted that it should not be missed. He was right.<br />
<br />
Sandra orders smoked salmon Benedict, while I have the corned beef
hash (prepared with MacPelican's Scottish Ale, sage, and homemade
mustard). Both satisfy, as does the fresh-brewed coffee.<br />
<br />
People take their coffee seriously in these parts. And their
smoked salmon. And their glass blowing. There is no shortage of shops
dedicated to each in every Southern Oregon beach town. Also a
surprising number of Hawaiian food establishments. We passed two
yesterday in Florence.<br />
<br />
Pelican is nearly empty, drawing attention to the many awards that
dot the walls. Our large table abuts a window looking onto the
beach, which is also nearly empty.<br />
<br />
We take as much time to enjoy the food, coffee, and view as we
dare. Then we pay for our meal and a six-pack of 22-ounce bottles for
the road (including one for Didi back in San Diego, of course).<br />
<br />
Outside, surfers attempt to negotiate insufficient swells.
White birds strut in the sand, searching for snacks.<br />
<br />
The occasional stray human family sits in beach chairs. Mom reads
a novel, dad reads the newspaper. Children build what pass for
sandcastles. Maybe a 4 x 4 truck rolls past, parallel to the incoming
tide.<br />
<br />
A funky looking dog (Sandra calls it a “dingo dog”) retrieves
a stick thrown by its owner several times, then lies in the shade
beneath its owners truck to rest before getting back to work. A large
rock breaks the ocean surface about a half mile out or so.<br />
<br />
Does this happen here or am I remembering <a href="http://nwroads.blogspot.com/2013/03/heceta-head-lighthouse-to-newport.html">Newport</a>?
Or <a href="http://nwroads.blogspot.com/2013/03/umpqua-river-lighthouse-to-heceta-head.html">Heceta
Head</a>? Or even <a href="http://nwroads.blogspot.com/2013/03/crescent-city-to-harris-state-beach.html">Harris
State Beach</a>? The days run together, the beaches run together.
Each is beautiful and unique, but the ubiquity of such beauty and
uniqueness overwhelms. We are becoming spoiled to the point that we
cannot differentiate between one amazing place and the next.<br />
<br />
As problems go, it is a nice one to have. You know what else would
be nice to have? Some cheese.<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934717704107119309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190891537429776265.post-783060231069209472013-03-25T07:32:00.003-07:002013-03-25T07:32:47.867-07:00Heceta Head Lighthouse to Newport
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0p1ctMwtH4KMbBkMA0eVQd4pLO5KYJXmekfnoMUm4uu_xQEGyR_Gj4a4k5ZrGGw6fJsfmt0DiDabhT52D0gSOIfFk_V77c9OGu628PABCNgR-OGvqZuU7ff8VCr5IiIc63q9IuLtesIHh/s1600/IMAG0587_roxio_2675x1600_70quality.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0p1ctMwtH4KMbBkMA0eVQd4pLO5KYJXmekfnoMUm4uu_xQEGyR_Gj4a4k5ZrGGw6fJsfmt0DiDabhT52D0gSOIfFk_V77c9OGu628PABCNgR-OGvqZuU7ff8VCr5IiIc63q9IuLtesIHh/s400/IMAG0587_roxio_2675x1600_70quality.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>View from hotel balcony, Newport, Oregon</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Our destination today is Newport, an hour north of Heceta Head. It
is home to <a href="http://rogue.com/">Rogue Ales</a>, purveyor of
many fine beers, including the decadent Hazelnut Brown Nectar.<br />
<br />
We pull into town around 6:30 and, after a few wrong turns, end up
at the boardwalk on Yaquina Bay. Its main road, Bay Blvd., is lined with restaurants
and shops. Many towns along the West Coast have similar areas: Morro
Bay, Monterey, Astoria (as we will discover tomorrow), to name a few.<br />
<br />
Despite its overt commercialism, the place exudes charm. It is a
place to hang out, relax, and enjoy. Friends and families roam the
streets. Inside Rogue Ales Public House, our
server is friendly and engaging. She smiles and chats, but not in a
way that seems forced. We feel at home, which
is welcome after four days on the road.<br />
<br />
Sandra orders halibut and chips, I have Kobe chili with Tillamook
cheese. The food is good, not great. The beers–a taster of Honey
Orange Wheat from Tracktown Brewery in nearby Eugene, and pints of
Hazelnut Brown and Amber Ale–are delicious.<br />
<br />
Maybe the mind is playing tricks on itself, but getting a beer at
its source always seems more satisfying. It could be that driving 320 miles to get here and being served by
someone who seems genuine in her enjoyment clouds our judgment, but I doubt it.<br />
<br />
Besides, these things count. And even though the food may only
qualify as “good,” I would return here without hesitation.<br />
<br />
On our way out, we buy 22-ounce bottles of Chocolate Stout and
Shakespeare Oatmeal Stout for later, then wander around Bay Blvd.
Sandra loves saltwater taffy, and boardwalks always have a shop that
specializes in such things. Two doors down, we find Aunt Belinda's
Candies and fill a brown paper bag with goodies.<br />
<br />
After walking some more and taking in the cool bay breeze, we head
over to our hotel on the ocean side of the highway. Our room at the
<a href="http://www.hallmarkinns.com/index.asp?property=3&rec_id=38">Hallmark
Resort</a> is on the top floor and is a suite, complete with full
kitchen and spa. The view includes a glimpse of Yaquina
Head Lighthouse in the distance to the north.<br />
<br />
The photo at the top is my favorite shot from the entire trip.
Taken from the balcony of our hotel in Newport, it perfectly captures
the spirit of our travels. The sun setting into the ocean after a
long day.<br />
<br />
The photo's quality isn't great–it's from a phone–but the
essence of this place couldn't come through any better. A few people, some with dogs, stroll along the beach. We hear the gentle swoosh of
waves as they reach sand.<br />
<br />
The world is quiet, still, perfect, or so it seems to us. Which is good, because
tomorrow we enter vampire territory.<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934717704107119309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190891537429776265.post-63269886832845103812013-03-21T05:42:00.001-07:002013-03-21T05:53:38.733-07:00Umpqua River Lighthouse to Heceta Head Lighthouse<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc5kG5tMvcmo8xtZjwHVSLMLuMqSYmffiHHtdknLue32FnJ0L7gzFYi8cYsgZ2TWc06v2mTUvP-jbFxGkaBW32ZCUxE3OL3mfkIUI7NBgWIRFOnR9oJoW4oBByMIUSz9V8f9F2lq6rB24N/s1600/IMAG0573.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc5kG5tMvcmo8xtZjwHVSLMLuMqSYmffiHHtdknLue32FnJ0L7gzFYi8cYsgZ2TWc06v2mTUvP-jbFxGkaBW32ZCUxE3OL3mfkIUI7NBgWIRFOnR9oJoW4oBByMIUSz9V8f9F2lq6rB24N/s400/IMAG0573.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Bridge near Heceta Head Lighthouse, Oregon</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I once drove from <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/gyoung858/sets/72157601699010388/detail/">San
Diego to Cooperstown</a> to watch former Padres outfielder Tony Gwynn
get inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame. Along the way, I passed
Gwynn Canyon in New Mexico.<br />
<br />
There is also a Gwynn Island in Virginia and a Gwynn Oak in
Maryland. Gwynn Oak is a suburb of Baltimore, whose long-time
shortstop Cal Ripken Jr. was inducted along with Tony Gwynn.<br />
<br />
Here, we cross <a href="http://www.oregonwild.org/about/hikes_events/explore-wild-oregon/hikes-on-the-oregon-coast/oregon-wild-hikes-gwynn-creek-and-cummins-creek">Gwynn
Creek</a> south of Yachats (home of the infamous <a href="http://www.snakejazz.com/smelt/">Smelt
baseball team</a>) and arrive at Heceta Head Lighthouse just after 5
p.m. The lighthouse is under construction, so we admire it from afar
and imagine what it might look like without scaffolding.<br />
<br />
We kick at driftwood along the beach and watch the glint of sun
off water. A family sits in the sand. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FHixChYgGRI">Little fluffy clouds</a> roll over two
rocks that jut out from the mainland.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5GJ2vK9zYEkCi3Umi8hACc4wqSVoKlPjKhnQQRTu_93xDZ8aRX_vzRLa3qQegVJoRO4joELbpOCsEgqvT1BdibyblVBpvJapktjKXw3qSol9ccekmGW_ms-GuQpbtnukNaxC1wXZ9-sKh/s1600/IMAG0574.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5GJ2vK9zYEkCi3Umi8hACc4wqSVoKlPjKhnQQRTu_93xDZ8aRX_vzRLa3qQegVJoRO4joELbpOCsEgqvT1BdibyblVBpvJapktjKXw3qSol9ccekmGW_ms-GuQpbtnukNaxC1wXZ9-sKh/s400/IMAG0574.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Coastline near Heceta Head Lighthouse, Oregon</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
After 20 minutes, we head back to our car. A red convertible pulls
into the parking lot. Two women emerge and look up to the lighthouse.<br />
<br />
“Is it closed?” one of them asks, as if my having been here 20
minutes makes me an expert.<br />
<br />
“I'm afraid so,” I reply, startled at my own expertise.<br />
<br />
She stares at it in the distance, then turns to her friend, who
says nothing.<br />
<br />
“I used to love this lighthouse,” she says. “I haven't seen
it in 30 years. We came down from Alaska.”<br />
<br />
Sure enough, those are Alaska plates on the convertible. I don't
have the heart to ask if they came to see things other than this
lighthouse.<br />
<br />
“Oh well,” she says.<br />
<br />
It's a fatalistic admission that hints at defeat. But when one's
fate rests with the highway that traces the Oregon coast, victory is
almost always just a turn or two away.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934717704107119309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190891537429776265.post-16753793229745028552013-03-18T07:54:00.001-07:002013-03-18T07:54:43.230-07:00Port Orford to Umpqua River Lighthouse<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghjoH-688R_U8RFIyuv1rPa8iPSebCqRPRIWHkDkLak1jKaOzTuxq2KFXUKikOpDtFX7VOxRKsI5ZycG2a0dP1TkAJ6bg2e_ih1nUPJJSy4gJPLpaWf7P_iiwK_H6q5VHJlQuMgSO9XwS4/s1600/IMAG0571.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghjoH-688R_U8RFIyuv1rPa8iPSebCqRPRIWHkDkLak1jKaOzTuxq2KFXUKikOpDtFX7VOxRKsI5ZycG2a0dP1TkAJ6bg2e_ih1nUPJJSy4gJPLpaWf7P_iiwK_H6q5VHJlQuMgSO9XwS4/s400/IMAG0571.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Umpqua River Lighthouse, Oregon</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
A deer bolts out in front of us on the highway. We see it in
plenty of time and wait for it to cross. Still, the jolt of
adrenaline lingers.<br />
<br />
At the lighthouse we learn that Amos Rogers was the <a href="http://www.douglascountyhistoricalsociety.org/2011/01/04/the-gardiner-that-was/">first postmaster</a> of Umpqua City Post Office, established September 24,
1851. This is useful information to know if, for example, you wish to
write the preceding sentence.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oregon_Dunes_National_Recreation_Area">Oregon
Dunes National Recreation Area</a> lies just beyond the lighthouse
grounds, making this one of the few places along the coast where
peace and quiet are scarce. If you like your views accompanied
by the rumble of dune buggy engines, this is a great spot.<br />
<br />
We do not enter the lighthouse–it belongs to the U.S. Coast
Guard and is off-limits to civilians–but mill about the visitors
center and learn many other facts that we soon forget. Even the <a href="http://www.oregoncoastmagazine.com/Wreck_of_the_Tahoma.php">wreck
of the <i>Tacoma</i></a> in 1883 grows fuzzy in our minds as we continue
along the coast.<br />
<br />
Those who perished in the wreck are buried at nearby <a href="http://walkingingraveyards.blogspot.com/2009/12/gardiner-cemetery.html">Gardiner
Cemetery</a>. We are not aware of its existence eight miles north and
will pass it unnoticed just across the Umpqua River from Reedsport as
we drive toward the next lighthouse, which we will also be unable to
enter.<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934717704107119309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190891537429776265.post-13504006397261911012013-03-07T07:20:00.001-08:002013-03-07T07:20:49.133-08:00Harris State Beach to Port Orford<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVCeRjmxFGV-OLsLX8Dz6Zcavl83r44biTip1H9gWiONm3kZ7C38rQ4h0mx3W1qbGP8wQgsX_D3x4to-z629hlKYXUldzqM6SYTPYCs2f03ht7CUhZaH_pD85NlAiyaXHm8YKdkWHFaIMy/s1600/800px-Port_Orford,_Oregon,_Port.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVCeRjmxFGV-OLsLX8Dz6Zcavl83r44biTip1H9gWiONm3kZ7C38rQ4h0mx3W1qbGP8wQgsX_D3x4to-z629hlKYXUldzqM6SYTPYCs2f03ht7CUhZaH_pD85NlAiyaXHm8YKdkWHFaIMy/s400/800px-Port_Orford,_Oregon,_Port.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Port Orford, Oregon (via <a href="http://www.wikipedia.org/">Wikipedia</a>)</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Food is on our minds as we cross the Klamath, Smith, and Pistol
rivers. We also cross the <a href="http://highestbridges.com/wiki/index.php?title=Thomas_Creek_Bridge">Thomas
Creek Bridge</a>, highest in Oregon at roughly 350 feet, en route to
<a href="http://www.portorford.org/">Port Orford</a>.<br />
<br />
An unassuming town of a little more than 1,000 people, Port Orford
was founded in 1856 and later became a shipping port for cedar. In
1941, mayor Gilbert Gable attempted to create an independent State of
Jefferson comprising several counties in southern Oregon and northern
California. From that proposed state's <a href="http://jeffersonstate.com/jeffersonproclamation.html">Proclamation
of Independence</a>:<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in; margin-right: 0.43in;">
For the next
hundred miles as you drive along Highway 99, you are traveling
parallel to the greatest copper belt in the far West, seventy-five
miles west of here.</div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in; margin-right: 0.43in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in; margin-right: 0.43in;">
The United
States government needs this vital mineral. But gross neglect by
California and Oregon deprives us of necessary roads to bring out the
copper ore.</div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in; margin-right: 0.43in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in; margin-right: 0.43in;">
If you don't
believe this, drive down the Klamath River Highway and see for
yourself. Take your chains, shovel and dynamite.</div>
<br />
Then Pearl Harbor was bombed, and folks' <a href="http://www.ijpr.org/page.asp?navid=1033">priorities
shifted</a>.<br />
<br />
The southernmost of Oregon's lighthouses, <a href="http://www.oregonstateparks.org/park_62.php">Cape
Blanco Lighthouse</a>, is not far from here. It opened in 1870 and
looks like a nice place to visit on our next trip, when we have more
time.<br />
<br />
Port Orford's motto could be <a href="http://www.mikesroadtrip.com/port-orford/">underpromise,
overdeliver</a>. Lunch is a prime example. We stop at <a href="http://www.redfishportorford.com/">RedFish</a>
because we are hungry and it sits atop a cliff overlooking the
Pacific Ocean. There might be better methods for finding a place to
eat, but “ooh, pretty” has <a href="http://nwroads.blogspot.com/2013/02/bodega-bay-to-sea-ranch.html">served
us well</a> so far.<br />
<br />
It's best not to expect much from small-town restaurants, and we
don't, which makes the quality of our meal a welcome surprise. Sandra
has crab cakes and clam chowder, while I have a carnitas sandwich.
The carnitas is tender, moist, and flavorful. Yeah, it's on the
greasy side, but isn't that the point?<br />
<br />
We share a Pin-Up Porter from <a href="http://www.sobrewing.com/">Southern Oregon Brewing Co.</a> in
Medford. After a brief rest, we continue north. Our plan had not
called for an hour stop here, but the food and the view make it
difficult for us to leave.<br />
<br />
This place is worth a return visit. I don't know what other hidden
treasures the town might hold, but RedFish would not be out of place
in many large, cosmopolitan cities. It has the added benefit of not
actually being in a large, cosmopolitan city.<br />
<br />
Soon, restaurant and town are behind us. The road continues
winding along the coast, pregnant with the promise of future
lighthouses.<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934717704107119309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190891537429776265.post-6945855146811802102013-03-04T07:57:00.000-08:002013-03-04T07:57:09.158-08:00Crescent City to Harris State Beach<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqb7o0z6rwdEvuzcyeuySvgpup2BgFTlF4VWsBMH6WP8TCEpkw-4zcNuRDzqpqE1_r82dnUFBJEzSg-w85TEr3vug9H6Pz2hJk7GYvwIZAExhozL7rpux2SK93pmnBLFuUV6C2igeOvHs4/s1600/IMAG0555.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqb7o0z6rwdEvuzcyeuySvgpup2BgFTlF4VWsBMH6WP8TCEpkw-4zcNuRDzqpqE1_r82dnUFBJEzSg-w85TEr3vug9H6Pz2hJk7GYvwIZAExhozL7rpux2SK93pmnBLFuUV6C2igeOvHs4/s400/IMAG0555.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Harris State Beach, Oregon</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The chief, and perhaps only, complaint that can be lodged against
the Oregon coast is this: There are too many places worth stopping at
and not enough time.<br />
<br />
It would be easy to spend the day lamenting all
the spots we must drive past in order to get where we are going. But that requires us to spend time and energy not enjoying everything else, which doesn't sound like much fun.<br />
<br />
A half hour out of Crescent City, Harris State Beach appears. We
pull off the highway and into a parking lot atop a cliff overlooking
the ocean. Should we pause to admire the view?<br />
<br />
But wait, there is a road leading further down the cliff. Maybe we
should try that instead.<br />
<br />
A second lot awaits at the bottom, and it is almost empty. This
will be a recurring theme in Oregon: pristine beaches with nobody
around to enjoy them. A guy could get spoiled.<br />
<br />
We descend a series of zig-zag ramps onto the sand. There are a
few families, kids running around while dad reads the paper in a lawn
chair. The occasional dog. Driftwood lines the beach, gulls wade in
the shallows.<br />
<br />
Sandra trades her shoes for flip flops and dips her toes into the
water. It is very cold, which is one of the reasons I don't join her.
Also, I don't like water.<br />
<br />
The sky is clear blue, dotted with a few white clouds. Rock
formations peak above the ocean surface maybe a half mile out or so.<br />
<br />
Rocks closer to the shore serve as a breakwater... almost. Water
shoots through a gap between two large rocks at irregular intervals,
forming a pool. Starfish and mussels cling to the rocks. Sometimes
the water slips through like syrup on pancakes; other times it
crashes against the rocks and spits upward like a busted fire
hydrant.<br />
<br />
The constant whooshing soothes. Its calming effect could lull us
into staying here forever. Mesmerized by the sound of water, we would
forget to eat and perish, our remains being absorbed by the earth.<br />
<br />
It sounds romantic, in an Old Testament sort of way, but we won't
forget to eat. Getting the taste of fast-food “chicken
sandwiches” out of our mouths remains a top priority. Becoming one
with the beach will have to wait.<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934717704107119309noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190891537429776265.post-46793414822035181072013-02-28T08:03:00.003-08:002013-02-28T08:03:57.845-08:00Eureka to Crescent City<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIwuGdUe5zeiY-Ehaosq1oZfGH9fsV8m9szEnZpTbRx6OISjd6YmVzJquSU7xtI7G5Hv_5Ce0LXoL298iSFwMCNLP4qsLkljNR20PwZK_7QR0ckyfqbZUZAfC3VK5LPUoIo2gEH92owNhE/s1600/Crescent_City_Harbor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIwuGdUe5zeiY-Ehaosq1oZfGH9fsV8m9szEnZpTbRx6OISjd6YmVzJquSU7xtI7G5Hv_5Ce0LXoL298iSFwMCNLP4qsLkljNR20PwZK_7QR0ckyfqbZUZAfC3VK5LPUoIo2gEH92owNhE/s400/Crescent_City_Harbor.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Crescent City Harbor, Crescent City, California (via <a href="http://www.wikipedia.org/">Wikipedia</a>)</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
One place we walked past the night before is <a href="http://oldtowncoffeeeureka.com/">Eureka
Old Town Coffee and Chocolates</a>. Despite the touristy name, it
serves a good cup of coffee (Colombia Supremo in my case) and
blueberry scones, which Sandra and I split. With 320 miles ahead of
us, we have only a few minutes to indulge.<br />
<br />
But we do indulge, and so get a late start out of Eureka after
filling our own gas tank one final time. Soon we will be in Oregon,
with its <a href="http://oregonecon.blogspot.com/2012/02/life-liberty-and-pursuit-of-self.html">incomprehensible
ban</a> on self-service.<br />
<br />
Stephen Hillenburg, creator of <i>SpongeBob SquarePants</i>,
attended Humboldt State, which we drive past before listening to him talk
on a podcast about his unusual journey from marine biologist to creator of one of the most
popular children's television series in history (which also is a
blast for adults–even those without children; there is much to be
said for not insulting the intelligence of one's audience).<br />
<br />
We drive over the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Klamath_River">Klamath
River</a>, through redwood forest, and past a postcard beach south of
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orick,_California">Orick</a>.
Further up the road, traffic halts along the cliffs about 10 miles
south of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crescent_City,_California">Crescent
City</a> due to the perpetual rebuilding of highway. Everything
smells like what air freshener aspires to smell like.<br />
<br />
Hillenburg's is a story of perseverance, luck, and the importance
of following one's dreams. It is inspirational, as is listening to a
chat with Susan Cain on another podcast called <a href="http://www.accidentalcreative.com/"><i>Accidental
Creative</i></a>. Cain's best-selling book, <i>Quiet</i>, celebrates
the power of introversion and introverts in a society that doesn't
always appreciate such qualities or the individuals who exhibit them.<br />
<br />
In addition to a book, Cain has written a <a href="http://www.thepowerofintroverts.com/sixteen-things-i-believe/">16-point
manifesto</a> full of gems, including one that speaks to this
particular writer:<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-left: 0.49in; margin-right: 0.43in;">
Everyone shines,
given the right lighting. For some, it’s a Broadway spotlight, for
others, a lamplit desk.</div>
<br />
After the rivers, trees, cliffs, traffic, and podcasts, we reach Crescent City. We wolf down “chicken sandwiches” at a fast-food joint
that is trying hard to look
like a café. The colors are subdued, there is plenty of open space,
and the lighting is soft and inviting.<br />
<br />
You could hang out here for a while. You might even call it cool.
But the food still tastes like shit.<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934717704107119309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190891537429776265.post-10588750591400567182013-02-25T07:17:00.001-08:002013-02-25T07:17:46.324-08:00Leggett to Eureka<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjzCfs5d2HoZcLv-Q9CRwsheUkhZG3NtQbyjK8PyOaT5jNU844EbxmzFPPkNxwyLh_dw7wTUfohmwUevuS0ZrXP4kOsIyUTgnL3ZFR9eugquhNI43nWXnv7m-j936LIN16LcSx8ZXMxbCZ/s1600/IMAG0544.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjzCfs5d2HoZcLv-Q9CRwsheUkhZG3NtQbyjK8PyOaT5jNU844EbxmzFPPkNxwyLh_dw7wTUfohmwUevuS0ZrXP4kOsIyUTgnL3ZFR9eugquhNI43nWXnv7m-j936LIN16LcSx8ZXMxbCZ/s400/IMAG0544.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Humboldt Bay, Eureka, California</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
After driving around the tree that you are supposed to drive
through, we continue north. We drive through the hamlets of
Garberville (not named, alas, after former Atlanta Braves reliever
Gene Garber), Rio Dell, and Fortuna.<br />
<br />
The highway snakes back to the coast, near the southern end of
Humboldt Bay. Our destination of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eureka,_California">Eureka</a>
lies a little further up the road. With 27,000 residents, it is the
largest town we've seen since San Francisco. By our current
standards, it is a metropolis.<br />
<br />
We check into a motel on 4<sup>th</sup> Street, which doubles as
southbound US-101, across from Humboldt Correctional Facility. It is
cheap, run down, and three blocks from <a href="http://www.lostcoast.com/">Lost
Coast Brewery</a>.<br />
<br />
The brewery is crowded this evening, and we are led to table near the
rear entrance, where folks periodically pop in and pick up food to
go. Beer posters adorn the walls. Sporting events play on
high-definition televisions scattered throughout the room. A couple
shoots pool.<br />
<br />
You know, it's a pub. Nothing fancy, just comfortable. A welcome
stop at day's end.<br />
<br />
The food is like the building. Sandra's buffalo chicken salad will
be forgotten soon after it is eaten. Same with my turkey sandwich and
lemon pepper parmesan french fries.<br />
<br />
We sample a variety of beers. Sandra has the Apricot Wheat, which
is refreshing and not overbearing in its fruitiness. The Raspberry
Brown doesn't work as well but is drinkable.<br />
<br />
I have the Pale Ale and 8-Ball Stout. As usual, I prefer the
stout. It isn't the best I've ever had, but it's a solid B-minus, a
55 on the <a href="http://www.baseballprospectus.com/article.php?articleid=4860">20-80
scouting scale</a>.<br />
<br />
After dinner we stroll past the closed shops of <a href="http://www.eurekaoldtown.com/">old
town</a>. We end up at Eureka Boardwalk on the bay, with its boats and
hypnotic sunset. The sun doesn't cross the horizon until almost 9
p.m. at this time of year, making the evenings feel endless.<br />
<br />
A stiff breeze blows in off the water, and the temperature has dropped
from a pleasant 70 degrees on arrival in town to the mid-50s.
Tattooed kids who laugh and point for reasons known only to them
linger. Everyone else has gone, and we soon
follow.<br />
<br />
On our way back to the motel, we scout out potential breakfast
spots for the next morning. Most places look touristy, but a few show
promise. As long as they serve a decent cup of coffee, I'm happy.<br />
<br />
The highway remains busy at this late hour. Some guy is sitting on
the stairs leading to our room, which feels like it was outdated even
in the '70s.<br />
<br />
With 4<sup>th</sup> Street's drunkards and sirens below us, this
will not be a restful night. But best not to think about that now, as
we drift in and out of sleep before driving to Oregon.<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934717704107119309noreply@blogger.com0