Hear/Say

Back with a handful of grande Bold.

The road trip lasted an entire week. I jumped on a delayed train down to Portland, land of breweries and friendly, terrible drivers, to meet up with Cara. The train ride was peaceful, quiet, whispers and crackling of chips and seran-wrapped sandwiches narrated sea-side sceneries, stoic farmlands and grey skies…

Skedaddled outta Portland around evening time, then embarked through Grant’s Pass to the coastal 101. Although, the Northwest was in a frenzy of fog and buckets of rain all the way to Crescent City, where we had a slight problem with a gashed tire– but thank the forest rangers! that Wayne was there to save us in his big, sea-foam truck.

Travelling down the 101 was an uneasy epic, slight hydroplaning while the 101 winded and grinded us with curving cliff sides shrouded in fog and exhaling rain; could’ve been worse! we thought as we peered at the cautiously groaning swaying of RV’s and boats trailing Winnebagos trailing trucks. Gorgeous blobs of rock amongst fog; a glimpse of a lagoon, we also spotted magnificent herds of elk grazing. Weaving under the grandeur of red-wood growth, we visited Mr. Paul Bunyan and his Babe, the native american museum, tunneling under the Chandelier tree, whizzing past the kitschy gift stores and quirks of rural-ity (Confusion Hill, anyone? One-log-house?), sometimes swamped by loud stampedes of motorcycle gangs, with their beards and flapping jackets sucking through the wind in an unending gasp of downhill stretches towards and over gorges, valleys, lakes, rivers. Snickering at conspicuous political signs (John Pinches– Cara: “his secretaries?”) and silently gazing at a field of hippies and smelly dreads at the Earthdance roaming road sides, forlornly awaiting the kindness of a stranger given but not deserved.

At that point, we could see the break in the heavy clouds, where the skies were blue and tender with sunlight; finally! after two days of constant glum, by the time we drove out from under them it was nightfall, and dinner-time at KFC was scarfed down without a word. We drove across highway 20 to sneak down the I-5 and save some time, but the 80 miles until then were ominous with dark nightfall and tension as our imagination drew scenarios of smashing into elk or the white truck that had caught up with us since KFC… dissipated slightly with an endless mix of guiltily trashy songs, fond mainstream hits with their silly explicit sexual yearnings fronted with fat beats. Subtle glitter of an expansive lake under moon and starlight gave way to a stretch of farmland, odorous fumes of sour, rotten fruit, and just about the time we neared I-5 a hare almost dies under our newly insuranced front right wheel.

A skip and a hop, up to 3 or 4 hours later, a tired entry into Holiday Inn Express: Westley, the morning breakfast of plastic eggs and watered-down coffee followed by an emergency trip to McDonalds, and we’re driving under the golden sun amongst the golden hills, spotting little dust devils and hot fields– through the San Joaquin Valley to the Fort Tejon State Park, through Pyramid Lake (“Is that faux-pyramid really necessary?”), before we knew it Los Angeles had arrived under our very tires.

And we are lucky enough to have a good friend in this sunny, hot city, who immediately hi-jacked our thoughtlessly boring plan of bearing straight to Anaheim and introduced us once more to real food– Korean wonton soup, beef bowls, purple rice, kim chi…

And the excitement of a real flea-market-swap-meet! Free of the Northwest curse of rainbow knits! Thick with aesthetic pleasures and indulgences, vintage this-and-that, a tiny dress wearing a dog, art, patterns, fresh graphics…

…followed by an evening in and near Korea-town, where she resides. Neon lights, crazy font, and towering palm trees lining streets and dimpling the sky…

…joining some natives for a going-away party; a boy leaving to teach English in Rio– another in glasses, a  hip haircut, and knit turtleneck, the other with a freshly groomed, thick mustache on young baby face. Bad jokes about Morpheus’s daughter, pornography, Star Wars…

…ending the night with a trip to Yogurtland!

Thus concludes part 1.

Graceee