Terrell's Exploring Portland

Last week I got a Facebook message from my old boss. It turned out that it was really from my Turkish friend, Meli, who was visiting Simone in Ohio on her regular winter trip around the states, lecturing and drumming up business for her tour company, Melitour. She was on her way to Portland so we arranged to meet with a couple of other Melitou alumnae. We had a lovely lunch at Deschutes Brewery and Public House. It’s pretty upscale for a brew pub and the high ceilings and wide spacing between tables contribute to a cool and comfortable atmosphere. At first glance the menu seems to be typical pub offering of burgers and pizzas but then you realize that not only do they include such exotic items as elk burgers and buffalo stroganoff but they also have extensive vegetarian options and even a gluten free menu. I ordered the veggie burger on ciabatta bread with a side salad (how virtuous!) which was very tasty. Meli was in the mood for pasta so she got the creamy tomato buccatini from the specials menu and the other ladies split a portabello sandwich with sweet potato fries. Yep. I’m living in Portland. I knew I’d be the only person drinking if I ordered a beer so I stuck to ice tea. The server, an efficient young woman, was unfazed by our tea-totalling orders. Everything arrived promptly and as ordered. Dressing for the salads came on the side. Altogether, it was a very pleasant experience. The food might not be the best you’ve ever tasted but it was above average and perfectly served. I’ll be happy to go back and try some of those game offerings and sample the brews.

It was great seeing Meli and getting caught up with her. She and Mickey were discussing a trip to Syria next year. I’m seriously thinking about joining them. Let me know if you want to come with. Meli is awesome to travel with. Rick Steves, who knows a bit about these things, calls her the best tour guide he knows.

Overall grade: A-  The food was good but not outstanding. The menu was varied and the service was excellent.

If you want to know more about Meli’s tour company, read my journals of the three trips I took with her here.

When I was in college, lo these many years ago, my dad brought home a couple of toaster ovens, one for me and one for my younger brother, to use in our dorm rooms. Made by General Electric, they were perfectly simple appliances that he found on sale at his favorite store, Elliott’s Hardware. I’m guessing this was about 1980, maybe ‘81. I know Matthew’s oven died some years ago when something accidentally pushed down the toaster button, engaging the heating element until it burned out. Mine, on the other hand, still functions perfectly. It has moved with me from Dallas to Nashville to Dallas to Phoenix to Seattle to Phoenix to Tucson to Seattle to Dallas and now to Portland, spending significant time in storage along the way. I use it almost daily for toasting, less often for baking. When I pulled it out of its most recent haphazard packing arrangement — sideways in a plastic trashcan, wedged in with kitchen towels — and plugged it in, I thought “this has got to be the time that it finally won’t heat.” Minutes later, I was enjoying my cheese toast and ruminating on things I’ve owned for a really long time that still function as they should. I’ve got a red tunic top that I bought at the Limited Express back when it was still called that sometime in the 90s. I wear it all the time. The styling is rather generic which means nobody looks at it and says “oooh, I know when you bought that!” The material feels like a cotton blend but is actually something synthetic that has not only worn like iron but has perfectly retained its bright red color for twenty years. My Nishiki bicycle was inherited from an old boyfriend who bought and customized it sometime in the seventies. I’ve owned and ridden it for twenty-five years. Every time I take it in to have it worked on the kid at the bike shop looks at it and says “wow, this used to be a really great bike in its day.” Then they look again and say, “wow, it’s really in great shape!” I admit that I did get a new bike last year so I could enjoy modern technology, but I kept the old one for commuter riding.

The point of all this pondering is to wonder why everything doesn’t work this way. Why do all my jeans have holes in them? Why have I had my favorite clogs resoled twice? Why does my Kitchen Aid mixer make that horrible noise? Why am I not still driving that Datsun (yes, Datsun) that I loved so much in college? For that matter, what happened to the boyfriend who gave me the Nishiki?

People used to talk about planned obsolescence and how horrible that was but now days we seem to take it as a matter of course that everything we buy will need to be replaced in a year or two. My three-year-old computer seems to be at the limit of its usefulness and my iPod nano is hopelessly outdated. I anticipate that one of these days, iTunes is going to send me a message that it is no longer compatible with my hardware. I buy cheap furniture and lamps from IKEA with the idea that I’ll discard or sell them the next time I move. And the kids are worse than I am. I think the real challenge of the green movement will be to change the lessons that my generation and the next have absorbed. We were the first to believe that change is inevitable and welcome. They’ll have to be the first to figure out how change and sustainability can coexist.

When I sent out my change of address email a couple of weeks ago, Adrienne responded with a suggestion that we meet for brunch. She has been dating a guy and is at that point in the relationship where she is comfortable introducing him around to friends and family as her boyfriend. Last Sunday, it was my turn. She suggested a place in close-in Northeast (I think I’m using that direction properly) that she said served a classic Austin brunch. Hmmmph. We’ll see. I took the scenic way to 15th and Prescott–translation: I wandered around semi-lost in a less familiar part of town. Somewhere around Hollywood a glowing idiot light reminded me that I had forgotten to put gas in the car. I pulled into a big Chevron on Sandy where the chatty attendant (I doubt that I’ll ever get used to Oregon’s no pump your own gas laws) offered to check the oil. It was low. Engine is definitely burning oil. Bummer. I’m ignoring it.

I found the small building where Podnah’s tiny restaurant is located. I squeezed into a spot in the teeny parking lot and then made my way into the miniature eating space. Adrienne and Johnny were already there drinking coffee. I helped myself to a cup (very small mug) at the self serve pot and then joined them. He seems a very nice sort although A told me later that he was unusually quiet that day. Between introductions, getting-to-know-you chatting and the coincidental arrival of a couple of Adrienne’s friends, I didn’t get the chance to peruse the menu as I usually would so when the waiter arrived I just picked my favorite southwestern brunch, migas with a side order of biscuits. It took a while for the food to arrive. I know all the tables were full, but there weren’t so many tables to start with. My migas were good if not particularly memorable. They could have used more zing, especially since the waiter had specifically mentioned jalapeños when chatting about the dish. The biscuits were delicious and the sides of refried beans and potatoes were tasty and certainly fulfilled my carb requirements for the day. Johnny pronounced his breakfast tacos to be delicious and he should know. He’s a Californian of Hispanic descent. I think Adrienne ordered the winner, though. She had “Kyle’s Breakfast,” two fried eggs, potatoes and a couple of slices of very respectable brisket. The owner of the restaurant is from Texas and apparently knows a thing or two about BBQ. Next time, I’m ignoring the rest of the menu and going straight for the brisket. Or maybe ribs if it’s dinner time.

Overall grade – B. They got points for the brisket and biscuits but lost ‘em for slow food service and that self-serve coffee. In a place that crowded, it’s a pain to have people trying to squeeze past to fill their mugs. I’ll be back to really try the BBQ, though.

First cook the rice.
Then cook the sausage.
Then cook the onion, garlic, celery, carrots.
Then soak the beans.
Then cook the beans with the onion, garlic, etc.
Then add the sausage.
Then add the rice.
Then add the collard greens.
Then eat.

Right now, I have one pot in my new kitchen. Cooking is not as easy as you might think. And there’s a lot of washing the one pot. Tasted good, though.

One of the things I was looking forward to in Portland was the availability of mass transit in many forms. There are buses going every direction, light rail that has recently opened a new line on the east side, and a cute little street car that runs through the most popular districts near downtown. I haven’t had much time to play with Trimet what with the demands of job and apartment searching. Last week the apartment was settled but not ready to occupy and I had a day off from the new job. It was a cloudy day but dry so, with time suddenly on my hands, I decided this was my chance to visit Max. I packed my bag with essentials (wallet, phone, Kindle) and set off to walk to what I thought was the nearest station at 205 and Powell. Turns out there is a station at Division as well that would have been about a half a mile closer. It was an interesting walk anyway. Sometimes it seems to me that Portland, at least East Portland, has been built with no zoning laws whatsoever. Old farmhouses are next to brand new townhouses that are next to used car lots. Sort of weird but it makes for interesting walking.

The closest track to Vaugh and Karina’s house is the new green line that runs south to Clackamas Town Center. I considered going that direction but I was not ready to start shopping for the new apartment yet and there’s not much else to do down there so I opted to go north and west to downtown. I used a credit card at the automated ticket machine to buy an all-day, all-zone pass for $4.75 that works on trains, buses and streetcar. The trains are nice although there’s more room to stand than to sit. They do have lots of room to carry bicycles which is good. Even on a non-crowded, middle of the day train there were four bikes in my car. This is really a bike town. The track runs along the side of the highway so the scenary is nothing special. We did pass a Fred Meyers location that I carefully marked for future reference just as the train was making the looping turn toward downtown. I kept an eye out for stops close to the new apartment as we sped alongside 84. Looks like the one at 60th is as close as I’ll get. We passed Lloyd Center Mall, the Convention Center and the Rose Center Coloseum where the Blazers play. Crossing the Willamette River was fun. The train slows down and creeps noisily across the Steel Bridge giving both good views and a sense that you might fall to the water below at any second. We made the curve by the train station (you can take Max to the airport, too) and headed southwest through downtown. It was lunchtime so I jumped off the train around Oak and beelined to the food cart pod (that’s what the locals call the groupings of food carts usually located along the edge of parking lots) at Stark and SW 4th. I had a taste of some South Carolina barbeque and considered the many Asian options but ended up choosing a tasty looking slice of sausage and mushroom pizza at Give Pizza a Chance. It was tasty, especially the flat bread crust, but it could have used a more liberal hand with the toppings. For $3.50 a slice there should have been a few visible mushrooms.

I walked through downtown munching, window shopping and trying to decided where to go next. I just missed a red line train heading off to Hillsboro so I caught a yellow train to the end of the line on the southwest edge of downtown next to Portland State University. I had never ridden the streetcar and the stop was just across the street so I decided now was the time. While I was waiting I was assailed by a strong perfume. No women nearby, where could it be coming from? I tracked the scent to a large clump of Daphne on the other side of a chain link fence. This used to be one of my favorite plants in Seattle but two years in Dallas had wiped it from my memory. It was an exciting rediscovery. It’s a fantastic scent that carries quite a distance from the plant and the flowers are some of the earliest in the spring (obviously).

The streetcar arrived and I picked one of the single seats in the narrow car. It’s really cute and modern but not very fast. The route to the south waterfront stop takes you past the lower end of the Portland Aerial Tram, a part of the transit system that I decided to save for a more photogenic day, and on to an area of new construction that brought to mind the towers of Puerto Madero in Buenos Aires. They are obviously trying to encourage residential density in the new high rises being built here. It looked nice and it would be convenient to be right on the streetcar line but with no grocery stores or coffee shops in the neighborhood yet, it wouldn’t be my ideal residence even if I had the money.

At the end of the line, I stayed on the car, pulled out my Kindle and read for a few minutes while waiting for the return trip. We then trundled back along the river (although you can’t actually see it), through the middle of the PSU campus, past the downtown ball park, and through the trendy new construction and fancy restaurants of the Pearl district, finally winding up in the Mecca of local hipster culture at NW 23rd. I got out and walked along past the large number of stores and then down the hill along Burnside. Around PGE Park, my foot was really starting to hurt (sprained ankle from a couple of weeks ago) so I hopped back on the Max and rode to the 6th avenue transit mall. I decided to get home a different way and went looking for the bus stop for the route 4 that runs along Division. When I found it, I realized it was the stop going the wrong way and I needed to be on 5th. Sigh. Getting tired now. At the proper stop, I checked the video display which said I had ten minutes to wait so I pulled out the Kindle again. Almost immediately, a 4 pulled up. It was a little crowded but I found a seat. Unfortunately, so did the annoying drunk/crazy guy who had been harrassing people at the bus stop. As we made our way east and the bus got more crowded at each stop, we could hear occasional near altercations in the back. Somewhere around 30th, an entire class of 5th graders squeezed on. If it hadn’t been raining, I might have gotten off and walked even with the sprained ankle. Two stops away from my destination a near fight broke out in the back with other passengers demanding that the crazy guy be removed and a little girl crying. A slight delay ensued before I finally got to my stop. A short trudge through the rain took me back to V&K’s house.

My reviews for the day: train — very good, streetcar — excellent but doesn’t go very far, bus — good service but oh so crowded and slow, Give Pizza a Chance — B, maybe a B+, Trimet — fun way to blow five bucks and entertain yourself for the day.

At the end of May 2007, I packed all my belongings in a big blue box and a rental car and drove to Texas. Some stuff got unpacked there but I was living in a space smaller than my college dorm room so a lot of it stayed in the attic. In June of 2009, everything went back in the box and I went travelling, first to Buenos Aires, then New York, Colorado, the Southwest and California, finally arriving in Oregon in November. I stayed with family in Portland while searching for a job and an apartment. In February of 2010, I moved into my new place. My box has been summoned from storage in Texas and I once again am assuming the obligations and privileges of a normal life. Whew. And by the way, if you are reading this, you are now totally up to date on this blog which I started just before the drive to Texas.

Here’s the before picture of the new digs:

It’s roughly the same size as my last apartment in Seattle, although the kitchen and bathroom are a little smaller. It has “pergo” floors so those rugs I’ve been collecting for years are finally going to come in handy. It has a front AND a back door (a rare luxury for apartment livers, I assure you) and it’s an end unit so I only have one neighbor.

It’s in a residential neighborhood, a half mile from work (at the moment), a mile and a half from the nephew and family, two miles from the niece, on a bike route and several major bus lines, close to Hawthorne, Mt Tabor Park and Hollywood. Yeah.

View Portland in a larger map

Three more food spots to report on…

I’ve been looking for an apartment that is a) on the east side b) reasonable size and rent and c) not disgusting. I’m thinking that the Woodstock area is a little far away but it does have one thing really going for it. It is the home of Otto’s Sausage, a veritable wonderland for sausage lovers. In a happy little deli on the main street of the neighborhood, fifth generation descendants of the founder are still hand stuffing sausage and smoking it in their own smokehouse that has been slowly accumulating flavor since the 30s. I bought some fresh Italian and Kielbasa (Yes, you can buy fresh Kielbasa. Who knew? I thought it only came smoked.) to take home and then stopped at the oil drum grill outside for a sausage lunch. After some discussion with the guy cooking the meat, I let him talk me into trying the chicken sausage. You pick your own foil wrapped bun which he lightly toasted for me and then add fixings from the rough and ready side table. One bite later and I’m thinking I’ll never eat sausage anywhere else. Perfect crunch through the casing with that squirt of savory juice, strong but not overwhelming seasonings, not too fatty. Yum. I’m already offering to take out of town relatives there when they visit. And yes, the sausage I took to cook at home was just as good. I ate the Kielbasa plain and cut up the Italian to add to tomato sauce. Both excellent. Next trip, I’m thinking I may have to try that Swedish potato sausage.

While Karina and Matisse were still in Hawaii, Vaughn announced that he was taking Xavier and me to the new storefront location of Gordito’s. Their food truck on Division is a huge family favorite so he was hoping for great things from an actual restaurant. I’m not sure whether it was just opening jitters or the difficulty of cooking in a real kitchen, but I have to admit that I was underwhelmed. I got the carne asada tacos. The were ok, a little burnt on the meat, a little underdone on the tacos. The raw garlic topping tasted pretty good going down but seemed a bit much the next day. Vaughn got pork which didn’t have much flavor at all. Xavier’s quesadillas were easily the best dish and really, how hard is it to make quesadillas? We really wanted to like this place. Maybe they’ll get better with practice. On the plus side, it was really cheap, around $5 for a full plate.

A perfect storm of bad days happened a couple of weeks ago. The weather was horrible, Karina was suffering from Hawaii withdrawal, I was having no luck apartment hunting and had my hours cut at work, Vaughn found out that he had to go to Seattle for work again on short notice, and the kids were having a nutso day. I decided the only solution was dinner out so I offered to treat. Vaughn and Karina put their heads together and decided that Pho Van on 82nd would be fast, cheap and satisfying. It worked out pretty well. It’s a nice location and wasn’t crowded at the early hour we visited. The waitresses were friendly and suffered the talkative boys well. Karina ordered a plain pho with tofu for the boys and chose a seafood one for herself. Vaughn got spring rolls and something else I can’t remember and I ordered a salmon dish that looked interesting as well as an appetizer of chicken wings to see how they compared to the ones at Pok Pok. The waitress was a little concerned with my salmon choice and warned that the turmeric marinade might be not what I was used to. I was undeterred. The food was all good, especially the chicken wings and the salmon. The wings at Pok Pok probably still have the edge but these were pretty good. I admit that the waitress made a good call when she brought an alternate to the fishy peanut sauce that went with my salmon but I thought the fish was delicious. We packed up a bunch of leftovers and had the boys home and in bed by eight. Not bad for less than $60 for five people and SO much easier than cooking and cleaning in a bad mood.

Next up…Home cooking at home

As usual, I’m way behind in my posting. I arrived in Portland in early November and here it is January already. I have lots to write about but we’ll start with just the important stuff…where I am and what I’ve been eating.

I wanted to move back to the Northwest after my Texas interlude and I have small great-nephews here in Portland so I decided Oregon would be my base for the next year or two. I was perhaps overly optimistic about job prospects in a depressed economy–I’ve never had trouble getting a job before–and told Vaughn and Karina that I would be in their basement for two or three weeks. Two months later I’m just starting my second part-time job and finally beginning to look for an apartment. I’ve been exploring neighborhoods, checking prices, mapping out grocery stores and coffee shops, and generally getting the lay of the land (not as hilly as Seattle, not as flat as Texas) all of which ought to show up in a post at some point.

I also underestimated how fast I would get sucked into the lifestyle of a busy young family. With an almost seven-year-old, an almost four-year-old, a hard-working dad, a whirlwind of energy mother, a dog, a frog and dozens of drop-in friends, this house offers infinite opportunities for participation while discouraging the sedentary, solitary life of a blogger. This week Karina and Matisse are in Hawaii, Vaughn is in Seattle, and I’m on Xavier and Ella duty which means that I can actually write for an hour or so while X is at school. So I’m going to write about that easiest of topics…food.

Despite a complete lack of income, I have managed to eat out several time since I’ve been here. Thanks to family members, I can now report on those meals.

• As a welcome to Portland, Adrienne and I met at the Screen Door for Saturday brunch. When I was writing about having dinner at the Dallas restaurant of the same name, I came across the Portland website, so I knew it existed. It’s around the corner from A’s apartment so it seemed like a good choice. We carefully timed our arrival to minimize our wait on the sidewalk outside the restaurant. There’s a tiny amount of seating inside the door but it’s pretty much reserved for seniors, small children and people with bad manners of which there seem to be few in this city. Adrienne says that all the tables turn at 9:48 so you want to be in line at that point. She was close. We were seated about 10 am. By the way, if you think that rainy weather discourages people from waiting, you’re just wrong. Fortunately for us, it was cold but sunny while we waited. This place is very different from that upscale Screen Door in Dallas. They both serve versions of “southern” food but have little else in common. No white table cloths or dressy waiters at this one. Food tends to be organic and locally sourced but they haven’t forgotten that southern cooking must include meat and butter. I had a very passable plate of biscuits and gravy and A had something like french toast but there were plenty of customers ordering the signature fried chicken and waffles: a stack of food with a knife plunged through the middle to keep it in place. Reasonably good coffee, large servings and friendly wait staff seem to be what really keep people coming back. Overall score B+ (an awning to keep the rain off while waiting would bump them up a grade) 

 

• Vaughn and Karina decided one evening that it was time for a night out. They outsourced the kids to a neighbor and we piled in the Volvo and headed down Division to Pok Pok, a restaurant that seems to be a major reason people choose to live on the Eastside.  (We’ll have a discussion of East vs. West in a soon to come post.) It was, as you might suppose, chilly  and rainy that evening so waiting in the more or less outdoor bar seemed less than ideal to me. It doesn’t seem to phase Portlanders at all so I’m going to assume that I’ll eventually get used to it. I must admit that I mostly forgot about the rain when the tamarind-scented Whisky Sour arrived. I’m not a whiskey drinker and sours are not generally my thing but this was an excellent drink. I think I had three which is roughly two more than I would normally drink. Perusing the menu, I noticed a comment on the Vietnamese chicken wings that said it was chosen as one of the ten best restaurant dishes in the country by Food and Wine magazine. We ordered it. I think they were right. We also ordered a boar dish that was EXTREMELY spicy and something called egg salad that seemed to be hard boiled eggs with greens. Karina liked the salad, Vaughn went for the spicy meat, and I favored the salty chicken so it worked out perfectly. We got a wierd ice cream on a bun thing for dessert that was an interesting concept that fell, I’m afraid, short in execution. Overall score: A- (Slight deductions taken for bar temp and dessert oddity.)

• Burgerville wouldn’t usually count as a restaurant. It’s a chain of hamburger places but it’s home grown and funky so I have to add it. Everyone I’ve seen working at the three Burgervilles I’ve tried has been  middle-aged, overweight, female and blondish. I’m not sure where they find these women but they are nearly interchangeable. They’re all good humored and friendly and look like they’ve been through seriously hard times. They often call me honey. You order your food, get your drink and a little sign with a number on it and then choose a table. A few minutes later someone arrives with your freshly cooked food in hand. When you’re done, you take your tray to a station that instructs you how to dispose of recyclables, garbage and (here’s the Portland twist) compostables. The burgers are good, the prices are competitive and they have seasonal offerings like sweet potato fries and spring berry shakes. Overall grade: A.  (I like it when people call me honey.)

• Vaughn and Karina tend to get their Chinese take out from Powell Seafood Restaurant on 82nd. Last night, with Karina in Hawaii, Vaughn and I opted not to cook but take Xavier to eat in at the nearby restaurant. We had the crispy shrimp with onions, the house chow mein and, on the advice of the server, we tried the seafood hot pot with tofu. The  tofu was interesting with a crispy outside and a very creamy inside but I can’t say I really cared for the sauce. The shrimp was the best of the three but I’m looking forward to trying some of the other Chinese restaurants in the neighborhood. Along with the Vietnamese, the Japanese, the Thai, etc., etc., etc. Overall grade: B- (Not bad, just dull)

Not a lot left of this trip but I need to write something about the last two days. I left Merced and continued on up 99 under much the same conditions as I have already reported. There was the one interesting moment when I got stuck behind the biker gang in a traffic jam caused by an accident. Nothing unusual about bikers in California, you say? Except that it was a black biker gang. I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen that before. Passed through Dehi, Lodi, Modesto and Stockton on my way to Sacramento, all boring as hell. On the other side of Sacramento, a lot of the traffic cut over to I-5 but I continued north on 99 which was much better after that. The roadside scenery suddenly got pretty, the road was narrower but not so pitted and I even began to get glimpses of mountains ahead. I’m not sure what they were growing in this area but it seemed to require shallow pools like rice paddies. I saw one great white egret and then another and then flocks of geese feeding in these pools. I think they were the first wild animals I saw in California. North of Chico, as I got closer to the mountains, 99 angled over to join I-5 which meant that I had reached the end of the non-interstate portion of the trip. It was still a warm, sunny day heading up into the pass which made me very happy. Back in the 80s I drove through this pass with lots of snow and black ice on the road and no chains or snow tires on the tiny Datsun. Warm and sunny is better.

The sun was heading toward the horizon and I started to look at possible places to stay. When I saw the signs for the hotels near Weed, I decided I had come far enough so I pulled off and made camp for the evening at a Comfort Inn that seemed to cater mostly to work crews. Lots of burly men in boots checked in after me. Mt. Shasta looms over the town, so once I had dropped my stuff in the room I took the camera for a walk to try to get a good sunset shot. There was a brand new road leading toward the mountain that had big concete barriers blocking cars. I walked past the barriers and up to where the road abruptly dead ended. I’m not sure what they’re planning but I’m guessing big box stores may be along soon. It was a pretty good place to shoot from but as it got darker and darker, I started to look at the woods by the side of the road and consider the possibility of wild animals. As I was walking back toward the lights of the hotels and cafes, I heard an odd growling noise. Being a silly, city chick, I have to admit that “bear” came immediately to mind. I walked faster. Just as I was considering breaking into a run, I caught a glimpse of the dirt bike that was actually making the noise. It was one of those moments when you’re glad there weren’t any witnesses. I ducked into the Subway shop and got a sandwich for dinner to avoid further embarrassment.

The next day brought me down out of the mountains into Oregon. As I was leaving the hotel, the radio station I was listening to started playing a country song where the artist was singing about looking for a long-legged woman. I don’t think that record would do well in Texas since the singer was also a woman. Out on the highway I noticed that the first two “adopt a highway” signs belonged to Eckankar and B’nai B’rith. Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.  After a couple of hours of driving, I stopped at my favorite interstate rest stop at the Rogue River near Grant’s Pass. It’s actually part of a state park and offers a view of the river as well as camping and big trees. I walked around marveling that after 3000 miles, summery weather in Texas, Arizona and Death Valley and winter in Colorado and New Mexico, I had finally caught up with fall. The trees were sporting leaves in spectacular shades of orange and yellow and the air was exactly that brisk temperature that makes you want to go for long invigorating walks. Instead, I got back in the car and pushed on up the road. Eugene and Salem passed in that sort of invisible way you only get on an interstate and I suddenly found myself at the cutoff for 205, the loop that takes you south and east of Portland. I followed it, even though it seemed to take me way out into the country until I found the exit that took me to my nephew’s house. Karina and the boys were waiting to welcome me.

So that’s the end of the trip. If you’d like to see it all mapped out, you can go to my google map. There are more pictures on Flickr if you’d like additional visuals.

For the next little while, posts are going to be about trying to learn my new city. I look forward to exploring restaurants and food carts, trying to decided what neighborhood is really going to suit me best, and finding all those exciting things that makes Portland so beloved of the locals. Can’t wait until I can get my bike out of storage and do it Portland style.

After the excellent morning buffet at element (see the previous post for details), I put some gas in the car at the Terrible’s location next to the hotel, convinced the clerk to let me use a hundred dollar bill to pay for three dollars’ worth of soda and bottled water and headed back down the highway toward the cutoff for 160 that I should have, but thankfully didn’t, take the night before. The early driving was unremarkable although I was glad to be able to say that I went through a town that rejoices in the name of Pahrump. North of Pahrump, I followed a sign that said this way to Death Valley. The road had a regular street name and there were no highway numbers so once I got beyond the last houses and businesses I began to fear I had missed yet another turn. Since I was going the right direction and there were occasional cars coming the other way, I decided to keep going despite the bleak, perfectly flat landscape and the absolute absence of any human-built structures. Eventually, I came upon what first appeared to be a mirage. It was the tiny town of Death Valley Junction, home of the totally unlikely Amargosa Opera House and Hotel.  I still had gas and a long way to go so I didn’t stop, but I now knew I was on the right path since I remembered seeing this listed on the map as a roadside attraction. A right turn and then a winding road up a mountain that was even more barren than the desert behind me took me to the eastern entrance of Death Valley National Park. I stopped at the automated kiosk to take some pictures and pay my entrance fee at the machine. The instructions were less than clear and it took me a minute to interpret them properly. After I paid, I explained the poorly written English to the Japanese and Italian tourists in line behind me. Both of them spoke good English but weren’t up to the government-ese the machine was displaying.

I drove the winding road into the park–it’s still a highway, not a park road–past Twenty Mule Team Canyon stopping to climb the hill at Zabriskie Point. The exposed folds of the earth were amazing, especially when I realized that the little dots moving down one ridge were hikers in the landscape below me. It takes more grit than I possess to hike through terrain like that even in a well-populated national park. I returned to my car and drove on through the perfect sunny afternoon weather to the Furnace Creek Visitor Center. I stopped to get some postcards and got lured into purchasing a t-shirt as well. The bathrooms were perfectly clean. Kudos to the park service.

Although there were campgrounds full of RVs and a couple of basic hotels in the park, I needed to push on so I kept on driving 190 past the sand dunes and up into the mountains that marked the exit to the park. I had read that there was a better than 9 percent grade on these hills but the Intrigue had handled all sorts of terrain well up to this point so I wasn’t really thinking the steep descents would be a problem. No problem until I started smelling the brakes heat up half way through the downslopes that is. I stopped a couple of times, trying to let them cool down, and made it down to the next stretch of flat desert without any real problems. It did make me nervous, thinking of the mountains that still remained ahead of me on this trip. I finished the day’s drive through another stretch of empty, flat, barren desert. I knew that the road was going to split, offering me a choice of north or south, but I admit that I had not adequately researched the towns that these roads led to. I had seen more mileage signs that referenced Lone Pine, so I chose to go north. Lucky me. This nice little town is the staging point for the crazy people planning to climb Mt. Whitney, the highest peak in the lower 48. There were several attractive small hotels. I chose the Best Western because they had a pleasant grassy area with a view of the Sierras.

After settling in, I took my Kindle to one of the tables outside to read for a while and enjoy the last rays on the mountains. Then I asked the desk clerk to recommend a hamburger joint in town. I chose the Mt. Whitney Cafe, where the waiter was helpful and the food decent. It was clearly a small town meeting place. The waiter greeted one couple asking if they wanted “the usual” and a gang of mountain rescue volunteers in their bright orange t-shirts were having a beer in the game room. It was Halloween, so while I waited for my burger-to-go I got to see lots of little local princesses and super heroes come in to get candy from the hostess.

The next morning, I was awake at first light. I took my coffee (thank goodness just about every hotel has in-room coffee makers these days) and my camera outside to see if I could get a decent sunrise picture. There were already a couple of other photographers with tripods set up. It was still a little early and I found a convenient wall to sit on while I waited. The other two went inside for coffee and breakfast which meant I was the only one out there when the top of Whitney caught the first pink light. They came running back out and we chatted about great mountain sunrises we had seen or missed before they left to go climb and I went to get ready for the day’s drive.

I had originally intended to go north on the eastern side of the Sierras but the map indicated one pass was higher than 8000 feet and after my near Death Valley experience, I decided that I would rather stay on more moderate roads until I had a chance to get the brakes checked. I therefore took another cowardly southern detour, heading south to the town of Mojave where I could skirt the bottom of the Sierras and cut west to hook up with highway 99. I avoided any car trouble but gave myself serveral extremely unpleasant hours of driving in crowded conditions wreathed in agricultural smog over a potholed cement road. 99 is apparently very popular with semis, and I had to battle through the trucks as I passed through Bakersfield and Fresno. I had hoped to get further up the valley that day but by the time I got near Merced, I was exhausted and succumbed to the temptation of a brand new Holiday Inn Express on the side of the road. I dug my bathing suit out of the trunk of the car and spent an hour lounging in the heated pool. I had passed a very decent looking Mexican restaurant on my way to the hotel, so I walked the block over to Mi Casa Cafe and, after a conversation with one of the regulars seated at the counter, ordered some carne asado tacos to go. Excellent. The hotel should advertise that they are close to this place.

Next post…Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore