Roadtrip: Portland (Part 2 of 2)

about to get sauced: the big day finally arrived! my baby cousin was going to get married, which was the whole reason behind this trip. thankfully, i had packed a flowy, flowery dress to wear for the occasion that did a good job hiding my emerging beer belly.


non-beer belly: my cousin Mike (on the right) and his new bride Kerry are efficient people. not only was their wedding ceremony short and sweet (always a good thing), they wasted no time with family planning and are due to have their first child later this year, a boy.


don’t tickle me! my cousin is rad despite the tickling. she’s nothing short of a superwoman who impresses me endlessly with her ability to juggle working, mothering, gardening, budgeting, cooking, cleaning, blogging, project planning and tending to that shock of beautiful, red, curly hair. plus, no else is named Gitella. yep, my cousin is one of a kind.


how cute is this kid? this is one of Gitella’s many impressive accomplishments — her adorable son, Jack Ryan, who kindly allowed Mo and i to stay in his room during our visit and never once complained. i never get tired of this kid and his freckles.


other impressive accomplishments: her daughter Edie and 10-year strong marriage to husband Roman.


my impressive accomplishment: my date was super hot — like smoldering, combustible, flammable, third-degree burn hot. and i’m not just saying that because i want him to build me a shelf in the laundry room.


how cute are they? that’s my Ma dancing with my Mo and looking a little too cozy with my hot date. i think she and i need to have a little talk about boundaries.


yes to sugar: because Kerry’s dad is a caterer, all the food tasted marvelous. thankfully, my flowy dress accommodated seconds, maybe even thirds.


sibling head stack: and to think Gitella and i almost threw Mike over a balcony railing when we were kids. i’m glad we kept him alive, especially since he’s about to become a daddy. big congratulations to the new happy family.


circling the Hood: the day after the wedding, we headed 50 miles outside of Portland to Mount Hood, the tallest mountain in Oregon, standing roughly 11,000 feet high. according to its Wiki page, it’s still considered an active volcano with a 3% to 7% chance of erupting in the next 30 years. its last "minor eruptive event" occurred in 1907.


Hood in super zoom: it’s home to 12 glaciers and has its own weather pattern that renders it way colder than the area surrounding it. even as we approached it, the wind picked up and the temperature seemed to dip 20 degrees. still, people love to ignore Hood’s many dangers and climb it for sport, often dying in the process.


our sport: after shivering by the mountain for half an hour, we needed some warming up so we headed to Hood River’s Full Sail Brewery for a sampler platter. i love, love, love this brewery and count its Session Black Dark Lager, sampled for the first time during this visit, as one of my favorite beers. you should try it.


harvest time: the drive to Mount Hood wound us through Hood River’s famed Fruit Loop, where we ate apples picked from the orchard that morning, apples so delicious that we walked away with a 10-pound box of them, which Gitella converted to apple butter.


back to school: the day after our trip to Mount Hood, Mo and i continued the sightseeing at Clackamas Community College campus to see what the crazy kids are learning these days. not surprisingly, they’re learning how to ditch class and smoke pot, which isn’t a far cry from my college days, though mine were spent listening to better music.


actually: we were there to see the buildings designed by Portland’s Opsis Architects, who, to my untrained eye, did an awesome job. Mo seemed to agree.


not very comfortable: this "couch" is made of concrete. no lie.


delta skelta: after our stroll through campus, we decided to work off the beer with a hike through the Sandy River Delta, just east of the Sandy River. the hike was relatively flat and populated by hikers with their dogs, which gave me some much needed dog therapy. i made out with every dog i saw while Mo consulted the park’s directory in search of our next destination.


there it is: it took some hunting, but Mo and i finally found the Elliptical Bird Blind we came to see, designed by Maya Lin as part of the Confluence Project, a series of seven outdoor installations and artworks across the Columbia River that spans two states and commemorates the Lewis and Clark expedition of the early 1800s.


rabit, magpy, deer: the slats of the bird lookout are engraved with the names of the new animal species identified during the expedition and recorded in Lewis and Clark’s journals, the species’ dates of discovery, latin names, common names and current statuses (extinct, endangered, recovered or flourishing).


sweating for art: i must confess that i wasn’t expecting much when Mo told me he wanted to visit this site, but when i was standing inside the airy lookout, reading through the names (while sweating profusely), the place did feel — for lack of a better term — historical. and not just historical, but interesting. it almost made me forget about that great beer i tried at Full Sail and look at birds instead. almost.


the enchanted forest: but the day was waning and the drive ahead was long, so we left The Nature and returned to the city to enjoy our last night in Portland, which was spent ogling at the city while surrounded by family, beers firmly in hand.


so what have we learned? oh, portland! how do i love thee? admittedly, only sparingly. it’s not that you’re not amazing because your wonders are many — your eco-consciousness, smart city planning, well-paved roads, beautiful scenery and crisp air make you divine. your people not only recycle, they compost, grow their own crops, reuse greywater and bike instead of driving. you are a liberal’s wet dream of a city, a progressive wonderland full of funky shops, good breweries and people who really care.


the big but: you’re too damn white! and it’s a damn shame, because with a little diversity you’d be on the list of Cities I Love rather than the list of Cities That Are Too Damn White. i hope that you figure out how to attract more ethnic types in the coming years — not only because they can make some mighty tasty food with their exotic spices — but because your utopian ideal can never be fully realized without them. or maybe i’m talking about my utopian ideal, which, admittedly, looks a lot like my hyper diverse Los Angeles.


no hard feelings: because i still think you are gorgeous. all that rainfall (and time in the gym) has really paid off, giving you some breathtaking scenery just outside your city border.


thanks! Mo and i appreciated it during our drive through your state. so while i don’t love you, Portland, i do like you. and because you are home to cherished members of my family, whom i do love, i will see you again — and see you often.

many more photos in the slideshow:


next installment is the final stop of the roadtrip: Seattle.

Roadtrip: Oregon Border to Portland (Part 1 of 2)

we made it: it took 1,500 miles, but the long and winding road finally led Mo and i to the state line, which we plowed through absented-mindedly until Mo noticed the change in pavement that indicated our entry into Oregon. we turned back to get this shot and if you look closely, you can see that i’m saying, “hurry up and take the picture already. i’m lying in the fucking road.” thankfully, it was a scenic road that few cars were driving on, which explains the low-tech signage.


light and space: prior to arriving in Portland, we made a quick stop in Eugene, Oregon, to visit the Wayne Morse Courthouse, designed by LA-based firm Morphosis, architects of the federal building we visited in San Francisco. like the rest of Morphosis’ work, this building was stunning from every angle. let’s just say that if i ever had to stand trial for bank robbery, i would prefer to do it here.


the mispucha: we arrived in Portland on the night of my cousin-in-law’s (Roman) birthday. he is considerably older than the five candles on his cake suggest, and he is the husband of my first cousin Gitella. together, they are parents to the adorable 2-year-old Edie (pictured) and 9-year-old Jack (not pictured). they were incredible hosts to Mo and me, allowing us to eat their food, sleep in their house and play with their kids for the four days we were in town, a favor i hope to repay by thanking them on my blog. so THANK YOU, guys!


the magic is in the hole: that is the tagline of Voodoo Doughnut, one of the first Portland landmarks we visited. the doughnuts here are legendary, housed in cute pink buildings and driven around town in cute pink trucks (one of which is reflected in the glass).


hello, cavities: i can confirm that the doughnuts here are, in fact, delicious. they are smothered in all sorts of sugary goodness, most of which emerged from cereal boxes, in addition to some salty delights like bacon (bottom left). my selection was the Oreo doughnut, which is a cookie i generally never eat on its own, but add it to ice cream or explode it over a doughnut and it’s the first thing i reach for. it came with a food face of ecstasy that had my eyes rolling to the back of my head — and a sugar crash.


rice crispies for Mo: sugar crash also included. on a different day Mo sampled the bacon doughnut. he does not recommend it.


reading is fundamental: not that we did much of that on this trip, but we did stop off at Woodstock Library to look at books or, more accurately, the building that housed them, which was designed by THA Architecture. not only did the building look mighty cool, but the fact that hula-hooping pedestrians regularly walk by it made it badass to the bone.


cocktail hour: after visiting the library — and the Portland Art Museum to see the M.C. Escher exhibit — we had become saturated with enough culture to justify a pub crawl. first stop was the Pearl District for a visit to Rogue Brewery, whose logo, bottles and beers i can appreciate. i had a yummy amber ale.


nazdarovya: not sure what Gitella and Roman had, but it appeared to be working for them. two beers on an empty stomach is usually enough to work for me, but we still had daylight and more pubs to hit so we trudged onward on wobbly feet.


i love this word: Deschutes! say it with me now: DESCHUTES! it’s a word to blow your house down — a word that fits the brewery’s big, bold beers perfectly. we had a great time here and consumed some much needed food, most of it beer battered and washed down with ales of every stripe.


kid in a candy store: if that Black Butte XXI grew some legs and boobs, i think Mo would marry it. to be honest, i was getting a little jealous of the way he was fondling the bottle and praising its perfection. personally, i wasn’t a fan — not only because that bitch tasted bitter, but at 11% ABV she came on a little too strong for me. slut.


because we hadn’t had enough beer: we stumbled through the door of Hopworks Urban Brewery, our final destination on the Drink Until You’re Falling Down Pub Crawl Through Portland. i know that we only hit three breweries, but when you’re a thirtysomething who can barely stay up past 11pm on most nights, it feels like 60 breweries. and when you’re me, it feels like even more.


punch drunk love: as the alcohol flowed, so did the love. Roman and Gitella, who recently celebrated 10 years of marriage, got particularly kissy-face to a chorus of “awww” from a peanut gallery that included their friends Dave and Lauren in addition to Mo and me. in between sips and hiccups, the rest of us also managed to engage in a little verbal orgy that had us professing our undying love for each other and declaring that hanging out together was the most fun EVER. and by everyone, i mean me.


lean on me: at that point, Mo’s shoulder was the only thing keeping me upright (as it does most other days as well). we had a few of our own “awww” moments and i managed to forgive the earlier Black Butte XXI fondling incident before collapsing in his arms and slurring, “i ready for beddy time.”

and so concluded our first full day in Portland. more photos follow in the slideshow:

Roadtrip: SF to Oregon Border

let’s go drinking! after crossing the Golden Gate Bridge, our next stop was in Novato, California, about 30 miles north of SF, for a little beer tasting at Moylan’s Brewery (because beer makes me a better driver). honestly, Moylans is not my favorite brewery and i’m not sure if that’s because i hate its logo so much — which looks like it was drawn by a Dungeons & Dragons fanatic — or if the beer truly sucks.


what’s on tap? it’s not that it sucks, it’s just that i’ve tasted better beer, which is no fault of Moylan’s. it’s more the result of living with a microbrew aficionado who knows where the best stuff is. still, Mo is partial to their Dragoons Dry Irish Stout, so we stopped to enjoy a beer sampler and a few finger foods before heading toward Tomales Bay.


braving the oyster: you may recall in the last installment of the roadtrip chronicles that Mo and i had an unpleasant encounter with a few unsavory raw oysters that decided to decimate our intestines and leave us bed-ridden for 24 hours. as sucky as that experience was — very, truly, unbelievable sucky — we decided to conquer our fear and continue with the original plan of having oysters for dinner, oysters that would be drenched in flour and DEEP FRIED, so we stopped at Tomales Bay Oyster Company on PCH to pick up a bag of 50 oysters for $48.


coolest guy in Tomales Bay: the oysters were heavy as hell, thrown together in a netted bag, and handed over to us by Mr. Cool with a few packages of ice, which were promptly triple bagged and thrown into the trunk of the car. then Mo, JD, Cesar and i proceeded to play the always fun “who wants to shuck first” game while driving to our next destination in Russian River.


shameless plug: we stayed at my friend Sharon’s incredible Russian River Hideaway, which sleeps six comfortably, has a full kitchen and features other great amenities, including wifi. you should stay there too! see site to make reservations.


JD loses bet, shucks first: shucking oysters can actually be fun, especially once you get into a rhythm, but shucking 50? not so much. plus, there’s that pesky perpetual risk of slicing your hand open, which i’ve done before. also not fun, especially when your palm starts shooting blood all over your dinner and leaves you with a four-inch gash that renders your hand useless until it heals. but that’s a story for another time.


two hours later: behold the delicious Peacemaker Sandwich! this is actually an Emeril recipe taken from one of Mo’s mom’s cookbooks and it’s fucking delicious, especially with tartar sauce. a thousand thank yous to Mo who made dinner for us that night and put all 50 oysters to good use in four satisfied bellies, none of which imploded the next day.


this land was made for you and me: i’m convinced that Russian River has more redwood trees than people — epic redwoods that block out the sky and remind you how powerless humans are in the natural order of Things in the Universe. throughout our one-night stay at the hideaway, i caught myself staring at them more times than i can count, with mouth ajar and head upturned, awestruck in the same way i was when i saw the San Andreas fault, compelled to give them hugs like a bonafide tree hugger. instead, i gave my hugs to Cesar and JD, who headed back to the city while Mo and i continued north.


fast forward four hours: i find myself reunited with The Nature again, this time at Van Damme State Park in Mendocino County, which had the most stunning fern canyon. there were plenty of “oohs” and “aahs” here, too, enough to make me question my self-proclaimed status as an urban snob — or at least make me consider buying a vacation home in Lake Arrowhead.


i will eat your children: the park was filled with signs warning hikers of mountain lions, signs that looked like THIS and read, “keep children close, as mountain lions seem to be especially drawn to them.”


ESB for me: as Mo and i are especially drawn to beer, we made it a point to stop at Anderson Valley Brewing Company in Boonville, a podunk town with a population of 1,370 people. the brewery is truly in the middle of nowhere and near nothing of interest, a predicament that gives its brewers ample time to craft near perfect brews, because what else is there to do in such a small town besides drink? i prefer the ESB, Mo the oatmeal stout.


fast forward again: the third brewery in two days, Lost Coast is in lovely Eureka, California, about 100 miles south of the Oregon border. it’s where we spent our final night in California, with dinner at the brewery, where i had a decent red ale. like Moylans, Lost Coast has a crappy logo and substandard beer — and their chicken salad was mediocre, too.


doesn’t he look like Che Guevara here? i did, however, really like Eureka, which was much bigger and more diverse than i expected it to be. plus, it’s situated in my beloved Nature, amid an expansive redwood forest, which makes the entire city smell like pine, or maybe it was weed as Humboldt State is nearby.