I am sure you are all familiar with the ever expanding nature of the universe. My own road trip, which began one, then two days ahead of the accounts being posted here, have skyrocketed to an unacceptable five light days. You are still reading about misadventures in Spokane, Seattle’s eerie cousin from eastern Washington. To do all the stories, cities and characters justice, I’ve been forced to move at a slower pace. Well, this post hopes to clarify the present a bit. Many bubbles will be filled in later, including the Spokane taxi driving triumvirate, the impromptu Vancouver roof party and the beer gardens of Portland.
At this moment, I am in the lounge car of an Amtrak train southbound for San Francisco. Two women are sitting across from me at the table, loudly working on a crossword puzzle together. And there is no wi-fi, of course. This post is brought to you by the Droid 2, Verizon and the tedious work of my index fingers.
Spokane lived up to its billing as an awfully weird place, but it was fun enough for a night. After an epic breakfast at the only downtown restaurant open on Sunday morning, we took a five hour bus to Seattle, crashing at La Casa Rafter.
He’s been grinding away at that dreaded first year of law school, but he pointed us to some classic bars and venues. Nate and I did the best we could, but we were running on fumes. Nate departed the Great American Road Trip Monday afternoon, having endured my punishing schedule and the unforseen fiascoes with class and vigor. I rode up to Vancouver for a night on the town with couchsurfer Sarah Berman and her crew. I was only in Vancouver 20 hours, but I liked it plenty. Then it was back to Seattle for a much needed night of rest.
Wednesday morning I took an easy bus to Portland, which I absolutely adored, though there were some major couchsurfing complications. In search of one neighborhood during the afternoon I lugged my heavy bag up a giant hill on my back, and today my shoulders burn with soreness. This morning’s exploration of downtown Portland was a little disappointing, and at 2:30 I was ready to ride. My seatmate reminds me a lot of Yoda, which is ok. San Fran, here we come.