beautiful, funny, sad & true

I didn’t sleep well at my mom’s house, because of her three dogs. They all wear clanky chain collars, and they also have a tendency to bark in the middle of the night. I got up around 10:00 a.m., called Chris, packed up my stuff and drove over to his house at noon.

I’ve known Chris for about thirty years. He’s actually my brother’s best friend (since kindergarten!), but I consider him a very close friend as well. He, his wife and I used to work together at the ‘crazy’ video store, back in the diz-ay. Incidentally, he is an active reader of this blog (and much more frequent than my brother, I might add–HI, CHRIS!), so here I am sending a salute his way. Spent the afternoon with him, his wife, and his kids, which was great. I even got a sandwich, some homemade potato salad, and a bagpipe concert as part of the deal. I don’t know how I got so lucky, but I did. Good times.

From there, I drove to the home of GuitaristAl, who I met when I was in college. He’s a really great guy, and an amazing guitarist (both then and now), and he’s created quite a career for himself as a teacher. We sat and talked at his house, and played guitar together for a while. I wish I had a picture of him playing (and falling in love with) my old white Guild guitar. After a while, we started to get hungry, so we went to the sushi restaurant in Yakima. (I’m pretty sure it was Al’s first time having sushi.) It was surprisingly good; a bit on the expensive side, but good nonetheless. The restaurant is called Ozeki, and it’s in the location that used to be the Golden Moon, which is about two blocks from the shitty apartment I lived in for four years. Yes, I have pictures from back then, but they’re far too embarrassing to share here.

With my belly full of sushi and my brain full of good conversation, I decided that it was time to head home, so I drove back to Portland. I took a few unexciting pictures along the way, despite the fact that Highway 12 is one of the most scenic highways in the state of Washington. The problem is that the most scenic parts happen to occur at the exact same time as the curviest, narrowest stretches of road, so there’s no real opportunity to stop and take interesting photos. Oh well.

Five hours later, I got home and crashed. End of story.

Oh yeah. . .here’s a funny story. There are two hand prints, about a foot and a half apart, on the back window of my Honda. There is also – although you can only see it when the light is just right – the imprint of a woman’s back and the shoulder strap of her tank top. This means that people were either making out or getting it on while they were leaning against the back of my car! This happened on Friday night, while I was at the gig, and my car was parked in the lot behind the venue.

If you saw how dirty my car is, you’d find that even more hilarious.

Can I just take a minute to reiterate how glad I am that I don’t live in Yakima anymore? Cause it’s true. Even after almost thirteen years, I still get down on my knees and thank HigherPower that I made it out alive. Yakima is a shit-hole of a town, and I don’t use that description lightly.

And now, after that catharsis, it’s time to go to bed.

I know; my mullet and I were smokin’ hot back in 1991.

This makes me laugh for so many reasons. . .

1) It’s from Yakima.
2) The creators actually won some sort of award for it.
3) “If you’re over 100, come down anyway and enjoy the beautiful view” of the parking lot,
from a second-story window.
4) They go straight from “Need a dress for homecoming or prom?” to “Want to join the Army?”
Silky smooth.
5) My biggest crack-up is the opening sentence. I’ll let you experience it for yourself.

June 29th was homecoming day. We slept at Breanna’s uncle and aunt’s house in Meridian, Idaho, but we had arrived so late the night before that everyone was either already in bed or pretty much comatose in front of the television. The morning was when we actually got to socialize.

Say hello to Breanna’s nephew and two nieces.

Kids kinda freak me out, especially when they’re either little, or if there are lots of ’em. Doesn’t matter how cute they are (and these kids are VERY cute), they still make me feel really anxious and weird. So I kinda kept to myself for a while, reading and then coming back in and out, or talking with Breanna’s uncle and aunt. Their house was great; it’s a shame we didn’t get any pictures of that too. Her uncle cooked Swedish pancakes and bacon and sliced some cantaloupe for breakfast, which was all completely amazing. They were very open and generous people, and I hope our paths cross again.

The drive back was beautiful and remote. Idaho and Eastern Oregon are sort of interchangeable in my mind. Every once in a while we’d pass a lovely ravine. . .

. . .or mountain (I THINK that’s Mount Hood). . .

. . .but for the most part, it looks like this.

The landscape went from greenish yellow to brownish yellow, and we went from the high desert down into the rolling hills. There are actually signs stating things like ‘now entering the Pacific Time Zone’ and ‘now crossing the 45th Parallel.’ We stopped to eat in Pendleton, at a great little 1950’s restaurant called the Main Street Diner. The way we found out about the diner was priceless. We stopped in at a convenience store to buy some water, and I asked the young guy behind the counter, “Is there a good cafe here in town?” The guy’s response was, “Uhhhh. . .for food?” Justin turned away and tried not to laugh.

After our lunch, ‘we continued on’ (Lewis and Clark’s phrase), and the temperature climbed and climbed all through eastern Oregon. I tried to take a picture of the thermometer when it read 108 degrees, but my camera’s battery was completely dead by then, so I wasn’t able to. By the time we thought to try with Breanna’s camera, the temperature had fallen to a mere 105.

The windows of the van were unpleasantly hot to the touch. We would roll them down if we wanted to take a a picture, but other than that, we kept the air conditioner turned on full blast that day. We passed what appeared to be a tree farm, in which all of the trees looked exactly the same, and were planted the exact same distance from each other, and were in plots of land that were perfectly square. On each side of those plots was normal Oregon desert. It was like, yellow desert/LUSH FOREST/yellow desert/LUSH FOREST/yellow desert. How’s that for a verbal visual aid?

Interesting.

Finally we got to the Columbia River, which is when we really started to feel like we were close to home. If you’ve ever lived in or spent much time in Portland or northern Oregon, then you know that the Columbia is the lifeline for this part of the world, and there’s something comforting about looking over and seeing that huge river beside you after you’ve been away from it for a while.

The last couple of hours we spent listening to Kathleen Edwards. If you haven’t heard her music before, you owe it to yourself. I now completely associate her music with road trips, because the first time I heard her was on last year’s trip to Nevada. Her songwriting is strong and catchy, and brutally honest. She’s really one to watch for. And her music is perfect for long, open roads.

True to form, it also started to get cloudy as we got nearer to the city, and by the time we pulled up to Breanna’s place, there was thunder and lightning, and big, threatening raindrops.

We took some end-of-the-trip pictures. . .

. . .and then I packed my stuff from the van into my own car and raced home before the rain really started. I just barely made it, too.

A trip is never really over until the rental car has been returned. This van served us so well, and was the perfect road trip vehicle. It was flawless, and quiet, and comfortable in all the heat, and it even got good gas mileage, even though it was pretty crammed full of people and their stuff.

Parting thoughts about the trip:

1) Justin and Breanna are amazing, and sweet, and talented, and genuine, and I’m very proud to call them my friends.

2) I can’t wait to hit the road again. This country has some breathtaking landscapes.

3) I want a better camera, dang it.

4) I need to work on my gangsta pouts and poses.

So that’s it. Trip’s over. Hope you enjoyed reading about it. We now return you to your regularly-scheduled witty and insightful blog, already in progress. . .

OneYearAgo

June 28th was a very eventful day. We got up incredibly early in the morning, checked out of the hotel, and hit the road. We had to get from Cedar City, Utah to Nampa, Idaho by 7:00, and it’s easily an eight- or nine-hour drive.

Since our travel route took us through Salt Lake City, I was excited at the prospect of seeing my friend of over twenty years, David Bible. We left a bit later than we planned, so for a while it looked like we wouldn’t have time to stop in and see him. I called him to break the bad news, and he called back a few minutes later with an offer we couldn’t refuse; if we stopped in at his restaurant, he’d have some food waiting for us.

We were very excited at this prospect, naturally, and I set the cruise control a bit faster to make up as much time as possible.

Remember how beautiful I said that Utah was? Well, Salt Lake City was certainly no exception. In fact, even in June, there was no shortage of snow-capped hills along the way.

We made really good time, and since it was Saturday, we didn’t have any traffic to deal with in SLC. We had plenty of time to stop in and see David, and I can’t even begin to express how glad I am that we were able to do that. Suffice it to say that not only was it amazing to see Dave again (it had been about three years), but I also got a new favorite café in the process. That restaurant is the Sego Lily Café in Bountiful, Utah.

Dave is the chef there, and the mastermind behind the majority of the creative and amazing cuisine, which I’ll discuss in a moment. For now, though, it’s time for a few pictures. Dave gave us a tour of the entire place, but we spent most of our time in the kitchen, talking and watching him work his magic.

I wish I could say that those fries lasted longer than they did, but I have to confess that after one bite, I knocked the precariously-balanced plate onto the floor, destroying the plate and rendering the precious fries inedible. Luckily, Dave had given us a box of them to take with us on the road, but even if he hadn’t, that one bite would have been all I needed in order to pronounce them the best fries I’ve ever had in my whole life. And the dipping sauce. . .oh my gawd. Forget ketchup, mayonnaise, or any lame combination of the two. Once you’ve had red pepper aioli to dip your fries into, there’s no going back. When Dave told me that on the phone, I said, “You didn’t just say ‘red pepper aioli’, did you, because if you did, I just got really excited.”

We stayed there for about twenty minutes (not NEARLY enough time), and then we had to get back on our way. Dave sent three different sandwiches with us, along with an amazing salad and a box of those incredible fries and aioli. We passed around halves of the sandwiches, each time proclaiming our current bite ‘the best.’ I talked with Dave today to get the full story on the sandwiches, and here’s what they were:

– grilled chicken panini, with pesto, provolone cheese, and tomatoes

– tarragon chicken salad, with onions, cashews, and a bunch of special ingredients

And then there was my personal favorite, which was Dave’s special, hand-made creation:

– merguez sausage (lamb and roasted red peppers), in a subtle and spicy red harisa (in Dave’s words, ‘a classic Tunisian condiment’) sauce, with cucumbers and onions. Absolutely unbelievable sandwich.

RIGHT NOW, I’D LIKE TO TAKE THE OPPORTUNITY TO TELL YOU THAT IF YOU LIVE ANYWHERE NEAR SALT LAKE CITY, DO YOURSELF A FAVOR AND EAT AT THE SEGO LILY CAFE.

SERIOUSLY. GO.

AND BRING ALL OF YOUR FRIENDS.

Thank you. Okay, so on with the trip. The landscape was consistently beautiful, but Salt Lake City gradually got more and more industrial (and less attractive) the further we got from the city itself. In a very uncharacteristic outburst, I raised two all-encompassing middle fingers to the city of Ogden, in which my blog stalker lives. From then on, the trip settled back into good conversation, and the landscape changed gradually from rocky cliffs to rolling, green hills covered with sagebrush, to amazing open spaces and skies.

Finally, we arrived at the site of the tour’s final show, the Flying M Coffee Garage in Nampa, Idaho. We unloaded our instruments, had some coffee, and took some pictures.

Justin took some pictures of Breanna, but neither of them realized that I was upstairs taking pictures of them at the same time.

Breanna has some family members who live in Idaho, and they were in attendance at this show. Breanna talked them into taking a few pictures of us. Here are the best ones.

This was our best show of the tour. We were excited, but relaxed, and although we were tired from the trip, I think we tried extra hard to make the show special, because it was the final one of the tour. For some reason the cello sounded particularly excellent. Every once in a while, I feel like I have a particularly good night, and this was definitely one of them.

After our two-hour show was over, we packed up our instruments and then stuck around drinking coffee, eating snacks, shopping for little gifts (the Flying M has an abundant supply of cool little gifts) and, of course, taking pictures.

Finally, at eleven o’clock at night, we packed up and drove back up the highway to Breanna’s uncle’s house in Meridian, where we completely crashed almost immediately upon our arrival. It was quite a day, but that means that now there’s only one more day left. . .ON TOUR.

OneYearAgo