Oregon Coast TR
Last Wednesday, I loaded the family into the silver sled and rolled out on my first Great American Family Vacation.
We wound our way down out of the Puget Sond foot hills out on the the pebbled timewarp of the Western Washington freeways. An indeterminant amount of time later, we exited the concrete ribbon at Kelso and stopped in the burgeoning timber town of Rainier for nursing, snaques, water and stretching legs of varying dimensions. Rainier is a tired little town, trimmed with tattered, lite beer soaked flannel on the Oregon side of the Columbia. Classy? No, but of character, no doubt.
Reloading the sled, we pointed South out of Rainier into the Oregon Coast range, a jagged, pubescent cropping of squat mountains with summits of no more than 3500 or so. The little shoulderless state highway rolled and turned, much to the delight of my 3 year old. We passed log truck after log truck, but little vistas showed out over the mossy twists of the "tippy hills". It's truely a pretty area, despite the scorched earth of the logged swaths. One after another, we'd swoop down from a little pass down into a gorgeous little valley of fern laden farms, bright streams and verdant fields and then up again into another torqued summit road. There were tiny whitewashed churches stolen from New England postcards and miniscule weathered fishing shacks down in the craw of the rivers. One view presented a flaoting shack, perhaps a sauna, draped with nubile mermaids sunning themselves. We passed through Mist, Jewell and finally Elsie before getting to the main Portland to Coast pipeline, Oregon state Highway 26. And taking a wrong turn. 20 miles later, in my blinding brilliance, I figured out we were headed towards stumptown, rather than the coast. So after a quick about face and a stop for ice cream and nursing, it was westward ho once again.
After nearly 5 hours, we slid into Cannon Beach and checked into the Tolovana Inn. Not particularly upscale, but on the beach with a pool, sauna and jacuzzi, we managed to scam an ocean view room for less than $100/night. After unloading the nubblers, sacks of goo and untold ethereum, we wobbled over to the nearby pub for dinner. The Warren House pub is just across ythe street from the Tolovana and had fantastic food and great beer. Their Duck Head ale is delicious. They have a smoked seafood platter for $13 that's enough to feed 2. It consists of each of 4-6 big smoked scallops, oysters, prawns as well as a decent sized slab f pepper smoked salmon. So while my wife and I are munching down on this sumptuous feast and staring deeply into each others tired eyes on the deck, wind in our hair, our 3 year old's vampiric consumption of apple juice and quesidillas redlined and he began to projectile vomit, splattering the nearby cougars who had been eyeing us with stream after stream of the day's input. Another parental ending to an all to brief romantic interlude. I bought the cougars a couple of drinks after they moved a few tables away and we went on cheerily enjoying the evening's repast amid helping the staff clean the deck of kiddie hurl. I was proud to see my son picking up my slack in ralphing department.
We strolled back to the room and then swept out onto the beach for a sunset walk in the breeze.
Over the next days we spent a lot of time on the beach building sand castles, picking strange objects out of our daughter's 11 month old mouth, lustily eyeing one another and eating really good food. We hit the Mango Cafe in Cannon Beach and it just rooled: tasty house pinot noir, duck maigret, scallops and tuna and friendly waitstaff. On Friday, a baler storm blew in, pasting everything with a classic Oregon Coast winter storm, a welcome respite from August heat. I bought a kite for my son, his first and we tried flying it in the storm, but it was too crazy out. That afternoon, we were the only ones on the beach aside from some loony high school kids. Even the surfers had retreated to some hipster bong shack.
Saturday, we left late and bombed into Portland to roosted at the Heathman. Friends came and we had the massive gourmando dinner of more duck, scallops and quail, foie gras, 2 bottles of burgundy, plooping out early in the family heap.
Sunday, we met more old friemds for breakfast and then made the highlight of my son's trip.
On of our august Maggotry is a fireman in Portland who was kind enough to extend an offer to us for a tour of the firehouse. My son was beside himself witrh anticipation. Big into firetrucks, bulldozers, cranes and all things mechanical, he was ranting about this endlessly. Of course walking up to the firestation, he became subdued with awe and trepidation. But we got the full tour. The height of the experience was getting to ride in the front seat of the new firetruck. It took a bit of coaxing to get him in and the danger of his big blue eyes falling out was imminent, but we did it and he loved it. Kudos and thanks to that maggot.
We left the firestation and rallied back North in high temps to arrive back in the foothills and home. Finally after the nubblers were asleep, we had some time to ourselves.
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