Thursday 10 October – We tried Alaska honey on the breakfast pancakes at
K.B.’s house. I thought it very
un-honey-like. It’s practically clear,
and to me had little of the earthy flavor I expect. It’s very sweet, though. Then it’s kiss the babies and off to the big
city.
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| "City of Books" |
The last time I visited Portland, which was also the first time, I was
there for about 16 hours and spent my time in the business-and-boutique
district.
This time, I set out to find
the world-famous
Powell’s Books, which
covers a full city block.
It seems to
contain no
Betty Neels books.
I truly do
not begin to understand
why I did
this, but since I was looking for Betty in the romance section, I found
Georgette Heyer instead, picked up a copy of
A Civil Contract, and sat down and skimmed through it for about 90
minutes.
I have read this book roughly a
dozen times in maybe thirty years.
I
enjoy it greatly, but I really don’t need to re-read it when there’s all of
Portland to explore.
I suspect the
desire to do so was partly a symptom of psychic fatigue, and partly a way of
feeling rooted in something very familiar no matter where I am.
It’s probably got all kinds of other parts
that I don’t want to explore too closely right now, and in public.
 |
| Also Mexican, Korean, Egyptian... |
Powell’s seems to be more in the funky/homeless/outdoorsy-types
district versus the section
where
traveling business executives stay.
It is also nearby a food-truck park, which seems to offer permanent
parking for a few dozen vendors offering Indian, Thai, Iraqi, pizza, empanada
and other cuisines.
I wonder what the
fixed restaurants, with their higher overhead, think of that arrangement.
In DC and other cities,
restaurants
routinely battle food trucks in zoning and other policy discussions.
 |
| It looks a lot like New England, but. |
Eventually I headed toward the coast – that means west, though no one
would blame you if you think heading toward the ocean means heading east.
It’s a secondary road, with one or sometimes
two lanes in each direction, and the median is spackled with bright yellow
flowers.
Ocean on the wrong side;
flowers in October; this is all so confusing.
There are also lots of cultivated fields on either side of the road,
including corn and a lot of other things I can’t identify.
Some of them may be hay.
Then I see something I do recognize:
grapes!
A road sign warns me that it will flash when there’s the possibility of
landslides. It’s not flashing as I pass,
but since the surroundings seem to be entirely fields and wetlands, I’m not
sure what might slide, or how concerned I need be. There are trees as well, and at points – this
is a secondary road – they grow so close to the road, and so tall above, that
it’s like driving through a tunnel.
 |
| 1930 fire truck on display at the state forest |
I was making for Crescent City, in far northern California, which is a
bit under 400 miles, so I figured I could stop for a bit when
Tillamook
State Forest offered its delights.
The visitor center told the story of the
1933
Tillamook Burn, one of the most widespread wildfires the United States has
ever suffered.
With subsequent fires in
1939, 1945 and 1951, it destroyed over 350,000 acres of mature trees, and caused
one human death.
The later fires
destroyed new trees and seed cones, so people became concerned that the forest
might not be re-established for generations, and Oregon’s citizens approved a
constitutional amendment that allowed the state to purchase the land and begin
a vast re-planting effort.
Contractors,
inmates and volunteers planted over 72 million seedlings over many years, and today
the forest, to the untrained visitor, looks healthy and thriving.
 |
| The forest today. |
It was a bit drizzly, gray and foggy for good pictures, but apparently
not for bicycling.
I met a woman at the
visitor center who’d been cycling all along the coast, and she looked wet but
happy.
For her sake, I hope there’s a
trail.
I shouldn’t care for Route 26 on
a bike; too crowded, thanks.
 |
| This seems to be more packaging than making cheese. |
The other great attraction in the area is
Tillamook Cheese, part of a regional dairy
cooperative.
You can watch employees
make cheese, sample cheese and curds, buy postcards and t-shirts and ice cream
sundaes and all kinds of milk-based foods. The ice cream is good, but nothing like
Moorenko’s.
Of course, it’s the Pacific Northwest, so you
can also find lots of espresso and latte, sold from little huts in parking
lots, like the old Fotomat booths of the 1970s and 1980s.
These coffee huts are common in Washington,
Oregon and Alaska; maybe other places I didn’t visit, too.
 |
| Where cheese comes from, once that guy gets the roof fixed. |
After Tillamook, I head south down route 101.
Suddenly there are critters again; cows, a
large flock of Rhode Island red hens, pecking in the ground around several
barn-red chicken coops on wheels.
After
a few miles, the highway starts to feel a bit like make-believe; the towns
along it all seem to be there solely to cater to people enjoying scenic route 101.
I suppose the signs constantly warning that
one is entering or leaving a tsunami zone offer a jolt of reality, but since I
don’t believe tsunamis are all that common around here, they almost seem
picturesque as well.
Less picturesque
are the other warning signs:
caution-yellow, diamond-shaped, most with a single word in all-caps
black.
Those words include ROCKS, ELK,
SLIDE, SLOW and TRUCKS.
Later I see
CONGESTION, near the sea-lion caves that have closed for the night and are not
currently generating congestion, and once or twice TUNNEL.
 |
| Pacific Ocean, seen from Winema Point scenic overlook. |
I also see the ocean.
I grew up
near a different ocean, but always feel a strong pull (and the moon is waxing,
waxing,
and the tide is high) toward the
sea.
I stopped at a couple of scenic
viewpoints, and noticed the sound of the ocean from a distance – a steady hum
with a vibrato, a thrumming sound.
It’s
not the in-and-out, shoosh and whoosh I’ll hear on the beach, when each wave
sounds separately coming in and going back out again. The Oregon highway authority, or someone, has been kind enough to provide a scenic overlook where I can marvel at the sun setting over the water. (That helps orient me, too -- sun setting, not rising. Got it. Kind of.)
I am also pleased to be traveling at night, though I had thought to try
to avoid that.
It’s not great fun in the
mountains and prairies, where moonlight is lovely but limited in
application and animals moving at night (or holding still in the travel lane) are a worry.
Moonlight on water, though –
oh.
Oh, how moving and mystical and
mesmerizing.
I’m also far enough now
from city lights that I get quite a respectable display of stars in a
reasonably dark sky. Still, I need to be super-careful about ELK.
After this still, cool, profound experience of nature at her alien
best, I drive a bit further and North Bend, Oregon, welcomes me with a large,
bright red, neon sign stretched above the highway.
Further still and I reach Gold Beach, Oregon,
a bit shy of the California border, but with a lovely young woman still staffing
the desk at the
Gold Beach Resort (several
other motels in town had closed up shop already).
She offers me the AAA discount on a single
with an ocean view, and I snap it up.
In
the room, I discover my washcloth is folded like a swan.
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