Our flight to Seattle took us, confusingly, through St Louis. While that’s kind of ridiculous, it was also much cheaper than a direct flight, plus it pushed me the few hundred miles over the 25,000 mark with Delta and earned me elite status for 2012. So it was alright.

The STL-SEA leg was on Alaska Airlines. If Delta was smart they wouldn’t have let us fly on that airline, because it made it obvious how much poorer their service was. Also, Alaska had awesome food and served Kona beers. We were very happy about that.

We arrived in Seattle shortly after 8, and Matt went to the car rental counter while I got the suitcase. We hopped on the shuttle, and were in a pretty awesome new Mazda 3 in short order. I looked up directions to the hotel on Google Maps while Matt drove.

The directions were pretty easy according to the map, but not so much in real life. We made a wrong turn, and then found ourselves stuck in a maze of one-way, dead-ending streets. All we wanted was to get across Broad Street to the side where Seattle Center was, but it was impossible unless we went exactly the way Google told us to. That’ll be a lesson to me about thinking I can figure it out myself!

We found the hotel, got the last parking spot in the lot, and checked in. The guy at the front desk was a former Minneapolitan, so we had a long talk about the Vikings and Minneapolis’ infrastructure problem; it hadn’t even occurred to us that the 35W bridge and Metrodome collapses had occurred within a year of each other. Our room was much fancier than I expected, and we loved that they had a Keurig machine and free bottled water and microwave popcorn. And real cream for coffee!! That never happens.

It was after 10 by the time we headed out, but we wanted food and a couple of drinks before we’d be ready for bed. We walked the eight or so blocks to Mecca, the place we’d gone with Steve on the last visit. He’d ordered a gimlet and a waffle there, so we knew it was obviously awesome. We both got some breakfast food and whiskey; Matt’s came in the form of a shot of Wild Turkey, followed by a beer. That’s a good way to start the night.

While we were wrapping up, people started piling in from the Journey/Foreigner/Night Ranger concert at Key Arena. The streets were full of fans plus what we assumed was the usual crowd in Queen Anne, so that made for an interesting experience. We walked back down toward our hotel and stopped into the Solo Bar, because their cocktail menu looked decent. It was pretty crowded, though, so we decided to try the beer place next door. That was even more crowded, though, so we went back to Solo and just hung out near the bar. Rather than the Journey crowd, it was full of people who had just been to the opera. Couple that with the fact that it seemed to be primarily an art gallery, and the end result was a LOT of pretension. The drinks were still pretty good, though!

It was after midnight by then, so we went back to the hotel and headed to bed. Matt had to be up by 7, after all.

In the morning, I sent him off to his conference in the car, and I hung out in the room, trying to get more sleep. My body was convinced it was after nine, though, so I got up and walked over to the natural foods store a few blocks away. (It was just me and the joggers on the streets of Seattle at that point.) I got a morning glory muffin, a really excellent Americano, a 5-Hour Energy, and two 4-packs of Maui Coconut Porter, because we can’t find it in Minnesota. I promised the cashier I wasn’t going to drink all the beer that morning.

Back at the hotel, I hung out watching football (it’s on so early in Seattle!!), and then went downstairs to meet Steve, Colleen, and Veronica to go have brunch. We went to the 5 Spot, which they told me changes themes quarterly or so. They feature a few menu items from a certain part of the country, and update the decor to match. (And they go all out, from what I saw.) The current theme was Philadelphia, which made being there extremely confusing, since we’d just been there. One can never get enough Ben Franklin, apparently.

After brunch, we went to walk on the Alaskan Way Viaduct. They’re in the process of knocking it down, so they had this half-day event where people could go up there and wander around. It’s a great view of the city, and also we got to take a piece home with us.

I guess it should’ve been a little unsettling that they were knocking down parts of it very near where we were.

Being Seattle and all, of course there was a girl hooping. There were also some people having a picnic, complete with wooden cheese board and spade. So fancy.

People left messages for the viaduct. They know it’s a highway, right?

After our walk, we went back down to the parking lot, where a bulldozer had just arrived with a fresh delivery of viaduct chunks. People cheered for the bulldozer, then everyone scrambled onto the pile to get the best piece. Some lady yelled, “I want a piece of rebar!” Yep, it was weird. Weird and awesome.

We grabbed some viaduct chunks and headed out. I got a smallish one, since I had to bring it home on the plane. I didn’t want Delta to look askance at me for taking part of Seattle’s crumbling infrastructure.

Steve and Colleen then took me to see Uwajimaya, which I’m pretty sure was the most gigantic Asian grocery store on earth. We spent a long time there looking around, and I picked up a few things including something for Awesome Christmas, some Salad Pretz (they’re the best Pretz), and a yakisoba sandwich. Seriously, it’s a baguette with a pile of vegetarian yakisoba inside. Colleen said it was the greatest hangover food ever. I believed it, even if we didn’t get to experience it while hungover. Which is totally fine with me, really.

They went to take the baby home for a nap, so I asked them to drop me off at the hotel so I could go be a tourist. The sun was finally coming out, so I decided to revisit the Space Needle.

Of course the sun was not out by the time I got to the top, but at least it wasn’t raining!

I walked around Seattle Center for a while, then decided to go get lunch at McMenamin’s, the beer place we hadn’t been able to get into the previous night. It was really quiet this time, of course, because it was in the middle of the afternoon. I ordered a beer and a bowl of Jamaican curry, and Matt texted shortly after that to say they were done early, and on the way back to the hotel. I said they should meet me there, since it was only a block away. He and his coworker and wife were there within half an hour, and we hung out for a while taking advantage of their happy hour specials.

We went back to the hotel around 5 so Matt could change clothes, then got the car and drove up to Steve and Colleen’s. We got to hang out with shark baby for a while before heading to dinner.

Our reservations were at 8, so they said we should stop into Paratii for a cocktail first. We instantly fell in love with the place, because one of the drinks on the menu was from Bradstreet in Minneapolis (i.e. the bar we spend most of our time at here). The bartender was great, and was more than happy to invent cocktails for us if we didn’t want to order off the menu. After a round, it was time to go to dinner, but we liked the place so much that Colleen called the restaurant and told them we’d be late. We got another round, then headed that way.

(Joking about a fast round, the bartender suggested shots of Fernet. Oh, craft bartenders: you all have the same bad ideas. I love it even though it makes my liver hurt to think about it.)

We walked over to the Golden Beetle for dinner, and ordered more drinks and almost everything off the small plates menu to share. Matt and I were more than amused that they highlighted the few things on the menu that couldn’t be guaranteed organic. It was very Pacific Northwest. The food was excellent, though!

After dinner, we went back to their place and hung out drinking local beers. We only made it til shortly after midnight before I was starting to fall asleep. I’m terrible at adjusting to time zones.

The next morning, we packed the suitcase with our spoils: a ton of yarn from Colleen, 8 cans of Maui Coconut Porter, and a piece of the viaduct. You know, the normal stuff.

We drove back up to Colleen and Steve’s so we could all walk to brunch. They’d chosen Zayda Buddy’s, a Minnesota-themed bar in Ballard. It was fantastic (the style was more Wisconsin tavern, but still), though I felt a little weird about wearing a Gophers hoodie there. I had a mimosa garnished with Swedish fish, and all our meals came with tater tots. It was like being at Grumpy’s.

We stopped in a couple shops and walked through the Ballard farmer’s market, which is probably the most earnest place I’ve ever been. Then we headed back to their place to get our car, and Very stayed awake by chomping on Bally’s leg. (I think Matt was panicking a little, but Bally was fine.)

We said goodbye and headed to the airport. Delta was incredibly efficient for once, so we boarded on time, got to watch the Vikings lose, and even arrived early! My parents gave us a ride home to the airport, so we had a couple of hours to sit on the couch before preparing for the week ahead. And as tends to happen lately, I woke up in the middle of the night with no idea where the hell I was.

Matt and I arrived at the airport around 2pm, cleared security, and paid a visit to Granddaddy’s Bar, a tradition that makes every flight more tolerable. We giggled at Skymall for three hours, and arrived at Sea-Tac around 6pm. Steve and Colleen were waiting to sweep us away to their apartment overlooking downtown Seattle.

seaplanes fly very close to their rooftop.

We had cocktails on the roof of their building, then headed to Mama’s Mexican Kitchen for dinner. We dined in the Elvis room in back.

We went to a bar called Shorty’s for drinks and pinball, then hung out in the back room for a while because it had the awesomest bar stools I’d ever seen. We couldn’t even sit in them because they were full, but even looking at them was way too exciting. Our bar will definitely have pimp chairs such as those.

We moved along to the NiteLite, a place that was disturbingly empty for a bar around midnight, but they had cheap drinks and a standalone naked ladies game I couldn’t figure out how to play. We had a round of shots and Long Islands, and when Steve went back for another round, he was denied. The old lady behind the bar told him there was a limit of one per person (even though they’d given him another, just not an entire round). He told me that I should try to get others at the bar, but we were denied again. Incensed that we’d been cut off (and not even from drinking, just from one beverage in particular), we decided to go elsewhere.

Elsewhere was the Whisky Bar, mostly because we liked the name. We did not indulge, thankfully (Matt and I had water), and we had some discussion about the fact they were playing Bon Jovi’s Runaway, although we don’t remember what we were debating, exactly.

We decided to take the bus home, except it never really worked out that way. We definitely stood at the bus stop for a while, then started walking. Eventually, Matt and Colleen became trapped in a cabinet we found outside a restaurant.

After that, we ran though sprinklers outside a building, and all ended up with very wet pants. Which is not terribly comfortable when you still have several blocks to walk, dudes. Remember that.

Saturday morning, we went down to Bumbershoot to pick up mainstage tickets, then visited the Space Needle. Matt and I had been there before, but Colleen and Steve hadn’t.

Steve and Colleen had to run home briefly, so Matt and I bought half the inventory in the gift shop and then went and laid in the grass underneath it. It was gorgeous outside, and I could’ve stayed there all day.

We had lunch at the Mecca Cafe (where Steve ordered french toast and a gimlet), then walked back to their apartment to hang out for a while.

Later in the evening, we went back down to Seattle Center to see Gogol Bordello’s set. I hadn’t seen them before, and loved it. Afterward, we headed back toward Steve and Colleen’s place, to a bar called Paddy Coyne’s. They didn’t know of the wonder of the Johnny Jump-Up, so we were only happy to spread the love to the city of Seattle.

Sunday morning, we took the monorail down to the market.

colleen and steve

We had brunch at the Athenian Inn, an old restaurant inside the market, and then wandered around until it was time to go back to Seattle Center. We hopped on a bus and rode up to see the Kings of Leon, one of my favorite bands. I saw them many moons ago at Bonnaroo, and at the Fine Line in Minneapolis.

Then we all crowded into a smallish building (I didn’t know they had indoor shows there!) to see Bouncing Souls. My favorite part, of course, was when they did ‘Argyle’, the song P.O.S. covers in ‘De La Souls’.

We then herded into the mainstage area to see Sean Paul, followed by Fergie. First of all, I did not realize I knew at least half of Sean Paul’s songs. I’ve danced to all of them many times, in bars and barefoot on streets throughout the land. His set was pretty awesome, if populated mainly by 15-year-old girls. Seriously, I went to the bathroom and realized I was twice as old as every girl in there, and half of them were drunk on smuggled beer. They’d be passing out by 11pm for sure.

And then, there was Fergie.

Thing is, I don’t really like Fergie. I’ve obviously danced to ‘London Bridge’ and ‘Fergalicious’ a minimum of 50 times apiece, because that’s just dance music. But when I heard she’d be playing there, of course I had to see her. How could I miss that opportunity? It’s not like I’m going to pay for tickets to her shows.

The first part was as expected: all her radio songs, and three costume changes (in a one-hour set). She was apparently doing hand-springs and such, but we were too far away to really be able to see much. Towards the end, she yelled, Do you want to rock?? Of course we wanted to rock, at least until we found out what she meant.

She launched into ‘Barracuda’ by Heart. It was definitely out-of-place, but not totally wrong for her; she had the voice for it, at least. I was amused knowing that probably 90% of the people there had never heard the song before, since they weren’t even born then. At the end of the song, she shouted, You know where you are? You’re in the jungle, baby! You gonna DIIIIIIEEEE!

Our minds were blown. We barely even absorbed the fact that she also covered ‘Rehab’ by Amy Winehouse. We felt like we were broken, and stumbled out after the show, stunned.

We walked toward Belltown and decided to go to Cyclops, Colleen’s dad’s favorite bar. It had an awesome interior, even more awesome bartenders (I loved the girl who called us lovebirds because she kept seeing us making out), and a strangely mixed crowd.

We spend a good portion of our time there watching a couple dudes putting the hardcore mack down on two willing girls. They swooped in with a bucket of Rainier, most of which was consumed by the little guy, who we named ‘Limpy’, due to the fact that his friend was obviously going to get all the play when he was unable to perform. We could only see the other dude from the back, but he was clearly a giant, so Steve named him Frankenstein. I loved their antics, especially when Limpy would start to doze off clutching his beer bottle, then spring awake to make another sly move on the ladies.

We left as the bar was closing, and unfortunately did not get to see the outcome of their efforts. However, we’re pretty sure the score was Frankenstein 2, Limpy 0.

sophie the monorail cat

Monday morning (well, more like afternoon), we at the 5-Point. It’s owned by the same people who run the Mecca Cafe, only it’s very near Seattle Center. It’s also open 24 hours, so you can drink til 2am, sober up for a few hours, then start drinking again at something like 6am.

They have a periscope in the men’s room so that dudes can look at the Space Needle while they’re peeing. AWESOME.

We went back downtown to stock up on supplies at Lush. The girl working there said they’d be opening a store in Minneapolis soon! Yay!

matt and steve at the first starbucks

We did some more wandering around the market, then went down to the waterfront. We spent a very long time shopping at a pirate store, and then it was time to head back to Bumbershoot to see Lyrics Born.

puget sound

lyrics born callin’ out

Lyrics Born is always amazing, dudes. I’ve seen him four times now, always in the most awesome circumstances: closing down the Hip Hop n’ Harmony festival, at Foundation, in the front row at Lollapalooza. He’s coming back to Minneapolis this fall, and I can’t wait. He has the greatest energy.

After the show, we waited in line at the record company booth to meet him, but they booted us out of line because we wouldn’t buy a CD (I have it already), and he’d only be there for 20 minutes. LAME. At least I got this picture.

lyrics born

We shopped at the extensive craft fair, then made our way over to the 7-11 near the Space Needle for Slurpees (fun fact: 7-11 has sugar-free Slurpees! VERY EXCITING.) We were carrying flasks full of Malibu because we’re way classy, and mixed ourselves some cocktails right at the beverage counter.

We made our way to the mainstage and sat in the stands drinking our Slurpees and eating a cube of fries. We saw Lupe Fiasco, who was pretty awesome; I knew most of his stuff because he raps on a lot of Jay-Z and Kanye West tracks.

During the break in between shows, we noticed that a huge group sitting in our section kept cheering at people walking by on the floor, but we had no idea why. It was hysterical because they’d bust out screaming or groaning in disappointment ever minute or so. We finally figured out what it was about: there was a puddle of vomit on the floor, and they were cheering every time someone stepped in it.

It shouldn’t have been so damn funny, but it was. We couldn’t stop watching.

And then? It was time for the Wu-Tang Clan. It was the perfect ending to the festival.

wu-tang clan ain’t nothin’ to fuck with.

Colleen headed home because she had to work in the morning, and Steve and Matt and I went to the Victory Lounge near their house. It was nearly empty, but the bartender was awesome and they had Naked Ladies. We played a few victorious games, then headed over to another bar that we found closed by 1am. What? Instead, we went back to their apartment, got ourselves some beverages, and went up to the roof of the building. It was raining so we couldn’t sit down anywhere; instead we stood under the awning and talked about work. Because we rule.

On Tuesday, Colleen’s dad came to get us for lunch at the Mexican wrestler burrito place, aka Bimbo’s Bitchin’ Burrito Kitchen in Capitol Hill. The burritos were great, and there was a poster in the bathroom for El Suavecito, which I believe should be Matt’s new nickname.

After lunch, Colleen went home to work, and Steve and Matt and I wandered around shopping. I made some very special purchases at Babeland, including panties, which I believe to be the best souvenir ever. We walked back to their apartment just in time to pack up our stuff and get a cab to the airport. I started missing Colleen and Steve the second we left, so I’m pretty sure that means they should move to Minneapolis.

On the flight, I told Matt that it was too bad it was so overcast, or we’d be able to see Mount Rainier again. We ascended through the clouds, and all of a sudden, there it was!

I woke up at 7:30, having slept really hard in my little cubicle of a room. I drove around Kalispell, and stopped at a cute bread shop for coffee and a bagel. I would have shopped in town, but it was 8am and nothing was open (a trend I noticed along the way: the further west you go, the later people seem to get going in the morning). I got back on the road, heading towards Idaho. Western Montana is beautiful: hills, rivers, and pine forests. Except where they’re being chopped down, that is. I pulled off at a poorly-marked rest area that Road Trip USA said was a worthwile stop, and set off on the half-mile hike to the Kootenai River. (I’m aware of the stupidity of hiking alone in the middle of nowhere, by the way. It was a conscious decision.)

I walked up to the falls first, laid down on a huge, flat rock, and enjoyed the sun and the complete silence. Then I hiked the other direction, to the swinging bridge. On the way there, I started to feel a little bit fuzzy, and had to walk slower. By the time I got to the bridge, I was feeling like crap. My blood sugar had dropped, and I was tired, dizzy, and sick to my stomach. So I did the most logical thing, which was to cross the bridge. It bounced and swayed in the wind, which was fun for about 15 seconds, and then just made me sicker. I clung to the rope and took pictures to distract myself.

Then I wobbled back to the platform and sat down with my head against the railing. Part of me wished that someone would come along and reassure me that I was not going to die alone in the wilderness, but the other part of me realized that wasn’t a great idea, in case they decided I was in really bad shape and called for an ambulance. No insurance. I sat for about twenty minutes and convinced myself I was starting to feel better. I got up and started hiking back up the hill. I was shaky and having trouble seeing, but I pushed as hard as I could, knowing that adrenaline would help get me back to normal. By the time I got back to my car, I felt a little better, and resolved not to tell Heather, since she would yell at me for getting sick in the middle of nowhere.

I crossed into Idaho mid-morning, and the speed limit on Highway 2 dropped to 60mph. Everyone in Idaho drives a pickup truck and wears big mirrored sunglasses. Their license plates read, ‘Famous Potatoes’. Ha. I stopped in Sandpoint for lunch. It’s a cute little resort town that seems to be centered around a big Coldwater Creek store. I parked on the main street and wandered around, looking for lunch. I expected to have no trouble finding decent vegetarian food in that kind of town, but was quickly proven wrong. Half the restaurants were already closed for the 4th of July (does it make sense to shut down a resort town over a national holiday?), and the other half seemed to value meat pretty highly. I finally found a really cute Italian restaurant with good veggie lasagna and better espresso, and sat out on the patio and wrote postcards from Idaho.

At some point after lunch, I got to Washington. I had expected to go through Coeur d’Alene and join up with I-90, but I was wrong. I was on the outskirts of Spokane at a gas station before I realized that I had left Idaho, and was probably in the Pacific time zone. I drove into Spokane and called Heather. It was 3pm, and I had made better time than I had expected, so I figured if she could find me a cheap hotel in Seattle, I’d drive the rest of the way there and have an extra day in town. She called back with the address of the Hyatt Regency in Bellevue, a whole $35 a night on Priceline. (Have I mentioned yet that I love Priceline? I do. Despite Shatner, even.) I was thrilled.

I stopped to see Riverfront Park, mainly because Road Trip USA told me they had a giant Radio Flyer. It was indeed giant, and I was a little jealous of the kids climbing on it. Riverfront Park was nice, the kind of place I’d spend a lot of time walking around if I lived there, but Spokane in general was just kind of… um… exactly like you’d expect Spokane, Washington to be like, I guess. Lots of strip malls, kind of industrial. I was in a hurry to get to Seattle. Before I left Spokane, though, I took this very patriotic picture out my sunroof. It’s at a Perkins. Doesn’t it make you proud to be an American? Yeah. Me too.

I got on I-90 and set the cruise for a speed somewhere between legal and breaking the sound barrier. Then I got on the phone to kill time, as I still had 300 miles to go. (I know there are many, many of you who hate people like me for just that reason, but I’m not apologizing. I’m just as reckless off the phone as on it. In my defense, however: I’ve been driving for 15 years, and never been in an accident, or gotten a single speeding ticket. So shut up.) I was surprised at the terrain in Washington; I had expected all hills and pine trees, but the central part of the state is pretty flat and arid (Colorado with a splash of Oklahoma). I crossed the Columbia River, and stopped briefly at the overlook.

After crossing the river, it was pretty much all mountain pass the rest of the way. I had to turn off the air conditioning. I was sick to death of listening to the same dance CD over and over, but driving through mountains at 85mph takes full concentration, so I couldn’t change it. The mountains (Cascade? I should use the internet to verify this, but I’m lazy.) end about 20 miles outside Seattle. I switched to the radio and laughed really hard because the first song I heard on the rock station was by Alice in Chains. I found my hotel easily, parked underground, and hauled out my giant duffel bag. This was a novelty, as I’d been digging clothes out of it so far. The hotel was super nice, and I was on the 21st floor, one of the extra-swank rooms. I’m pretty sure I was the only non-Japanese tourist in the place. I set up my laptop and got my email, which was not as big a thrill as I expected; I’m pretty good with traveling sans internet. I was too tired to even think about going to find dinner, so I opted for room service: red lentil chili and tortilla chips (280 calories, the menu proudly informed me) and a Starbucks latte (more exciting than it probably should have been, but, you know. It’s Seattle. Starbucks from room service! It’s the right thing to do!)

While I was waiting for my food, I called Heather. She had moved into Daniel’s place, as far as I could tell, which made me feel better about leaving her at home alone. I called my mom to tell her I was alive, and both her and my dad got on the phone for the update. The parents are so cute. I called Ryan and made plans to meet for breakfast the next morning. I decided to see Seattle on the 3rd and then drive to Vancouver on the 4th because:

• Canadians don’t care about our holidays, so stuff would be open
• I could also go see Mount Rainier, which would probably also be open on the 4th
• Going to Canada to celebrate the 4th just seemed like the right thing to do.

I’m a planner. Also, I was really excited to see Seattle. I grimaced at myself in the mirror, realizing I looked like crap, took a shower, made a nest of the four pillows in my giant bed, and passed out.

– – – – –

random notes from my travel journal:

montana is all about cool road signs: ‘range cattle’, ‘rough break’ (what does that even mean?), ‘chain-up area’.

stopped at a dumb gift shop in troy (mt) and the woman behind the counter told me she had moved there from minneapolis 6 years ago. she said it was like stepping back in time. she couldn’t even get a cell phone, there’s no coverage there. she was so excited to talk to someone from home, i felt bad leaving after 20 minutes.

i fucking hate logging trucks. if i die on this trip, it’s going to be because of them.

idaho: i’m so glad to be back in the land of coffee. there’s even a starbucks here!

what time zone am i in???

my back and neck are killing me from my white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel driving through the mountains.

jesus, i look terrible. dark circles under my eyes. messy hair. sunburnt nose. zits from putting suntan lotion on my face. i look really tired. and i smell. i am hardcore.

photos: my passenger seat. bug holocaust (montana).

– – – – –

I got up at 7am and headed into downtown Seattle. I was surprised to find myself in love almost instantly. I walked around the Pike Place Market just as the stands were starting to open. The fresh produce and flowers were incredible. I saw so much that we’d have to hunt down in specialty markets in Minneapolis.

I walked down to the universe’s very first Starbucks and got myself an iced coffee. They also hooked me up with the extra-special Starbucks card that can only be purchased at that very store. I went across the street and sat on a wall overlooking Puget Sound and wrote postcards. Ryan called to say he’d be there in half an hour. I wandered some more and shopped for cheesy souvenirs, and whereas Montana was completely lacking in tacky gifts, Seattle was the motherlode.

Ryan picked me up and we drove over to his neighborhood for breakfast. Afterwards, we stopped to see his apartment, and I reminded him that I had a picture of his bed on my website. We drove to the bluehouse (which is grey) to get a tour of their current projects for Burning Man. They were making three giant geodesic domes and a gyrosphere. The house was littered with plans, schematics, and models. The basement was a full-scale metal shop, medieval-looking and incredible. There were fiberglass pieces being constructed in the backyard. We stood around and talked to Ryan’s friends for a while. One of them gave me passes to his favorite club in Vancouver, and invited me to their 4th of July party. Another guy wandered up and said, “Hey, I heard you’re from Minneapolis. I went to Concordia!” He had graduated from college a year ago, went to Burning Man, met these guys, and decided to move to Seattle. They were awesome.

We drove over to Gasworks Park for a good view of the city. They were setting up for the 4th of July festivities, but seemed amenable to tourists barging in to take photos. Then Ryan took me to see the troll under the bridge (you can’t see it in the picture, but he’s holding a real VW Beetle in his left hand), and the statue of Lenin in Fremont.

I freaked when I saw that Seattle has a Scandinavian neighborhood. Just like home; there was even a lutefisk shop. We spent a long time shopping at Archie McPhee, where many more goofy souvenirs were to be found. Driving around, I got the impression that Seattle was all about coffee, good food, and the music scene. And not just that grunge crap, either.

Ryan dropped me off at Westlake Center, so I could take the monorail over to the Space Needle. On the way there, I got a good view of the Experience Music Project, which he was absolutely right about: it’s butt-ugly. I went up in the Space Needle, took photos of Seattle from every possible angle, exchanged picture-taking opportunities with other tourists, and then went to the gift shop. If I didn’t give you a little metal Space Needle replica, I’m very sorry. I bought one for everyone I could think of, so I guess I just don’t like you all that much.

I monorailed back to downtown, and walked back to Pike Place. On my way, I saw a million street performers and musicians (at least half of them mariachis), vendors selling tshirts and light-up jesus artwork and beaded necklaces, two protests, and a bunch of overly-smiley guys giving out gum samples. And that was in the space of two blocks. I found a Turkish restaurant and got a spinach-and-feta pie and Turkish coffee for lunch, and briefly considered just spending the rest of my trip in Seattle. Then I remembered California, and decided to press on.

After lunch, I wandered back through the market, because all the craft vendors were now open, and the place was packed. I went downstairs and found an awesome store selling old movie posters. I went back up and bought blackberries, prunes, and an apple as large as my head. Then I wandered past an ice-cream place and saw that they had sugar-free vanilla-fudge ice cream, and once again thought maybe I should stay in Seattle. I walked back to the car, eating my ice cream and smiling like an idiot.

It took me about 15 minutes in the Escher-esque ramp to locate my car. I got on I-5 and headed south. Traffic between Seattle and its lesser-understood sister city, Tacoma, was horrific. I exited at the marked route for Mount Rainier, and began to understand why, even though the map said it was only 110 miles, the travel guide told me it was a three-hour drive. I stopped and got gas and a car wash. As was the case during most of my trip, I had a frantically-compiled mental to-do list at every stop: get gas. get carwash. dump trash. buy water. buy pop. buy seeds. get cash. look at map. Sometimes, during particularly rushed moments, I would get flustered. I’d start to panic. It’s hard to keep everything straight when you’re used to having people around to remind you to do things. So, when I left the gas station, I left a little piece of myself behind. Or, to be more specific, a piece of my car: the gas cap.

I drove many isolated and winding roads to get to Mount Rainier. It’s monstrous; you can see it all the way from Seattle. I took the road to Sunrise Lodge, which was super-narrow and winding, way more than anything I had driven in Glacier, but there was hardly any traffic. I got near the top to Sunrise Point, and stopped at the overlook. I jumped out of the car and, impatient as always, decided to hop over the wall rather than walk the extra 50 feet to the crosswalk. I stepped up, and the next thing I knew, I was flat on my back on the other side of the wall. It was almost like waking up and not knowing where you’ve been. I scrambled to my feet, shaky and dizzy. My left hand was scraped and already starting to bruise, and I had bumped my left hip (the one without the injury, of course). The altitude affected me way more than I had expected. There was going to be no hiking for me that day.

I drove the rest of the way up to the lodge, stopped at the store, and looked at the huge selection of trail mix and protein bars, finally understanding why they were such a big deal up there on in the mountains. I was still feeling sore and wobbly, so I just took a few pictures, went to the bathroom, and got back in the car to head back to Seattle. The drive down sucked, but I had figured out effective downshifting, which also helped minimize the noise my brakes were making: at this point, the squealing was hard to ignore.

I took a different, equally-slow route back to Seattle. An angry biker gave me the finger for some reason I was unsure of. Perhaps he knew about my lack of gas cap? Even I was unaware at that point, until a short while later, when my car made its happy ‘ping’ noise and popped up a message on the display: TIGHTEN FUEL FILLER CAP. I flashed back to the gas station, replaying the getting-gas-getting-carwash episode, and realized the scene where I put the gas cap back on and closed the little door was missing. Replayed it again, still missing. Again. Missing.

Dammit.

I decided to find dinner in Capitol Hill. I parked and wandered down Broadway Avenue, peering in the cute shops and stopping to examine every restaurant’s menu. A few blocks down, I found Julia’s, which was the same place we had breakfast, but a different location. I was happy with their vegetarian breakfast options, so it was decided. The food was great, but it was so dark that I had to hunch over my tiny little bar table and squint to see what I was scribbling in my journal. This trip had not been great for my posture.

After dinner, I walked back down Broadway. Ryan had told me that Seattle had lots of cute little neighborhoods, but you would cross the street from one and find yourself in a really seedy area. That was exactly the case when I crossed Olive Street. All of a sudden, there were street people everywhere. I saw a guy in a wheelchair and a guy covered with huge, open lesions rolling a joint. I dashed into a dirty convenience store to buy… um, never mind. I went to my car and drove back to my swanky hotel, where I carefully reconstructed my pillow nest before collapsing into it.

– – – – –

random notes from my travel journal:

how long can you go without a gas cap?? i have no idea.

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I left the hotel about 8am and headed north, coffee in hand. The drive was uneventful and slow, due to the high concentration of Washington state troopers out celebrating the holiday in the best way they knew how: penalizing drivers. I pulled off at the last exit before Canada to get gas, then went into the store to ask for the bathroom key. The guy behind the counter stared at me in confusion for a long time, then turned to ask the woman who had just walked in. I wondered what he was doing at the register, since he obviously didn’t work there. The woman pointed at the key hanging on a post. I grabbed it and ran behind the building. It didn’t work in the lock, and when I looked at it, I realized it was for the men’s room.

Just then, a busload of Japanese tourists was unloading in the parking lot, and lines were forming at by the bathrooms. I went over and opened the door to the men’s room, and turned to smile at the group of men, who were exclaiming in dismay. On the way out, I handed the key to the first guy in line, who was clearly upset.

I tried to get back on the highway, but there was no northbound entrance. I had to drive south for five miles, then turn around. Note to self: don’t leave the interstate if you have time goals in mind. I got to the border around 10:30am, and waited in line. There’s a big park there, where people get out of their cars and wander around, celebrating international peace and understanding, or something.

It took about 20 minutes to get across the border. The woman in the booth asked rapidfire questions: Where was I from? (I answered, ‘Minnesota’, which struck me as strange, since I always say ‘Minneapolis’.) Was I meeting anyone in Canada? Why was I visiting? What did I do ‘there in Minnesota’? Did I have any guns or weapons, eh? I stopped at the visitor center just inside the border and got brochures and huge postcards of the Canadian flag. At the information desk, I talked to the Friendliest Woman Alive^TM, and tried not to giggle at her accent. I headed off towards Vancouver, which was 30 miles from the border. Since I am very easily amused, I was excited to be driving 100km/h. You may not know it, but the metric system is funny. Almost, but not quite, as funny as Canadians.

I make the mistake of following the signs pointing to downtown Vancouver and end up in local traffic for an hour. Vancouver has a huge Asian population, and the downtown looks more Japanese than western. There’s every kind of Asian food imaginable. I was hungry and in need of non-Starbucks coffee (the bluehouse guys had informed me that Vancouver had the best coffee in the universe). I finally found parking and wandered into Gastown. It’s the old part of the city, all cobblestones and restored storefronts. Too touristy, though; most of the shops are selling everything you could ever want, as long as what you want is emblazoned with a maple leaf.

I stopped at the Luna Cafe for a veggie sandwich and coffee. I peered at my friendly Canadian map, and decided to go see Chinatown. Within about five blocks, I crossed from cute, touristy area to crappy, dirty area with used condoms in the gutter, to Chinatown. It was not as exciting as I had expected, for a city with such a large Asian population; I was hoping for something on the order of New York. I decided to stop and see the the Dr. Sun Yat-Sen Classical Chinese Garden, which came highly recommended by my friendly Canada brochure.

The gardens were beautiful, and it was the perfect day outside. The gift shop was even more perfect, and I bought a ton of souvenirs. I walked from Chinatown over to Harbour Center to go up to the lookout. It’s just like the Space Needle, only indoors, and Canadian.

I went up and peered at Vancouver from above. It’s a big city. It’s proud to be hosting the Olympics. There were cruise ships in the harbor, probably destined for Alaska. There was a floating Chevron station. I was pretty sure I was the only person in the lookout tower who spoke English, which was kind of cool. Apart from the super-nice girls at the coffee bar. I was starting to sense a trend: everyone there was incredibly nice. Like, too nice. But when you passed them on the street, they didn’t even make eye contact. Coming from what I figured was the least-outgoing place on earth, this was a surprise. People more reticent than Minnesotans? It was hard to believe.

I walked up Granville Street to Robson, and wandered around the swanky shopping area. There were great little boutiques, and good fashion. There’s a huge nouveau-punk scene in Vancouver. Also, people were dressed up to shop, which was a big surprise after the ultracasualness of Seattle (where they still take ‘grunge’ literally). There were a few places on my trip where I felt completely, glaringly out-of-place, and Vancouver was one of them. I cringed when I saw a group of American tourists walking around with flag tshirts on. I walked back to my car and drove over to Stanley Park, which was across the harbor from downtown. I took pictures and giggled at the lawn bowling club. Then I drove across the bridge into Kitsitano Beach, aka ‘Kits’, the trendy shopping/dining area. I was following my friendly Canadian restaurant guide to a vegetarian place called The Naam. I got the special, pea and paneer curry with mango chutney, and a protein shake. At that moment, I was pretty damn happy with Canada.

Back in the car post-dinner, I finally acknowledged that my brakes were completely shot, and in need of replacing. Not only was my car a safety hazard, it had become an embarrassment, squealing loudly every time I slowed down. I resolved to call the Saab dealership in Bellevue the next morning, and get the brakes done before I headed to Portland, even though I was worried that they’d tell me the entire car was about to fall apart, and needed 100% replacement. But I knew it had to be done. By 7pm, I was waiting in line to get back into America. The line was longer to return, and moved slower. My car was a perpetual noise machine, even though I tried really, really hard to ignore it.

I saw several people walking across the border. At first, I thought they were just going to pre-check their stuff through customs, but then I realized they were actually walking across. To where? There’s nothing on the other side. Just a whole lot of empty Washington. Very strange.

There was a guy walking up and down the line of cars with an ice cream cart. I was bored to death waiting, so I sat and messaged Heather, which was probably costing a ton. I propped my journal up on the steering wheel and wrote, slowly squealing my way towards the US. Finally, I got to the crossing. The guard asked me a few questions and peered at my license. He ended with, “Got any meat? Transporting mad cow disease or anything?” I replied, “I’m vegetarian!” He let me go. I drove like hell back to Seattle, getting back to my hotel just as I started to see fireworks on the horizon. I decided to skip the party at the bluehouse, since I was exhausted. I went up to my room, opened the curtains, and sat with my feet up on the windowsill, calling the parents while watching fireworks. They were going off in a hundred different locations along the mountains in the horizon. After I got off the phone, I started hearing huge explosions nearby, and seeing flashing from behind the building. I pulled on my jeans, grabbed my key, and went out into the hall, barefoot and braless (if I were to publish this as a book, I’d call it ‘Braless in Seattle’). At the end of the hall, there was a Japanese tourist couple and another guy who gave me his spot so he could go upstairs to watch. They were shooting fireworks from the roof of the mall across the street. It was incredible; I’d never seen fireworks up that close, or the actual process of firing them. The show went on for a long time, rattling windows and setting off car alarms. After a while, the couple went back to their room and I was left alone. I sat and pressed my back against the glass so I could feel the explosions. I could still see a bunch of other displays off in the distance, including Lake Washington and Puget Sound. They all seemed to reach their finales at once, so I got to witness this huge fireworks orgy over Seattle. It was kind of amazing.

I went back to my room, packed quickly, looked up the number for Saab, and went to sleep.

– – – – –

random notes from my travel journal:

i’ve seen two celine dion lookalikes so far.

what’s with the blinking green semaphore?? so confused.

hey, canadians seem to be proud of their country, too. weird.

i like how they can slap a maple leaf on anything and make it canadian. sears! only canadian! ha.

did i get sunburnt today? my neck hurts. is it that obvious i’m american? apart from my accent?

ok, server boy is super cute and making much eye contact. he makes up for the other shy canadians. i’m going to leave him the rest of my canadian cash and head back to my country, which is busy celebrating itself today.

on the street downtown today, i heard someone behind me yelling my name. i almost turned and looked, then realized that no one could possibly know me here. it was such a strange sensation, knowing that i was 2000 miles from home, and absolutely anonymous. it made me sad to be so alone in a city in another country, for god’s sake.

heather just messaged that barry white died. holy shit, i’m never leaving america again if this is what happens. wait, shouldn’t those flags be at half-mast?

i almost freaked leaving vancouver when i saw a sign reading ‘seattle: 222’. then i realized that was km. ha. i’m bad with converting the metric. i bought a tshirt for $22 canadian. what’s that, like $15? when i bought postcards at the visitor center, i gave her $10 us and got $10+ canadian in change.

seattle radio, which comes in in vancouver as well: nirvana (1), alice in chains (2). stuck in the 90s.

man, it’s cool that there’s a turnaround in case you change your mind and decide to return to canada. i’m not. i’ve had enough ‘aboot’ for one day.

– – – – –

I woke up at 7am to the sound of Creed. I heard three Creed songs in a row on the radio, or at least it seemed like it, and that was enough to scare me out of bed. I got dressed and tried to call Saab at 8am, but their message told me they opened at 9. The website had lied to me, and I wasn’t happy about it. Impatient, I decided to wait until San Francisco to take the car in. I rushed to check out and get on the road. The route to the 405 was under construction, and there were weird detours all over the place. The traffic lights weren’t working, and I realized that much of the power was out in the area because of the fireworks the night before. I finally found the entrance ramp, which was all torn up from the road work. I turned, heard a loud bang, and felt the front tire go flat.

At that point, I paused to consider my options. Ritual suicide was topping the list. If I had been driving in the mountains right then, I would have simply driven off a ledge, ending both my and the car’s misery. But such was not the case; I was in Bellevue, Washington, and I wasn’t even in a position to be able to drive home. So I went into disaster mode, employing one of the tactics at which I excel: not thinking. Just doing.

I pulled into the parking lot of a hotel across the street, popped the trunk, and unloaded everything into the back seat. I had to jump on the tire iron to get the bolts to loosen, and it took forever to jack the car up. Then I couldn’t get the wheel off the hub. We had had this problem before, and two girls and two state troopers were unable to budge it; it finally took a mechanic. I was pissed. I yanked and tugged and pushed and swore. I sat down on the ground and yanked some more, but it wouldn’t move. I was covered in dirt and grease. I got out my cellphone to call AAA, knowing I’d be waiting at least half an hour for the tow truck, and angry at myself for not being self-sufficient. I dialed the number, then hung up right away. I sat back down, leaned back on my hands, and kicked the hell out of the tire, over and over, with my heels. It was great stress relief, and finally, I felt it budge. I kicked some more until it was wobbling, and then I pulled it off and put on the spare.

I drove around to the front of the hotel and went into the lobby, sweaty and covered in dirt. I asked to borrow their phonebook, and looked up the address of Barrier Saab. I handed the girl back the phonebook, covered in dirty fingerprints, and ran out. It took me 15 minutes to find the place. When I got there, a salesguy came out and told me that it was now a Porsche dealership, and gave me directions to Saab. By the time I got there, the service department had just opened. I pulled in and told the guy that it was possibly the worst day of my life, and then ran down the whole drama for him. He struck me as kind of car-salesman-slimy, so I was immediately nervous. He looked at my tire and brakes and said, “Well, you’ve got some money to spend here.” I was freaked. I had to wait while he helped some other people who were there first. I was getting more and more upset by the minute. I went to the bathroom and scrubbed the grime off my hands, then stood around. I stared at my car and started crying. I was convinced it was going to cost a ton of money to fix, and I was going to have to turn right around and drive home.

He looked at the car again and said he’d try to find some used tires for me, so it wouldn’t be quite as expensive. He had the car brought into the garage so they could let me know what the brakes would cost. I called Heather and sobbed while the Audi salesmen stood nearby, politely pretending not to notice. The really nice girl at the front desk got me coffee. After ten minutes or so, the guy came and got me to show me the car. First, he pointed out a set of almost-new tires they had taken off another car and were unable to resell, so they were giving them to me for free. He and the technician both seemed really happy about their find. He said that the front pads and rotors were shot, which I had assumed. The total cost would be $560. He apologized that it probably wouldn’t be ready until noon. I was so happy, I wanted to hug them both.

He pointed me in the direction of breakfast, and I headed off. I walked all over looking for a place to eat. It was all fast food, IHOP, and Denny’s. I stopped at Starbucks, got coffee, and asked about food. I finally settled on Coco’s Bakery – total Baker’s Square action, but I could sit for a while and write, and hopefully find something vegetarian. Wrong! OK, the only thing I could eat on the breakfast-only menu was the oatmeal. I ordered it without brown sugar, cinnamon apples (they had sugar on them), or milk, which left me with raisins. I added a couple packets of Equal, and it was exactly the kind of comfort food I was craving, anyway. I sat there and watched the dynamics of the staff. All the servers disliked the manager in an extreme way. In fact, I overheard one of them whispering to another, God, I hate him! He walked by my table and was angry that there were two glasses of water sitting there, when there was only one of me. I was happy that my life was not so petty.

I still had time to kill, so I went over to Starbucks, got coffee, and had a long talk with the barista about car repair and road trips. I sat outside and called Heidi to tell her I’d be getting into Portland later than I expected. We made plans to meet for dinner. Then I decided to head back to Saab. On the way there, I walked past two people with sandwich boards advertising a mattress place. The woman (Marilyn) smiled as I walked past and said, “Pretty hair!” The guy said hi and asked me how I was. I was instantly happy. Sometimes, people surprise me.

As I got back, they were just finishing up with my car. They had checked all the fluids and hoses for me, too, since I had mentioned my power steering issue. Everything checked out fine. I paid, thanked him about ten times for the tires, and I was once again on my way.

The traffic leaving Seattle sucked. It was 150 miles to Portland, which took just under 3 hours. I drove into downtown with no idea about where I was going. At a stoplight, a car pulled up next to me and the girl in the passenger seat yelled, “Did you win your car on the Price is Right?” I parked and called Heidi to find out where we were meeting. She told me to find the Starbucks at Pioneer Courthouse Square, otherwise known as ‘Portland’s living room’. I had driven by it, so I found it easily, and sat down on the steps to write and look at the map. The farther I was getting into my trip, the less I had planned. Before I left, I had researched North Dakota and Montana, but that was about it. I figured I’d have time to read the travel guides as I went. That was proving incorrect, as I barely even had time to think. By the time I was getting back to my hotels at night, it was all I could do to stay awake long enough to shower.

The weather was perfect in Portland, sunny and cool. I sat there and watched the people in the square. The presence of hackeysack players was the biggest indicator that I was in the Pacific Northwest. I considered walking down to the riverfront while I waited, but forced myself to be patient for once, and just sit.

At 3:45, I wandered over to Starbucks, got coffee, and sat out in front to wait for Heidi and her husband, Dan. We were going to meet and wander around Portland, then get dinner. They arrived shortly thereafter, and we set off towards the open-air market. Feeling slightly out-of-touch with people who knew me, I’m pretty sure I was jabbering constantly. At the market, I saw more tie-dye than I’d ever seen in my life, lots of cool crafts, state-fair-esque food, and some really awesome tattoos and piercings. After that, we walked up to Powell’s. It’s no joke, it’s the IKEA of used books. It looks so small and unassuming on the outside, but inside you can’t get around without a map. Incredible. It was funny, we hadn’t been together that long, but I felt like we had already talked a ton. Heidi and Dan are such a great couple: they have all the inside jokes and goofiness just like me and Heather, so I was instantly comfortable. We walked to their car and drove to a nice little Mexican place for dinner. I was so hungry, I ate a bunch of chips, then ordered a black bean tamale and ate it all. I drank a ton of pop and had to go pee twice. The second time I went to the bathroom, I had one of those moments of total disorientation: what day is it? where the hell am i? I could’ve walked out of the restroom and not been surprised to find myself anywhere.

We drove back into town, past the jazz festival on the waterfront. They dropped me off at my car, and I thanked them for dinner and a great time. It was so nice to hang out with people I knew, even if technically I hadn’t met them before.

I got on I-5 and headed south, having decided to go as far as I could that night, hopefully all the way to California. I called Ryan. I called Heather and gabbed for an hour. I called my parents. I was out of it and overfull from dinner, already tired from driving. I considered driving over to the coast to see the sunset, but it was 9pm by the time I got to Eugene, and it would have been another 60 miles to the coast from there. I still hadn’t seen the Pacific Ocean, but I decided to wait until I got to California. I drove around Eugene, looking for coffee and/or food to keep me awake. I found a Starbucks, but it had closed at 9pm. What the hell? Eugene was an odd little town in general. Everyone was on bikes. I couldn’t find the downtown. I drove around for a long time, then gave up and stopped at a crappy little grocery. No protein bars, no Red Bull. I got two bottles of pop, a banana, and a bag of pretzels: $4.14. Awesome.

Worn out, I got back on the interstate. There were no lights and my contacts were dry, so I was having trouble seeing. I decided I needed to stop and find a shower and bed. At midnight, I exited at Roseburg, Oregon, and pulled into the Econolodge, because their billboard said $39 a night. The two guys behind the counter were punchy and giggling.

Me: Do you have a single room? For $39?
Oregon Boy #1: Sure. Just fill out this form.
Oregon Boy #2: Dude. You’re not supposed to just give out that rate.
Oregon Boy #1: Dude! It’s midnight! She’s tired!
Me: This form is confusing me.

I put my head down on the counter, unable to figure out the difference between ‘driver’s license’ and ‘car license’. Oregon Boy #2 continued their previous conversation as Oregon Boy #1 ran my credit card. #2 made some joke about redheads.

Me: Hey!
Oregon Boy #1: Dude! She’s a redhead. But she’s OK, it’s obviously dyed.
Me: You’re not supposed to point that out.

He gave me the key and I was halfway through the lobby before I stopped, confused. I turned and asked, “Don’t you want me to pay or anything?” Oregon Boy #1 waved the credit card receipt at me and said, “You are tired. Go to bed!”

I ran up to my room, took the fastest shower ever, ripped the beds apart and made my pillow nest, stared at the road atlas long enough to decide I was taking the 101 down the California coast, and fell into bed.

– – – – –

random notes from my travel journal:

portland cop to a kid in the square: “no, i haven’t reloaded since last parade day.”

i can’t wait to get the hell out of oregon. eugene freaked my shit out.

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