Road Trip Journal #5

 

Saturday, February 6^th

 

A brief morning stroll through Hood River – a cheerful, peaceful, affluent-feeling town sloping down to the river. Then pressed on along the southern bank of the Columbia, which is strikingly more forested than the northern (Washington) side. This will be the theme of driving in Oregon: when there’s nothing else, there will be trees. Lots and lot and lots of trees.

 

Portland was distinctly disappointing. Businesses pretending to be open while offering so many draconian restrictions that they might as well be closed. Almost impossible to find a public restroom; there’s one in the Whole Foods, but the first entrance I went to was closed (no idea why), and the entrance that was open was on a completely different street. I know there’s a pandemic and everything, but Portland seemed determined to make everything as difficult as possible. Also just not a very attractive or interesting city. I spent an hour or so there, and it was more than enough.

 

Bought slacks at a Men’s Wearhouse in Salem (no denim on Bandon Dunes golf courses!) and meandered on south and west. Route 20 heading out toward the coast started to feel like the middle of nowhere; not much to see but trees, trees, trees. (I mean this in a good way.) Hit the coast itself at Newport, which seemed like a nice little oceanfront community, but as I continued south down the 101, I started to get a little tired of these touristy beach towns. Where was the fabled wildness of Oregon? This part of the coast seemed a little tame.

 

Things did get more dramatic farther south; the bridge coming down into North Bend and Coos Bay offered some spectacular views. And it was here that I started to see clear evidence of logging: huge piles of logs stacked along the harbor, for transport to who knows where. It was actually a little thrilling to realize that logging is still a prominent feature of Oregonian life; the world of Sometimes a Great Notion didn’t feel too far away…

 

And after that: Bandon Dunes! I had tried explaining to Robb Stey that I was completely unfit to set foot on a world-class golf course (having never played a round in my life), but he wouldn’t hear it. “This is what you need,” he said. “I can’t recommend it more from the core of my soul.”

 

And so I found myself pulling into Bandon Dunes a little before sunset. The air off the ocean was cool, and the place did feel like a blessed sanctuary. My corner room in the Lakeview complex had windows on two sides looking straight into a forest. The style of the room was what you might call “monastic luxury.” After several days on the road, it felt a little like coming home.

Road Trip Journal #4

 

Friday, February 5^th

 

In the morning, Pike Place Market was buzzing and active – maybe quiet by normal standards, but far from dead. People unloading fish from trucks, packing it into ice, arranging flowers. It’s a remarkable thing when a famous tourist attraction is also so inescapably pragmatic and real. What a special place.

 

Grabbed a coffee and a new travel mug (my old one split in the Idaho cold) at The Original Starbucks Location. Barista there recommended Bacco Café for breakfast, and after a stroll along 1^st Ave., I took her word for it and was rewarded with a lovely sidewalk breakfast (crab benedict and coffee). The whole thing felt refreshingly indulgent and “normal.” It’s lovely to be in a place where you have no responsibilities…

 

Then onward! First east on 90, through national-park-style wilderness. Pit stop in Easton, at a cute little gas station/convenience store called the Parkside Café (“Home of the Turtle”). Then on down to the dry plains, through hardscrabble towns along Route 97 that have their own barren beauty. As the sun dipped low, I neared the Columbia River Gorge, and the views coming down to it from the high ground were breathtaking. So, too, was the drive along the northern rim of the gorge itself, overlooking causeways with roads and train tracks running along them. Some of the best scenery of the whole trip, without question.

 

It was late afternoon when I reached White Salmon, a charming little town perched on a slope overlooking the river. Took a stroll with Andrew McEwan, then added his wife and kids to the mix, then strolled again, then a takeout dinner on their porch. All exceedingly pleasant, and mostly unexpected. Their kids are adorable, and, as Dad would say, full of beans.

 

After dinner I crossed the river, and the Washington/Oregon border, on a private bridge (!) with a $2 toll. My first time in Oregon! Spent the night at the Hood River Hotel, which is pleasant and historic, but also painfully hip. It was a bit odd to see people happily congregating, maskless, in the lobby. Made me uncomfortable, truth be told – but the room was nice, so no complaints.

Road Trip Journal #3

 

Thursday, February 4^th

 

Coeur d’Alene is charming on its residential streets, but a little hip and soulless downtown. Real estate here is booming, and the main drag is full of those tacky lit-up photos that realtors love. Still, a nice little harborfront. Took a stroll and pressed on.

 

Into Washington! Eastern Washington is fairly flat, and beautiful in a desolate, Nebraska-like way. Then you start to see mountains looming in the distance – and then you start to climb up into them…

 

Wenatchee has a nice dramatic setting, by a river with mountains looming around. I didn’t stop, but admired it from the road.

 

Leavenworth lives up to its billing as a “Bavarian Village” – in spades. It’s a virtual Alpine Disneyland; even the hospital makes a vague effort to fit the theme. It’s very touristy, of course, but also quite impressive – and there’s nothing chintzy or contrived about the beautiful mountains that form the backdrop.

 

After Leavenworth, you’re really in it – plunging between mountains with a river on your left and nary a town in sight. Beautiful. Somewhere near Mount Howard (I think) a snowstorm started, and although it wasn’t nearly as bad as the one that stymied my progress into Montana, I did have to stay alert. Coming down out of the mountains, I had the most striking climatic shift of the whole journey – from blizzard to rainforest in what felt like 20 minutes. The moss was thick on the trunks of the trees that hemmed in the road on both sides. It was like driving through a jungle. When the road flattened out, I stopped for a smoothie at the Mountain View Brew in the town of Startup (???). The local grocery store had a sign above it reading: “DVDs, milk, wood, got beer.” I thought that was lovely. I took a photo.

 

Onward to Seattle, where I dropped my bags at the Ace Hotel in Belltown (just north of the waterfront district) and then walked a couple of miles to Café Pettirosso for dinner with Nick Tamburro. We ate on the sidewalk under a tent (Covid!), and afterward we took a stroll through Cal Anderson Park, which last year was the epicenter of a big months-long protest. There was no trace of any of that; it was clean and peaceful. Nick walked me back to the waterfront, and we shared a masked hug before parting ways.

Road Trip Journal #2

 

Wednesday, February 3^rd

 

Just north of Missoula, near Arlee, is the Garden of One Thousand Buddhas. It’s a lovely and tranquil spot, and gloriously incongruous among the Montana ranch houses. Very quiet when I wandered through.

 

The drive up to Glacier National Park, along the eastern edge of Flathead Lake, was gorgeous. It’s a nice rustic-recreational area – kind of feels like a national park in itself. I barely dipped into the actual national park – ran out of time and had to scoot on down to Coeur d’Alene – but the drive justified itself. On the way back down, this time on the west side of the lake, the views (near sunset) became spectacular. Somewhere around Dayton was the peak of it – looking out towards Wild Horse Island and the mountains beyond. Unreal.

 

South on 28 through the Flathead Reservation: desolate and beautiful.

 

The sun was down by the time I reached Interstate 90, which cut through the mountains and across the border into Idaho. Suddenly I panicked; I was low on gas, and despite being on the interstate, I was also in the middle of nowhere. I needn’t have worried; trucks come through there, and there are some rugged, outpost-style truck stops. I stopped in Haugan, at a gas station/hotel/restaurant/casino complex (the hotel was the Silver Dollar Inn). Simultaneously kitschy and woodsy. The clerk at the gas station had a mask dangling off of one ear, and made no move to place it over his face as he strode inside to ring me up. He was friendly enough, in a grouchy way.

 

Then onward, past tiny little towns on their steep slopes, twinkling with lights. Magical. Then bad Chinese takeout, then the Greenbriar Inn in Coeur d’Alene. Nice old place, with plenty of charm – though, fair warning, the walls are thin.

Road Trip Journal #1

 

Tuesday, February 2^nd

 

Left Driggs around 11:30 AM, on 33 and then 28, headed for Goldbug Hot Springs. 28 takes you through some lovely, flat ranch country, and towns like Lone Pine (really just a general store/motel) and Leadore (the perfect run-down, lived-in Western town). Salmon is bigger and more bustling – almost like civilization – and from there you take 93 south toward the hot springs, winding up into mountains with a river on your right. Magic.

 

The hike up to the hot springs gets a little strenuous toward the end – and a little treacherous toward the beginning, with hard-packed slush almost as slippery as ice. Worth it, though, to pull off your clothes and soak in the stream with a view out over the mountains. The sun was setting by the time I started to descend, and I met up with Alex, a sweet, heavily-tattooed young man who’s road-tripping around the West in a decommissioned ambulance. Says he’s never been east of Colorado. (He’s from Portland.) We had to slide on our butts in the last stretch, but we made it safely back to our vehicles, and Alex showed me how he’d outfitted his ambulance (it did not look comfortable), and then we said our goodbyes and I headed north again on 93.

 

Getting up into Montana (my first time in Montana!) proved to be an adventure. Thick snow in the mountains, and still falling heavily. No tire tracks to drive in for most of the way, and only a few trucks coming the opposite direction for company. I slowed way down and hoped for the best. Dicey stuff.

 

Back on level ground, the situation improved markedly. Grabbed some Taco Bell for dinner and made it to Blue Mountain Bed & Breakfast by around 9:30. Lovely place, way up on a straggling dirt road overlooking the highway. You’re only a few miles from Missoula, but you feel like you’re in the middle of nowhere. Comfortable room, splendid views.