Oregon is strange in flavors all its own. Maybe it's the cooler, damper climate.
The giant yellow slugs wouldn’t survive in the chili-fueled red hot Aztecoid Weird West of the deserts of my Native Aztlan. Though I could imagine a weirdo western where a stoic protagonist is buried up to his chin the searing sand, while the villain places these slugs on his face . . .
It was probably something that inspired Slugs & Stones & Ice Cream Cones and its unique decor. As far as I could tell, there were no slugs used in any of the ice cream served there.
We got up the next morning at the Americoast by the Pacific. The totem-pole-ish stack of signs boasted a vape joint, live theater, grooming for beach dogs, and still another dispensary in a town clogged with them.
There was even a colorful Mexican restaurant down the street. Just outside of Aztlán.
Next morning Emily and I had the taco omelette at the Indian Creek Cafe. Some kind of new cultural mix going on.
We headed north in search of the unusual.
At 11AM, in the moving Prius, I tried to log on to the Zoom event for Sound Systems: The Future of the Orchestra that had my latest story. Got connected but was cut off. We were in a no cell service zone. Later, I got back on again, able to at least participate as a spectator. We stopped to check out and take pictures of a bizarre store and an amazing sculpture of a bird.
I wonder if the folks on Zoom saw my face as I moved around . . .
Soon we came across the home/studio of the Chainsaw Wizard. Some of his sculptures were worse for wear and a few were gone.
He was actually there. Mike was soon searching through a poorly lit barn for pieces of weird wood that he could incorporate into his drums.
Nearby was a decaying hippie colony made up of old barns, treehouses, repurposed vehicles, shipping containers . . . and plastic greenhouses.
A friendly guy handed me a handful of home-grown marijuana buds, even though I told him I didn’t smoke it. He told me to give it to someone who does. When I showed it to Emily, she said, “You better get rid of it before we get to Idaho.”
A new divided country. Cannabis and non-cannabis states instead of slave and free.
Later we checked out antique stores in Coos Bay and other places that were full of people who had dropped out of the rat race in search of a human lifestyle.
America. Has anybody seen it lately?
Next morning, in a warm hotel room, I did a cross-portal social media announcement about Sound Systems and my story “Doula.”
Then, in the Otis Cafe I had a chorizo scramble with old fashioned hash browns. Chorizo is becoming popular all over, but it's a milder, gringo-friendly kind . . .
Tillamook was full of surreal photo ops as usual, including a Charlie Kirk memorial poster. Mike said he saw two more. I tried to get a picture but couldn’t get an angle with the right sense of irony.
Mike got a speeding ticket in Rockaway Beach–a school zone scam. They gotta raise money, I guess . . .
After a few more quaint towns we crossed the Columbia River Bridge into Washington.
Mike and I noticed that the cattle in Utah were bigger than those in California, Oregon, and Washington. Secret Mormon genetic engineering experiments? Something for the Jerry Corneilius/Raoul Duke story . . .
Restroom graffiti at gas stations was about yoga and trans rights.
There was more rain.
Next day, in Port Townsend, we took a ferry to deliver some drums.
This corner of the Pacific Northwest is like a countercultural utopia with a hint of dystopia turned upsidedown. Washington is far more industrial, more cyberpunk than post-apocalyptic Arcadia. More subtle about the weed, though not much better on the economic front.
Folks in Oregon seem to be having more fun, but maybe it’s the filtered sunlight.
There were not many displays of Trump support on this trip, and the Halloween decor was fewer and more low key. The worldwide horror reality show radiating from Washington D.C. overwhelms. Blues in the air.
I broke my prescription sunglasses due to the awkwardly placed cargo pockets on my pants. These designers just have to get creative. Guess I can look for a funky souvenir.
Whidbey Island was full of rich people who did more Halloween stuff. Money does make some folk more festive.
While delivering another drum in La Conner, I captured a moss-covered dragon’s spider web. The delicate dance of this subtle light is hard to capture.
In some secluded spots, Washington looks like California or Nevada, except it’s cool, cold even . . And crumbling. Like Yakima, where Emily found and bought a Jack-O-Lantern gas can and another Buddha for her collection.
By the freeway, there was a sign: YAKIMA IS THE PALM SPRINGS OF WASHINGTON.
In the morning, we woke up in Ontario, Oregon. Breath was visible. Ice (the natural phenomenon, NOT the evil government organization) has crystalized on the Prius.
The rising sun set a golden mist ablaze.
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