Day 2: Fields - Lakeview

This is Fields:

Actually, that's Justin.

And that's Fields Station.

And Fields Station is, essentially, Fields.

It's got to be the only food, fuel, restroom (actually a port-o-pot) for 90 or so miles? You can fuel up your car--and your plane. Apparently planes land there. For fuel. And probably for milkshakes. That would be good. If you had the plane and lived at the base of the Steens, you wouldn't even need to get in the plane for a frozen confection. You could give people rides. I digress and stuff.

Because the milkshakes are that good. After all, they've sold in the thousands (I was bummed that they didn't move the # on the sign when we were there. shouldn't they once you order one? do they do it at the end of the day? I should have asked, but the proprietress kind of scared me, in a not bad way, but just like I shouldn't ask about it.) Anyway, do signs like this not slay you? They slay me. Positively slayed, I tell you!

You walk in and the little store and restaurant are cooled by a huge swamp cooler. Apparently they are very efficient in this kind of heat. I only know from swamp coolers from a friend of mine who is an ex-Marine who used to live out near Joshua Tree in CA. Hers, she said, smelled like cat pee. Thankfully, this one didn't. That's all I know about swamp coolers. I don't know how they work or even why they are called swamp coolers. That they are good in the desert and can smell like cat pee.

Moving on, we ordered lunch. Justin got a burger and I got eggs and hashbrowns. We split a caramel milkshake, which I was glad for because the portions are for if you have a tank as big as a Cessna's. I'm not complaining though.

See below? That yellow stack that looks like it's under some sort of hydroponic light? That was my island of hashbrowns. There must have been 2 lbs. of them there. All for me. And they were so well-done: all crispy and bonded together and cheesy and eggs...oh, so good.

But yeah we could have probably split it.

More of the joint. I am in love with places like this. Why? I just am.

And very full and happy, we left and headed even further south.

To continue to get to Lakeview, Oregon, our stopping point for the night, we had to cross into Nevada.

The state line between Oregon and Nevada (at least on route 292) is a cow grate.

I'm not kidding.

I am not armless. I think I'm just extremely uncomfortable. Like: "aaah! we're in Nevada! my parents live here! they might sense I am in the state! let's get in and out as quick as possible!"

But that's southern Nevada. Vegas. Doesn't count.

So let's discuss Northern Nevada. An even stranger landscape, more otherworldly. Nothingness. Desolate. I love it. It fits.

Maybe 60 miles or so and we were back in Oregon. And Justin is doing the hands-behind-back-I'm-really-uncomfortable pose. I think he was a bit put out at having to stop for all the state line signs. But I love that shit. Sorry. And I was driving this portion. (We'll get to that in a moment.)
On the other hand, I'm practically molesting the sign, I'm so happy to be back in Oregon!



So we continued on. You know how I say Justin did 90% of the driving, even though we took my car? Yeah. He did. he wanted to drive the first day. Fine. Then I did a bit of the second day, down around Crane, and then stopped to eat something. Then he did. Then I took over. And so on.

But here's the deal: he's driven a hell of a lot more than I have. And so when we passed a sign that said 8% downgrade (ha ha , that sounds like dating, now that I type that) and with a precipice and no rail on the other side, I had a panic attack. No way was I doing that! Girlie girl! I need a man to step in! Fuck. I need more driving confidence.

It's like this: When I talk to people I can hear what they're not saying. And when I drive, I can see what shouldn't happen. So it's why I don't as much as I should. Hi, therapy!

Anyway, right around the hang gliding jumping-off point is where I gave up captaining Nellie for a bit:
This is also why I'm glad I did.

Livestock! In the road! I would have pulled around a bend and hit them like I did a deer in 1992! Cows! Momma and Baby! They hung out for a little bit and trotted away. Cows! Cuteness! Moo.

Finally, after what had been a long day of driving, we pulled into Lakeview, another of the one-street towns. I'm pretty sure we were the only people in this hotel. This was one of the creepiest stays I'd ever experienced. It wasn't unclean, but it was just cree-to-the-pee!

First off, you walk in and the place smells like old ladies. Not like a nursing home, but...old ladies. It had that high, weird perfumey potporri smell and ambiance of a too-old regular candy hiding in a dish full of dusty glass confections. And this was only in the entryway! The even weirder thing was that I saw no evidence of an air freshener or anything of the sort. It was like a ghost scent. Justin smelled it too.

They put us in the handicapped room.

They had printed on paper signs on everything. "Make sure you close the door!" to an outside door. "Keep voices down in the hallway!" and "Guests only!" in the exercise room, the description of which I will not creep you out with.

It was seriously like going to the Scary Aunt's house where you can't do anything, eat anything, bounce on the bed, sit on the cushions, and the place smells of staleness, and you feel oppressive and things are floral and weird, etc. You get it. I don't get this place. I wonder if it was once an old age home or something?

You know what it was like? Some Japanese fetish love hotel that was like supposed to be scary grandma's house! Maybe some people like that. I just wanted to get the fuck out of there.

Besides, I thought old people were supposed to all, correct your grammar and stuff. I know I'll be one of those old people. Hell, I'm one of them already. To wit:

If you don't see the problem here, I'm not sure we can be friends.