Portland Day 2- Eat food.

Lunch menu:

Saltwater taffy

Strawberry White Chocolate dipped Twinkie

S'mores Poptart dunked in half white chocolate half milk chocolate

Butterfinger Extravaganza Fudge

White Chocolate Praline Fudge

Chocolate Drenched Bacon

Water

After procuring lunch from no fewer than 4 candy stores, we go to hide so we can enjoy our food without judgement.  M starts with the Twinkie and I choose the Poptart.

After the first bite, we realize we have made a serious miscalculation in our abilities.  My teeth are rotting from my mouth and M says in a devastated tone of the person who has realized their mortality, "I can't -sob- do it, Donnie.  I'm sorry."

We look out over the water and realize our utter and crushing disappointment.  A period of silence is punctuated only by the screams of the gulls as they devour our food dreams.  We look into the empty bag and see, what's this?!  The Bacon!  With one taste, we are redeemed.  -sigh- We also take it as a positive omen that "Bacon Love" is playing on the radio when we get in the Versa.  All is right once more.

We waddle to the car and set our sights and hearts toward Tillamook and its legendary factory.  The drive is uneventful except for M's sheer panic whenever I get behind the wheel, which is always.  As we careen along the curving road, a semi-truck loaded with logs barrelled around a blind turn directly towards the Versa.  We never quite recovered from that and I agreed to take it easy on the corners.  M has taken to gripping any surface to keep from being thrown from the car.  I see now why she always insists on driving whenever we go anywhere.  She informs me that, when we get back to Mpls, she will chauffeur me around anywhere I want to go.  She claims it payback for my driving all over Oregon but quite obviously, it is some not-so-covert accusation that I'm a danger behind the wheel.

Tillamook Cheese Factory is a crazy madhouse.  I observe a woman clad in a nude belly shirt, tiiiiiiight skinny jeans and stiletto knee-high boots emerging from a giant truck.  Really lady??  You're at a damn cheese and ice cream factory.  Proper attire is your brother's sweatpants and a shirt that fits like a tent.  I'm suddenly feeling not so bad about eating the chocolate bacon.  We bustle into the factory and find it crawling with folks who clearly don't get out much.  I wonder if the hairnetted ladies who work there ever feel the pressure to perform.  It seems like living in a fishbowl.  People are constantly snapping pictures of you.  At what point do you not bother with makeup and facial hair removal?

We spend very little time watching cheese production.  As it turns out, its probably the most boring process ever observed.  Did you know that it take 10 gallons of milk to create one pound of cheese?  Yup, consider yourself educated.  We get into the cheese sample line (aka- the real reason we came) and consume more than is socially acceptable.  M told me prior to this adventure that there is a cheese table that gives out an unlimited number of samples.  But we both harbor a fear of being escorted out for overindulging.  And trust me, I do not intend to go quietly.  (This turns out to be an unfounded fear as the median age of the sample patrol is 72 years old.)

Dinner Menu:

Squeaky Cheese

1/2 pound of assorted cheese cubes

4 beef sticks

1 box of Triscuits

Ice Cream x2

Diet Coke

Portland- Day 2

All along the highway were beautiful white flowers and low lying ferns.  Behind, we could see wide swathes of deforested land.  While neither of us are exactly environmental activists, the scene was sobering and we decide that we need a smoke break to cheer us up.  


We cruise into Seaside and the temperature has dropped a cool 30 degrees.  The sun is no where to be seen and its drizzling gently.  The town itself is full of kitschy shops and most importantly 23 candy stores.  Yessssssss....


The beach is gorgeous and the sand is soft and grey.  M was smart and left her regular shoes in the car.  I promptly plop my sock encased foot in the sand.  No worries.  They're minisocks.  

Midway between the boardwalk and the shoreline, some hobogangsters sitting on a cardboard slab.  They are clad in south of the border ponchos and several of them have goatbeards.  Bongo drums beat and an acoustic guitar is being strummed lazily.  Paper bags and makeshift bongs litter their platform.  M insisted that we keep a 400 foot distance for fear that they may recruit us into their sing-a-long/drive by shooting.

Walked to the water's edge- it was overcast and at the horizon, the water was undiscernible from the grey washed expanse of sky.  M is clearly distressed by the green-yellow scum substance that is washing up on the beach.  (We later discover that they are called diatomes, an algae like plant.)  It is harmless but M still makes a flying, awkward leap to the clear the scum only to land gracefully in the water and exclaim, "Sonofabitch!!  Cold!"  I inform her that you can suffer from hypothermia after 30 minutes in this water and determine that we should stay in for 27 minutes.  We actually make it to 3.  (There are some bikini-clad teenagers who are actually body surfing in this frigid water.  Ridiculous.)  The water is clear and swirling.  I had forgotten that ocean water isn't like lakes.  Its cold and clean and very likely to drag you out to sea and murder you if you aren't careful.  In this moment, I am ready to leave home and live this close to something that could surprise me and sweep me away.

This moment passes only after nearly stepping on a beached jellyfish.  It looks like a combination of gummy candy and congealed gravy.  We poke at it with my shoe and are simultaneously disgusted.  I recall reading in National Geographic that a jellyfish can still inflict painful stings if its dead.  Note to self: Watch where you walk.

We amble back to the boardwalk and rinse our feet at a washing station with water that could strip the skin off our feet.  We turn and share a homantic moment staring at the water.  We agree that we could easily spend hours upon days at the water and never get tired of the rushing and lulling sound of the ocean.  But, for clarification, M could not live in one of the houses on the outcroppings over the water.  Apparently, there is the very real possibility that she could slide off the rocks and plunge into the cold depths of the sea.