IN AND OUT OF TSUNAMI HAZARD ZONES IN OREGON AND WASHINGTON

 

Under the Venusian fog of the marine layer, we arrived in Brookings, Oregon. We got scones at the Honeybee Bakery.

Then there was a place called Woof’s Dog Bakeries. What kind of dogs did they bake? They do it Haitian style? As usual my mind wanders into strange places.

We kept moving in and out of Tsunami Hazard Zones. Sometimes we left a zone without entering and entered without leaving. A map would be interesting, but Google was no help.

I found a bizarre kid’s book in a Port Orford thrift store.

One in Langolis had gigantic chunks of driftwood.

 

In Bandon, we revisited the place with impressive wood sculpture.

This time someone was home, and Mike bought some weird wood.

Further on the Godzilla statue was mutilated, probably by the new chainsaw artist who had set up next to it.

In Coos Bay I found a book about Peruvian human sacrifice and my Psychedelic Bat Squadron cap got blown off my head–the wind was strong in these coastal towns–and I had to crawl under a truck to retrieve it.

We stayed in a motel in Lincoln City with an indoor swimming pool, an artifact of cooler climes.

I woke up in the middle of the night with a detailed anatomical chart of an alien creature flashing before my eyes.

Later, a tiki screamed in the street.

After more highway time with motorcycles and someone transporting a skeleton.

We backtracked to the Devil’s Punchbowl,

getting there and figuring out how to get down to the slippery, rocky, seaweedy beach as the tide was coming in.

Folks coming out warned that in about five minutes the way inside the bowl would be underwater.

Mike braved the way in, Emily and I waited, sending texts as each wave brought the water closer to our feet.

Nothing like a little adventure . . .

Then we passed a Gilgamesh Restaurant. Hmm . . .

And I noticed that along the coast of Sasquatchlandia, mermaids are giving bigfoot serious competition in murals and public art.

In a thrift store in Tillamook, I bought an ancient copy of Captain from Castile. When I flipped it open, I saw a passage about anarchists in the Yucatán. An anachronism, but it sealed the deal.

Tillamook also had axe throwing and a Frankencamper on an elevated display.

Once again back into a Tsunami Zone. Or were we leaving?

Chinook was post-apocalyptic (sorry, I’m trying hard not to over use that word, but . . .)

 

Margaret Olson Park in South Bend had a historic firetruck,

and a “The Original 1890 Steam Donkey”--a magnificent steampunk monster with logs for flotation.

We were on the far edge of America. The Travelodge in Aberdeen, WA, didn’t have decaf, so I had a cuppa regular, and cookies. Maybe beer or whiskey later. I was on vacation.

There was another sign of the mermaid incursion: a sign for an International Mermaid Museum, that was having a mermaid festival.

As if that weren’t enough of a threat to the bigfoot hegemony, there were other strange creatures on the streets of Aberdeen:

painted, metal sculptured monstrosities in cages.

They were all over.

There were also some interesting alleys with insane graffiti.

I won’t be surprised if there were a few transdimensional portals, too.

Not pretty, but the town has style.

Later, we passed Tacoma, and an offramp to an Enchanted Parkway.

As the 101 got crowded and weaved through Seattle, we practiced Zen and Art of Freeway Photography trying to capture a rubber chicken hanging from someone’s bumper.

The motorcycles were all over Conway as we got there.

The antique store had interesting restroom decor,

and three wise men who looked like they may be women in disguise,

and other artifacts.

Mike delivered some drums in La Conner,

 

that had a notable Mexican restaurant,

and vines that were devouring farm equipment.

]

The next morning, we found ourselves swarmed by bikers again. These had THE PRIESTHOOD and JESUS IS LORD on their black leather jackets. I wonder what ever happened to the Hell’s Angels?

Then we took a ferry to Friday Harbor on San Juan Island,

pretty damn close to the Canadian border. 

They’ve been having trouble with invasive European Green Crabs lately.

There also was a Department of Homeland Security Headquarters.

I wasn’t too impressed at first, it’s basically high-end shopping,

but soon found a mural,

street art,

and even some graffiti—wonder if the European Green Crabs did it?

There was also a whale museum and two good bookstores!

On the ferry back there was a weird ‘MUSTER STATION” sign that hinted at extraterrestrial visitation.

It was jacket weather. Some rain. Spitting. Nothing got wet.

We made our way through the mountains to Mount Rainier National Park.

Surrealism leaked into the natural environment 

 

with a headless guardian,

more machine-eating vines,

the skin of a strange creature. 

We stopped for burgers at the Blue Spruce Saloon and Grill in Packwood, WA.

They offered Irish Death on tap.

The town and saloon brimmed over with personality,

and backwoods statuary,

and of course, bigfoot.

There was even a Mexican restaurant across the street.

Back on the Oregon coast there was a sign: DOOBIES & LIDS.

Kept finding books in antique stores. Even found a bullfighter autobiography. It’s like some diabolical deity wants me to write my science fiction bullfighting novel.

I dreamed about things catching fire.

And what the hell is CANNABREAD?

Swinging back through Lincoln City, I found my soon to be iconic THE SPORTS SALOON, MAZATLAN, MEXICO cap.

in a place down the block from the Love Works Hippie Store. Emily texted me that it smelled of incense. It did. There was a classic hippie van in front,

also a car with a lot of Trump decals.

They were playing contemporary Christian pop rather than psychedelic oldies as they hawked their tie-dyed wares.

It was like a diorama put together by high school students who researched the Sixties by watching old TV shows. I kept expecting narks to raid the place, since there are drugs that are still illegal.

Next we hit Lava Lands,

the Obsidian Flow Trail,

Newberry National Volcanic Monument.

Another geological wonderland.

We actually found a Mexican place in La Pine,

Then Crater Lake . . .

Rogue Gorge,

]

Water, volcanoes, trees and moss, nature. What’s going on this planet . . .

In Shady Cove, a sign announced FIREWORKS ARE ILLEGAL AT ALL TIMES.

CHICANONAUTICA GETS ELECTION FLASHES ON THE ROAD

Chicanonautica couldn’t escape the election while on the road. Read about it at La Bloga.

Another assassination attempt:

Harris is in good health:

What’s with all the confederate flags?

And this?

ARIZONA/NORCAL RUN 2024

We left Phoenix as the sun was setting. Had to break out the sunglasses, but then had to switch back to our regulars before we hit Jack-In-The-Box for on-the-run chicken sandwiches.

Was intergalactic pitch black by the time we stopped to pee in Wickenburg.

It was after ten when we reached Kingman, Timothy McVeigh’s hideout. 

Gas was $3.30 a gallon, and a computer glitch was screwing up the gas pumps at a Love’s. An old guy from Tennessee was trying over and over to make one work, cussing nonstop, between bursts of “I can do this all night!”

The next morning we got coffee at a Human Bean that also sold Electric Dragon (lime brigh energy base w/dragon fruit syrup) and Dragonade (black tea w/dragon fruit lemonade). There was also a big billboard for MEDUSA FARMS CANNABIS. Would McVeigh still feel safe here?

The road out of Kingman was a funk shui Mars colony with improvised dwellings nestled into the wind-carved hills. It was studded with signs: GHOST CANYON ROAD . . . HARMONY VILLAGE, JUST BE . . . OLD TRAILS ROAD . . .

Gas prices shot up as we made our way to California. $5.89 a gallon in Needles.

We arrived too late for bear claws at Frosty’s Donut Shop in Barstow, so we had fritters instead. They had an impressive Halloween tableau, the work of the young Asian guy behind the counter. He told us that Halloween was his favorite holiday–he even comes to work in makeup–even though his mom disapproved after converting from Buddhism to Christianity. Another immigrant making his own American Dream.

Then Emily found out about the second assassination attempt on Trump. We have all kinds of dreams and dreamers in America.

Passed through Santa Paula, where my grandparents used to live. It was totally unrecognizable in this century. The high school team is now the Mayans. It reminded me of New Mexico, probably why Grandpa Hogan liked it.

It started to feel chilly. After months of a record-breaking inferno in Phoenix, it felt good.

Then it was north on the Chumash Highway. A sign warned HILL BLOCKS VIEW.

And Vandenberg is now a Space Force Base. Sci-fi enough for you?

Next day it was like waking up on another planet . . . Vandenberg, Vandenberg, do you read? Here we are in Arroyo Grande/Pismo Beach. It’s almost cold; not breaking out my neglected jacket yet–it feels good. We’re trudging along in what Mike called “stop and stop traffic” through crowded, upscale beach communities encrusting the nooks and crannies of jagged mountains. 

A donut shop in San Luis Obispo had bear claws.

Then inland where we cruised King City on our way to Pinnacles National Park.

It was tarantula mating season, so we had to watch out. 

The pinnacles were spectacular. I wouldn’t be surprised if a few transdimensional portals were pinched between those mossy rocks.

It was raining when we hit Salinas. 

We found some magnificent murals. 

The Mesoamerican influence is running wild in NorCal.

A peculiar vehicle was in the parking lot of our motel in Monterey. Adventurers are exploring the mutating world in Frankentech machines.

The motel office didn’t open until eight. Getting up early seemed to have died with Covid. Went searching for coffee. We passed a Pie Ranch. I had visions of cowboys wrangling and branding ornery pies. Too bad it was “SHUT,” as the hand-lettered sign put it.

Bean Hollow Beach turned out to be an alien landscape with weather-sculpted rocks,

graffiti, 

structures that looked like glyphs, 

tidepools, 

and birds hanging out.

At a pit-stop I found Salsitas, my favorite chips. They actually taste like tacos. A miracle of our age.

While approaching San Francisco we passed Gorilla Barbeque. At first I thought it said “Godzilla.” That would make for one hell of a barbeque.

Condors flew overhead as we drove through the forest. There’s something about being in a forest, even if you're zooming along in a motor vehicle. The highway kept taking us through areas without cell service–I recommend it as a cure for the contemporary predicament.

The next morning in Fort Bragg, we got scones and mochas at Headlands Coffee House. They have a staff cartoonist, which is a good addition for any business. Some of their customers looked like aging hippies, but they drank their barista-crafted coffees like they were whiskey, and their expressions indicated that they’d rather be listening to some apocalyptic, bluesy, country western tune.

Next to the Inglenook Cemetery was the mysterious Grange Building that looked both abandoned and cared for.

Then forest, 

redwoods, the Avenue of the Giants,

the part of NorCal that gets more Middle Earth than Wild West, the gateways to the Pacific Northwest, or as I like to call it, Sasquatchlandia.

There was even an elephant at the side of the road.

We got deli sandwiches in Soctia, an upscale company town dominated by a mill. Across a bridge was Rio Dell, that seemed to be where the workers lived.

Chapman’s Gem and Mineral Shop (and Museum) had raptors out front, more dino sculptures inside, and interesting geological, archaeological, and even political artifacts.

Under the marine layer, we found Eureka, a charming, arty town with murals, inspired graffiti, and fantastic shops where we all bought stuff.

Soon we were crossing the border into Oregon.

CHICANONAUTICA FORESHADOWS A RE-ENTRY

Chicanonautica looks for forward to coming back, at La Bloga.

I’m expecting to be shaken up:

Re-entry is hot stuff:

Like a Chicanonaut:

Getting high on future shock: