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 The Oregon Trail by chris weisbart klickity! klickity! klick click! went the cheap plastic wheels of the hoover upright vacuum cleaner as I rolled it briskly down the California street sidewalk in San Francisco's outer Richmond district. "I don't think these wheels were meant to roll on the sidewalk, hawr hawr hawr!" I joked to my girlfriend Jenny as we walked. She looked at me sternly and said "No I don't think so." Maybe it was the fact that we had been moving out of our apartment for the last 3 nights without much sleep (if you can call a sleeping bag on the floor of a poorly insulated empty room "sleep"). Or maybe it was the fact that I had actually said the words "hawr hawr hawr!" super loud and elbowed her in the ribs that illicited the cold response... but either way, I soon found myself carrying the 20 lb vacuum cleaner for most of our 12 block walk. We had just finished tucking and hiding the last of our garbage into our neighbors trash cans, unable to fit anything else in either our trash or our car (which was filled so completely by jenny's meticulous packing that we could not recline either the driver or the passenger seat over a sub-90 degree angle) and the vacuum cleaner, leant to us by my good friend Aaron was the last thing in the house to go. With no room in the car for anything we were forced to make the ten minute trek with the machine on foot. A stroll through the old neighborhood was a nice way to leave a city I had spent the past three years in, though, I must say. We were able to catch a nice iced tea at a local coffee house and walk past an online gaming establishment named "cyber-hunt" filled with guys in rayon shirts printed with repeating patterns of comic book characters and neon colors. Yes, this had been a wonderful home for the past few years, but after a few goodbye hugs and a brisk vacuum cleaner exchange, we were off. Off to our new home: Eugene, Oregon. As we exited the 101, through the golden gate bridge, I took nostalgic pause, wondering when we would next see the glorious bay area. Would it be in 2012 for the Olympic games the "City by the Bay" is currently bidding on? Would it be sometime sooner, to visit the wonderful people we have met in the past years? Would it be in court, to pay the remaining parking tickets I have intentionally neglected since I decided to move from the state? The answer came to me in the next two hours, though, as we were stuck in the endless traffic leading up to the bridge--the victim of Labor Day weekend San Francisco-ers off to some Marin sun. Soon enough, however, we were off! Off through the glorious golden gate... off through the tunnel with the rainbow painted on the outside. As we passed, a tear came to my eye and I wondered. "I wonder..." I said to myself... "I wonder if they have lame-ass shit like this up in Oregon..." Only time would be able to answer my query. Time passed and we saw many glorious sites on the 101 freeway, most notably those in the redwood forest. Jenny and I decided to pay the three dollars necessary to drive through a tree stump, and we passed many more roadside attractions that we hope to explore and publish on future "Oregon Trail" episodes: prehistoric jungles populated by Styrofoam and paper mache' dinosaurs, a log cabin made entirely out of a single, redwood log (fittingly called the "one-log-cabin") as well as a house built in the shape of a shoe, probably constructed by a forest resident who was so bored he didn't know what to do. As we drove up the 101, we noticed one phenomenon more prolific than most-- something called "burl" was offered for sale just about every quarter mile. I have no idea what burl is to begin with, but it seems it is the raw material needed to construct two items: 6 to 8 foot carved bears and indians. Sometimes elves as well. But mostly extremely large bears and indians in various poses. Whatever this mystical substance is, it must be cylindrical in shape, since most of the bears and indians constructed out of it are mal-shaped so that they can fit in a generally cylindrical position. I started to wonder who the potential burl-buyer was, since most people on vacation would probably not have room for an 8 foot wooden bear in their station-wagons. But it seemed to be a thriving industry. If things don't pan out for me in Oregon, I will truly research this "burl-craft" as a possible money-making scheme. As we neared our destination, a good 12 hours after we left, the sun was going down on another warm Oregon day. Our final stretch took us off of the great 101 and onto a small Oregon highway appropriately named the "126". As we pulled onto the first leg of the highway, we noticed a long line of cars trailing out of a fork in the road. We pulled up and waited as an Oregon road worker walked up to our car and told us that there was a wreckage in the road and the road would be opened shortly. We pulled our car into a nearby parking lot under a big sign that said "SALOON." As we turned off the car, I noticed the short, squat woman with too many tattoos and braided hemp jewelry sitting outside. As we rested, a man carrying a motorcycle helmet and wearing ass-less chaps over a pair of jeans exited the bar. I popped a "funyun" into my mouth, thought about my earlier musing by the golden gate's rainbow tunnel, and sighed. "ahh... this isn't so different..." I thought. "I may be okay up here...I just may be able to call this place "home". --------- till I catch you next round the ol' Oregon tree, this is your good buddy c.weisbart, signing off... |
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