Travel notes

As incomplete as they are ...

Day 1 - Portland to La Grande

About 20 miles east of Portland, the interstate begins to hug the Columbia River, and I always shout out, after the line in the Guthrie Talkin' Columbia, "It's a big river!" A tradition I have. When Dick was alive and we'd share this moment together, I might next burst into singing "Roll On, Columbia," but I haven't done that in a while.

It's a gorgeous trip out the gorge, of course, perhaps no well more spectacular than between Hood River and The Dalles and just beyond, where the Stonehenge replica overlooks the river from the Washington side. We had a delightful all night party there in the summer of 1967, celebrating the solstice, drinking homemade meade that "Sally"'s brother had brought from Seattle with his tech chums. This was the summer we were living in Pdx after dropping out of grad school, our good times. We had the stones to ourselves till late morning, when we were all crashed (that is, passed out) in sleeping bags hither and yon, and a group of tourists appeared. It was a long hungover tough ride home.

At about 200 miles of driving, I'm ready to pack it in these days. My back starts to bother me. La Grande is beyond that and we kept going. We got here early, before 3, and found a motel and then had early dinner at Mamacita's, where we know the owner, and chatted with her a bit. I went to grad school with her boyfriend but knew he was in Chile teaching English for the summer, well, their winter.

We have a very short haul today, just down the interstate to Baker (we'll go a back way actually) to visit with one of H's daughters, the messed up one who lost all 3 of her kids, grandkids H now can't even see, a daughter that has caused H more pain than families need but seem so often to get. I don't like this woman so need to be on my best behavior. But I'll be more than ready to move on tomorrow.

Tomorrow we continue south so we can get over the Snake Canyon, then up to White Bird, Idaho, to visit Dick's grave. Then on to Orofino to visit his mom. A long day tomorrow, thus.

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In Baker City. H off to spend the afternoon with her daughter, I got off the hook as a compromise, promising good behavior at dinner tonight.

I love this town! Did the obligatory walk up and down the five or six blocks of Main Street. Nothing much open on Sunday but I was surprised at the cafes and Internet cafes that have opened since my last visit. I did a great reading here, great because of the spectacular setting, a room in the library with a full window, beyond which a river's rapids rushed by. What a setting! 20 years ago, touring an Oregon history play all summer that I'd written and in which I played a role, Baker was among the many towns we hit. And I'd toured here earlier, running lights for another show. I'll come to Baker any time, at the slightest reason.

On Main Street the Stockman's Bar and Cafe is still there, open, and I was about to enter when I realized that spending an afternoon with some cowboys, and probably drunken cowboys at that, would not insure my promise to have a good attitude this evening. Cowboys make you crazy, which is to say, honest, damn the social consequences. I walked on by.

Now I'm in the motel with a few hours to kill, delighted to have them.

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Day 3: Baker City to Orofino via White Bird. The hardest day of the trip, I think. Hope to have lunch at White Bird at Dick's grave, then on north to Orofino to visit his mom in the retirement center.

Yesterday was not as bad as it might have been regarding the daughter.

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In Orofino. Konkoville Motel, which in the old days had a very wild rep. Hopefully a tad mellower today.

It wasn't as long a driving day as I feared. Down from Baker to where we could cross into Weiser, Idaho, home of the old-time fiddlers contest (where "Sally" was in the house band with Utah Phillips in her undergrad days). A great drive marred by considerable smoke, forest fires in the distance. Cleared up by the time we hit White Bird, stopping at the cemetery to pay our respects to Dick. Then through Grangeville, up 13 to Kooskia ("KOOS-key"), hitting 12 to Kamiah ("KAM-ee-i") and on to Orofino. We're having their "grill your own" steak dinner, then off to visit Esther, Dick's mom.

Tomorrow, just a short hop to Moscow.




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Day 4: Orofino to Moscow.

Morning in Orofino. The dog and I are up at 6 but H won't be up for hours yet, so we need to cool it. Spent the early eve with Esther. What a piece of work: mind still sharp, witty, active, in that small increasingly frail body of hers. We'll have lunch with ther, then go to Moscow to visit Dick's sons.
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Continental breakfasts at motels are usually a joke. A few muffins, donuts, coffee, maybe some dry cereal. Here we had a rare treat: eggs, waffles, great muffins, fruit, outdoor patio dining. Very nice. We're hanging out till 11, then to Esther to see how we'll handle lunch. Looks like a scorcher today.

But actually I'm ready to head home, which is what we do tomorrow. I miss my routine, now that I'm 4 days removed from it. I enjoy my modest day-to-day living. Don't need to keep moving to be amused, I'm fine right at home.

I'm down to 42% battery strength here on the Alpha Smart, though I notice no difference of performance. But these are the original batteries!! 3 years come Xmas. Absolutely amazing.

I love this keyboard.

My ballcap this trip is a conversation piece. I brought it because it has "air conditioning" for the hot weather. It says Haiku. It's supposed to say Haiku Nurse but the Nurse is not legible. So it just says Haiku. The air conditioning works and sometimes I wear it backwards if I'm driving, for the fine breeze of it.

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Day 5: Moscow to Boardman.

On the way home. Neglected some writing here yesterday and the day before. The short version, driving the Palouse in August is spectacular! Love this area of the country.

B., Dick's #1 son, having pancreas problems and not looking very well. Indeed, looks like a man with AIDS, though it's the bad pancreas. A great visit, though, and also with K., Dick's #2 son.

Only 160 miles from home. A leisurely day tomorrow will do it.

Boardman, which otherwise has little to recommend it, has a city park on the Columbia River that is among the best of its kind. Large, riverfront, hiking trails, tables and bbq pits, ball diamonds -- a very fine facility.

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Last day, about to head home, the last 160 miles.

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