Captain’s Log, Stardate 8.15.10.

I 84. 5.23 pm.

Em and I got a late start out of Portland, in part because of the food coma induced by the cuisine of the Overlook Restaurant, in part because of a lingering desire to back down from the whole ordeal and run and hide, and in part because driving the White Whale is a special endeavor all to itself.

However: following a couple of pit stops,* and some rather intense swerving through traffic, we are on the I 84, nearing Pendleton.  Em is driving for the first time on the road—a situation which initially prompted much squealing but now seems to be progressing smoothly.  

The excitement is spreading:

Em: “I’m driving a stick shift! I’m doing nothing!”

Me: “You’re holding the steering wheel.”

Em: “That’s just because it’s squishy.”

Em's response to hitting the interstate for the first time.

7:52 pm. Durkee, Oregon.

Driving past the cement plant we see a sign for “The Hungry Redneck” restaurant. Unfortunately, we missed the turnoff, so we will not get the opportunity to experience whatever qualifies as redneck cuisine out here in eastern Oregon.

Down by the cement factory (which
doubles as a space station)

10:56 pm. Boise, Idaho.

Em had a largely successful first  full drive in the White Whale; three hours on the road and no incident ended in Ontario, Oregon at the end of an on-ramp, where a stall led to a Chinese Fire Drill and a serious 5 minute attempt to get it started again. ² We are now stationed in a "Budget Host Hotel" in Boise, where the water tastes terrible and there are cigarette burns in the carpet. But it is a real bed, and it is ours for tonight. It's time for bed.

Classy digs.

Notes:

* One of which involved grabbing supplies at the Plaid Pantry on Woodstock. A ginger-haired man who we had seen walking, very quickly, through the neighborhood adjacent began wandering through the Plaid singing loudly a country song he had just written about riding in the back of a Mexican’s pickup truck to the peach farm.  This rather confused us and disturbed our teller, Matt, who complimented Em’s neck tattoo of a pair of entwined Unicorn-dragons (acquired, of course, at the Unicorn Surprise Party). Luckily, we made it out alive. ¹

¹ Doubly luckily, and perhaps one of the most fortuitous things about leaving Portland, is that I will have limited contact with true Tweakers for a substantial period of time.  It will be the first time in four years that I won’t have Tweakers for neighbors, or visiting my dealer neighbors.

² Apparently neither of us really understands fully how things work; at the gas station, I had to be shown by an attendant how to open my own gas cap, and could not find the hazard lights while we were stalled at the end of that intersection.