Further Dispatchings From The Roadtrip On Which I Am Not: Day 3.

Day 3: Reno to BFE. Er, Eureka, Nevada. 243 Miles.

Hwy 50 and 722 Junction. Made a wrong turn.. and then a wrong turn again. Then had to back track.. Ah well.. This is on our way to Austin NV.

[The terrific and talented Todd. Teaches Tai Chi. Does some wicked energy movement with acupuncture. Tells scads of disgusting dirty jokes. Thinks farts are a riot and a half (KDog, I hear you giggling over there). Ladies, he is indeed single. Line forms to the right. Don't push.]

International Cafe in Austin Nevada. And the city.... er town... um.. village? Hamlet? Our waitress was charming enough.. in that classic rural way. what was especially endearing is when she brought us out our veggie burger I asked which one was the no tomato. She dug around in the stack of plant matter and said that well they both had tomato but she said could take them out. I said it was ok and just had the [finger prodded] veggie patty. [All I have to say is: "Kiss my Grits" because what else is there to say?]

This is a poster that was in a door of the local hardware store. Not sure what the storm is that it warns to be prepared for.. or why 2008 is so important. Maybe somebody can explain? [Come on all you GOP-loving, gun-toting, evil-smiting, storm-weathering readers of my blog - Bexy, Mark, Mama - give the rest of us liberal shaloobs some sugar, don't let us be caught out in the storm without shining the light of illumination and salvation upon our heathen breasts. Please?]


This is some where between Eureka and Ely (pronounced E-Lee) in Nevada.







Oh and the last picture is of some locals that came out to check us out. [You can almost sense a slackened jaw, and I don't mean that rudely - honest.]







Nothingness. But so nice.

It is hard to convey with these pictures how truly empty it is out here. At first it is kinda boring, riding for miles after miles and it is so empty. Then when you stop and take your helmet off, it is so quiet. And that is so weird, how quiet and how empty nothingness is.. then it so... well awesome and nice and well very cool. I don't think I would like live here, but for some reason, it refreshes my soul a bit.
NEXT UP: Day 4 - photographic proof we need a better digital camera.

Dispatch From A Roadtrip I'm Not On: Day 2 [Now With Brackets]

Joosh's words as they streamed in on the intertubes. [My comments in brackets].

Day 2: Klamath Falls to Reno, to meet up with OMT. 271 Miles.

Hitting the road. 10:31am. [Looks like he's pulling out of a gas station. Nice that gas prices have dipped, but I hope it doesn't put America back in their SUVs.]


42 miles south of klamath falls on Hwy 39. I think that is the back side of mount shasta. [At first I thought he was retarded - I mean joking - but if you enlarge the pic, the tip of a glacial-topped mountain does indeed rise above the rest smack in the center of the photo, just to the left of the tree in the middle of the frame]. 215 miles to go. Cold, windy but beautiful.

This [gravel] will slow you down when you ride on two wheels.
Eagle lake 25 miles NW of susanville.

There are a lot of sea birds here. A bunch of pelicans just flew over head. [254 miles from the coast, mind you.]


Hopefully there is some good food in the next town cuz I'm starving. [You can imagine, I'm sure, how hard it must be for a vegetarian to find decent food on the road? Especially the more inland he gets? I wonder if this will be the thing that breaks him...]

From Nevada looking back at California. [So standing in Sodom, looking back at Gomorrah? Commence with the hookers.]

[Joosh and OMT met up in Reno and stayed with a friend of OMT, an interesting sounding fellow basically manages his wealth for a living. (Why wasn't that an option on my career aptitude test in High School, hmmm?). He is modest, drives normal cars, no flash, but does own a hill in Reno on top of which is a house with exceptional views. That is the only thing I know about him, other than that his wife is a teacher and that they were kind enough to put up the stinky sweaty roadsters for a night. Gracias, nice humble rich stranger man.]

So vicarious road tripping: Are we having fun yet? Oh just wait. Just you wait and see.

Next up: Further traverses into the interior, into the more misunderestimated sections of this great nation. Places you and I might not want to live forever, but people do. People do.

Dispatch From A Roadtrip I'm Not On: Days 1 & 2

"There she is... Miss America." Honda ST1100. Don't remember the year.

Joosh is off. I am abandoned for a two-week venture with OMT* that will see them travel Easy Rider-style through several states, ending up in South Dakota (Wounded Knee, and no, he won't be burying any hearts, I already asked and he rolled his eyes mightily in my direction). About 200 - 250 miles a day. Sore bottoms will abound.

So that we may all enjoy the sights and sounds of this, our great nation, as they roll through, I offered something of a vicarious blogging situation wherein Joosh can send photos and some brief information, and I will in turn share it with you. I had hoped to speak with him at length in the evenings in order to fill out the narrative a bit, but since this is day two and that has not yet happened, I think that maybe I'll just go ahead and make up the stuff to fill in the gaps. Kidding. (Mostly).

Day 1 - Portland to Klamath Falls. 296 miles.
Joosh kept calling Klamath Falls "Clackamas" for some reason, which is only like 12 miles away. It was confusing. Also? I always thought there were two M's in "Klamath" but I guess I was terribly wrong. Huh.

He hit the road after a morning of dawdling and packing, around 1:30pm. Off to Clackamas Falls. I'd had a super hearty laugh when at one point he sat down and I noticed a seam looking a little precarious in the crotchal region of his jeans and said, "You want me to fix the hole in your dick... jeans?" He looked at me quizzically and said "Nooooooooo. Thanksssss." In my weakened state from all these days and days of being sick in bed, I have clearly lost my ability to communicate. But man I could not stop saying the word "dickjeans" (because oh yeah, that's a word now, people) and cracking up. Which was excellent for phlegm loosening, let me tell you.

There was some sort of big Washington/Oregon game in Eugene and rolling through was apparently quite trafficky and unfun. This photo was taken just south of there (if I'm not mistaken). I suppose we're to admire the bike and notice the long road ahead.










Salt Creek Falls.
You stay? You pay!
The Ranger would only let him stop for a minute to put on warmer gear (it was about 54 at this point). Otherwise he'd need to pony up the $5-a-day day use fee.





Odell Lake.
Just came over the pass.
It was cold.
Got down to 47.





This is my favorite dispatch from the road so far. Here, let me quote: "Sketchy rest stop 68 miles from klamath falls. Put on the rest of my warm gear. There was a really scuzzy looking old guy that kept asking me if I needed anything. He said he could make me a really good deal. He didn't say what he was selling and I wasn't gonna ask. Unfortunately he got really irritated when I tried to take his pic. He didn't seem to have a car so I don't know how he got there. He took off when some state troopers stopped to use the facilities."



Shall we wager whether this guy was selling drugs or a BJ? Hmmmm? If Joosh was wearing full leathers, I wouldn't even have to ask the question because Helloooooo, Papa Bear.

God, he's going to kill me if/when he reads this post.

Moving on.


Upper Klamath Lake.








About 7pm.








15 miles to the lovely hotel I had found on Hotels.com and booked for him. The Maverick Hotel. (Very timely, yes? What with the old coot choosing his unexpected running mate, proving he's just a jolly old independent spirit like always? Ugh.)






The hotel got some good reviews for being way cheap and shockingly clean and tidy for the degree of cheapness. I reserved a non-smoking room for the boy at $45 per night. Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me? I rock.





Then came the food finding:
What passes for Pra Ram in Klamath Falls (left).








And Mango with Sticky Rice. Hold the mango. So, um, sticky rice. With cream white goo sauce on it. And no mango. Even though he ordered mango. It happens. I guess. Right?







So listen. Vicarious blogging Day One while G-chatting with my brother about this ridiculous election and Tom & Jerry cartoons and other highly important matters (is Sarah Palin's Down Syndrome baby her daughter or her - gasp - GRANDDAUGHTER?!?!) has completely worn me out. We're gonna have to pick up this party again tomorrow.

Love you, babe. Be safe out there on the wide open road. Watch out for hookers in Nevada and Mormons in Utah. And vice versa (I know they can sometimes be hard to tell apart - Katherine Heigl, I'm looking at you).

Day Two. Klamath Falls, OR to Reno, NV. To be continued.

*OMT is "Old Man Todd" - not to be confused with the much younger BabyDaddy Todd or BDT, who also lives in Ventura. BDT is a good long story for another time.

Ketchup, part 2: Trip to California, subpart A.

Trip to California: The Cemetery Visit.

My favorite Un-Niece, Hedrita. Joosh's older brother's daughter. She let's me call her "Cookie" just like the Jewish Tante I've always wanted to be.

She and my youngest brother are the same age, and went to the same High School and according to what I have gathered on Facebook (The MyFace, I call it), they refer to each other as cousins. But if Joosh and I actually did get married, she'd be my niece (by marriage, but still) and my brother would be... her uncle-in-law? My brother would be Joosh's Brother-in-Law, and Joosh is her uncle, so wouldn't that be it? Uncle-in-Law? Maybe they'll have to stick with cousins. It'll be much more fitting for the day when they get drunk at a party and make out and I have to tease them incessantly by calling them "Kissing Cousins". God, I hope they don't find this blog. They will kill me.



On Sunday, the day after we arrived, I went with the not-in-laws to visit the family cemetery plots. Our friend ML here in Portland has been doing some Geneology research (she LOVES it, apparently - ask her about the Royal Family line, go ahead, I dare you), and Joosh's mom is in that sort of family reckoning stage of life, so armed with two notebooks and some vague plot numbers, off we went to the most beautiful, most glamorous, possibly the most would-be-expensive-land/ currently-occupied-only-by-dead-people-not-able-to-enjoy-the-million-dollar-view I have ever seen. Right on the bluffs at the edge of Santa Barbara, this no doubt used to be the outskirts of town. No longer. It is smack dab in the middle of Oprah territory, huge swaths of gravestone-dotted prime-ass real estate, totally gorgeous. Breathtaking.

First we went to the park where Jojo got married and had ourselves an old-fashioned picnic full of mayo and cookies and lunchmeat, etc. Char made fabulous hummus for her (shockingly) vegetarian brother (meat family, very very meat family) and the jackass refused to eat it. I found out later it was because he thought the roasted peppers were tomatoes, but that may or may not be the full truth of it, one never knows.

At the park, we totally annoyed some hippie dippie group of Food-Not-Bomb'ers having some sort of free-out in the center by the turtle pond. Apparently we sat down too close to their food collection area or something, and they kept looking at us with decidedly un-peaceful expressions. Peace and love kids, peace and love. Hopefully we redeemed ourselves when several homeless looking dudes came over and asked for food, saying they'd been told there was food to be had by the tree (all I saw were sacks of uncooked potatoes, by the way, and a fuck-off HUGE clear hefty sack of hard-tack looking bagels with a double knot at the top that people kept picking up and putting back down again). We gave them food, and they were excited.

Best moment by the tree: An adorably overeager college student came over and dropped a brown bag off on the other side of the tree (where the bagels and potatoes and oh oh, I forgot to mention the rotten looking bell peppers! were) and turned to us with a jaunty little informational sing song: "Butternut squash! From my garden! Organic! Tra la la!" Oh Peace and Conflict Studies peeps, how I miss you.

So up to the Ritz Carlton of cemeteries. It took us a while to find the right plots. In fact we had to flag down a groundskeeper. It was a Sunday, so the main office wasn't open, but there was a tour of some kind being led around the grounds. I was exceedingly annoyed by a super disrespectful woman wearing a green and black striped witches hat throughout the tour. Show some respect, lady, jesus. I seriously wanted to yell at her, but settled for sneering whenever she passed. I'm not sure if she noticed or not. It was sunny and there was lots of squinting, so I highly doubt it.

Here, for your amazement, are more cemetery photos (I'm obviously having trouble getting images to rotate, but it's too late at night for me to bother with it, so apologies for the neck cramp in case you care to turn sideways for viewing).











Bury me here please. Oh wait, I want to be cremated, or neptuned or something. So scatter me here, or in that beautiful sea off the bluffs from here. Or just think of me fondly when you pass by.

We managed to find both family plots, but there's a bit of a mystery about the Sprouls because there are 5 people listed on the records as buried in the plot, but only 3 names appear on the newer looking headstone, and the dates of birth and death appear to be off slightly. Hmmmmm.

At some point when I am feeling less "What am I going to do with the rest of my life" and more "Nancy Drew" I may attempt to get to the bottom of this like the super sleuth I know I can be in my heart of hearts. I suspect it will be a nice chunk of a novel one of these days, from all the stories I've heard so far. (And you thought YOUR family was bad?!?).

Ketchup, part 1: Oh, Canada.

There's no good reason for me not to have been updating with photos and interesting ("interesting" perhaps) tidbits for the last month (and them some). I'm lazy, I suppose. Or just really really really lost in my own head, so much so that I have a hard time putting the speed-of-light/off-they-rush-into-the-ethers thought bubbles out on the page in readable words. Plus it's pretty much Bexy that reads this little vanity project, and we talk weekly, so c'mon, whatevs, right? Except my visual descriptions of photos can only go so far, I would assume... So here are a bazmillion catch-ups for the last month or 6 weeks or so:

Trip to Oh, Canada.

Though I had been aiming for Italy, I was way to busy with my last project (did I say project? I meant to say debacle) to plan and execute such a trip for Joosh's 35th birthday (yep, 35, not a typo). But I did promise the old man that we'd get out of the country, and so out of the country we went. After pit-stopping at the Peet's in Vancouver, WA (conveniently located just off the 5, and open quite early, thank you Peetniks), we drove up I-5 to Hwy 101 and enjoyed the beautiful scenery all the way up to Port Angeles where we hopped a 90 minute Ferry to Victoria, Vancouver Island, Beautiful British Columbia, Canada (hard to fit on a post card, eh?). I saw two small whales on the voyage over, so it was already a terrific trip for me. The only bummer was that our coffee and pastries from 7 that morning had pretty much worn off by 1 but the items they passed off as food on the boat was sadly lacking in a) substance b)nutrition and c)anything without meat contained therein.


Joosh's "mmmmm" face at the only vegetarian items we could find, nachos and sliced veggies. I am eating a super gross chicken sandwich (cold) with a piece of pineapple slickering across the boiled chicken surface. Mmmmmm, indeed. Oh well, what can you do. Next time I'll bring a picnic.

Here we are on the Ferry, blowin' in the wind* and fairly freezing. Joosh may have been wearing shorts (quelle suprise) but I can't recall for sure. (Please excuse his fuzzy neck - the last time I buzzed his head, we forgot to attend to the neck region. It was about an inch longer than the hair on his head. Ah well, all the more to gross out our North-of-the-Border compatriots, I guess).
Actually, maybe the neck fuzz was why we were so harshly questioned at the border crossing! In retrospect, it probably wasn't that harsh, but somehow I felt like I didn't have the correct answers, and that I looked obviously guilty each time I looked at Joosh to see if he was going to answer the interrogator or if I should. Guilty of what, you ask? Absolutely nothing, unless toting a bottle of California champagne over the border is a crime! Authority figures make me nervious, I guess. Even 5'3" slender women in funny hats. It was the clipboard. And her cold cold stare.

We arrived in the afternoon at our first night's destination, Fairburn Farm, in Cowichan Valley. I found it through this website, and as it reminded me of the Agritourismos of Italy, I thought it would be a fitting locale. Plus, you know, Water Buffalo. How could I pass that up?

It was a lovely, old-fashioned, low-key, mellow, not particularly quiet between the rooms sort of place, but incredibly restful otherwise. (Like, the gal at Orangette went there on her honeymoon? Um, quiet sex only, in the cold bathroom, I would think, unless you wanted your neighbors to have an earful of your wheeeeee-we're-newlyweds!!!!!!!!). One bummer for me was that I selected our room because it had a jacuzzi tub, only to find out it was a jacuzzi tub for one. Duh.


This is the only remotely decent shot I have of our room, and it is both blurry and vaguely psycho. Better photos on the owner's website, I suppose.


This is the view out our window.



These are two very tired, very wind-blown, pretty darn hungry travelers. Dinner was not scheduled for a few hours, however, so we napped.

Dinner was amazing, I thought. Everything was local, most of it grown on the property. Unfortunately the vegetarian entree lacked any panache because it was just the fish dish without the fish. So just vegetables in a non-fishy broth. Probably boring. Sorry, honey. My fish was awesome (smoked something or other, monkfish, I think? I can't remember but it was perfect). The salad was the last of the heirloom tomatoes (uh, oops) with water buffalo mozzerella cheese (I gave Joosh my cheese and took his "vile" tomatoes) and incredible balsamic vinegar and smoked salt (kill me delicious). There was an AWESOME risotto with wild mushrooms with a slab of sauteed squash (very meaty, a bit buttery, yum). And the desert was an incredible butternut squash tart - rich, creamy, delicious, perfectly lightly spiced, gah! - and honeyed semi-freddo. Dude. So good. Did I take a photo? No. I loves me some food bloggers, but any ability in that department has yet to make itself known in my pic-taking skills to date.

I didn't get a photo of the Water Buffalo running by the window at breakfast the next morning, either. You can view them here or here. They were, no other word for it, rad.

I did ask Jooshy to take a photo of the garden while I paid the bill and asked for a recommendation for that night somewhere else on the island (oh hey, did I mention we were there on Canadian Thanksgiving? Yeah. We were. Cause I am an EXCELLENT planner that way). He got half the garden, maybe a 1/3:



We took a mini-ferry (held 18 cars, we were number 18 in line an hour before it left, and they took USD, for which I was extremely thankful since had about .35 Canadian on me) to Brentwood. We could have driven, but Mara at the Farm had suggested the Ferry, and thank goodness she did because they closed the trans-Canada highway in both directions right at the off-shoot for this Ferry, just before we got there. I tried to figure out why, but never did get the story.

The baby ferry (Joosh is standing next to our car):



We ended up at a new upscale spa at Sidney Pier where Mara had recently done some consulting. It was just what you'd expect of a newly developed seaside town, right along a new and perfectly landscaped strolling promenade, with the requisite "steakhouse" on the water, and what looked like Timeshare Condos (gah!) stretching along the shore. We ate a late lunch/early dinner at the restaurant, and I watched a Vietnamese couple pull crabs out of traps at the end of the pier. We spent the rest of the afternoon/evening chilling in the room, staring at the water and watching Canadian TV (tons of commercials for, about, or referring to Hockey, no kidding. They truly love that icy madness up there, man. Even the commercial for like, the local coffee chain, was about Hockey).

We got up early and headed back for Victoria, not sure if we'd get on the early Ferry or not. Apparently all the Canucks were headed to Washington to take advantage of our ridiculously depressing dollar (on par with Canada's while we were there, probably worse now, but I truly cannot bear to look right now) on what was essentially their "Black Friday". Enjoy your lead poisoning, suckers?

Back on the Ferry (Where's Waldosho?):



Oh look, there he is:



Taking a slow leisurely drive back to Portland, we stopped here:



And here:















And saw this:


And this:


It was beautiful, peaceful, restorative, restful, and just a long long drive. When we got back, it was back to work for both of us, though the viability and certitude of my particular project was crashing to a close. Well, my involvement anyway. Que Sera, apparently.

*Every time I say or hear the phrase "Blowing in the wind" I think of K-Dog and her awesome impression of Jodie Foster in the movie "Nell"... "Meeee, Nellllll. Bloooooowin eeennnn da weeeeeen" in a tone most akin to something like an actual deaf person forming unheard words (or more simply, kind of like an unkind person doing their best impression of a mentally handicapped child). Killed me every single time. J and I can still crack each other up by imitating K's spot-on mimicry of Ms. Foster's "Oscar, please" attempts to capture the 'specialness' of the Nell character. Full disclosure: I never saw the movie, but I just know in my heart of hearts (and from previews, I guess) that K has it down pat.