I took three days to get from Spokane to Portland---most folks do in six hours. After work on Wednesday I meandered down the Interstate along the Columbia plateau, and took a few side roads into little agricultural towns. It felt like crossing Wyoming again. It was as if the Great Plains picked up on the other side of the Rockies.
I stayed the first night in Richland at the Shilo Inn, a northwest-based chain, with a view looking right out over the Columbia River, or the lake that is made by it. In the morning I drove along the Horse Heaven Hills, down the Wine Country Highway as they call it (for good reason), and then cut south on US 97 across the hills to Goldendale. It felt like exactly like it does in Caifornia when you are cutting through hills to the coast. Eerie.
In the late afternoon I slid down through the gorge on the Washington side, stopping at various places to get a breath of fresh air, including the trailhead of the Pacific Crest trail, inconspicuous near the north end of the Bridge of the Gods.
That evening I checked into the Best Western Plus in Washouga, a little town just up river from Vancouver. I'd met someone online from a town nearby to there, so it was a good stopping point on the way into Portland. Also there was a Starbucks right nearby where I was able to get all my morning work routine in before proceeding down river.
I almost got lost in Vancouver, in the confusing industrial parts of Exit 1, and thought I might visit the Fort, but then decided that I'd seen it, and it was not the day to revisit it, so I ditched it, turned around and got onto I-5, quickly crossing the bridge into Oregon and threading my way down onto the 405. It was so beautiful crossing the Willamette River and seeing the downtown, I wanted to linger and just absorb it, but there is no way to do that in traffic there.
I had to cut across three lanes of traffic at the last minute to get to the Burnside exit, and then it was fairly easy going to get to Ninth. But my plans went awry went I found out the parking garages I'd been counting on finding were indeed there, but were valet only. Not for me at the moment. So I swung the car around Yamhill and back north, and when I saw the temperature gauge was getting in the upper range, because I'd been idling in the parking garages asking questions and directions, I pulled over right in front of the Virginia Cafe, across from the Portland Central Library.
It turned out to be a good place to take a breather and buy a few postcards at the store in the library. I scoped the neighborhood and found a garage just a block away that was self-park. The Asian man wearing the red polo shirt assured me it was a good place to put my car if I was staying at the Heathman, but warned me that I wouldn't be able to get my car out during the parade tomorrow.
After a half hour more, I waded through the incredible wonderful streams of hipsters on the street, and then moved my car into the garage.
I was a bit early for check-in so I just nosed the car into a spot overlooking the sunny street. I took a good long time unpacking my stuff, and then getting everything into only a few bags---my duffel and my backpack---plus my hat and Golite umbrella.
I used my smartphone map and found the Heathman from the overlook in the parking garage by Nordstroms. Then I hoofed it down to street level, then up Ninth Street, then cut across on Yamhill to Broadway, then walked south up the hill towards the hotel.
The doorman opened the way for me as I apprached. had a wait about ten minutes at reception until being checked in. There were two other concierge/desk clerks, both explaining to the older-than-average couples who were also checking in, that in the morning, there would be great inconvenience, because there happened to be (surprise) a parade. All valet services would be greatly delayed, for example.
I was just smacking my head. When it was finally my turn, and after she looked up and found my reservation, she started to go into the same spiel about the inconvenience.
I cut her off. "Yeah, I know all about it," I said. "Why else would anyone check into this hotel on the night before the parade? These are the people I just don't get."
She got a kick out of that. She gave me a room overlooking the street, assuring me I could rest my elbows on the window sill and look at the street scene below if I so wanted.
"You're a sweetie," I told her.
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