Road Trips : Portland/Seattle : 1997
Friday 21 March 1997
A good thing to remember: never, ever leave San Francisco headed north on a Friday afternoon at 3PM and expect to get very far very fast. Once past Fairfield, though, and onto the 505, and everything sailed along nicely at 70MPH (OK, maybe 80...). Things got even better when I hit I-5, which pretty much follows the route of what used to be US 99. I loved the remains of 99 in Sacramento and Fresno, and I was not disappointed with the northern part either.
Didn't make a lot of stops the first night, although I think I ate something in Redding. A big highlight was my first visit to Weed. I'd been intrigued by the idea of visiting this town with the funky name ever since moving to California, and it was now time. I found lots of good neon, some cool post cards, and not much else, but I was satisfied.
It's hard to overstate how incredibly impressive the sight of Mount Shasta can be, even in the dark. It seems eerily illuminated and dominated the road. The mountains continued through Yreka and into southern Oregon. When I hit Medford, it was time to stop for the night.
Medford's a strange place: one of those completely linear cities found along old US highway routes. Apparently, it's always been a big stopover place, as can be seen by the many vintage motels and restaurants.
Medford was also the place where I learned, somewhat dramatically, that it's illegal to pump your own gas in Oregon. The station attendant nearly had a heart attack -- and nearly gave me one -- when I walked upto the pump, inserted my credit card and proceeded to commit a misdemeanor with no apparent fear.
I drove around some downtown, found no "scene" to speak of, and then slept, vowing to wake up early and continue on.
Saturday 22 March 1997
Early wake-up call at the Motel 6 and I was on my way, through the wilds os southern Oregon. I'd forgotten how much I both like and dislike mountain driving. But it was a most beautiful day, despite the prediction that rain might enter my world. Never happened.
First photo opportunity was Roseburg, a cute mountain town with what appeared to be a very homogenous population (that's a polite way of saying "white rednecks"). Nice motel strip, cute downtown. Fifteen minutes covered it.
Onward through scenic Salem and Eugene, which were both very nice places and were vaguely reminiscent of North Carolina. Eugene screamed "major college town" and the downtown pedestrian mall had a fair share of offbeat characters (and tempting skate rats). I was pleased to see that Wells Fargo Bank was established all over the place , which meant no service charge at the ATM. This makes me forget about the major corporate greed aspect and the usurpation of Oregon culture by California. I've learned to cope.
Finally, I hit Portland, the "city of Roses". I saw very few roses, but I liked it there instantly. The plan was for me to stay with my friends Michael and Brad and their roommate Laura -- all expatriate North Carolinians. I was also here to visit Rae and Michael, my expatriate San Franciscan friends. Of course, I was also scoping Portland as a possible relocation site for Planet SOMA (oops...that's a secret...)
Michael and Brad have a house and yard. I want a house and yard. Almost no one in San Francisco has a house or yard. They also have a guest room. Absolutely no one in San Francisco has a guest room. I want a guest room.
Rae and I had a hard time connecting for the first couple of days, as it seems yet another expatriate San Franciscan, my former boss Brian, was also on the scene. Actually, I did very little the first night in Portland, save for driving around and getting a "feel".
The big discovery was Powell's Books (1005 West Burside). It's supposedly the largest bookstore in America. It's independently owned, the new and used books are sold side by side, and it's HUGE. I could move to Portland just for this bookstore. Used book prices are a trifle high, but I guess you pay for selection. Open till 11 most nights.
A great breakfast discovery: Shaker's. I forget the address, but I had a killer black bean and avacado omelette here. Sort of like a burrito wrapped in an egg. Good call, Micheal.