Under the Venusian fog of the marine layer, we arrived in Brookings, Oregon. We got scones at the Honeybee Bakery.
Then there was a place called Woof’s Dog Bakeries. What kind of dogs did they bake? They do it Haitian style? As usual my mind wanders into strange places.
We kept moving in and out of Tsunami Hazard Zones. Sometimes we left a zone without entering and entered without leaving. A map would be interesting, but Google was no help.
I found a bizarre kid’s book in a Port Orford thrift store.
One in Langolis had gigantic chunks of driftwood.
In Bandon, we revisited the place with impressive wood sculpture.
This time someone was home, and Mike bought some weird wood.
Further on the Godzilla statue was mutilated, probably by the new chainsaw artist who had set up next to it.
In Coos Bay I found a book about Peruvian human sacrifice and my Psychedelic Bat Squadron cap got blown off my head–the wind was strong in these coastal towns–and I had to crawl under a truck to retrieve it.
We stayed in a motel in Lincoln City with an indoor swimming pool, an artifact of cooler climes.
I woke up in the middle of the night with a detailed anatomical chart of an alien creature flashing before my eyes.
Later, a tiki screamed in the street.
After more highway time with motorcycles and someone transporting a skeleton.
We backtracked to the Devil’s Punchbowl,
getting there and figuring out how to get down to the slippery, rocky, seaweedy beach as the tide was coming in.
Folks coming out warned that in about five minutes the way inside the bowl would be underwater.
Mike braved the way in, Emily and I waited, sending texts as each wave brought the water closer to our feet.
Nothing like a little adventure . . .
Then we passed a Gilgamesh Restaurant. Hmm . . .
And I noticed that along the coast of Sasquatchlandia, mermaids are giving bigfoot serious competition in murals and public art.
In a thrift store in Tillamook, I bought an ancient copy of Captain from Castile. When I flipped it open, I saw a passage about anarchists in the Yucatán. An anachronism, but it sealed the deal.
Tillamook also had axe throwing and a Frankencamper on an elevated display.
Once again back into a Tsunami Zone. Or were we leaving?
Chinook was post-apocalyptic (sorry, I’m trying hard not to over use that word, but . . .)
Margaret Olson Park in South Bend had a historic firetruck,
and a “The Original 1890 Steam Donkey”--a magnificent steampunk monster with logs for flotation.
We were on the far edge of America. The Travelodge in Aberdeen, WA, didn’t have decaf, so I had a cuppa regular, and cookies. Maybe beer or whiskey later. I was on vacation.
There was another sign of the mermaid incursion: a sign for an International Mermaid Museum, that was having a mermaid festival.
As if that weren’t enough of a threat to the bigfoot hegemony, there were other strange creatures on the streets of Aberdeen:
painted, metal sculptured monstrosities in cages.
They were all over.
There were also some interesting alleys with insane graffiti.
I won’t be surprised if there were a few transdimensional portals, too.
Not pretty, but the town has style.
Later, we passed Tacoma, and an offramp to an Enchanted Parkway.
As the 101 got crowded and weaved through Seattle, we practiced Zen and Art of Freeway Photography trying to capture a rubber chicken hanging from someone’s bumper.
The motorcycles were all over Conway as we got there.
The antique store had interesting restroom decor,
and three wise men who looked like they may be women in disguise,
and other artifacts.
Mike delivered some drums in La Conner,
that had a notable Mexican restaurant,
and vines that were devouring farm equipment.
]The next morning, we found ourselves swarmed by bikers again. These had THE PRIESTHOOD and JESUS IS LORD on their black leather jackets. I wonder what ever happened to the Hell’s Angels?
Then we took a ferry to Friday Harbor on San Juan Island,
pretty damn close to the Canadian border.
They’ve been having trouble with invasive European Green Crabs lately.
There also was a Department of Homeland Security Headquarters.
I wasn’t too impressed at first, it’s basically high-end shopping,
but soon found a mural,
street art,
and even some graffiti—wonder if the European Green Crabs did it?
There was also a whale museum and two good bookstores!
On the ferry back there was a weird ‘MUSTER STATION” sign that hinted at extraterrestrial visitation.
It was jacket weather. Some rain. Spitting. Nothing got wet.
We made our way through the mountains to Mount Rainier National Park.
Surrealism leaked into the natural environment
with a headless guardian,
more machine-eating vines,
the skin of a strange creature.
We stopped for burgers at the Blue Spruce Saloon and Grill in Packwood, WA.
They offered Irish Death on tap.
The town and saloon brimmed over with personality,
and backwoods statuary,
and of course, bigfoot.
There was even a Mexican restaurant across the street.
Back on the Oregon coast there was a sign: DOOBIES & LIDS.
Kept finding books in antique stores. Even found a bullfighter autobiography. It’s like some diabolical deity wants me to write my science fiction bullfighting novel.
I dreamed about things catching fire.
And what the hell is CANNABREAD?
Swinging back through Lincoln City, I found my soon to be iconic THE SPORTS SALOON, MAZATLAN, MEXICO cap.
in a place down the block from the Love Works Hippie Store. Emily texted me that it smelled of incense. It did. There was a classic hippie van in front,
also a car with a lot of Trump decals.
They were playing contemporary Christian pop rather than psychedelic oldies as they hawked their tie-dyed wares.
It was like a diorama put together by high school students who researched the Sixties by watching old TV shows. I kept expecting narks to raid the place, since there are drugs that are still illegal.
Next we hit Lava Lands,
the Obsidian Flow Trail,
Newberry National Volcanic Monument.
Another geological wonderland.
We actually found a Mexican place in La Pine,
Then Crater Lake . . .
Rogue Gorge,
]Water, volcanoes, trees and moss, nature. What’s going on this planet . . .
In Shady Cove, a sign announced FIREWORKS ARE ILLEGAL AT ALL TIMES.
