Postcards: Hiking in Oregon

Three girls and a dog just put Lewis & Clark to shame. That's right: I'm trailing those guys again - this time in Oregon, and on foot. Although if we were handicapping some sort of contest, I guess Lewis & Clark would get a fairly hefty leg up due to the lack of Target stores in the early 19th century.

But did they have a dog with a sparkly pink leash to keep them company? I think not.

Since the hike was a great success, I've put together a failproof recipe for an enjoyable day on the trails.

1 - Pancakes for breakfast

(sadly, no picture available - but add fruit compote

on top in your mind's eye)

2 - Intrepid canine companion

3 - Terrifying trail heights

4 - Wildlife staying obligingly out of your hair

5 - Lots of majestic trees

6 - Waterfalls

Finish with beer, to taste. Fin.

Postcards: I saw Seattle's junk and I liked it!

Now go put those Saw movies in your Netflix queue!

Quick: did you enjoy Connections - that awesome, if short-lived, TLC special with the Einstein-hair guy (James Burke)? Like most TV that won't liquefy your brain, it was originally produced by the BBC.

If you liked that, you'd like the Underground Tour in Seattle. Dell and I had to do something Seattle-y while she was here, and she's not the type to ogle a landmark like the Space Needle from the ground (or pay $20 to go to the top), so we chose the quirky-guidebook-pick route: seeing Seattle's underbelly.

I'd rate this attraction quintessentially 'Seattle-y' just for the attitude about the history: 'Yeah, it was weird! We embrace it. And we also like puns.'

A skylight from the underground

In case you aren't familiar with the historic background, Seattle's waterfront district was re-graded after its great fire in the late 19th century, which was a relief since the entire place was built on a tide plain. The residents had to deal with all sorts of sewage-based nightmares.

The guides have lots of historical bits to share while the group wanders around slightly damp basements left over from the major civil engineering hassle that ensued. Some of these spaces are filled with semi-interesting junk, like old elevator parts, arranged in photogenic piles.

I totally recommend it.

Postcards: Montana's greatest hits

Yesterday, I had lunch with Evel Knievel. That might be a confusing statement, so I'll clarify: I had a Wendy's Crispy Chicken sandwich.

Much as I had hoped for an Evel-related attraction to visit in Butte, it appears there are Evel Knievel Days (in July) and a museum...in Las Vegas. So I was out of luck. Unless I wanted to visit Evel's gravesite, located on the main drag in Butte.
And of course I did want that. So Dell and I picnicked in Mountain View Cemetery, which actually does have a lovely mountain vista behind it (and a Walmart directly across the street).
I am not a huge Evel fan, and I have never been into monster trucks or dirt bikes, but there is a certain something I respect about Evel's stunts. That is: he was able to look across some great expanse and to imagine himself landing safely on the other end. Because who would attempt a jump ending in 37 broken bones if all he thought about was the possibility of 37 broken bones?

And that is an attitude I'd like to have about any major, worthwhile risk I take in life. Not necessarily about a stunt jump - I've injured myself as an adult on Li'l Tykes play yard equipment before - but maybe about trying new things, or seeing new places.

So far, seeing new places has paid off. Missoula is awesome.

Postcards: Abe Lincoln's best Blue Steel pose (Mount Rushmore)

See the art

Be the art

They made a statue of us
And they put it on a mountaintop
Now the tourists come and stare at us
Blow bubbles with their gum
Take photographs, have fun
"Us"/Regina Spektor

Earlier today, we stopped at Mount Rushmore National Park.

This is, of course, the monolithic facescape dedicated to the memory of George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Yosemite Sam*, and Abraham Lincoln. Pablo was not allowed in, which is to be expected, since we all know how Yosemite Sam felt about varmints.

This is totally worth seeing, though I wished for more informative plaques scattered around the place. I like to read every word on those things because it annoys Dell - particularly when I start to read portions of the text aloud and then say: 'Wait, I'll just start at the beginning. This is fascinating stuff.'

If I learned one thing today, it is that any art project that begins with: 1) Buy Dynamite is the best kind of art.

*CORRECTION: Whoops, this is actually Teddy Roosevelt - FDR's polio-free cousin

Gutzon Borglum, Mount Rushmore's sculptor. So remember: next time the Jeopardy category is 'Sculptor OR James Bond villain', this guy goes in the sculptor camp.

Postcards: The Hormel Spam Museum!

The Spam Museum (EZ-on, EZ-off: I-90)

Hormel's Spam Museum in Austin, MN, has no admission charge, which frees up some coin to buy Spam-related products as one exits the building through the gift shop. Unfortunately, only the gift store was open when Dell and I showed up this morning, but we took in the wares with much amusement. Furthermore, the very nice lady working the counter absorbed our [my] excitement about Spam collectibles with equanimity.

In my opinion, Spam represents the intersection of Midwestern lard-based culinary values and of pioneer pride in not wasting anything, such as pig lips, ears or tails (in modern times, this thriftiness is usually expressed thusly: 'You're not going to throw that away, are you? The fryolater's still hot!'). I mean, our Oregon-trail bound forefathers whittled the moldy bits off lumps of hardtack to poultice sores and then fed the rest to the kids without sores*. Germ theory? Pshaw.

I am pretty sure our forefathers would love Spam, as it is (relatively) delicious and calorie-rich. Think of the immense energy it would provide to yoke the oxen and to drive the conestoga wagon across the Black Hills of South Dakota! Gosh, can you imagine? Having spent the last, oh, eight hours absorbing the landscape, that sounds pretty bleak. A Spamburger might just make everything all right.

*I'm pretty full of it right here

Spamwear

Spambear

Postcards: Goodbye Boston, Hello Seattle

Driving away from Boston felt disorienting. After I hit the turnpike, I thought, 'I bet Fenway's back there somewhere! G'bye, Fenway!'. Even then, I was not quite sure of my exact position in Boston. Anyone who has ever been a passenger in my car knows that approximation and forbearance will get me everywhere.

But then, it's not the city that I'll miss. It'll be my coworkers, my friends, my writers' group, and all 31 neighborhood flavors, like the guy wearing the top hat and riding his stereophonic discobike down the street at 11pm. Or the next-door neighbor who admired my hyper-fussy Michigander snow shoveling technique in February.

Yesterday, I ran across some old pictures I took at the World's End reservation in Hingham, MA. It's a nice place and a good hike. I've included the view from my favorite stop on the hike. Someday, I'll come back.