Oregon Flashes

Having spent a whole week back in Victoria we hit the road again. Despite my high regard for Steve Nash I had never seen the great man in the flesh. Since his Phoenix Suns were opening the new NBA season in the venue closest to Victoria we decided to drive to Portland to watch the spectacle. Two seats in the 28th row cost were priced at $340. I feel more than mildly ashamed to admit that we paid. Portland – like so many other NBA franchises – sells out all of its 20,000-plus seats every single game. How is this possible? How do mere mortals afford $300 or more for a pair of seats forty times a season? The game itself produced good news and bad. Mostly bad. Nash potted 26 points, making him the game’s high scorer, but he coughed up the ball nine times and the Suns were drubbed by 16 points. Happily for them, the Portland fans were delighted and made a lot of noise. My hearing went haywire for two days.

We sought solace and silence in the mountains. Jan has contaminated me with affection for natural hot springs in remote places. We added two more to our life list. A mile and a half walk though primeval forest brought us to Bagby Hot Springs. We had a stall to ourselves and soaked in a huge hollowed-out cedar log. We heard nothing louder than trickling water and voluble Steller’s jays.

Along Oregon Highway 22 we chanced upon lava fields covered in fresh snow. We successfully negotiated Highway 46 despite the six-inch snow cover. We arrived at Terwilliger Hot Spring south of OR 242 on a rainy Thursday. On our previous Oregon trip, last spring, I won the lottery: a naked and sumptuous young lady suggested – without financial or other inducement on my part – that I was an attractive man with a good body and so what if I was if I was 50. No such luck this time. At Terwilliger we were joined by four young people, two of each ‘gender’. Had they been wearing clothes I might have described our young ladies as the fresh-faced, girl-next-door type. But nakedness provoked a different impression. One sweet young thing displayed pierced nipples, a ring through her shorn left labium, tattoos depicting large swallows above her boobs and another, a scorpion, above her crotch. I began to feel strongly that time has passed me by.

I am entertained by the roadside vistas that appear as I drive American highways. South of Eugene a big billboard informed motorists the Sabbath is Saturday notwithstanding the efforts of the Antichrist to make it Sunday. The immediate neighbourhood featured an ‘adult shop’, shooting range and casino. Something for everyone: god-fearer, pornographer, gunman and gambler. Another billboard showed an image of the US Constitution on fire and this: “Deep in your heart you know something is wrong”. Barack Obama might not have been pleased with a sign alleging “My dog is smarter than your president”.

We visited Cousin Terri and Ed at their shangri-la on the Umpqua River. Fall colours shone almost half as splendidly as those of Cape Breton. We hiked a stretch of the North Umpqua Trail and dined on springer salmon caught by Ed himself on the river flowing mightily right in front of his palace. Scrub jays and a gang of wild turkeys dropped by to extend their regards.

We tore ourselves away from southern Oregon and drove I-5 to Bellevue WA to spend Halloween and a pleasant, well-fed evening with Julie, Jan’s cousin, and Kim. For somewhat fresher vistas we took the ferry from Anacortes through the American San Juan Islands to Sidney BC. Now we are back in Victoria under temporarily sunny skies, wondering where to go next.

Alan