I have found out that there ain’t no surer way to find out whether you like people or hate them is to travel with them.
Mark Twain.
All things considered, Carolyn and I travel remarkably well together. We've been to Australia, England, and on dozens of excursions on America's highways and never once has a serious death threat been issued.
Recently, we packed up Big Red, backed out of the driveway and set out for Northeastern Oregon on a "make-good" three day trip. Here's a view of what we mostly saw as we drove the mountainous roads on the March adventure.
With high hopes we wouldn't end up mid-blizzard again, we set out. I'm proud to say we logged hundreds of miles without a wrathful word being spoken. There were several dozen incidences of general good-natured snarkiness, but no real anger.
First stop, Pendleton for lunch. We ate at Joe's Fiesta, a Mexican restaurant with big portions and an owner with an even bigger personality. Across the street was my favorite business sign of the trip.
Correct pronunciation would make it Mo Fuh. But you get the idea. After lunch we rolled down the road to Joseph, with only a short stop to say hello to Holly at the charming little library in Wallowa.
The last time we were in Joseph in March it looked like this.
This time was mo' bettuh (as opposed to Mo Pho)
We stayed at a classic American-style motel, the Indian Lodge, which was built by legendary character actor Walter Brennan "back in the day."
The motel featured reasonable prices, comfortable beds and showers with enough water pressure to send your skin cells dashing for cover.
Favorite story from Joseph. In the morning we wandered down the seven or eight blocks of main street to have breakfast. We came to the Cheyenne Cafe and encountered a codger, all five-foot nothing and 95 pounds of him, hobbling along on a cane toward the door. "Best damn breakfast in Joseph," he croaked. We thanked him and went in. As we ate, we watched a table loaded with grizzled old-timers swapping lies and hooting and hollering at a table by the wall. The codger we'd encountered sat by himself on table down from them. Now, the walls of this place were festooned with all kinds of memorabilia and humorous (depending on your politics) signs. After enjoying what was a very good breakfast, I sidled up to the register to pay. I pointed at one sign that read WE RESERVE THE RIGHT TO REFUSE SERVICE TO STORMY. "Who's Stormy? I asked. With a rueful sigh our waiter pointed at the codger we'd met at the door. I know there must be a story there, but I didn't ask.
Next we drove up to the Hell's Canyon Overlook on a narrow, twisty highway. We averaged maybe 25 mph. But when we got there it was well worth it. The view was glorious.
We drove back to Pendleton for our final night's stay. After being told the "Working Girl's Hotel" a refurbished Bordello downtown was booked for months in advance, we settled for a Best Western. We ate at Sister's Cafe, opting for salads to offset the steady stream of road food we'd poured into our bodies. Cheetos and Jerky are tough on the digestive system. Great meal, after we got them to turn down the ear-splitting country-western music so we could hear our food.
We capped our trip off with a tour through the Pendleton Underground.
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| Exit Stage Right Pursued by Bear |
After escaping the predator in the lobby, we followed our tour guide Cricket (honest that was her name) through the winding tunnels and into the historic saloons, card rooms, Chinese laundries candy stores and brothels that have been restored under the streets.
We drove home along I-84. For my money this is one of the most spectacular Interstate highway stretches in America. The Gorge is (wait for it . . . wait for it.) Gorgeous.
All in all, we chalk this one up as a successful excursion. Lots of great country we hadn't seen before, sing-along tunes on the mp3 player, road food and no need to hit the speed dial for a divorce lawyer.
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