Now Thats A Drive-Thru Tree

Out of all the trees in the Redwood forest I would have to say the Chandelier Drive-Thru tree was the most impressive. Mostly because it fulfilled my fantasy of what a Drive-Thru tree should look like.

When I arrived at the tree I had to wait behind two other cars. The first was a gentleman in a large Ford truck that he was trying to squeeze through the 7x7 hole. In his attempts to save his drivers side mirror, he sacrificed the passenger side of his truck. As he forced his truck through, it made a horrid screeching noise, as the paint was being striped away. Then upon its exit from the tree, much like a child from the womb, everyone stood back in relief. The man driving the truck was noticeably embarrassed and pulled his truck around to the far side of the parking lot before inspecting it.

The next car was a brand new 2005 fully loaded Corvette, and the man driving it was more cautious about driving through the tree. He then stopped a little over midway through it so his wife could take a picture of his baby emerging from the proverbial tree womb.

Finally it was my turn and I was over joyous with anticipation. Something about driving through a massive and equally beautiful tree that put a smile on my face a mile long. As I went through it I gave out a "Heyeah!" all the wile trying to be cautious of, and aware of the sides of my car. After I emerged from the tree I pulled around and parked next to the gentle man in the Corvette. HE instantly apologized about holding up the line for his picture, to which I told him he had nothing to apologize for, and that "if I had someone to take my picture of me in my car in side a giant tree, I would have done the same." He then offered up his services to do just that, and back around through the tree I went. I once again put a giant grin on my face and leaned out my window, just to prove it was me inside my car, inside a giant tree!

What Sad Tree

What a disappointing drive through tree, It wasn't at all what I had been expecting. It was like lightning had struck the tree forming a giant fisher that went all the way up. The poor tree looked like it was on its last limb, literally. It was falling over and held up with reinforced suspension cables. Only a few sprigs of life could be seen at the top of this once mighty tree.

After I drove through it. I went around to the gift shop and looked at the various Redwood made items for sale. The shop keeper was an old Guatemalan woman with a terrible accent. She asked me where I was from and what my plans in life were. I was perplexed by her line of questioning.

"You see......nobody have plan.....you break your mama's heart! You see that BUM next door?" she was referring to the man that had a shop right beside her's, and was in the trade of making giant sculptures out of Redwood trunks. I nodded my head and she continued "You see...he is in love with the DEVIL......all day long he smoke the MARIJUANA, and no do his job! He make a giant bear out front," she lifted her hand and pointed to a semi started statue, "He start that last year, and he no finish! Its the devil that drug......all around here everybody do the drug! You break your Momma's HEART!"

I had to further investigate her accusations and went next door to inquire about the bear. Sure enough the man, a surfer looking type with a penash for marijuana, told me "oh that thing out front, yeah I started it sometime last year, why that old bag from next door raging on me again?" I assured him no, I didn't want get between what ever they had between each other, and told I was just curious when it would be done. He told me "EH, when ever I get around to it, I'm in no rush."

All In Perspective

I stopped in the parks visitor center to inquire about camping among the giants. Unfortunatly I found the $20 price to be to steep for sleeping in my car, even if I was in the Redwoods. While I was in the visitors center, I learned about a massive flood that had effected the erea first in 1954 and then again in 1964!

Most of the towns along the Eal River were wiped out when a massive flood on Christmas caused the river to rise out of its already massive cannyon and continue to rise an additional 35 feet above the Avenue of Giants. Massive carnage ensued as all the major bridges, railroads and highways in the area were wiped out. Hundreds died and thousands lost there homes never to return or rebuild. It would take two years to get the highways and bridges open again.

An interesting bit of trivia, that made me think of New Orleans.

Avenue of Giants

Cartoons had led me to believe that when traveling through the Redwoods, the highway went through the center of these massive trees. I was disappointed to learn that TV had lied to me again, although I did learn about two trees that you could indeed drive through.

I dropped off the 101 for a bit to take an old section of highway called the Avenue of Giants. The trees were even more massive then the ones I had seen just a short time before. As I hiked through a small section of the massive forest, I was reminded of how much it looked like the moon of Endor. I almost expected see at any moment a Storm trooper fly passed me on a speeder, and A.T.’s lumbering about. I was quickly snapped back from my Star Wars fantasy into reality, when I heard this awful creak and the moaning of the tree limbs in the upper canopy. This was followed by a snap, pop snap fffffwwwwwwwwwwww crack THUD! A few hundred yards or more away from me, a piece of one the giants had broken free in the slight breeze above and come crashing back to earth. I was a bit startled by this and then wondered what the odds of another tree limb braking free from the dizzying heights above, and smashing my skull open were.  

Photo Opp

Right around the corner from where I stayed was the Trees of Mystery in Klamath. I don’t know what was so mysterious about the trees, but in front of the place, laid a giant statue of Paul Bunyan and Babe the big blue ox. There is nothing more American then giant statues of ridiculous stuff, that beg for photo opps.

C-A-L-I-F-O-R-N-I-A

Give me your best Arnold impersonation for that one. “Grey Davis, GET OUT!” or pick your favorite California themed song and start humming it.

The only way I could tell that I had entered California was the tiny sign on the border that says “California welcomes you!” I remembered what Ted had told me the week before, about how Oregonians hate Californians, but Californians can’t tell nor do they even bother to notice.

Somewhere between Astoria and California, the temperature had rapidly started to decline. It almost felt like fall. I Stopped in Crescent city and talked with a few locals about the matter and they told me it rarely gets into T-shirt and shorts weather on this section of the coast, and that I was entering the fog belt. It would only be a short drive from here to the Redwood State Parks. The only thing I can say about Redwoods, is they are aw inspiring. I have never felt more insignificant then when standing next to these massive and ancient trees.

I decided to stay at hostel inside the park boundaries for the evening. It was a quant little house and it was only a few hundred yards from a tiny black sand beach. It was there that I met two girls incredibly interesting girls from England, and one very odd girl from Eugene Oregon. The two girls from England were a delight to talk to. I always love talking to people from England, I find the different jargon they use to be enchanting to listen to. We talked for a good portion of the night on an array of topics, from politics, to pop culture and English comedy. They were both headed north to Seattle, so we exchanged places to go and see.  

Also staying at the hostel was an odd family from Pennsylvania. The oldest son was of the Heavy Metal persuasion and didn’t seem to be enjoying himself on his family excursion. It took me back to my youth, when my father took all us down to Disney World for a family vacation, and my oldest brother wanted no part in it. I half expected to hear the father of this family yell out “are we having family fun yet?”

In the morning I was once again awoken early by a fellow bunkmate who’s alarm clock went off at 6AM. I had decided to get up and perhaps once again get and early start to my day, but somewhere between the fog and not being able to get a cup of coffee, I laid back down for a 5 minute nap, and when I came to again it was 9AM and almost time to vacate the premises.

A-Bandon

I stopped in Bandon Oregon for the evening, and what a very forgettable night. The cold ocean air had seeped into the desolate town, and I was exhausted from the days driving. I retired to my bed and in the morning was rudely awakened to the sounds of carpenters hacking away at an old deck outside.

I took this as an opportunity to get up and on the road early. I walked to a local breakfast joint that I had noticed from the day before, and sat at the counter of this dismal establishment. I waited for quite some time for a waitress to appear, and when she did, she was curt with me and I ordered away. As I sat there patiently waiting my food, in strolled a tall fellow who sat down on a stool at the empty counter beside me. He wasted no time before striking up a conversation with me.

“Hay how ya doing? Names Brian, you a local?” A barrage more questions followed, and he hardly gave me enough time to answer. It wasn’t before long he started telling me all about his job, a salesmen no doubt, selling the instructions for making Bio-diesel to small towns such as Bandon, and a lot of other towns along the coast, as he proudly bolstered. He said the process was quite simple and that even I could do it, and get certified by the government to make my own. Then he launched into a tangent about his hot Korean wife, someone he was very proud to have on his arm for purely aesthetic reasons. I could tell at this point that I was talking to someone who probably was a social misfit in high school, and the pretty girls didn’t give the time of day to, because to reinforce he was telling the truth about his wife’s looks he had a provocative picture of her on hand to show.

The Lone Soul of Cape Perpetua

Cape Perpetua was an amazing site to see. I took a long winding road to the top where one could look down the coast as far as the eye could see. I was able to walk right up to the edge of the cliff and pear down the dizzying height and sheer drop of 800 feet to the ocean crashing into the rocks below.

As I walked about on the vista, I met an unusual old woman sitting contently on a large bolder. She told me she didn’t have it in her to walk with the rest of the tour group she was with down the long paths provided. So there she sat waiting patiently for their return. Unsolicited, she began to tell me about her adventures around the US. She told me all about how she only liked to travel alone, that it was the only way to travel. “once I traveled with a woman to Wyoming and a great fight broke out between us, over going to a rodeo. Then once I rented a camper in Alaska and brought a friend with, but the camper was hardly big enough for the both of us, I couldn’t turn around without bumping into myself. Traveling alone is the only way to go, you see, otherwise you get stuck sitting on a rock!” To which she gave out a big laugh. I replied “yes, but the view from here is amazing I wouldn’t mind being stranded on that rock.”  She sat for a second and pondered what I said, then responded “your right, I have seen many a beautiful views in my life and this one, is one of the best.”  

Oregon Coast

I awoke the next morning a bit chilled from my stay on the beach. The fire I had started had long since burned into a smoldering pile of ash, and a cold Pacific breeze was pushing the morning mist in. I laid there contemplating for some bit about getting out of my warm sleeping bag and returning to my car, but the idea of letting what little heat I had trapped in my sleeping bag, was keeping me frozen in place.

Finally I mustered the courage to spring forth and rush to my car. As I stood up a whole heap of sand fell from my body. It’s amazing how sand has a way of working itself into every nook in your body. I then began to jump about in a strange monkey dance flailing my arms in air, shaking my head from side to side, and spitting uncontrollably. The sand had worked its way into my nose, and even my mouth.

I shook as much sand loose as I could, but the chill in the air had me. I darted to my car to start the engine and get some heat going. It reminded me a cold November morning, when you sit in your car rubbing your hands together hunched over your steering wheel, as if the above helps, wile your waiting for the heat to spew forth from he vents. I sat there shivering pondering where I should go.

Once I was sufficiently warmed I pulled out from my spot and headed back south down the 101. It was an amazing day for a drive. The sun finally burned off the morning fog as I traversed down my coastal path. Every bend brought an ever more amazing site to see, the beauty of the Oregon coast is unparalleled. I would spend the next two days just driving along and enjoying it.

Moonlight Sonata

I had planned on staying at a hostel in Seaside Oregon, its about ten minutes north of Cannon Beach, but in my haste to get to Cannon Beach I forgot to check in and reserve myself a bed. When I got there the place was full up, and I was turned away. Now I know how Mary and Joseph felt. At first a great deal of fear and anxiety swept over me. I knew I could stay at a hotel/motel, but all the ones in the area had their “no vacancy” signs on.

I was tired from my long day of walking, and the last thing I wanted to do at this point was drive around the winding coastal roads in the dark searching for a place to stay, yet I found myself doing just that. I hoped back on the 101 and started heading south, with no idea where I would find myself spending the night.

There I was all alone speeding about the coastline in search of a place to stay, when all of the sudden the most brilliant moon I have ever seen in my life broke through the clouds, if I were a werewolf now would have been the perfect time for my transformation. The brilliant glow would light my way down a clandestine path. I followed the moons light up and down the ever twisting coastal road, as I passed vacant motel after another.

It almost felt like I was being pulled along on this string, because ever time I thought about stopping at a place, something inside me told me to keep going. I was led to off the beaten path to an unmarked campsite, and when I pulled up to pay for a spot no one was there. I followed the road around the site and all the way to its end at an empty beach.

The moonlight was the brightest I can ever remember seeing and it lit the beach with a soft blue glow. I then began to look about the beach for scraps of driftwood, to start a fire with. I made a small hole around a fairly large log, and was able to get a small fire started. I went to my car, fetched my sleeping bag and lied it down beside the fire.

I laid there gazing at the stars above wile listening to the waves pounding the beach from a few yards away. I was perfectly content with my sleeping situation and drifted off into the best nights sleep I have had on my entire journey.

FRANCIS YOU GOONIE!!!!!

I got an early start on my day. Sharshalla had awoken at 6AM to get an early start on his bike ride; I awoke as he knocked his bike against the door frame leaving our room. We said a few words and I wished him good luck on his ride, and he wished me luck on my journey. I was ready to tackle all The Goonie sites, which would encompass a very long day of walking and countless picture taking. I wanted to rent a bike, to be a real dork, and do The Goonie ride from the Walsh’s house all the way to Cannon beach, but unfortunately it would have cost me $25 so I passed on it.  

I started at the very start of the film, at the old Clatsop County Jail where the Mamma and Francis Fratelli are springing Jake from his incarceration. I was surprised to find that right across the street is where a deleted scene involving Mr. Walsh and his Museum was shot. The whole time I was walking about all I could hear in my head was the opening song that sets the pace for The Goonies. I took a turn around the side of the Jail and came out on 8th St and to my surprise was the very spot where Chunk smashes his pizza and milkshake against the window. It made me laugh just thinking about it. I then started down Marine drive kept thinking about The Goonies, and keeping a look out for any thing familiar. I took a few turns and before I knew it, I was in front of the high school where Annie was a Cheerleader. I was a bit out of luck because there was either a practice going on, or a football game taking place, so I couldn’t get onto the field to take a picture, but it sure added to the feel of the movie, like I was living it. Then continuing on, I walked down 30 to 37th St where I found the intersection Rosalita was almost run over at, and in another deleted scene where the whole Goonie gang stops to fill up on supplies. Then it was time for the crème de la crème, the Holy Grail itself, the legendary lair of the Goonies, the Walsh house, or more commonly refered to as the Goonie house.

It was a rather surreal experience standing in front of it at the bottom of the hill. I had always wanted to come here as a kid and live my own adventure, and now I was, of the sorts. As I approached the drive, a group of people were coming down, I though perhaps they owned the house, but no they turned out to be tourist who came to pose in front of the house. Walking up the steep incline I replayed the movie over and over in my head trying to compare what it once looked like to now. When I finally got to the top I just stared at it for a minute. It’s odd how such an inconspicuous house and a seemingly cheap movie could have such an impact on someone’s life. I stepped back and started clicking away with my camera. I then swung around took a few of the Data’s house, the blue house next door that doesn’t appear to have been touched since the movie was made, only a little faded. I then walked over to the edge of the hill and looked on at Astoria, turning to look down the drive, which I thought appeared a lot steeper in the movie.

I just sat there for a bit at the top of hill staring at the house and taking it all in. I’m sure the owners must have wondered what the hell this guy was doing staring at their house for so long, but I didn’t care. Then at the bottom of the drive a minivan pulled up and four guys popped out and ran up. They saw me standing there and one of the guys asked me if it was indeed the Goonie house, to which I replied “Yep this it, although it looks a lot different, the fences missing, and the porch has been extended out to the front, its also a different color.” I was very enthusiastic to share my knowledge of the Goonie house with them, I guess so much so that one of them turned to me and asked “Do you work here?” I was flattered by his comment and replied with “No but I stayed at a Holliday Inn Express last night!” I thought it was funny but my humor seemed to pass over his head, so I said “No, no I’m just kidding, I have just seen the movie more times than I can count.” The group then asked me take there picture in front of the house, and I happily obliged them.

In front of the house lie an old chest, almost looked like a treasure chest, with a sign on it that said “cold drinks” as if to capitalize on the Goonie house. Then there was a sign next to it asking to leave a dollar in the mailbox if you took one. A souvenir of sorts, from the one and only Goonie house. I placed a dollar in the box and took two Pepsi’s, one to drink and one to make a shrine out of when I return home.

I then looked out onto Astoria bay and took it all in one last time. It was now that I regretted not renting a bike for $25, so I could get the whole Goonie experience by riding from the house, all the way to Cannon Beach, and Ecola state park.

I hoped back in my car and drove about 30 miles down the road to Cannon Beach. It wasn’t what I expected at first, it had been all built up and touristy. Condos, hotels, and restaurants now adorned the beach front. This made finding a parking space quite precarious as tourist with children and animals ran about.

I didn’t know where to enter the beach from so I just started walking toward the sounds of the Pacific Ocean and following the ever growing crowd of tourist. I turned a corner and there in the early morning mist it protruded out of the ocean, the third largest natural monolith in the world, Haystack Rock. It was quite breathe taking to see it, Goonies aside, and I just stared at it with a giant grin on my face. I then took off my socks and shoes rolled up the bottoms of my pants and started walking along the cold pacific shore line toward the massive rock.

The smile on my face must have been way to apparent, because I was stopped by a group of three girls who laughed at me and one spoke up saying “You are having way to good a time at the beach.” I laughed back and told them all about my journeys across the country and how ecstatic I was to sea the Pacific Ocean and dunk my feet in it for the first time.  

As I continued down the beach toward Haystack Rock, the morning mist began to lift, and the sun came out from behind the clouds burning down upon me. I took a seat near a large piece of driftwood, removing my jacket, and just sat there sunning my self as I gazed at the massive rock. As I sat there, the tide began to roll out, revealing a path to the rock’s rocky shore. I walked over to it taking notice to all the little sea creatures that had been left behind and stranded in the quick retreat of the ocean. I spent the next few hours walking up and down the 7 mile stretch of Cannon beach.

Just a little bit north of Cannon beach lies Ecola state park were the entrance to it played a big part in the Goonies. The road up to the cliff face was winding and tight and treacherous, but the It led to an amazing view from the top. I ended up staying there to watch my first brilliant sunset over the Pacific.  

Zen and the Art of Bike Riding

Upon returning to my room I met Sharshalla, he would be my bunk mate for the night. He was a very tall and slender man with his heritage stretching to India, but you wouldn’t be able to tell from the way he spoke. He had a very southern California surfer accent to him. At first I was a bit intimidated by him since he towered over me, but then once he spoke with his soft voice I could tell everything was going to be alright.

Sharshalla was riding his bike from the tip of Washington all the way back down to Sacramento where he was from. The bike he was riding on, as he proudly bolstered, was an 80’s cruiser, that he had only paid $20 for off of ebay. He then went on to explain his philosophy of life and bike riding.

“Life is to short and we are all get confused and caught up in the consumer mentality. We all want to fill this void we feel in our lives with meaningless stuff that has nothing to do with life. We no longer live to live, we live to just exist and consume more to distract us from the repetition of our daily lives. I too fall victim to these distractions and forgot to live that is where my bike comes into play. I ride and when I ride I live in the moment. Each twist, turn, and bump in the road brings a new experience that I own. I think only of the next turn and only of the next hill, my mind is free and I live.”

We spoke well into the wee hours as he told me about his experiences biking abroad and traveling. He told me I was doing the right thing and that “nobody ever regrets traveling, they only regret when they get back home and their repetitive lives catch back up with them.”

Astoria Hostel

The Astoria Hostel has something to be said for it, it seemed more suited as a flop house for recovering meth addicts. It was of an odd design, something akin to a European hotel. There was a center column of rooms and then there was an outer ring of rooms. The rooms themselves had no amenities other then light fixtures. The only bathrooms in the building lie at either corner of the center column of rooms.

Now I had no problem with this set up, it was the odd assortment (which I thought I was accustom to) characters that stayed there. Each was creepier then the next and had untold secrets. As I waited to check in a man staying there spoke to me about his new job and how he had been living in his car, all the wile I could smell cheap wine that lay on his breath. It was either that or his rotting teeth

Now in this hostel lie only one phone, and it was a pay phone (I believe the last of its kind) and it received incoming calls. As I sat in the small common area there sat several individuals with me, all waiting for a phone call. It was quite funny at first because ever time the phone rang someone would come charging down the hallway to answer it, or spring from there seat in anticipation that it might be for them. Then if it was for someone else, the ritual of walking up and down the halls banging on the doors asking for the person who the call was for.

As I sat there my first night researching Goonie sites around town, a strange individual came into the common area all upset. He then went over to the manager’s office and banged on the door saying he was having an emergency and he needed change for the phone. I didn’t think much of it at first, till he returned to use the phone. I then overheard the strangest conversation of my life.

“Hello, Mike? Yeah…..its me…..I’m having a problem…….welll you see I am feeling very paranoid, and am freaking out……….yeah I know………well uh I feel like I’m having one of my schizophrenic episodes…….Did I take any drugs? Other then my medication?..........well I did smoke some marijuana, which I know I can’t do anymore because…..yes I know but If I don’t smoke pot then……..Yeah ok….”

I had heard enough and if the guy needed help I didn’t want him to feel like he couldn’t talk freely with his consoler, or for all I know there was nobody on the other end of the phone.

Welcome To Astoria

I left Seattle around 8AM on a grey rainy and cold morning. The whole Time I was in Seattle I hadn’t seen the sun once. I made my way out of the city back the way I came but would take a detour back over to the coast starting my trip down the 101. I had intended on doing the Olympic peninsula, but decided I had my fill of mountains for the time being.

Its odd how no sooner did I come back into contact with the Columbia River, did the sky once again parted its clouds and sun shown through onto the Oregon side. Reaching the magnificent bridge that leads into Astoria Oregon I was over come with a sense of jubilation. Across the expansive mouth of the Columbia River lay a childhood dream. Soon I would be immersed in a place where my favorite movie of all time took place. Soon I would be in the realm of The Goonies!  

Crossing the bridge I became giddy to what I might find on the other side. I thought perhaps there would be signs and plaques placed about the town dedicated to the honor of the timely classic movie The Goonies!  I first headed to the Astoria Chamber of commerce to ask about any info I could on the shooting location of The Goonies. To my surprise they had limited info to give out, they wanted me to buy the Clatsop county film guide. It turns out several movies have been shot in Astoria, including my other 1980’s favorite Short Circuit and a movie I’ve never seen The Ring 2.

I took what little information I had and set out in search of the locations using only my memory as a guide, which is almost picture perfect, considering I’ve seen the movie well over 1000 times. I wanted to just jump out of my car and start running about the city, but I thought it best to get situated at the Astoria hostel first.

Seattle Sudden

After my disappointing day in Redmond, I returned to the hostel to just sit and relax. I haven’t really had a chance to do this since I left on my trip. I went into the common area of the hostel and took a spot on one of the couches and engaged in some people watching. I was then approached by a very strange Chinese guy swilling Kailua strait from the bottle. He was a student at one of the university’s in Seattle that didn’t start for week, so he was living in the hostel till he could move into the dorms. He was studying Cultural Anthropology, and was talking about all kinds of cultures but mostly western European ones. He then asked me to write my name on this piece of newspaper he had scribbled all sorts of messages on. I then had my second most intense déjà vu experience of my trip. Looking down he says “Ah Chereck…..not familiar with it, but its probably Polish or German.” I had to congratulate on his well educated guess. We talked a bit and then he went on a tangent about something that hadn’t crossed my mind since I’ve been west. He told me “Dude, you ever been in an earthquake? I hope you brought your life vest, because the seawall out in the harbor will brake and well all be swimming!” The idea of an earthquake had completely slipped my mind, but now it had taken root.

A few moments later a new character entered the room and sat on the couch across from me munching on some strange leafy Greek delicacy, when he leaned over and offered me one. Since this trip is all about doing things new and against my normal instincts, I excepted his peace offering and tried one, and it wasn’t half bad. We then got to talking, about our respected pasts, and we both asked what we were doing in Seattle. He told me he was with a comedy troop doing, none other then sketch comedy, and they were doing a show in town. So my first question was “are you guys funny?” He laughed this one off and replied with “I hope so.” Then I asked him what he would compare their style to, to which he responded with “well I would hope, or like people to compare us to the Kids in the Hall.” I gave a smug response, “Well that’s a tall order, I mean the Kids in the Hall are the pretty much the best, unless your going the Benny Hill, Monty Python route.”
He then assured me that they were indeed funny and to check out their show the next day. Unfortunately my timing was off and I had my fill of Seattle and wanted to get a move on to the place of my childhood fantasy’s. He then wrote down the website to his comedy troop www.notcomedy.com  and gave it to me. “If anything” he said “Check us out some other time, and if your ever in Sacramento look me up and I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.” So nice, but I’m not sure of his motivations, he seemed a bit festive and if I were to say which Kid he emulated, I would say he was dead on ringer for Scott Thompson.

Nintendowner

I had first intended on only staying one night, but in the morning I was remembered two important companies that worked just outside of Seattle, Microsoft, and Nintendo! I know I am a big dork, but what can I say, I grew up reading Nintendo Power magazine, and playing none other then Nintendo games. So in a very nerdy fashion, how cool would it be to go and visit NOA HQ? Very cool!

I headed out to Redmond Washington around 1PM and found my way there quite easily, its only about a 20 minute drive from Seattle. As I looked for the proper Nintendo address, I couldn’t help but notice all the Microsoft offices. Its like Microsoft has there own little city inside Redmond where all the buildings look the same.

I had found the almighty Nintendo of America HQ, although it wasn’t quite what I expected. It was rather unobtrusive inconspicuous grey building. Not something flashy like you would expect from a giant game company. It was very ordinary, with only a little Nintendo insignia on the front sign. I drove around the building, like I was casing the joint all the wile searching for the main entrance. I found a parking spot in the front, and just sat there for a bit and pulled out my laptop to see if there were any open WiFi sources nearby and to my surprise NOA has an open network (Hackers should go have some fun with that). I wanted to see if Nintendo offered tours of their fine facility before I walked in, but a quick Google search would provide no answers.

Sitting outside Nintendo of America and I must say for some odd reason I was full of in trepidation to see what goes on inside the big N. The house that Mario built and I cower at its door steps. I pulled myself together and walked inside to see if there were any giant Mario statues adorning the place. I was surprised to find two lonely receptionist sitting at a tiny desk, in a very tiny front lobby. Off to the side there were two coffee tables stocked with the most recent Nintendo Power magazines. I approached receptionist very cautiously, but they didn’t seem to notice me standing there. I looked about the front desk and all I could find Nintendo related was a stack of business cards. Finally one of the receptionists looked up at me, and asked if she could help me. I replied “ah yeah, do you offer any tours of the facility to the public?” To which I received a very strong, “NO!” she then looked back down at the desk an answered a phone call “Hello thank you for calling Nintendo of America, how may I direct your call?”

I just stood there peering around the corner to only to see nothing but a bunch of tiny cubicles. The receptionist then looked back up at me, and I asked if they had any sort of trinkets they gave out to people that stopped into visit, like a pen or something? “No we don’t have anything like that, if you want go over to the Customer Service building where they sell some T-shirts and strategy guides.” I then asked if I could have one of the business cards on the front desk and she told me “NO.” So I grabbed one anyways and walked out.

What a disappointment. No “tours of Nintendo of America’s headquarters” I can understand that, there just a game company like another, but still show some respect for your faithful customers. I think I read somewhere that Valve gives tours of their company? I don’t know I just figured that a company geared toward kids would be a bit friendlier. I’m sure I’m not the first to stop by and be disappointed with a visit, but then again it is still a company first. I still think the receptionist was a little rude, warranting me to send an email to Nintendo’s customer service department to which I got this response:


Message(#6851-000462-1962\4621962)

Hello,

I'm sorry to hear that you're experience here wasn't very good and I apologize if the receptionist was rude to you. I'll be forwarding your feedback to the appropriate department for review.

Thanks for writing.

Sincerely,

Nintendo of America Inc.
Sue Page

Tourist Stuff

I awoke early in the morning from the other 5 people I shared the room with scrambling around and zipping up their bags. I was still dead tired, but couldn’t help but get up. I packed my stuff and made my way to the head common area for some coffee. As I sat there I began to think about all that I wanted to do with my last day in Seattle. I pulled out my map and began to plot a course. As I poured over my map I realized that if I did everything I wanted to do, and feeling very unrested from the day before, I should just stay an extra day.

The first place I headed was to Pikes Place Public Market. When I arrived there around 8AM, the market was still in the midst of setting up. All the trucks were arriving with there assorted produce, fish, and other items, and All the venders were anxiously awaiting to be assigned there stalls to set up their cheap souvenirs to sell to the wanting tourist. I strolled about looking at what goods were already lain out and found myself at the very end of the market staring at a very inconspicuous Starbucks. I then remembered that Starbucks indeed started in Seattle and I had found myself at their very first store. As I walked in it was a full of people in the midst of their morning routines, ordering mocha this and half cap that. I stood back for a second and just like a good tourist began snapping photos of the inside. I then walked up to the counter and ordered myself a small coffee, of the Pikes Place special blend. The reason I only got a small, is there are plenty of, in my opinion, better coffee places to enjoy in Seattle, and I wanted for the sole reason of being able to say to people “Yeah, I’ve gotten coffee from the very first Starbucks!”

I continued about the market dodging in and out of stores, looking at all they had to offer. Now the fish market part of Pikes Place is something to see! They have all sorts of fresh seafood that’s unbelievably cheap. Then they got these guys that stand around and toss fish back and forth over the counter!  Its funny when they do it, because the only reason they toss a fish is when someone buys one, but until then you got all these dumb tourist (myself included) standing around waiting for it to happen, all the wile clogging up the way for real customers. Its funny because you got all these people standing around waiting for it to happen and then one of the fish handlers comes out and yells “Ok WHO WANTS TO BUY A FISH?” and everyone watching for a fish to be tossed scatters.

After Pikes, I went on a bit of a hike south, down to Pioneer Square to take the underground tour. Yep, who knew there was an underground to Seattle?  It was a very enlightening experience. It turns out that Seattle is built on a mad flat, which with the tide made for a very messy and wet city. After the City burned down, the shop keeps in their haste to rebuild, rebuilt before the city could essentially raise its streets. They built giant sidewalks that rose 30 feet in the air and then used a sleuthing method to blast away at the cliffs of upper Seattle to fill the streets. Anyways look it up, but that’s how you get an underground, it’s actually the first floors of the old buildings, the shop keeps hastily built before the process was completed, you’re walking through.

I then set back for my car for a little jaunt over to Redmond Washington. Whats in Redmond that would warrant me spending an extra day in Seattle? As it would turn out a two very famous companies    

Sleepless in Seattle

My God I got the worst nights sleep I’ve had on this entire trip! I am staying at the HI Hostel in downtown Seattle and the gentleman that slept in the bunk below me had a myriad of sleep disorders! First he had the worst sleep apnea I have herd so far on my trip. His snoring sounded like a mighty dragon trying to breath with a clogged nose! Then to top that off the guy had some sort of night tremors and was shaking the bunk all night as he kicked his legs about! Then he started to talk in his sleep and screaming out! At first it was scary but after about an hour of this I had to just laugh!

Space Needle Blues

Now for some odd reason I have never heard this come up before in a conversation, and I never thought I would need to but for all of you that don’t know downtown Seattle is built on 45 DEGREE ANGLE! How come nobody ever told me that? The grade of the streets and sidewalks in certain places is incomprehensible. Seriously, at some points in the city you are bending your knees and leaning back, just to walk down the street! I have no idea how the business types in Seattle deal with this on a daily basis. Needless to say this is not a city you want to be driving manual around in. I found myself testing my stick skills to their maximum!

I got a bit lost as I entered the city, nothing new there, and wondered up and down the one way acute angles they call city streets. It was long before I located the hostel and got my self checked in. Since this was just an excursion and hadn’t planned on coming to Seattle in the first place, I only planed on staying for one night, so I was in a rush to see all the usual tourist hot spots. Now I had no rhyme, reason, or method behind my site seeing, but in a city built on angles, it would have helped.

I took off down 1st Ave heading south, not sure what I would encounter. I then decide to go East on Union because I thought I saw the Rock-N-Roll hall of fame building, but it turned out to be the Seattle Library. Now I don’t know why I thought this, but I thought the Rock-N-Roll hall of fame was in Seattle? So then I decided to keep going east on Union until I hit 6th Ave, I then hung a left, taking me north. I took this all the way down Stewart St where I came across a pair of corncob looking buildings that reminded me a Marina Towers back in Chicago. My attention was then diverted to a monorail track, a street west of me, on Westin Ave. I was curious, and once again wondered why nobody ever told me Seattle had a monorail. I followed the tracks to the it’s station and found out it led to the Space Needle, for the low cost of a $1.50. So off I went on the mile long stretch of track to the Needle.

The Monorail drops you off in this square that’s like a carnival. The sidewalks are lined with all sorts of carni like rides and games, as you make your way to the space needle, which for the low cost of $8.00 will get you a lift to the top. I would have rather gone to the top during the daylight hours, but seeing how Washington was already thick with gloomy weather, I didn’t think it would matter when I went up. At least this way I would be able to pick up the city’s lights. Now wanting to get the most of my money worth, I wondered about in continuous circles on the observation deck waiting for what little sun was poking through on the horizon to set. The view of Seattle from the Space Needle is quite impressive, especially at night.  Wondering around in a 360 panoramic of the entire coastline is amazing, and a definite for all who go to Seattle. I could have stayed up there for the whole night.

I then found myself tied into a conversation, once again, with the information girl that worked there. Being up so high, the first thing that came to my mind was if anyone had ever jumped to there doom, to which I got a very quick “no, but a party of three base jumpers tried to jump off in 1996, but there plans were foiled before they could attempt.” Since we were on the subject I had to ask if I tossed a penny over the side, if it would kill any one, to which I got another very quick response “NO, a penny can’t reach a speed from this height to kill someone, but it could leave a lump on your head.” I walked a way for a second and a few more questions popped into my mind that begged to be answered. “Had Itchy ever drawn a giant X on the ground and told Scratchy to stand there wile he dropped little mock Space Needles from the top of the Space Needle? (It’s a Simpson’s joke) She then looked at me rather puzzled and then began to laugh, “NO, that hasn’t happed, but that was a funny episode.” Now I had one more Simpson’s inspired question, “what does a city with an already well established mass transit system for a small centralized population need a one mile stretch of monorail?” She laughed at this question to, but gave me a very concise answer “The monorail was built for the Seattle’s Worlds Fair, it was designed to take people from the downtown, across the then, underdeveloped and crime filled housing projects of upper Seattle to the Space Needle. Thanks to the Monorail, it led the regentrification of the area it once served to provide safe transit through.” It was a good enough answer for me, I also would have excepted “I could tell you, but the only ones in this room that would understand the answer would be you and I.”

I then asked about local things to do and see, and where to eat, and she launched into her life story. Life must be boring at the top of the Needle because she told me all about her triathlon training, her opera signing, her adventures in Italy, and her very wealthy X-fiancé. Now she was working at the top of the tallest needle in the United States, interesting how life works out.

Enter Washington

I never really intended on going to Seattle, it wasn’t on my list of things to see out west, but when I got to Portland I saw signs saying it was only a few hundred miles away. Based on the short drive away it was, and considering I probably wasn’t going to find another opportunity to go there anytime soon, I decided on a whim to go. That’s probably the best part about not having to be anywhere; you can go where ever you want when you want. I did want to spend an extra day exploring more of Portland’s downtown and other sections of the city, but I figured I could save those for another time. I do plan on returning to this city again some time in the future.

I took one last loop around the city and jumped on I5 north, no sooner did I drive across the Columbia river into Washington the sky become encased in a grey haze. It was like a barrier existed between the two states separating their weather. Now I had herd Oregon was a rainy state, but wile I was there I only saw clear blue sky. On the other hand I had herd Washington was a rather dark and dismal state plagued by grey sky and rain, and this held very true.

On my way up I took in the ever increasing dismal weather, which put a bit of a hamper on my state of mind. This didn’t last very long, as I was excited by seeing a sign for Mt Saint Helens! Now I new it was in Washington, but I hadn’t figured it was so close to Portland. I thought it laid more to the northeast, but I think I had that confused with Mt Rainier; either way it was quite the discovery that I would be able to see it. I pulled off at the designated exit, and it would be quite the trek to get into a visible viewing distance.

I drove to a suitable spot, it wasn’t the base of the mountain, but you could see into its top. The devastation from its blast was still very evident, but most of the land was on its way to recovery. I thought to myself as I gazed at its magnificents, “Its not everyday one stumbles onto a volcano by accident.”

As I walked around the recreation area, I struck up a conversation with a girl that worked in the gift shop. I was frustrated that I couldn’t find a lighter that said “Mt Saint Helens,” on it. You would think volcano; theres fire and magma in it that would lend itself to a novelty lighter? We talked a bit more about the volcano, and then she told me about her big lifted Ford truck and the giant tires it had on it, and how she would take it off roading around the mountain. It’s interesting how some times the little things you learn from friends who also have big Ford trucks, pays off in a conversation in the least likely of places. We spoke for a good hour or so, and she even offered me a ride in her truck when she got off of work. Now if I was a smarter man, I would have taken her up on the offer, but I figured I should make my way to Seattle before dark. Nothing I fear more then being lost in a foreign city in the dark.

A Portland Laundromat

After my dip in the mountain stream I went to change my pants and realized I would need to do laundry because I was out of clean clothes. I made my way back to Portland and found a Laundromat close to the hostel I was staying at. It was probably the saddest Laundromat I have ever seen in my life. It had a plane white interior and lacked any music radio, TV or even chairs, no amenities what so ever.

When I walked in, I first noticed a sign that said “be aware of your surroundings, not responsible for any persons or there possessions!” I then walked over to the closest machine I could find and started a load. A good bit of time went by as I stood there and waited, until another gentlemen entered to do some wash. Except this mans laundry wasn’t socks and underwear, he was washing a parachute! It was the oddest thing I ever seen. This is when I had the strongest bought of déjà vu since I’ve been on my trip.

I then went out to my car and grabbed up my book and began reading it. As soon as I opened it another rather tall, and younger looking gentleman entered the Laundromat went over to the dryers opened one up and felt his still wet clothes. He then came over to where I was leaning against a wall reading and he pulled out his book and began reading it. About 12 minutes went by and the alarm to the drier went off, he once again went over and felt his still wet clothes. This is when I suggested he put half in another machine. He ignored my suggestion but it did spark up a conversation as we waited for our clothes to finish there respected cycles.

We talked for good half hour or so and I told him about my trip and he told me about his college and where he was from. He then got a phone call from one of his roommates and when he was finished, he invited me back to his house around the corner for some dinner. Now I know what your thinking and I was thinking it to, but then I am not one to pass up an offer for free food.

After my laundry was done and folded I followed my new friend’s directions to his very nice place. This was one nice ass house in a very nice neighborhood. Now I am not one to do things like this, a million bad thoughts pass through my mind about any given situation. I don’t know if I’m paranoid or just overly cautious but I figure everyone is out to kill me. But I said to my self “what the hell, lets see what this is all about.” When I arrived at the place I first took a notice to the rather odd red porch light as I walked up to the front door and knocked on it. A rather large frat looking guy answered it and gave me this funny look, like who the hell are you, I gave him the same look back, and said “is…….(I forgot his name)…I’m a…” and just then he came around the corner. He said “hay whats up man, come on in.” He gave me the proper introductions and offered me a beer, to which I declined and asked for a soda.

I couldn’t help but notice the rather festive painted walls and various decorations that adorned the place, as we gathered in the dining room. The dinner we had was an odd sort, it was an amalgamation of every single vegetable you can think of, with no real design behind it. It was served along side some bowtie pasta, and actually wasn’t that bad, I managed to choke down two portions. After dinner we all talked a bit about politics videogames and bike riding. I still cant believe how nice they all were to me, and when I left, they told me if I was ever in Portland again to stop by, that I would be more then welcome to crash at their place anytime.

The Scenic Route

I decided to take the scenic route back into Portland, taking me all the way around Mt Hood. I hoped back on 26 and took it up to 395. There in valley behind the mountain I found the most unlikely of places. There were expansive orchards of peaches, apples and pears, along with a few vineyards thrown in for good measure.

395 snaked its way north running into the Columbia River and joining up with 84.  I took this around until it met up with historic 30. Now unbeknownst to me today was some kind of “Ride Oregon” event taking place, with some 2000 cyclists on the very same road I had decided to take and explore. The road itself was a dinky two lane highway hardly big enough for two cars, and completely lacking a shoulder. I repeatedly had to creep up on the cyclist and pass them weaving in and out of the other lane and in between the bikers. It was a very nerve racking experience.

It all was well worth it, because the treasures this road held were innumerable. The mountain side was strewn with all sorts of waterfalls, each one even more magnificent then the next.

It had gotten to the point were I figured it best to take break, after a hard hike and all the passing cyclist. I pulled off to the side of the road and walked over to a seemingly empty bridge. As I peered over the side into a crevasse that lined a stream bed I took notice to an enormous log jam at the end of it. Something like this required closer inspection. I slid down the side and made my way over.

When I got down there I met 3 other hikers and two very distinct people. The hikers were a set of girls and younger man, maybe a few years older then me. The two distinct people was a man named Ted, who resembled Ron Howard’s brother, and an elderly woman named Susanne. Now I am not certain what there relationship was to each other, but they struck me a bit odd at first.

Ted was of the ambitious fisherman of sorts and was forging up the log jam in an unsafe fashion with the hikers. I to followed suit to see what was so important beyond this mighty stack. As I climbed over with them I asked what it was that could be so worth almost braking your neck climbing across slippery logs. The hiker told me of an untouched waterfall that lay in the very back of this canyon. Very few people know of its existence and have seen it. He then warned me that if I wanted to see it, I would have to wade through waist high mountain water.

Now the thought of seeing a site only the locals knew about peeked my curiosity, but then the idea of charging through waist high water put an end to that curiosity real quick. I then turned and started back. This information barely even fazed Ted and he yelled out “when in Rome!” and started off full blast marching through the water with out even taking his boots off. He then turned around and yelled back at me “You can’t miss this one!” I thought perhaps he was right, and was stuck contemplating the idea of stripping down to see this thing as I walked back to my car.

On my way I was stopped by Susanne as she wanted to chat about the area. She seemed to know a great deal about it, and had an unparalleled knowledge for all things Louis and Clark. I guess we chatted for quite some time because before I knew it Ted had made his way back. He was half soaked from his waist down, and you could here his boots squeaking out water as he approached. He yelled to me “you got to go see it, you got to, its one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen in my life! Buddy if your only going to be here once then you have to see it!”

I tried to shrug this off by saying I only had one pair of shoes and didn’t want to get them wet. He merrily came back stronger “ you got to see this, just take your shoes and socks off! You wearing underwear?” I was confused by that last comment, but firmly answered with a “Yes!” He then said “well strip down to your underwear and go in the water, don’t worry, no one will see once the other three leave. You have to do it!”

All of the sudden Ted was making sense to me and I decided what the hell I’ll go do it, and off I went back to climb over the log jam. Right when I got to a point where I was going to start and disrobe I herd a voice, “wait for me! I’m coming back with you!”
I was terrible concerned by this. Of course only the worst things come to mind first about being stuck alone with a man who’s a larger then you and seemingly a bit mentally impaired, back in a canyon that nobody knows about, wile your pants are down! I quickly pulled them up and decided to just go barefoot and roll my jeans as high as they would go. .

Taking off my shoes and rolling back my socks revealed a horrid site. My once blister filled feet were now blister and sore ridden feet. My socks were now covered in blood from my ever rubbing and improper footwear for hiking shoes! This made me think twice before sticking my feet in the water, I could do with out a trip to the hospital because of infectious feet, but Ted was all gung-ho and was charging on ahead of me.

Now Ted had said that the rocks I was walking on were river rocks, and that meant they were mostly smooth, but Ted didn’t have blisters all over his feet, and it made for traversing the rocks quite difficult. I cringed as I stepped from one rock to the next. It wasn’t until I was able to plunge my feet into the cold mountain stream that I was able to find some relief. Ah the cold glacial water did a wonderful job of numbing my ailing feet.

As we got closer to the deepest part of our crossing Ted instructed me to take all my valuables that weren’t water proof out of my pockets “Your going to get wet and if you don’t step right your going to loose a nut!” Ah his warning came just in time because trying to move my numb feet around on the rocks caused me to misstep and my boys went swimming. I was able to re-catch my balance and right myself, but I was up to my waist in Ice cold water.

Then a few more steps and I was free staring up at a magnificent 200 foot waterfall. I was impressed by it, but I could have done without getting wet to see it. On our way back Ted did a bit of opening up to me, and telling me about his life and his motorcycle accident that messed him up. He told me about Susanne and how she new all about the things to see in the area. On our way out, he offered to ride with me so he could direct me back to Portland. I was uneasy with this idea, mostly because he was soaking wet, and I would have to shuffle things about in my car to make room for him. We talked for a bit more and he told me I was saying Oregon wrong, I was saying it like a tourist, its pronounced OregEn! The he wrote His number and Susanne’s number on a piece of paper, and handed it to me, saying “If you get into trouble in Oregon, well come bail you out, it’s the least we can do for a tourist of our fine state!” I took the piece of paper and gave him my deepest thanks but assured him I probably wouldn’t need to use it. It was indeed a mighty gesture.

Mt Hood

After my brief introduction to Portland, I wanted to see some of what it had to offer on its outskirts, another one of my overly ambitious ideas. I was told to head East toward Mt. Hood and I wouldn’t be disappointed with the drive.

The drive up to the mountain was fantastic, off in the distance you could see its snow packed peeks. I don’t think I could ever get tired of looking at mountains. The drive around it twisted and turned leading to numerous pullouts for photo ops. I took advantage of every one. I found a hiking trail at one of these pullouts and decided to venture into the dense foliage for a few quick photos of the lush greenery that lie inside. I was instantly overwhelmed with what I saw under the canopy of the tall trees. Massive logs lie strewn about in various stages of decomposition as moss and ferns covered them. Only a few feet from where I stood was a gentle stream that ran down the side of the mountain.

I couldn’t help but feed the urge to follow the path and see what other wonders awaited me. I was a bit concerned about the giant blisters that had formed on my feet from the hike through the urban jungle the day before, so I thought I would just go a little ways in to see what was around the corner.  Then that turned into the next corner and then the next bend and then just a little farther. Now I got to a point in the path where it was at a 40% grade and was I running short on breath. I had foolishly charged into climbing this path when I wasn’t properly acclimated yet, or equipped. Climbing anything at 6000 feet is a bitch, even if you are in pretty good shape, especially when you’re lugging 25lbs on your back. I took a short break on giant tree stump, when an elderly couple came walking down the path from above. I had a brief conversation on whether the view from up top was worth it, and they whole heartingly agreed. The woman was even kind enough to give me her last protein bar, in case I needed it to revitalize my strength.

I charged forth with renewed confidence, if people in there 70’s could do then surely so could I. Up the path I marched at a steady pace, all the wile eating my newly acquired protein bar. It wasn’t bad for a protein bar either. As the path grew steeper, it also began to deteriorate, with giant stones poking forth from the ground, and the banisters that marked the sides began to slide away down the mountain side.

I had only expected my excursion on this path to take a half hour tops, but now I was well over an hour into before I emerged at the top. There in front of me stood the most placid body of water I have ever seen. It was called Mirror Lake and it was a site to behold. Now it wasn’t just the lake it was the whole experience. Here is this lake surrounded by steep cliff-faces covered with trees that make trying to discern the summit impossible and virtually no noise could be herd other then the slight ripples in the water lapping against the smooth rocks that lined its shores.  

I took a seat on log that lay near the shore and just sat there trying to listen. There was nothing, just complete tranquility. It’s odd when you try to listen for a noise and you cant here anything not even a slight breeze. I just sat there and took it all in, living in the moment.

My New Home

A few days back, when I was in Boise, I called an old friend of sorts, who happens to live near Portland to see if I could crash at his place. I had already planned on staying at hostels for most of my trip, so it wasn’t complete downer when he told me that he was leaving for Mexico the next day, it still would have been nice to have seen him. Yeah, the one time I decide to go to Portland, just happens to coincide with the one time he decides to leave Portland! He did however point in me in the rite direction of some interesting and cool things to do and the streets where to find them. One street he mentioned, Hawthorne, I was able to find a hostel rite on it.

The trip from Eugene to Portland was just a stones throw. I made fast time taking highway 5 north, sorry 20 well meet up again later. Once I got close to the city, I instantly got confused by its extensive freeway system that loops in and out of the city, and over the river. I was quite surprised by what a major metropolitan city Portland is. I half expected to find, if I was lucky one or two tall buildings along the lines of Boise, but definitely not a thriving, dense downtown Mecca. Anyone who knows me, knows that I freak out when driving in the tight confines of a major city. This would prove very difficult for me as I battled the on slot of one way streets and freeway entrance ramps. All I wanted to do was get to southeast Hawthorne and 31st street.

I got lost as I blindly traveled around the city hoping it would just appear in front of my eyes. After about an hour of just aimlessly driving about I stumbled across the Hawthorn bridge and was on my way. I found the Hostel I was going to stay at on my third pass of the street; I have the hardest time locating these damn hostels, but I blame that on poor signage.

The hostel itself was very different from the other three I had stayed at. It was a buzz with action, all sorts of people coming to and from it. The people that were staying there, were all characters in themselves, but still the friendliest of folk.

I was shown about the place and led down a set of stairs, into a somewhat dank basement, around three corners and into a back room where my bunk lay. After fashioning the sheets, I made my way back topside to start exploring the city. I was like a kid on Christmas morning, filled with excitement for what I might find in the city.

I was just about to set out back towards the Hawthorne bridge which takes you into the heart of down town Portland, when I received a request from the lady who checked me in. She sent me in the opposite direction toward 40th street to fetch some day old bagels for the hostel. They were free, for all of us staying there to enjoy, but someone had to fetch them. I wasn’t bothered by this request and took it as an opportunity to further explore.

As I walked down the street, I found all sorts of people about, and all seemed to have a smile on their faces, even nodding their heads and saying hello to me as I passed. The street I was on was littered with all sorts of wonderful little specialty shops restaurants, and coffee houses. I picked up the bagels without a problem and headed back to the hostel, where once again I was greeted with even more friendly smiles
I then decided to just keep walking, and walk I did. Now this might not sound like much, but I am not the walking type. I have a sort of flat footed week ankle thing going on, so I tend to do as little walking as possible. I am also lugging around with me a 30lbs pack on my back. I decided not to let any of this dissuade me from my journey, and off I went about the city for what must have been a 10 mile hike.

I was floored by all the numerous smiles I kept getting from the locals, and thought maybe someone had affixed a “kick me” sign to my chest. Just what were all these people smiling at? Then I was also thrown off by all the people on bicycles. Were not talking a few, were talking a few thousand! Every where you go someone zooms past on a bicycle. I couldn’t believe it. Even on my way in I noticed the bike lanes, but never really paid much attention, until I got on foot, and saw how widely there used.

I often wondered what the big deal with Portland was? Everyone is always talking about going there and what an awesome city it is. For once I agree, Portland is truly an amazing city, one that rivals Chicago. It has an amazing feel to it, that’s just to hard to describe, its one you have to experience for yourself. I could definitely find myself calling this city, my home.

A Chereck Reunion?

I woke up bright and early, not by choice, but everyone that I shared the room with had decided to get up and make noise. I sprung from my bed and packed my stuff together. I said a few things to the friends I maid the night before, and we all parted with goodbyes. I was half-tempted to stay another night, but I wanted to make it to Portland. In hindsight I should have stayed because Eugene is a kick ass little city. It had the quaint cozy feel, but not in a small way.

Before I left there was one thing I had been planning on doing for a very long time now, meeting a long lost Chereck! I always tell everyone if you ever meet another Chereck, chances are their related to me. Well this Chereck isn’t, as far as I can tell, so that’s what makes this experience so unique. He was the head registrar at the University of Oregon. My brother Andrew first informed of his existence a few years back when he wanted to go to CU. Do a quick google search of our last name, and he is the first to pop up.

I was a bit intimidated about just dropping in on the guy. I mean I had no idea how he would receive me, or if he would even be interested. I must have a compass in my head, because without consulting a map and only being given a general idea of where the college was, I managed to find the exact destination of the registrars’ office, without blinking!

The registrars’ office was on the second floor of the student billing office. When I approached the line where you sign in to meet with the registrar I didn’t know what to say, so I told the truth “ahhhh I need to meet Herb Chereck” to which the student assistant replied “um that’s not going to be possible, he’s the head registrar and he’s a busy guy, perhaps one of our other registrars could help you?”

“No…..you um I’m like a relative….well I’m not really a relative, well I could be, you see, I well, my names Francis Chereck and I’m from near Chicago, and like, well, I’m passing through on my way to Portland and I think I’m related to him but…….”  The student assistant cut me off before I could say another word “Oh your Family, let me call his secretary.” After a brief phone call he sent me around the corner where I was greeted by Mr. Chereck's (odd saying that) secretary who had me pause wile she checked inside to make sure it was alright for me to enter.

As she opened the door I could see the look on Mr. Chereck’s face that seemed a bit confused and surprised that his secretary had just whispered to him that he had family here to see him. I was then allowed to enter his office where he was sitting with another woman. I then asked him “Herb Chereck?” He just sat there staring up at me, “I’m Francis Chereck! I know this is a bit odd, but I was passing through town and I’ve never met another Chereck before that hasn’t been related to me!” He replied with “Well I’ve never met another Chereck before that hasn’t been related to me!”

I then asked him how he pronounced our last name, to which he said “They would have been doing us a favor if they had just added an S to it,” which meant he pronounced it Shereck. Not with the CHA how us Chicago Chereck’s say it.  We went back and forth over our name and gave a brief overview of our family’s histories. I learned that he had a daughter named Emily who goes…..dun dun dun to the same college my brother Andrew is currently attending. What a small world indeed. Two Chereck’s on separate paths unite at college of choice, coincidence or incidental? Well our meeting was short, but the novelty of it will last in my head for the rest of my time. Yeah remember that time I stalked down that Chereck in Oregon, yeah that was awesome. Well I didn’t explain it to Herb that way, but that’s how it kind of felt to him.

Late Arival

Coming down the western Cascades was a site to see. Suddenly the Barren dessert landscape was replaced with giant trees and lush vegetation. I really wanted to stop at all the look outs, but the sun was starting to set, and I didn’t want a repeat of Yellowstone, that is driving about the mountains in the dark.

I got into Eugene late and had trouble finding the hostel in the dark, I ended up driving up and down Willamette road. This hostel was very different then the other two I stayed in. It was thriving with fellow travelers, from around the world.

I entered through the back gate, which I think was the only entrance, to find a very out of the ordinary establishment. It was if someone took a shitty home, and through a bunch of beds in it. Well the house itself did date back to 1890, so you can imagine its condition. When I entered I was tired from the road but very eager to meet the assortment of travelers in the house.

After the usual substandard check in process, and a tour of the facility’s I was introduces to a few of my fellow bunkmates. We had Rob from Missouri, although judging by his long hair and lingo; you would swear he was from southern California. He had been doing just as I traveling about the country in no particular fashion, and had stopped in Eugene to make some money. The there was Eric, he himself indeed came from southern California, but judging from the way he dressed and talked you would swear he came from Missouri. Next was Jessica who hailed all the way from marry old England, to be more precise Liverpool. She was on holiday traveling a bit of our lovely western coast before she began her internship in molecular engineering at a college in LA. Then there was Tamara who had a thing for running. Her story was unclear because she didn’t talk much but did a lot of smiling. Our MC for the night would be Eric who spoke with a strong south Bronx accent. He would entertain us all with his extravagant and tall tales of his times spent loafing abroad in Venezuela.  

At first it was a bit odd, and awkward much like entering a party where you don’t know anyone. But everyone was very warm to the reception of a new traveler and was eager to hear where I been, and where I  was going. At the nights end, it almost felt as if we all had known each other for quite some time.

Attendant On Duty

I continued on US 20 making my way to Oregon. Western Idaho is completely barren I was going to make a change in routes to go explore the more beautiful northern Idaho, but unfortunately time/money and my eagerness to make it to Oregon would persuade me out of it. I had it set in my mind that I would make it to Eugene Oregon, another hostel lie there, and a very surprise meeting with a lost brethren.

Western Idaho blends in with eastern Oregon in that you can’t tell them apart. The back end of the Cascades creates a barren plateau full of nothing. This stretch of land is even barren gas stations.

No sooner then I entered Oregon, I spotted my first hitchhiker. I had come over 2500 mile and I was spotting not, just one hitchhiker, but several in the next 100 or so miles I traveled through Oregon. I was tempted to pick one up, but I just wasn’t comfortable with the characters I saw.

I finally made a stop in Bend Oregon to gas up, which led to an interesting revelation. When I went to get out of my car in order to do the whole stretch and refuel routine, I was bombarded by three gas station attendants, one of which instructed me to stay in my vehicle. What the hell was going on? One jumped in front of my windshield and began spraying it down, wile the other came to my window and asked me what grade of gasoline I wanted. I looked around to see if there was a full service sign somewhere that I had missed. So I told the attendant that I didn’t want full service. He told me “It is unlawful for someone other then a professional gas-attendant to pump gas in whole state of Oregon!” What the hell kind of law is that? So I complied, and reluctantly tipped the attendant a buck on my $35 fill up. I was tempted to say, “peep the plates buddy, I’m from Illinois we pump our own gas there!” But this did raise the question what is the proper tip for a gas station attendant that pumps your gas? Do you tip 15% of the sale or is a buck good enough?  

Sha-Boise

Boise is a fantastic little city, and the state capital (I didn’t know that). Lots to do and see. It has and amazing down town filled with all sorts of coffee shops and restaurants. Wile I was there, they had a local festival called art in the park. It’s where all these artist get together and show off there stuff. It was still neat little thing although quite large, and it gave me a chance to stroll through there rose garden.

As I was strolling about town I met the most charming and beautiful security guard I have ever laid my eyes, in front of the capital building. She had steely blue eyes and burning red hair. We talked for quite some time about the squirrels that pestered the capitals front lawn, the tragic, yet somewhat comical death of a young boy in the capital building, and her aspirations to become a firefighter. Unfortunately we had to part ways, I had to get a move on out of town, and she had to go back to her checks of the haunted capital buildings.  

God Speed Eldridge Jesus' Loves You

I woke up early around 7AM from a single beam of light that managed to finagle its way through the blinds and strike me rite in my eye. Then as I contemplated lying in the bed, I herd the front door to the house open. It was the owner of the establishment, Elsa. She was an older woman who was fairly tall with sunken eyes and had a bright and colorful way of dressing. She greeted my morning with a smile and a nod hello, to which I informed her I would be staying another night.

I drove about Boise in search of the VA home where my great uncle Eldridge was staying. It took me about an hour of driving in circles and one stop to ask a local where the place was. When I arrived at my destination I was uneasy on where to go or where to even find him. Even if I did find him, it’s been about 15 years since I last saw him, so I wouldn’t recognize him if I did. I walked the long hallways of Veterans home peeking in on people here and there. Most were happy to see a new face and would wave and say hello.

I finally managed to find an orderly and ask him, the whereabouts of my great uncle. He seemed shocked and astonished that someone was here to see him, especially someone as young as I. He immediately brought me to a TV viewing room where four other Vets in wheelchairs had been placed. Right at the end of the row of old people sat my great uncle, all slouched over in his chair not the slightest bit aware of his surroundings. He is for the most part completely deaf and almost completely blind, he is 95 after all. Unfortunately as I would learn his mind is still sharp as a tack.

The orderly first brought him around to make him aware that someone was here. Then he had me give Eldridge a big hug and hold his hand. At first I was a bit uncomfortable with this and felt very awkward. So I sat there and holding his hand waiting for him to say something. After a bit I decided to test his hearing and began Yelling in his ear, “ELDRIDGE I’M YOUR GREAT GRAND NEPHEW!” He mumbled some words but I couldn’t tell what he was saying so I yelled again “DO YOU REMEMBER LEONARD? I’M HIS GRANDSON! REMEMBER JEANEVE!” I think he could feel my breath in his ear, but I know he couldn’t hear a thing, although my words seemed to send him on a rant.

“Aahhahahh……that damn ranch, I hated that ranch. I was so lonely up there. I would get so excited in the spring to see anyone……….I’m so lonely. I can’t communicate with anyone…..but this is Jesus’ plan for me……I’m ready to die….I’m so sorry I don’t know who you are.” As he muttered those words a tears began to run from his grey eyes. He then continued “Jesus has a plan for all of us…..he won’t let us go till we’re done……….PROMISE ME…….you will find Jesus!”

I was completely caught off guard by this, what is going on here. He then tightened his grip on my hand into a firm handshake. I shook hands with him and patted him on the back, as if this were the universal way to communicate a promise.

I only intended on staying there for a few hours, but ended up spending the whole morning and much of the afternoon with him. He continued on telling me about how lonely he was and how he was waiting for Jesus to take him away. That he had led a good life, but regretted how he had treated his wife. He then uttered some other strange words to me

“If you fall in love……never let her go……treat everyday with her like it was your last……treat her like a queen….love is amazing and it will stay with you forever.” I can only assume that all he is left with now is his thoughts and memories. He is imprisoned to the devices of his own mind.

Before I left he said one last thing to me “I hope you have gained something by holding an old mans hand.” I don’t know what inspired him to say these things, but the time I spent with him has had profound meaning on my life. It made me sad to know, that when I left the next time I would see him would most likely be at his funeral.

An Idaho Sized Storm

As I got closer to Twin Falls Idaho the storm hit me with full fury! My car was tossed about by the massive gust of wind, sending me over into the other lane on several occasions. Soon the area I was passing through became black as night, as the dust from the desert was blown into the air. It was then followed by a blast of rain turning the dust filled air into mist of fine mud. Then out of nowhere my car was bombard by thousands of tumbleweeds that were being blown onto the highway, smacking into my grill, and rolling up over the windshield. I griped the wheel so hard my knuckles turned white as I tried to focus on staying on the road!

I Met The Devil On A Mountain In Idaho

I pulled off on a mountain overlook to observer the awesome view of a dark storm on the horizon. I got out of my car walking a couple of yards over to the edge looking for the perfect spot to get a picture. I wasn’t really paying attention on my way up through the mountain pass, but I thought I hadn’t seen a car in front of me or behind me for a good 40 miles. I was used to this by now; it hasn’t been uncommon for me to go a good hour or so with out seeing any signs of life.

As I stood at the edge looking beyond, I was surprised to hear the gravel behind me kicked up by an old Ford truck that stopped abruptly between me and my car. The gentleman in the car was quick to hop out, slamming his door with a creaking thud. He was a tall lengthy man, with a leathery and worn face. I took in his rather stereotypical outfit. He had a long flannel shirt tucked into his blue jeans and big brass belt buckle to tie the whole ensemble together. He strutted across and then adjacent to me coming to rest in front of a large bolder that acted as a natural rail guard to keep cars from going over into the canyon below. He then raised his leg and sat it on the boulder leaning the rest of his body on his now bent thigh, and stared off at the horizon.

I took my eyes from him and returned them to the horizon as well. A few seconds went by and then the man spoke with a strong voice

“Illinois, you’ve come along way.”

I spoke rather sheepishly in response, “yep, some 2000 miles!”

I could hear his feet move in the gravel as he walked closer to my car, my vision was cut off by his truck, but when he returned to my view, he spoke again.

“You traveling by yourself?”

A sort of odd question and one of a prying nature, but I was happy to appease his curiosity, “Yep, I’m headed to Boise.”

To which he was quick to respond with “anyone expecting you?”

I then became uneasy to his line of questioning, and his behavior. He was keeping his distance, much like a tiger waiting to pounce on its unsuspecting prey.

I then stepped up my tone in an effort to make myself sound stronger then I am. “YEAH, I got a great uncle there!”

He then walked back over to his previous position, and taking the same stance. I kept my eyes affixed to his every move. As he peered out at the ominous storm on the horizon he said the most peculiar thing

“This is a good place to make your peace with God!” He then turned his head waiting for my response and spoke again “have you made your peace with God, son?”
My heart jumped in my chest as it began to beat at a furious pace. I thought that this man was about to murder me! His line of questioning led up to what I believed would be my inevitable yet premature doom. I thought at a frantic pace searching for the right answer that would save my life. As in several hairy situations I have been in before, I had to rely on my cunning mind and quick wit.

“I do believe I have made my peace with god, just a few days ago, I was in Wyoming, when a voice from above spoke to me. It felt as if the lord’s hands had come down upon me!”

The man looked at me in a stern manner as if I was mocking him. It seemed to me that it was all now or never. He had his chance to do me in if he wanted. There were no cars for miles around, and even if there were nobody would be any the wiser that a struggle was taking place. All it would take was one good shove to push one over into the void.

I locked eyes with the man and removed my hat, folding the bill and shoving it into my back pocket revealing my shaved head. In another vein effort to look tougher, I puffed up my chest, as if to indicate I wouldn’t go over easily.  I was prepared to defend my life.

The man looked at me with his eyes fixed on mine; they had a cold black feeling to them. He then turned his head back to the horizon and spoke one last time. “It’s not safe to be driving on a mountain in the midst of a storm; we both better get a move on.” He then walked back to his truck and drove back in the direction he came from.

I was confused over the events that had just transpired, had I fought the devil and won?

I

Ground Zero Texas

Driving up into the mountains in Idaho I was surprised to see numerous farms in the otherwise desolate landscape. I was also surprised to learn that they farmed more then mere potatoes. I found flowing amber filled wheat fields, along with green groves of alfalfa, and asparagus.

After a bit all the farms disappear and reveal a very baron landscape. Then I stumbled into something I wouldn’t have expected. Out in the middle of nowhere Idaho is the Idaho National Laboratory. Now this was surprising because there was nothing remotely near it. Entering the giant compound on US 20 would reveal giant signs that littered the landscape saying “restricted area admittance for official business only! Department of Energy United States Government.” For a second there I thought I was passing through Groom Lake Nevada! (Area 51 that don’t know) Then there were signs pointing to historical markers that didn’t exist. One such sign pointed me to the first nuclear reactor to ever power a city! But when I pulled up to EBRI (1) it was closed. So I stopped my car and took a few pictures of it. Now this could quite possibly be coincidence, but after I took those pictures and went to go back and get on 20, suddenly a fire truck, a ambulance and a giant white Suburban drove to my former location with there lights and sirens flashing. I think the Feds were after me!

A little bit down the ways from the first nuclear reactor, you find the most complicated weather station known to man, out in the middle of nowhere, in the rinky dinkiest of rest asreas. It had all kinds of things listed on it, and what for? Nobody comes this way. Something was a foot in the middle of that desert.

Traveling down the road a bit further would reveal the small town of Arco. I was hungry and stopped in the most interesting little eatery. It was called Pickles, and it offered up something called the “Atomic Burger!” I had to try one, but what made them atomic? Well, as the cook said in a USA today article (I believe) “they make you glow green in the dark”. I ordered one and made chit chat with the waitress who was very friendly. {Hello if you’re reading this and keep up on that Trigonometry} She told me about various things and some of the places she lived in her life. I was also able to learn the secret ingredients that made up the french-fry sauce!   As for the Atomic burger, it was alright. She was right about the mushrooms.

Before I left I had a brief conversation about the best way to travel to Boise. As it would turn out from my understanding, that 20 would be the way to go, but it would take me through the only 6 miles of open pasture in the US? Where if you hit the cow you have to buy it! I don’t know if they were pulling my leg being the naïve traveler I am, but I would soon find out if it was true or not.

On my way out of town I saw a sign that explained that Arco was the first place in the United States to receive energy from nuclear power! I had just passed through a town that would help revolutionize modern energy as we know it!

Just a few miles outside of Arco lies the, Craters of the Moon National park. It’s miles of old lava flow that litters the landscape and offered a neat diversion from the otherwise plain and desolate desert.

Boise Bound

On my way out I wanted to say goodbye to the fellow who had been so nice to me, but he was passed out, and I didn’t want to wake him from his sleeping off his night of drunken revelry. I simply just tossed one of my cards his way and left.

Its hard to judge the time when your sleeping in a basement. I emerged from the hostel to find a warm and refreshing day. The morning was no where as cold as the one I had experienced the day before in Yellowstone. I had spotted a restaurant the night before as I walked about Jackson that offered a $5.99 breakfast buffets and offered free wifi. The Teton Steakhouse, had an alright assortment of various breakfast foods, but nothing special. It did offer the cutest waitress around in a five hundred mile radius. Tiana, was very helpful in offering up things to see and pointed me to the chair lift at the edge of town. A lift to the top would provide one of the most beautiful scenes imaginable. You could see all of Jackson, the Hole and the Tetons beyond. I was overwhelmed by the site something you need to see first hand!

Hoping back on 20 would take me on a twisting turning adventure around the Palisades reservoir in Idaho. I stopped at look out point to take a few pictures and met a couple who was also on a drive of the Pacific Northwest. They came a substantial distance farther, hailing all the way from Hawaii! They flew in through Nevada rented a car and came up through California. We talked a bit about the scenery and they told me about living in paradise, and how the view we had was comparable if not more impressive then the one they had in Hawaii.

No Sleep Till Boise

Sleeping in this hostel environment would be something of a challenge. As I prepared for bed one of my fellow bunk mates appeared in the dark. He was rather happy, and very friendly. Probably the nicest I’ve come across so far on my journey west. He might have been a little drunk to. He immediately introduced himself, and said “What’s up man? How did you get in here?” I was confused by what he meant by this question and replied “I got lucky?”

He immediately turned into the Jackson Hole welcome committee. “Cool man, you want to come out with me to the Cowboy bar? If I had some beers here man, I would offer you one. You staying more then a day man?” He didn’t even give me a chance to answer instead he just kept going.

“Dude they call it the Jackson shuffle. One day you’re here the next you’re over there.” He then began changing his clothes and continued talking “dude I just scored this new job, man so I rented this joint out for like a week. I was living on this dudes couch but like I just had to get out. I was living in my car for a bit, you know parking on what ever street is dark but now I’m sitting good.”

I didn’t know how to respond. He asked if I wanted to go out to the bar two more times, and thinking back I should have gone, not to drink, but to observe. Unfortunately I was beet I half slept the night before and was desperate for some bed rest. So I declined. He then told me once again where he was going to be. Before he left he pulled out a tiny flashlight, saying “see dude I come prepared, in case you want to do some reading or something…..here you want it, I got plenty of extra batteries. Here man take what you want, you want my radio, I don’t need it.” I was overtaken by his generosity, he didn’t even know me and here he was offering up what little he had. I commend people like that, probably because it’s a quality I lack.

As fast as he walked into the room he left. I laid down and drifted off to sleep. I have no idea what time it was, but the person who occupied the bunk opposite mine returned with a bike, and in his effort to maneuver it into a better location he slammed it into my bed, jarring me from my sleep. He muttered a slight “sorry” when he noticed I turned over to see what was going on. I couldn’t really make out who he was in the dark or what he looked like. He then began fumbling with his lock on his footlocker making all kinds of noise. Once he had it opened, he then began digging about in his bag making even more noise all the wile saying “SHIT SHIT SHIT…….SHIT!” Then he began to slam his belongings around. I have no idea what this was all about but it annoyed me to no end.

I was awoken around 6:45 AM to this maniac next to me, fumbling about again. Instead this time he turned on the lights to the whole place seemingly awaking everyone. The only reason I knew what time it was is I could hear others in the room whispering in phlegm filled throats “dude what fucken time is it?” Ah fuck, 6:45, you got to be kidding me!”

It was about this time I felt something between my legs. I made my bed; there wasn’t anything there when I climbed in to go to sleep a few hours before. I reached down to see what it was, and I pulled forth a silver Zippo lighter? Where the hell did that come from? I don’t smoke, it wasn’t mine. How does something like that get between ones legs in the middle of the night? I hope nobody tried to take advantage of me.

Jackson Hole

Jackson Hole, certainly isn’t what I expected it to be, in a good way, and a bad. This is indeed the greatest tourist town I have ever seen. You know you’re in a tourist town when a misplaced Ripley’s Believe it or Not museum is off the main street. Still this doesn’t spoil the feel of Jackson. It’s got this Wild West façade thing working for it. You can’t help but love it. It’s almost like you’re in a theme park. All the buildings have that classic Wild West Saloon architecture, and even the sidewalks are made of wood to add to the authenticity.

At first I thought wow! Everyone here sure is dressed nice. No slummy looking cheap people walking around, with the exception of myself. Still as I walked about the town I couldn’t help but notice the abundance of various real-estate companies an fancy stores fronts. Then the real kicker came when I saw the Sotheby’s International! Yes, this town is indeed on par with Aspen Colorado. I was bumping elbows with the rich, and they didn’t seem to like bumping elbows with me.

After a few hours of just aimlessly meandering around I found my fabled Anvil hotel and youth hostel. I was a bit skeptical about this whole hostel thing, I had only heard about them in Europe and up until a short time ago didn’t know they existed here in the States. Still it seemed nice enough and was off the main drag.  

As I tried to book a bunk for the night, I found the man at the front desk to be rather rude. I’m thinking he doesn’t much like the hostel types. I tried to ask him a few things about the town, but he wanted no part of my conversation. He even interrupted my check in process when two people came in after me and he gave me the look that he had to deal with his, “real customers.”

The hostel itself isn’t in the hotel part, it was in the basement. It seemed like the owner of the hotel figured the basement wasn’t doing any good, so why not make a few bucks by tossing a couple bunk beds down there. The man at the front gave me my assigned bunk number 13 (a bad omen) the rundown of the rules and a code to unlock the basement door around the corner. I found the hostile to be a lot nicer then I had imagined, but then again I have nothing to compare it to. From what I understand its also a steal at $25 to sleep there when compared to the outrageous prices the local hotels and motels charge for a night.

When I entered the sleeping quarters I was a bit daunted by the maze of bunks set up. They weren’t set up in strait row fashion, instead they twisted and turned around corners creating little alcoves. I found my bunk all the way in the back corner, and noticed from items laid out on beds near mine, that I would be sleeping next to two other individuals. I looked inside the foot locker at the side of my bed and pulled out the sheets in order to get myself situated for the night, they don’t make your bed for you in hostels. With all that accomplished I decided to step out and look for something cheap to eat.

I only had to walk a few blocks from where I was till I came across a tiny burger joint tucked off to the side in a rather posh restaurant. It was Billy’s Giant Burgers, don’t let the cramped quarters of the inside fool you. They had some bigg-ass burgers. When I entered the place you had to slide around the outside of the tight counter in order to make your way to one of the stools that surrounded it. I was caught off guard by the rather eccentric and very outgoing cook/waiter, who happened to resemble a young David Ledderman. He screamed out at me in a rather effeminate tone, before I could even take a seat at the messy counter, “H-A-A-A-A-A-Y” and then assaulted my sense’s with a barrage of questions and asking me to do strange things. “I KNOW WHAT YOU WANT, A GIANT CHEASEBURGER WITH MAYONAISE LETTICE TOMATO AND A PICLE!” I felt so on the spot with him yelling this at me in front of the crowd of people gathered around the counter that I responded with “ah yeah sure…..?” To which he fired back with a “YOU GOT TO GIVE ME SOME AIR GUITAR BEFORE I CAN SERVE YOU, A-Y-EAH!” I was confused what the hell was he asking me to do and why? He must have seen my befuddled look on my face so he quickly responded with “YOU KNOW MAN, SOME AIR GUITAR!” To which he raised his right hand high in the air and brought it down as if to strike a mighty power cord, letting out a “ A-Y-EAH!”  I was completely perplexed and I had no idea what I had gotten myself into. I blushed and tried to brush the foolish action aside, as I attempted to sit down. This guy meant business though, “YA GOT TO GIVE ME SOME GUITAR MAN, OR YOU CAN’T SIT AT MY COUNTER!”  So what the hell, when in Rome. I got up and brought forth a rather pathetic air guitar, not worthy of the guitar Gods, and promptly sat down on the stool. My attempt was good enough to appease the main man himself and he screamed out yet again “YEAHHHH!”

He then leaned over the counter and asked me in a rather light manner, “what can I get you to drink? You want a beer, I can tell, we only got two kinds of beers here, lagers and ale.” Ah if only I still drank, but no, I asked for a coke. He didn’t take well to this and yelled out “A CHOKE…..A CHOKE…DON’T YOU KNOW HOW BAD THAT IS FOR YOU, WELL YOU DON’T GET ANY ICE WITH THAT!” He then pointed to a list of rules that had been hand written on a piece of paper and taped to the wall. The list of rules were quite extensive and amounted to more then 45. I would have taken a picture of the list of rules, but there was a rule prohibiting picture taking. Now I’m sure they were all in good fun, but I didn’t want to bring anymore attention to myself.

I sat at there politely waiting for my food, and watched as the waiter ran around the bar counter shouting at people in his strange manner. He then directed any questions about his methods to the list of rules posted. Some people understood this humor, but more seemed intimidated and upset by it. I personally found it to be quite entertaining and stayed to watch him well after I finished my burger. The burger itself, was probably the best I have ever had!

After my meal I returned back to the hostel to settle in for the night. When I entered I found two people sitting in the main common area watching TV. It was a rather old woman in her late 60’s and young man probably in his late 20’s. They were having a rather odd conversation about football. I ease dropped for a wile but was cautious about adding my 2 cents since my capacity for football knowledge is very limited at best.

I waited for the right moment to interject and ask if there were natives to the Jackson. The younger man told me that he was indeed and that he was a cook by trade, but living in Jackson is costly. He was on his way out of town looking for new job in Montana, and told me that Jackson was once a great town but now it had become to (I can’t spell this) “boo-swa” and there were to many politics in town with everyone try to claw there way into the Jackson high society. The old woman didn’t have any thing to say other then she wanted to know if I wanted to move there. The thought had crossed my mind, the gentleman informed me that working in Jackson was seasonal and not a place you want to be unless you got millions.