September 3, 2005

the beginning

This morning I feel well rested. It is thanks to the sleeping pill I slurped down last night with my Becks that this is the case. I will not take sleeping pills anymore. Maybe. I have also decided to reduce my coffee intake over the coming weeks, and this morning will be the last cup of starfucks I ever drink. Maybe. Surveying my once Spartan apartment, I find that it is full of expensive shit. (Oh, that’s where my money has gone.) This is a space indicative of a shallow existence, rife with $20 impulse purchases and miscellaneous gear with multi-hundred dollar price tags. For what? Why spend that time at work when I could be doing something that is beneficial or, at least, of interest? I can do without my DVD collection (full of masterful artworks) I tell myself. I am unsure. I can, I say again.

Alright, come on now, once more with conviction...

I find it auspicious somehow that I am leaving the glorious Tri-Cities of eastern Washington on the eve of the Christ the King Sausage fest. Why, I’m not entirely sure. It might be just that I’m relieved to escape that holy-meat free-for-all that attracts the crazies from the surrounding area, but I like to think that there’s something more. In addition, the sunrise is a particularly tasty candy pink this morning. I will try to photograph it as I make for the car, but I suspect that by the time I have gathered my things it will be much less titillating. Beauty does not last long here in the semi-arid country; you must consume it while you can.

Well all that would be nice if it were true. I mean, some of it is true, but let’s just say that on the way to the car my camera bag was thoroughly sprayed by the new sprinklers. How’s that for auspicious?

My first stop along the way is Columbia Crest winery. It is my first stop because I happened to notice the sign rather than for any good reason. Sadly I arrived to a locked door that wouldn’t open for another half hour. This is saddening because I don’t have a half hour to spare at this point and I would have liked to taste some of their low volume wines.

And I desperately need to pee.

On the way back to highway 14 I pull of on the shoulder of the road to take a mediocre picture of a row of trees and am nearly killed by a transport truck.

I am struck suddenly by just how much of my planned trip will be driving. Just a guess – 80-85%. This will be difficult to do on my own. It’s been a little over an hour and I’m already talking to myself. I switch to singing as it seems a little less loony, and I imagine that other road goers will feel the same.

Luckily highway 14 becomes quite curvaceous near the end and I do enjoy driving.

However my car is overheating on the way up the hills here. This is scary because it is only 27 degrees and I know that it will be over 40 by the time I get to Vegas. In the start and stop traffic on the way in to Portland it begins to stutter and wheeze. I have one hope for these coming two weeks, and that is to not break down somewhere in Utah 100+ miles from anywhere.

Having made it to Portland, it’s time for a drink. I head to an overpriced bar and grill and send for a burger and beer. The beer is very good (an exotic tasting local porter) and I sit and think for a bit. What the hell am I doing here anyway? I like it here at the overpriced bar. Is that wrong? The guy in front of me has a very bizarre layer of lipids covering his back. They amplify rather than hide his musculature. I imagine for a second that he is just very stocky, but if that’s the case he’s got and incredibly large abdominal muscle.

On the way back to the hotel I hear a fat white woman screaming: “I’m motherfucking James Brown” to a homeless black man on the street. She seems to be attempting to converse with him in an obviously drunk sort of way. I’d be sort of shocked if it weren’t for the fact that the bum is getting an incredible charge from the whole thing. She’s doing a sort of interpretive dance version of “Thriller”.

It is time for bed. Hopefully I will start the day early tomorrow. Hopefully.

_______________________

Is the word Spartan really meant to be capitalized? This and many other questions will be answered in the coming weeks. Or not.