FRISCO OF OREGON

We hadn’t seen much of the downtown area of Portland on our first foray, so Thursday was devoted to divining the local public transit system and getting around without the scoot.  I have to say, Portland’s public and alternative transit is second to none.  Everything from bike paths to aerial gondolas.  Actually, those were the only two we didn’t use.  First up was the bus system.  There’s a stop right outside our rv park.  They only run every half hour, so weren’t we smug when we walked the hundred feet down the road and, low and behold, around the bend came the bus.  This one was headed away from the city, towards the suburb of Gresham, but that’s where the nearest stop was for the electric commuter trains, like above-ground subways, called the “Max.”

This stop was the third from the eastern end of the line, so when the 10:15 came back towards Portland to pick us up, there were very few passengers.  The cars are quiet, clean, and with no graffiti scrawled on the windows.  Gosh, a civilized community.  Don’t I look like the epitome of a geezer?

This scene, by the way, was not to be for long, as the train steadily filled up on the way downtown.  And the ride home, when we boarded downtown at 4:30, became sardine city in no time and stayed that way almost out to Gresham.  We were lucky to have seats.

Once downtown, we made a beeline to the famed Powell’s Bookstore, a Portland landmark.  The place occupies an entire city block.  Not just along one street.  The whole block within four streets square.  This is one of several entrances.

 

The inside is a maze of split level rooms, color coded for easy navigation.  Well, somewhat easy.  Now, I swear I was only there to see this icon, but jeeez, they have EVERYTHING.  And best of all, they stock used copies next to new versions.  So, I thought I would just peruse the mystery section for a moment.  Yikes.  I was snared.  Unread volumes from a host of favorite authors.  What’s a guy supposed to do?

Believe me, I could have walked out of there with a wheelbarrow load, but I settled for “just” five.  They might not last through Washington.  We just might have to make another stopover in Portland on the way home.

That wouldn’t be too hard.  I think of Portland as San Francisco without the hassles.  Smaller hills, easier to get around, and the same neat neighborhoods of restaurants, independent stores, and, well, brewpubs.  Food channel alert!  We’re at it again.  The nice lady at the Powell’s check-out gave us directions to the Deschutes Brewery for, natch, a liquid lunch.  Nirvana.

  I think it would be hard to get a bad meal in Portland, and the pubs are no laggards.  Loni went for a giant Reuben (which, despite both our efforts, partially went into a take-out box), while I opted for the hops-infused (this IS a brewery, after all) falafel platter, with brined olives and chopped veggies.  This went great with a seasonal “Hop Wild” for me and another IPA for Loni.  Just eatin’ our way through the NW.

After that we couldn’t walk very far, so we used our day pass to board the trolley that cruises around various of the city’s core neighborhoods.  Like the Max, they are clean, mostly quiet, and comfortable.  I say “mostly” because some of the tracks turns are a little tight, and there’s a bit of squealing and groaning as the cars navigate the bends.

The trolley is highly recommended for getting a feel for the downtown area.  One area it passes is an upscale waterfront condo area at the south end of the city that is at the foot of a large hill.  There aren’t any direct streets from bottom to top.  At the top are four local hospitals, all together.  Connecting the two areas is an aerial tramway, probably used most by upscale docs “commuting” to their jobs.  But you gotta admit, this is a complete transit system!

 

After we did the circuit, we prowled around on foot, taking in “The Old Church,”

the unfortunately named but very pretty “Transit Mall,” which runs for about eight blocks,

and the unusual building techniques.  Portland.  You gotta love it!  We did.

HANGIN’ IN THE HOOD

Art and Barbara finished with their reunion, and were leaving on Wednesday to continue towards Yellowstone.  But, not without some breakfast at the Multnomah Lodge, home of the falling star of our recent “Water Falls” entry. 

The dining room is suitably rustic, and on this crisp morning they had the fireplace going, the flames somewhat hidden in this pic.

The room might be rustic, but the food was absolutely great.  I had a balanced meal.  Large-cut homemade oatmeal (the heart went pitty-pat), a homemade pecan roll with a glob of melting butter (heart went lurch), and a side of thick bacon (heart stopped).  Oh, yes!

I guess I’ll have to re-subtitle this blog, “Eating Your Way To An Early Grave.”  Anyway, we had a great feed, then it was adieu to Art & Barbara until December’s caravan at Live Oak.

We made our way back to the rig to pack a lunch, gas up the scoot, and head for Mt. Hood.  It was still overcast down in the Gorge area, but we were hoping for better weather more inland.  Those hopes sank as we climbed and got into the town of Sandy.  Overcast turned into heavy fog and low clouds.  We couldn’t see 300 feet.  We thought about turning back, but decided to push on.  I had to reach around and wisk the water off the windshield with my glove as we sloshed through the murk.  Good thing we persevered, because we suddenly broke out of the murk into an absolutely beautiful sky just before reaching the town of Government Camp. 

There we toured a small local museum dedicated to early skiing and mountaineering, which was pretty interesting.  There, we also got our first peak of Mt. Hood above the treetops.

 

This is basically it’s WNW side, the one that you see from Portland.  Unfortunately, the rest of the approach road comes in from the SW, so you see the side that gets all the sun, and it’s not nearly as photogenic. 

However, if we turn around at this spot, we see the very pretty Mt. Jefferson beaming in the distance.

It’s about 44 miles away at this point.  You can just barely see more of the Cascades in the far distance to the left of Jefferson.  The road we’re climbing leads to another of Roosevelt’s WPA projects, the Timberline Lodge.

Unlike the ho-hum at Crater Lake, this one is very worthy of the trip.  This is part of the front facade and the right wing;  there’s another wing to the left out of the picture.

The entry door is livened by a neat wood carving.

The lower entry area.  The fireplace is open on four sides.

Unlike other national park lodges that we’ve seen, this one boasts a host of artwork in various styles by artists of the 30’s.  We both really liked the techniques employed by nearly all of them.  This is only a sampling. 

Much of the furnishings are the originals, refurbished by the local preservation society.  I was impressed by this massive ping-pong table.  You’re not going to fold and role this puppy away.

I called upon my Delta Chi skills (we had one of these) and slaughtered Loni in shuffleboard.  That light stuff is sand on the boards so the metal disks slide better.

Outside, there were other architectural gems, like this carving at the end of a log beam.

The front of the lodge is on the opposite side from Mt. Hood.  But the view from the front porch of Mt. Jefferson ain’t shabby at all.  Yeah, we’re real glad we didn’t turn around in the fog.

SMELL THE ROSES AND THE HOPS

Tuesday we decided to go into Portland and take a look around.  Neither of us has been here before.  Typically, after our morning walk, ablutions, breakfast, internet, and map/guidebook perusing, we shot the whole morning.  So, instead of using the public transportation, we fired up the scoot and took it in.  First thing we had to do was to find the only CVS-associated pharmacy in all of Oregon.  I figured I better not run out of Lipitor if I was going to continue the quest for butterfat.  I was expecting your usual stand-alone CVS building, but we nearly missed the thing.  It was in an old brick building (in a tenement row of same) on a heavily treed two-lane street, with a tiny sign.  Turns out it was only a pharmacy, not a general “store” like most drugstores.  There’s only one in the state of Washington as well, in a suburb of Seattle.  Anyway, we got the good drugs, and decided it was time to put them to use.  Lunch!

When in Rome . . .  Oregon is the home of more craft breweries per capita than anywhere in the world.  Bridgeport is Oregon’s oldest craft brewer, and they didn’t let us down.  We’re both hopheads, and Oregon is the land of hops, more being grown here than anywhere in the country.  Loni had an IPA, and I had an ESB (extra special bitter), accompanied by one of the best pizzas we’ve ever had, with home-smoked chicken and bacon, an outrageously good hops-infused barbecue sauce, green onions, and fresh tomatoes.  Yum!

Amply fortified, time for some refinement.  We cruised around a few streets to get a feel for the place, then headed for Washington Park, home of the International Rose Test Garden and the Portland Japanese Garden.  Both overlook the city, with a view to the east of Mt. Hood trying to peak above the low clouds. 

This time of year the Rose Garden was well past its peak, but there were pockets of some varieties that were going strong.  We took our own advice (is she trying to smell it or eat it?:

Just a hundred yards up the road is the Japanese Garden. 

This had to be one of the most serene spots we’ve ever been in.  It’s set on a hill in stands of huge fir trees, and includes the traditional gravel gardens,

intimate water features,

seasonal tree color,

and stunningly peaceful scenes.

We sat on the provided benches throughout the park and just tried to absorb all this beauty.  It was incredibly relaxing.  A good thing, too, because the ride back to the RV park found us in commuting traffic which just crawled for miles.  It’s one thing to sit in an air-conditioned car;  it’s quite another to sit on a scoot in the blazing sun (yes, it was 84 degrees in Portland in late September) with a helmet doing its best crockpot imitation on your skull.  We were drenched with sweat and very happy to see our mobile cabin.  Ah, sweet shade.

WATER FALLS; yes, it does!

Sunday morning, moving-on day, dawned soggy.  Light rain with bursts. 

Of course, we had waited until then to dump tanks.  Now, in the best of weather, this is not my favorite task.  We didn’t have a sewer hookup at our site, so had to use the camp dump station.  Which was in a low spot.  Which was under water.  If whatever it drained into was also full, we wouldn’t be dumping.  Fortunately, when I stood on the lever to raise the cover, the surrounding water drained right in and didn’t back up.  We were good to go, and the rest was uneventful, except for the fact that I was drowning out there.  Before we left, I checked out a log truck that had pulled in the night before for a rest.  I guess not all the old growth forest has been cut (unless this baby is the last).  I tried counting rings and got a guesstimate of 125.  Impressive hunk of timber.

We took Oregon 6 over the mountains to Portland.  Not much to report.  Just driving through forest in the rain.  The low clouds obscured the mountains and any view, but Loni was trying nonetheless with the camera.  Her impressionist period.

  It cleared up some after we reached Portland, and we made our way to a park on the east side where we would be between Portland and the Columbia Gorge for easy scoot exploring.  We found the Portland Fairview RV Park without drama.  This is a huge RV park, with over 400 spaces, and it was about 2/3 full.  The nice young gal at the desk mused over her map and said she’d put us in a “cute” spot.  Hmmm. Ok.  We followed the route down the aisles and as we approached ours (on a corner at the end of the row, with no one adjacent and, well, cute!) we both shouted “Lazy Daze!”  There, right opposite our spot, was a 27’ mid-bath model.  When we pulled up, I did a double take as I recognized the license (vanity) plate.  It was our good friends from our Past Tents group in the LD Caravan Club, Art and Barbara.

What are the odds that we select the one park out of a dozen or so choices, and then out of 400 spaces get placed right next to folks we know?  Pure serendipity.  They were out somewhere in their Jeep, and we didn’t see them until Monday morning.  Turns out they are here a week for Barbara’s family reunion, with siblings and spouses from as far as Philadelphia.  They have a full calendar of get-togethers, so we won’t be seeing the sights together, but will try to have breakfast one morning.

The Columbia River Gorge Scenic Byway starts just east of us, and there’s an old road, two lanes, that parallels Interstate 84 for a while and passes by a series of waterfalls on the way to the Bonneville Dam.  Monday morning it was dry, but overcast with low clouds.  We loaded up the scoot and took off to find OR 30, the “Historic Columbia River Highway.”  It started at the little boutique town of Troutdale, and, with the sun coming out, proved to be a fabulous road for two wheels, all curves and views.  First up was our first sighting of the Gorge from Chanticleer Overlook.

This reminded me of the Hudson River Valley, albeit wider and not as craggy.  That little dome affair on the bluff is the Crown Point Vista House, which was our next stop.  It’s the catbird seat of views in the Gorge.

A group of five from Florida asked us to take their picture.  Two of them had relocated here and were trying to convince the others to do the same.  The way this day turned out should have made the task somewhat easier.  In return, they took one of me and the bobblehead. 

On to the waterfalls.  The first was Latourell, with a drop of 300 feet.

Next up were Shepperd’s Dell and Bridal Veil (there must be dozens of Bridal Veil falls around the country; we found a couple on our SE trip last Spring).

We only slowed at Wankeena, as it wasn’t as nifty, but the road had definitely saved the best for last.  Multnomah Falls are the centerpiece of the Gorge and, with an upper fall of 540 feet, and a lower one of 65, they are truly impressive.

In the “good old days,” they allowed people to walk behind the lower falls, but a bus-sized chunk of basalt fell off the face of the mountain and put a stop to that.  We were also told that there was a wedding party having their photo taken on the bridge when a small rock fell and hit the groom on the noggin, putting him out and delaying the honeymoon by a few days.  Dangerous stuff, this falling water.

Actually, there was one more set of falls, Horsetail Falls a few miles further east, and they weren’t shabby either.

Highway 30 ran out and we had to get on I-84 to get up to the Bonneville Dam and Locks.  This was another Roosevelt WPA project, started in 1933, that he dedicated in 1937.  Can you imagine how long it would take to build it today?  The lock is an impressive piece of work, but is a replacement for the original, which proved too small.  This one was finished in 1993, and raises/lowers ships a total of 80 feet.  Don’t fall in, Bobblehead!

Protecting the salmon runs was a priority right from the first, and they have extensive fish ladders to route the critters around the dam.  On their spawning run, they would be swimming up these ladders towards where I’m standing.

Most of the fish don’t try jumping up these ladders, because the builders incorporated underwater “gates” for them to swim through to make it easier.

Alas, we never did see one jumping the ladder, but they have viewing windows down below where you can watch the fish (and the stray Lamprey, which actually isn’t an eel, but a jawless fish with a sucker mouth) swimming for all they’re worth.  Your ace photographer caught all the action:

Since we have toured both Hoover and Shasta dams, we didn’t feel compelled to check out Bonneville other than from the outside.

As you can see, this is an idyllic setting, and we got a taste of early fall with some trees over by the lock.  A nice finish to a beautiful day.