duck-shaped pain

(Visit scenic Part One and Part Two)

Oregon, Part Three

Monday

There were no impediments to breakfast today, so we finally got to go to eat at La Patisserie. I ate something with feta cheese and my dad had an omelet.

The scheduled time for picking up the rental truck had changed several times since our reservation � it went from 11 a.m. to 2 p.m. and back to 11 a.m. We had driven by my storage place the day before, and a truck of the size we reserved was parked out front. So, we figured we could go pick it up any time.

We drove over there after breakfast, and there was no truck in front. I went inside to inquire, and learned that our truck was on its way over, and might be there anytime between then and five hours from then.

I didn�t know what we could do � I hadn�t really planned any more Portland-area leisure activities, so we went to where people in Portland go when they don�t have anywhere else to go � the rose garden.

Portland�s nickname, if you didn�t already know, is the City of Roses. [1] Not just for the rose gardens, but for all sorts of other roses and rose accessories: the Rose Parade, Rose Festival, etc., etc.

The International Rose Test Garden (its official name) was green and lush � there�s almost nothing you can�t grow in Portland, unless you�re an idiot or you�re an idiot trying to grow cactus, -- and the roses were everywhere. I�m not a huge rose fan, unlike most of the other visitors (who tend to be little old ladies, for the most part), but it was interesting to walk around and look at all the different varieties. I showed my dad the part of the garden where there are tiles commemorating every single Rose Queen over the years (with their official signatures on them), and he found that strangely fascinating. I thought the most interesting thing was the difference in names between older and newer Rose Queens. Early tiles celebrate Queen Dorothies and Shirlies (there's more than one of each), while tiles placed in the last few years are for Queen Malekah and Queen Amber.

I wanted to go visit the Japanese Garden, but I have a strong aversion to paying admission.

Went back to storage unit � still no truck. Onward � to Trader Joe�s.

I miss TJ�s a lot � I used to buy a lot of groceries there. My dad used to shop there all the time when he lived in California, and he hasn�t been to one in about six years. We went planning to purchase a lot, and we did. Coffee, fancy rice, Swiss cheese, freeze-dried curried chickpeas, soy crumbles, eggplant soup, more salmon jerky, dried fruits a plenty, Orangina, asceptically-packaged broth � we bought all of this and more. Also, beer. We bought a lot of beer.

That took awhile, so we were sure the truck would be in when we went back to the storage place. Wrong. No truck.

The only place left I wanted to go was Reading Frenzy, the zine and comic book store. I wasn�t sure if my dad was up to it, so I had planned to go there later, on my way to returning the rental car. But, since there was nothing else to do, I decided to just go. We parked downtown and started walking towards the store, when I saw the perfect place for my dad to go while I went shopping � Powell�s Technical Books. This is one of the other Powell�s stores, one that�s dedicated solely to science and computer books. I pointed it out to him, and he headed straight over, leaving me to buy my comics in peace.

I spent a lot, at least more than I usually would. I got new issues of many things I try to read regularly: Stay Free!, Punk Planet, Magnet, Giant Robot, as well as some things I had never seen before and the final issue of Thrift Score. I didn�t really buy any comics, as they were out of a lot of things I wanted, but I did get a copy of the new Optic Nerve, plus some new weird Japanese stationery. Finally, the shopping part of my trip was complete.

Back to the storage unit, and finally, the truck. We got the littlest truck offered by any major truck rental company, and it still ended up being too big for my stuff. Loading all of it in took a whopping 30 minutes, which surprised me. It took me most of a day and a half to move it into the unit. But at that time, I had very little help, had only a station wagon to do it with, and had to make numerous trips back and forth, between the apartment and the storage unit.

Filled out paperwork, returned the rental unit, and we were off, out of Portland.

I-84 East is pretty interesting until you get to around The Dalles. Then, Oregon goes completely to wheat, and what was once green is now brown and sort of dry looking. It�s quite a chore to drive through it all. We decided to spend the night somewhere within a reasonable driving distance, so, after looking through the hotel guide, I decided we should stay in Pendleton. Maybe we could see some shirts while we were there.

The drive to Pendleton was fairly easy and uneventful. We arrived at the proper exit and stopped to gas up before going to the hotel. I went in to use the restroom, glanced briefly at their candy section and noticed � IDAHO SPUDS.

I�ve written about Idaho Spuds before � they�re my favorite candy bar in the whole world, at least for right now. They consist of a chocolate-flavored marshmallow center, coated in dark chocolate and then rolled in coconut, They�re good, and you can�t find them where I live. So I bought a bunch.

The hotel in Pendleton was very nice � in fact, it was brand new, and they were still building parts of it. It had a hot tub and pool, which I would certainly have used if I had the right clothes for it.

Once we were settled, it was time to eat. There was a Shari�s right across the road, which seemed like the choice that would involve the least amount of effort. We walked over there, and noticed that something was amiss. The sign was on, the lights were on, but no one was there, and an enormous sign in the window read, �NOT OPEN.� Someone came out of the restaurant and told us that they weren�t open yet, that they weren�t opening until next week. We weren�t the only people fooled, as people kept driving by every few minutes, looking for something to eat.

Driving through Pendleton was depressing. Nothing was open, and everything just looked sort of sad and dingy. I don�t like to eat at Denny�s if I can help it, but in this case, it was all that was open. We had a fairly decent meal though, which was greatly helped by the excellent waitress we happened to get. I left her a very large tip, almost $10. I like to tip well, but that�s the most I�ve ever tipped for a $14 meal. But something about her cheered my up immensely, so I felt she deserved it.

Tuesday

The next morning, we left as soon as possible. Unfortunately, that wasn�t much later than 6. I went to check up out and grab some unappetizing continental breakfast, and got into a conversation with the chatty desk clerk. He asked the usual questions: where I was from, where I was going, etc. I told him where I lived, and he asked me where in the mountains of Colorado that was. I told him that I lived in the desert, not the mountains, and he didn�t believe me. There is no desert part of Colorado, he claimed. I asked him if he had ever been there. He said no.

My dad went in a few minutes after I did, to get some coffee. He had the exact same conversation with the guy, complete with the part about the desert.

So many miles between Pendleton and my hometown. We drove them all, and most of them were unexciting. The rest of Oregon is a blur, and I didn�t even notice when we got into Idaho. The only indication given was that the speed limit suddenly went up to 75.

We stopped for lunch on the Utah-Idaho border (a sign on the interstate said "Point of Geological Interest � Next Right", so my dad decided we had to stop). We sat on the grass at a rest area and ate dried fruit and sunflower seeds.

We were making good time until we got to Salt Lake City.

The entire city is being rebuilt for the Olympics, and someone had the bright idea to work on all the interstates in town at once. An even better idea would be to close off most of the exits so that people can�t get off any of the interstates once they get on.

As a result, it took two and a half hours to go 15 miles through Salt Lake. It was insane. Part of that time we spent being stuck right near the Temple, which is an exciting sight almost never, and especially not when you want to be somewhere else very badly. We listened to news radio, because it had the traffic reports, and heard the same stories over and over again.

So, for future reference, here is all the news in Salt Lake City, Utah, on Tuesday, August 15:

• Water main breaks, enormous geyser in the middle of town ensues

• Someone survived a plane crash, exclusive interview given

Over and over again, for hours. The latter piqued my interest briefly, because it mentioned Latter-Day Saints Hospital, which is where I was born. Beyond that brief glimmer of interest, nothing.

After you pass Salt Lake, the most direct route to home involved getting off of the interstate and taking US 6 from Spanish Fork to Green River, Utah. It�s a pretty narrow-windy road, and the fact that it�s the shortest route from Salt Lake to Moab means that it has a lot of bike-rack equipped auto traffic on it. Luckily, it wasn�t too busy, but going over this route always makes me nervous.

The one auto accident, other than minor fender benders, I�ve ever been in occurred on this road, when I was around 12. My mom, my aunt and I were coming home from a shopping trip to Salt Lake when someone smacked into us head-on. I broke both of my collarbones, messed up a bunch of teeth and my jaw and nearly bit my tongue off. I woke up from the accident while they were sewing my tongue back together � imagine waking up, not knowing where you are but knowing you�re not at home, and all you can see is this enormous needle, which just happens to be attached to your tongue, which you cannot move or feel at the moment. *shudder*- no wonder I hate needles.

Fortunately, the drive over this road was unevenful, this time. We got to Green River, didn�t stop at the Tamarisk, and drove home. The dog was awfully glad to see us. So were the plants.