The drive from Crater Lake back to civilization was uneventful but rugged. I crossed deep evergreen forests and tried not to compare them to the redwoods. Outside the park, the road jogged with the North Umqua River and stopped at the whim of the state transportation department and stimulus-approved projects. In other spots, it the highway hugged steep rocks and curved slowly to a milder elevation. Several construction stops of 10 minutes or more slowed the pace, but before long, I joined the flow on I-5 toward Portland.
Little changed until I reached Portland. I didn't get the enjoy the street names that Matt Groening plucked for his Simpsons characters (aside from Terwilliger). These streets challenged me. Usually good with a map, I struggled until I bought one outlining the maze of one-way streets. The hotel gave me poor directions from the highway, and I continually traversed neighborhoods nowhere near my destination. About 30 minutes before my planned lunch with Kate, an old college friend, I finally found the Jupiter Hotel and left the Mustang. I met Kate at the adjoining Doug Fir restaurant, a late-night place with affordable comfort food. We discussed the 14 years that passed since we last saw each other at Mercyhurst. She had settled into a life in Portland, with one young daughter and a son on the way.
With a few hours to burn, I set out into downtown. Crossing the Burnside Bridge, I encountered Portland’s social service hub. In the nearby park, dozens of homeless people slept. People and even dogs crowded the shady spots. It got a little claustrophobic, but no one hassled me.
I hustled up the blocks to Powell’s World of Book, the city’s legendary new and used book palace. The shelves were high, the books stretched on forever, and there were rooms I never reached. But I saw enough to know that every city deserves a bookstore this eclectic and large – even in the age of the Kindle and the iPad. It will take generations for print to vanish into the digital sphere, and I won’t aid its disappearance.
In June, my friends Christian and Kristin introduced me to a former Tennessean colleague, Laura, who had migrated to Portland. She told me she would be happy to show me some local haunts in Portland, an uncommonly kind gesture from a near-stranger. But she had the endorsement of C&K, which goes a long way. After returning from Powell's, the night started at Noble Rot, a wine bar four floors above the East Portland streets and with a perfect view of the skyline across the Willamette. A quick wine flight of old favorite Three-Legged Red, a Washington Syrah and Cabernet Sauvignon provided the perfect kickoff to a run around town. Next stop was the Green Dragon Brewing Company, a fun but subdued beer bar. Monday nights do that sometimes. A paddle of bars and a pour of Hair of the Dog Adam pushed me through till sundown.
The finale came at Saraveza's, a neighborhood bar with walls lined with ancient beer coolers (oh, and the men's room had this excellent Saison DuPont sign). I could have dropped $100 on beer chilled in those coolers, but went with a few local pours and the dynamite contribution from Free Bacon Night. I caught a handful of local broadcasts before crashing in my room at the Jupiter, unable to move without knocking anything over.
Tuesday sped into sunrise. I enjoyed a quick breakfast at the Doug Fir, packed up and returned to I-5 for the final leg. The City of Bridges extends in front of me. The wide Columbia came quickly. Minutes from my hotel, Oregon disappeared behind me and the road held sway. I stopped to conduct a work interview in a Safeway parking lot, but otherwise motored away.
What does Mount St. Helens have in common with sea lions? I knew it hid just under the marine layer blanketing southern Washington, but could do nothing to gain a glimpse. I stopped at the visitor center and spent a little quality time, but time was evaporating quicker than the marine layer. I had to return my car by 2, and still wanted a quick stop in the state capital, Olympia.
On an overcast day, Olympia’s collection of Greek-style government buildings were made for photos. I wandered the campus and into the capitol, feeding my little hobby of photographing statehouses, then wandered back. Western statehouses always feel different, with the state officeholders actually working out of the capitol, not adjacent officer buildings. I had little time to enjoy the town or its inlet of Puget Sound, but a taste of the capitol campus sates my appetite.
Jenny was free after a dental appointment and spared me from taking the light rail downtown. Once she gathered me and the Mustang was gone, I stayed in West Seattle until the time to depart arrived. I wanted to walk, so we headed off to California Avenue for some Indian food. We drove around for a bit, then relaxed with Roseanne reruns until a quiet dinner from Taco Time, a surprisingly fresh Mexican fast-food operation without the gargantuan portions of Chipotle or most mass-market Mexican joints.
Wednesday I struck out early onto West Seattle’s streets. I had no intention of venturing across Elliot Bay. West Seattle was enough for me on my last day. There was plenty to see, but I just hit the record stores for another round of cheap classical finds and last stop at the Beer Junction for some Alaskan Brewing anniversary stout.
We had a few quiet nights watching old movies (UHF, anyone?) sprinkled with South Park and Roseanne episodes. I drank beer and we both teased Kyona to best of our ability. The quiet moments stuck with me, because after all the monuments of nature packed into a few days, a few relaxed ones with my sister meant just as much. I don’t mean to get sentimental, and I won’t. We never fought, I never got drunk, we enjoyed our time, and we knew it would come again.
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