Day 2: Lakeview

So we chilled for a little while. Actually, Justin took a nap and I went outside (I'm sorry but I was not going to stay on the premises more than I had to) to get caught up on my magazines. yes, it was hot. But I'd rather be outside in the hot than inside with the old.

A little time later we decided to tool around and see what Lakeview has to offer. Answer: Absolutely fucking nothing.

An antique store near the border. Which was closed.

See, the border to California is pretty close by.

What's vageuly schizo is that you are standing next to the "Welcome to California" sign, but the sign next to it is pointing the way to Goose Lake, an Oregon State Park:

Goose Lake? More like marshy bog-type thing, where lots of cows and geese hang out and talk to each other:

As well as cranky husbands:

As for dinner options, we went to the Safeway in Lakeview (you don't want a picture) to get a couple other things, as the motel had a kitchenette.

And that's the end of the Lakeview story.

Next: Enroute to Astoria

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.

Day 2: Burns - Steens - Alvord

So when we left Burns, we headed toward the Steens mountains and Alvord desert. We were basically following this route.

Notice how long it says it takes? Notice the number of miles? Seems kind of off, huh?

We'll get to that.

A little bit out of Burns, take route 78 and it looks like this (I say route 78 because there's a route 78 in New Jersey that I used to take to get to Justin's house and it looks nothing like this):

I think that's Crane, Oregon.

We didn't see any cranes.

Thn we passed New Princeton. You tell me if this resembles what I will call Old Princeton, which is in New Jersey and where many horrible things from my childhood happened to make me the stable individual we know today.

I'll take New Princeton, thankyouverymuch.

Yeah. Again: New Princeton kicks Old Princeton's ass.

There were many times on this trip where one of us would say to the other something to the tune of, "Wow. Landscape." In fact, the conversations would usually go something like this:

"This is Oregon?"

"This is the U.S.?"

"This is earth?"

It was like that. You could have totally set a science fiction movie in some of this landscape (oh, please don't. leave it alone. it's amazing.) It was this weird, alterna-planetary look. Just the way the land shifted, undulated, the vastness...I am not doing it justice, but a lot of the time Justin and I didn't talk. Not like we were angry, but because we were...watching.

When the landcape is the entertainment, you know it's a good place.

Also of note: The roads.

We were surprised (and pleased) by the quality of the roads. Smooth pavement, no potholes, well-maintained. Wow, we said to each other, this is where our tax funds go instead of repairing the SE Division potholes. (Of note: I think they are doing that now, though not because of my blog.)

And then we got to the Steens.

And the gravel.

The 50 miles of gravel.

In case you were wondering why the drive is said to take 5-7 hours, here is your reason.

Even Nellie was like, dude, sorry, but I got nothin':

This is the Nav screen. Usually it shows something.

But we weren't lost, we were just slowed down. It was all very zen. And very, very dusty. Poor Nellie. She was so dirty. Poor Nellie.

This is Mann Lake, with the Steens in the background. It was kind of a mud lake. Mud Man lake? Lake Mann mud? Lake Made Mudd?:

Occasionally we'd pass an irrigated landscape/ranch-type place. Would you consider living out here? I might if I had a plane and could fly it. Like, when I wanted fro yo.


And then...on the left, we approached the Alvord desert. It was frigging bright! Much more so than it showed in this photo.

This shows you what we were driving on. For 50 miles:

I don't know how we missed the turnoff for the hot springs, but I'm not so sure that we would have gone anyway -- 140 degrees on your bum plus 98 degrees on your head? Hmm, I don't know. I'm becoming increasingly heat-intolerant. Oh, hi aging!

Here we are taking a breather to check it all out, plus get some snacks out of the trunk to hold us over until Fields.

And then it was onto Fields, for lunch.

Day 1: Bend-Burns

Food in bellies, water grabbed, samples acquired, time to move along. Satiated, energy, let's get this show on the road!


We got past Bend and the landscape started to change even more. Uncharted lands! Here we were, Justin and Carin, Carin and Justin. The Groonins, exploring. Here we go! Is the first day of a roadtrip not the best? I think it is. You're all pumped and travel-fresh.



It looks...kind of like nothing!







And nothing, like this:





is so, so, so, totally something, when you are on a roadtrip, isn't it?






There's so much...nothing...that you, eventually, might start to worry about...something. Or maybe worry about the fact that you are worrying about nothing. or that this nothing might become something and lose all its nothingness.


It's like being in an old house in the middle of nowhere. lovely and peaceful and far away from the hoi polloi maddening crowd...but what if something happened? Is that something happening? It sounds like something happening. Who will find you Will you be eaten by the local wildlife? Should you have gotten OnStar? Why are you thinking about this?

There's no one on the roads. You don't see a speed limit sign. You take the car up to 80, 85, 95, 100--and you're still not passing anyone, or, more importantly, getting passed by anyone. It's loud from the wind and you wonder if you're going to be able to slow down enough if one of those "livestock" signs you see every often comes true, but there's no one on the roads and the land starts to reflect the sky like water...

...and as it gets dusky and dry and you almost can't see anymore...you pull into Burns.

Pretty much every town we passed or spent time in, save Bend or Portland, or Ashland to a lesser extent, had one street, going through the town, with stuff on either side of it, for maybe .5 of a mile. And then you were done. The kind of thing where you really don't need to look up an address, because it will be on the street.

Our motel in Burns fit this mold. It was perfectly serviceable, with great water pressure and this weird paper towel thing that was under the brochure about the area and motel guide. I really don't know what this thing was. It was thicker than a paper towel, but not cloth. It was like a fancy paper napkin, but bigger and not luxurious-feeling. It was dry. I don't understand it.

Justin shows it off here:

Roadtrip! Day 1: Portland - Bend - Burns

This is what it looked like for 90% of the driving. We'll get to that eventually.


First thing: I think it's obvious that me (Carin) will be doing all the writing, because I'm the one who insists on documenting stuff like this. Justin is happy to do the interjections and random witticisms. (Besides, he's got enough house stuff to do that I am not allowed to do--hello, I can't build a porch railing.) So I refuse to talk about ourselves in the third-person. Anyway.

I also realize that the point of blogging is to blog as you go and not when you are back to summarize. But I tend not to take my computer with me if I'm not traveling for work (traveling for work? what's that? sigh).

Summer's here. And you know what that means: roadtrip!

We've been North (Vancouver, BC). We've been West (coast). We've been South (Eugene, and Justin's been to CA more than me lately). But, we hadn't really been East, save for a race I'd like to forget. So, have we been East? No!

So: Roadtrip!


Plus, Nellie (my car) told me she wanted to go. (Nellie is both the name for my car "Whoah, Nellie!" and "Nellie the Navigator." They will be used interchangeably throughout this writeup.)

Why we took an all-black car to the desert is anyone's guess, and it's also the same twisted reasoning that we went there during record high temperatures. But after checking weather.com and realizing that it was going to be hot as hell everywhere, we figured why not. And we bought a dorky sunshade. It looks like something an ancient Floridian uses to tan.


It was a dry heat.


It was a hot heat.

It was the best of times, the worst of times...


So let's begin.

Justin works Saturdays. He was able to leave work early, but not until 3 p.m. This actually wasn't all bad; it allowed time for a run, some freelance work, and laundry. I picked him up at 3 p.m., bags packed, ready to go...


...except for the fact that we had to come home for Justin to:

- fix a leak under the sink that I thought I would mess up further if I attempted
- use the facilities


And, so about 3:30, we were off.


Our first stop for the evening would be Burns, Oregon (about a 6-hour drive from Portland). Nellie the Nav said we'd be into Burns around 9:55 p.m. I figured we'd stop for dinner in Bend somewhere, and then continue on.



We took 26 out, past Powell, past Gresham, and eventually it starts to look like a real road and not a street,which is how it looks in Portland. This takes you by Mt. Hood. It was a very bright and hot day and the mountain was out, super-crisp and clear:




The last time we drove east (it was for a race I'd like to forget, remember?) once of the things I noticed most was the demarcation line.



See, here's the thing: If you take 26, you basically drive around Mount Hood. And so you're climbing up, up, up, past the mountain and higher and higher and it's all alpine and foresty...




...and up up up, the air has that good clean smell of dense wet greenery and up up up, sparkling streams, verdant, green, dense, and you're going and going and...

the line of demarcation. You're now in the high desert.


It doesn't gradually shift so much that you don't notice it. It's totally abrupt, a literal line in the sand. There's no marker or anything. You just know. It is like a finishing line. Bang! New! Scenery! NOW!

(We were going too fast to get a photo. It's that quick.)

And then it starts to look like this, deep and wide and dry and crevasse-y:

Then when you're starting to get to Bend, the trees get nubbier, stubbier, there's some roll rather than deep dives of land again:

A note: Sorry, but many of these photos were either taken by me (as a passenger! I am responsible! driver!) through the windshield, the right hand window, or out the sunroof. If we stopped everywhere I wanted to take a photo, we'd be getting back sometime around Thanksgiving.


I was dumb and lazy and didn't get a AAA book of Oregon, like I should have. So we wanted to get something to eat when we got to Bend, but didn't know where to go. And we didn't want to take too much time. The AAA book would have been good for suggestions, but I didn't get a chance to go over there and pick one up. And my awesome Next Exit Before You Exit book is only good on the interstates, which didn't apply for most of our trip.


We drove by a Sonic.


"Oooh, I said, I wouldn't mind trying that."


"Really?" said Justin.


"Really," I answered. "Except we're not eating in my car."


(I have a no eating or drinking rule in my vehicle. I'd like to keep one thing I own nice. The only exceptions are water and the coffee thermos my friend C takes with us on winetasting trips because we leave before her usual alarm goes off. She's grandfathered in, and it's partly because she brings all the yummy snacks.)


So we get out of the car. I use the bathroom. And then go to look at the menu.


There's nothing there I can eat.


Breaded this! Fried and breaded that! Meat this! Chicken that! Fried and breaded! Cheese! Fried! Breaded!


I can't do bread. It makes me...uncomfortable. I wasn't hungry enough to have my first meat experience in 15 years be at a Sonic, outside Bend, Oregon, before a 4-day roadtrip to remote destinations.

We didn't even bother with a slushie. Slushie not good for actual hunger.


We drove on. We drove into town but they were having some sort of bike event and there was no parking and strollers abounded. So we continued on.


And good eye! Justin spied a Whole Foods. Score! It was kind of a lame one, but hey, it was dinner. Salads and free samples FTW.


We continued onto Burns.