Clint Westwood, the voice from the wild yonder

Oregon Coast Bike Trip - Day 4

2008-08-26T21:48:00.000-07:00

Honeyman Campground (Florence)

Things I remember from my chat with Happ:

Me: You married, Happ?
Happ: (Shakes head, purses lips) Nope. I wa married for 24 years. Been single for 31.
Me: Which do you recommend?
Happ: (Winks) Single. There's no such thing as the perfect woman. That's an axymoron (spelled phonetically, as he pronounced it.)
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Happ: My wife and I had a headboard above our bed, a big one, with a bookshelf. My side was all outdoors and travel books. Her's was "motivated selling." We were different...
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Happ: My son got involved with the Haight & Ashbury scene. You know, drugs and that. Never shooting up, but, you know, dropping acid, marijuana, those things. Got real involved, too. He was flying to Columbia all the time, having meetings with Pablo Escobar. Big time, you know. Then one day, he just decided to stop. That was it, he was done. He's smart about being done, too. Keeps a low profile. Never brags about it. Hell, he'd probably be pissed if he knew I was telling you.

My daughter...well, she's 47 and moved back in with her mother. And my ex just let's her get away with it. If I were there, I wouldn't let any of that happen, you know?
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Happ: You an LDS?
Me: No, but I was.
Happ: My wife was a former LDS. I don't know about those types. But let me ask you this, what do you think about Joseph Smith?
Me: Yeah, a nut, just like all religious leaders. But as far as religious leaders go, I'd love to hang out with him. (I proceeded to explain brother joseph's drinking habits as told by the book "Hearts Made Glad", Joseph delivering sermons on the word of wisdom, then going immediately out and getting so drunk that Porter Rockwell would have to carry him back to his carriage, etc.)
Happ: Oh really! Hah! I love it!

Talking with Happ was the highlight of my day. He's 75 doing a trip from Canada to Mexico. From what I've written down that I remember, he sounds a little crazy, but he wasn't at all. I was actually trying to glean some wisdom from a man with the gall to attempt something like this at his age. He said that his buddies back home had a betting pool around whether or not he'd make it. He put $500 down on his succeeding.

The camp was packed tonight; 20 or so bikers. Felt like a bbq back home. I went to bed early to get up for my 100 mile ride in the morning.

Day 3

2008-08-26T21:29:00.000-07:00

South Beach CG (Newport) to Honeyman CG (Florence)

Had breakfast with Jen and Doug and 2 girls from the east. One of the girls was riding a Co-Motion Nor'westerner Elite Co-Pilot, so we connected immediately. I've got to get me one of those co-pilot frames.

I sent Jen and Doung on ahead while I dallied for a phone call to Jess and helped a fellow tighten a derailleur cable. It ended up being about an hour and a half's difference. Ultimately, I beat them to the campground which, though owing to their casual detours and library stops for internet, still gave me some secret pride.

The ride started as a casual climb, but it was enough to irritate my knee, especially with the strap I had. I stopped in Waldport at a pharmacy to buy a new one. They had a variety of options, so I asked the clerk if she knew which one might be best for me. She answered that one was adjustable. I thanked her, bought the adjustable one, and continued down the road. I was disappointed that having passed both Seal Rock and Sea Lion Caves, I didn't hear or see one large sea mammal all day.

The ride was pleasant into Yachats (pronounced Ya-Haats) and I decided to take lunch there. I stopped in the visitor center and had a nice chat with the attendant. I learned that the population of town was about 700, slightly smaller than Spring City, but with about 1000% more commerce. They had a grocery store and a bar. He recommended a place to eat across the street but admitted that he wasn't sure what the mood would be as one of the restaurant's most regular customers had died the day before. The whole town was mourning and the restaurant owner was particularly affected; she used to drive him to the hospital for treatments because his wife was also sick.

I ordered clam chowder and a beer and would find later that their chowder was the best I had on the coast. Creamy, oily, and chunky. Better even than Mo's, which is advertised on billboards along the way as "nationally famous."

After Yachats is a gradual climb to about 800 feet up to Heceta Head where there's a lighthouse. Said climb is hands-down the favorite of every cyclist along the coast because of the strong tailwind that comes off the water and virtually pushes you up the mountain. I don't recall ever before having to use my breaks uphill. It still hurt my knee, though, and I was ready for it to end.

Made a quick pit stop a Sutton Beach to pee, then again at Fred Meyer in Florence for the requisite microbrews ($2.50 for most 22 ounce bottles.) I've tasted about 7 on the trip so far.

At the campground I back up with Jen and Doug. I was pleasant and cordial with Doug, and I fixed his rack that had bent and spilled his stuff all over the road, so he owed me. Jen, on the other hand, I was genuinely excited to see. We've already got a good rapport established, and she laughs at all my jokes when Doug just gives blank stares and asks if I am joking, which is to Jen's credit because they're funny jokes. I have to admit that Doug as well as Jen bring me a sense of familiarity when I see them in camps and it's something I've ome to pine for after time alone in strange surroundings.

Had a nice chat with Jen about life outside of the pacific coast before bed. I'll be staying here tomorrow for a day of rest and bidding the others farewell. Such is touring: cycling alone, together.

Oregon Coast Bike Trip - Day 2

2008-08-14T13:43:00.001-07:00

Tillamook to Newport

Today's ride started in the semitropical paradise of Cape Lookout Nation Park and ended in what felt like a suburban hell.

The cape lies on the coast of Tillamook Bay with the campground situated in the forest about 15 feet from the beach. The hiker/biker spot there is completely isolated from the car camp loops so the only people you see are fellow cycclists. Jen and I launched from there early and cycled straight through to Pacific City where we stopped for a coffee. There at the cafe were two cyclists we had met the night before, a middle-aged couple on a short ride. While we chatted 3 other riders joined us. Among the stragglers was Doug Hill, a lanky fellow with thin lips that curled inward when he spoke, and were always set in a brief smile. He reminded me of my friend Tom in the way he felt entitled to ask any question, even highly personal ones, and in the way he laughed, almost deliberate and measured in its presentation.

The three of us rode together for a few hours, playing a game of tortoise and hare with the short-trip couple, until we reached the biggest climb of the day. Jen and I bolted up the hill and he fell behind.

We stopped for lunch at McMenamins pub. I ordered ale-battered Cob from Alaska and thanks to confusion about the menu, I was served Halibut from Oregon, but only paid for the Cod. Tasty fish.

My knee started aching after the climb so Jen and I split with plans to meet back up in Newport.

After a phone call I pushed out of town resolutely, but stopped about 2 miles out when I saw Doug. He was about to explore a lookout point above the beach. I stopped and we adventured and found a neat little campsite tucked away in the brush. Doug wanted to hike down to the beach--an hour's detour--but I said I was going to keep on, so he followed.

We rode together through the remainder of the day though I would have preferred to shake him. He talked incessantly about his skills and experiences and friends and knowledge, apparently he has studied everything from architecture to acupuncture, but for a 46 year old he doesn't seem to have successfully finished much. I got tired of listening to his plan to become president of the National Rododendrum Society and his constant insistence that I slow down and smell the flowers.

We finally made Newport and found the Rogue Brewery. It was a warehouse in the industrial sector of town and they made you walk through the shipping department and brew vats to get to the beer. Inside was a small restaurant and a dingy bar surrounded by what appeared to be the local regulars. Behind the bar were two bar maids who appeared to love their job, probably drunk. Jen met us and we split some beers and were surprised by how late we left. We worried we'd be finding the camp in the dark, but lucky for us, it was only 1 mile south of the brewery.

Tents pitched, we each popped another beer and passed around a spliff and that's when doug crossed the threshold of annoyance. He started preaching at us about the flaws of western thinking and cut us off at every word. The camp was trying to sleep and still he talked loudly and commented frequently about being stoned. When I offered him some reconstiuted Pad Thai, he complained that the noodles were undercooked. Eventually Jen excused herself and I used the opportunity to start packing things up. Doug again complained that he couldn't have a conversation with me while I was walking around and at that, I snapped. I told him genlty, but firmly, to fuck off, I'm going to bed.

Oregon Coast Bike Trip - Day 1

2008-08-14T13:37:00.000-07:00

Portland to Tillamook

I rode from halfway up the mountain on HWY 6 (Tillamook State Forest) to Lookout Cape State Park today. About 55 miles, I think. Felt good but suffered some muscle cramps on the last ascent up to the park.

State parks here in Oregon have an amazing program called hiker/biker where a spot with a picnic table and place for a tent are $4! Plus, showers are free. I'm camped on the beach with the ameneties of a campground, but surrounded only by other bikers and walkers (no children or annoying hillbillies.) Things coule not be cheaper and better.

I met a cool chick from Alberta named Jen at the Safeway in Tillamook. She told me about the hiker/biker spots. We met up at Lookout Cape and had nice conversation over dinner and split a beer. Plan to ride together tomorrow into Newport.

I lied to her and other cyclists about the distance I traveled today, saying I had ridden from Portland, a distance of about 110 miles, because I think I can do it and it was easier to explain that way. I'm going to ride Spanish style: siestas and plenty of wine. If I do 2-50 mile rides per day, I should make it to SF ahead of schedule and have planty of time to relax.

What's up with Arkansas?

2008-02-10T13:46:00.000-08:00

Besides being the only state that has legislated the pronunciation of it's name, we now have this trend. One of many similarly themed videos available on Youtube. Remember, this is the man who pardoned Keith Richards of his charges in that great state (DUI related, I presume.)

To quote one commenter: "maybe he can jam with Ted Nugent. It'd be awesome to see him playing Cat Scratch Fever after being inaugurated." -Kingkongster

A brief dictionary of discriminating terms

2007-12-20T22:30:00.002-08:00

I was at a dinner party recently with some friends, two of whom recently got married. At one point someone asked him how the "marriage thing" suited him and he responded that she's his hot bitch. To our surprise, and relief, the only person in the room not offended by his remark was she. She says she's happy to be his hot bitch, or sugar mama, or babydoll, but takes issue on the other hand with being his old woman, or ball and chain. You know, this makes sense to me, that even though they all essentially refer to the same thing, they have distinct meanings, and a guy's got to carefully choose the right made up term to express what you mean. On the other hand, if they weren't getting along, he'd have had options to subtly express that.

Another example is a half-Japanese friend of mine who laid out for me a slough of terms to describe her type: hapa, twinkie, crackerjap, wapanese, etc. Descriptors like these break the half-Japanese notion down into discriminating terms that play the nuances of their reference. Derogatory often, sure, but descriptively so. And sometimes you need something with a bit more bite. I think we need more.

Here's a brief visual dictionary of one suggestion along these lines.

Masculine

Muskuline

Maskuline

Missculine

Mesculine

Mosqueuline

I might need to flesh this out a bit more...

Things I've learned from my father

2007-12-14T07:29:00.000-08:00

Electrical energy into mechanical is an inefficient conversion

I may be the descendant of a concubine of a Dutch king

Bad puns + Heresy = $$

2007-12-08T11:48:00.001-08:00

On a recent trip to Boulder I noticed a shop called Zen and Now. This is why I can't stand Boulder. Clean hippies have always rubbed me the wrong way, and there's something suspicious about a town where the bums hold signs with pleas like "Too young for medicare, too old for women to care."

I don't know what is sold at Zen and Now, but I do know that retail has about as much to do with Zen as eggnog has to do with Easter. Even so, continuing the spirit of blasphemy for profit, here are a few ideas of my own:

Jehovah Hut Coffee Shop
Bible study groups meet at 10am.

Yahweh or the Highway
New dashboard navigation devices in stock

Bah'ai Now, PayAg'in Later Credit Services
Okay, this one's a stretch

Clear Confucian Senior Living
Honoring your senile elders doesn't mean you have to live with them

Taze Allah! Securities, inc.
Winning the war on terrorism starts in the home.

Holey Cross Recycled Wood
It's still sturdy enough for your son's treehouse

I reserve the right to royalties from any of these.

Fringe ticklers

2007-10-11T18:41:00.000-07:00

Telephone conversation I had with a library patron recently:

Patron: Is Lenore there?

Me: No, she's off today. Can I take a message?

Patron: Well...are you a librarian?

Me:...

Patron: I mean, are you a reference librarian? Can you do reference.

Me: I can try.

Patron: Okay I need you to look up the "Today's New International Version", you know the NIV?

Me: ok...

Patron: But I need the "TODAY'S New International Version." It's different, not the NIV.

Me: I underst...

Patron: It's a different version. I'm pretty sure you have a copy of it, but make sure it's the one that says "TODAY'S New International Version", not the regular NIV

Me: I found it on the web.

Patron: Oh, it might be there.

Me: I'm at a website called http://www.tniv.info/

Patron: Oh, okay. Now I need you to turn to first Corinthians, chapter 6.

Me: [type type] okay.

Patron: Okay, now read verse 9.

Me: "Or do you not know that wrongdoers will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived: Neither the sexually immoral nor idolaters nor adulterers nor male prostitutes nor practicing homosexuals..."

Patron: Wait, okay, what was that last part?

Me: ...Practicing Homosexuals.

Patron: I knew it! Thank you. [click]

List for this lazy saturday afternoon

2007-10-11T17:56:00.000-07:00

Seasons of the Simpsons, in their entirety, that should be left unreleased on DVD, unarchived, and completely forgotten:

18

17

16

15

14

13

12

11

10

half of 9

Hatch (R-Utah) has given up his child-eating ways

2007-10-04T17:29:00.000-07:00

Whether or not the rumors of Orrin Hatch's "kiddie freezer", wherein he keeps various body parts from a diverse group of multi-ethnic children (mostly poor), are anything more than hearsay, the senator has taken a stance that will at least throw doubt on his snacking habits. As Pres Bush vetoed the bi-partisan CHIP (Children's Healthcare Insurance Program) bill, Hatch emerged as one of the move's top critics.

"Sleazy bastard," Hatch remarked in reference to the president while backing senate majority leader Harry Reid at the important pulpit on the senate floor. That was the only interesting nugget I could gather from the nonsensical blathering about "this precedent" and "those poor children" exchanged between the parties.

Personally, I've given him the benefit of the doubt on this one by allowing myself to consider the possibility that the senator's alleged midnight "rejuvenating, power snacks" of "tender loins" or "aged wine with soft liver" might be untrue, or at least exaggerated. Even so, I think he's pushing the compassion button really hard here. Who is going to believe that he cares for poor children the most? He may have lost touch with reality. He cares about children? Maybe. The cute ones, at least (the rumor goes that he only eats ugly kids.) But poor kids? That's an offense against freedom, twice over.

Of course, this could all just be the result of a shortage of lean, healthy kiddies. Maybe he's getting tired of sickly or fatty drumsticks. That's the suspicion at the Hang Your Hat cafe where I came across this information over my morning coffee and gristle. If you ever stop in I'd recommend the naturally corned-beef: the corn-fed cows 'round these parts just start tasting that way.

The men around town

2007-08-30T17:32:00.000-07:00

I saw a cougar in a tree once. Poor thing was huddled high up as he could climb, carefully eyeing the half-dozen hunters surrounding the tree's trunk, each of whom was loosly handling his manly mechanism. Only took one bullet to drop the poor creature, of course, so most left the scene with only vicarious satisfaction, you know, like from an all right dirty magazine. Can't say I blame the men for any sort of cruelty; if the tables had been turned, the cougars would have done the same--and eaten him like savages. Cruel animals, those cats. And I'll tell you with certainty that they're no more moral than a man with a gun and the godless thirst to watch death happen. None better. Trust me. What I saw wasn't some misconceived, self-aggrandizing encounter of man v. wild, no, it was the way God made us all: wild v. wild.

The West is still wild, and I'm on a mission to show it to the world. Check in periodically to read stimulating accounts of the New Western Adventure (NWA) including my encounter with a moose, my encounter with a snake, the squirrel I thought was a larger animal, the old man in the library who reads only Readers Digest from the 1950s, the rusted bike axle that was no match for my hammer, and my high noon showdown with the bank. The metropolitan lifestyle of back East won't do out here; no, friends, there's no point scheduling appointments with nature. Sometimes she keeps them, but sometimes she cancels without calling.

I'll start with a list from my past.

Nicknames of 5 men from my hometown and one notable thing about each:

High Pockets
Jungle Bunny
Our x-rated neighbor
Mud Duck
Joe the Potter

Each, respectively:

Paid me for babysitting his children one night with the rusted shell of a motorcycle.

While my adult supervisor at scout camp, in retaliation for my having poured a cup of water on his head, dragged me out of my tent, down the hillside, into a creek and held my head underwater for 10 seconds. Later made fun of me in front of the other scouts for reacting poorly.

Tried once to warn my brothers and I of my parents, while chuckling, “Look, I know firsthand: if the truck’s a-rockin’, don’t…” Was cut off abruptly.

While leading a small group of teens on a multi-day hike, got lost for two hours on his own property.

Accused me of plagiarizing his Sunday school lessons in a brief speech I delivered to our congregation. I was 12.