Hi Gram!
We had a great time in Portland, and discovered even more reasons to come back and explore more of the town next time. Monday morning, we slept in a little, then went down to the lobby for breakfast at the Econo Lodge. Some hotels have quite the spread for breakfast while others will provide the bare minimum so they can advertise “breakfast included” in their listings. This was one of the latter, with muffins cut in quarters and a coffee pot. Zibby was able to fill her travel mug and we went back to the room for leftovers we had in the mini fridge. We spent the morning cleaning up and getting some work done, then decided to head downtown for a little people watching. I didn’t think about it being President’s Day, and what that would mean for the crowds, but we were able to find parking relatively easily. As a bonus, parking was free since it was a national holiday. We headed first toward Voodoo Doughnuts, a famous doughnut shop that serves doughnuts with names like “old dirty bastard”, with oreos and peanut butter or “Grape Ape”, with vanilla frosting and grape kool-aid sprinkled on top. As we approached, the line was out the door and up the block – there’s always a line there, and it’s not because customers have much time to order – so we decided that we didn’t need the sugar rush, and kept going. Still hungry, though, we stopped at one of the food truck parks that are sprinkled around Portland. After a few minutes checking them all out, we decided on an Egyptian Halal truck that promised he had the best chicken in town or our money back. We placed our order, then sat to the side and watched the people go by.
Portland takes pride as a place the unusual people from the fringe of society can feel welcome. Their motto is “Keep Portland Weird”, and it’s always fun to see the wide variety of citizens strutting by. We struck up a conversation with an older couple at the table next to ours as we all waited to be called. They could have been our neighbors back home, very down to earth and salt of the earth. A man strolled by in high heeled boots, an ankle length fur coat, and purple hair, followed by a beefy hercules in leather who, from the looks of him, spent half of every waking day at the gym. He was walking a tiny, proper manicured dog wearing a pink sweater. Many more people, with different colors of hair, makeup, and clothes passed by on their way to or from work or their daily errands, care free and just happy to be living life. After we finished our dinner and said goodbye to the folks at the next table, we headed up town, past art installations and more food trucks. A short walk later, we were at Powell’s City of Books.
This store started small, I presume, many years ago and slowly took over the whole block. It’s the biggest bookstore I’ve ever been in, and maybe the largest in the world. Because it used to be many offices and businesses spread throughout buildings of different sizes and shapes, it’s easy to get lost in the labyrinth of new and used books. Each room is given a color code, and each color corresponds to a different genre. Some rooms have half-levels a few steps up, and every room has at least one staircase leading into or out of it, sometimes a few steps up or down through a doorway and sometimes a whole flight of stairs or elevator whisking the customer to another floor. Used and new books are shelved together, floor to ceiling, aisle after aisle, in each room, and it’s easy to lose hours just browsing and wandering from one room to the next. We agreed to split up so we could cover the most ground with our limited time, and each set an alarm to meet up in an hour. She went and explored the fiber arts section while I browsed the business and real estate books. An hour passed in what seemed like minutes, and we found each other again in the cashier line, regaling stories of how many awesome finds we had each scored. We found a few stickers and magnets as the line moved along, then checked out and headed back to the car.
Satisfied with our day of exploration and exercise, we headed back near the hotel to meet our friends Mike and Kim at their house. Kim and I met when we both started skydiving nearly twenty years ago, and have kept in touch over the years. She met Mike in California where they both worked in skydiving for a few years, moved around a bit for work and school, then settled into Portland. We all walked around the neighborhood to get their dog Luna some exercise while we caught up a little from the past year since I’d last seen them, then the four of us strolled up to Tabor Tavern, a gastropub in their neighborhood that serves eclectic food and microbrews. Kim and Mike got salmon while Zibby and I each got the Tabor Burger, a beet burger with bacon jam, arugula, and bleu cheese on a brioche bun. I had the same thing when I was here last year, and it was just as mouth watering and amazing this time around. Our waitress was happy and helpful, the cider started sweet and ended tart, and the company we kept was icing on the cake. After dinner, we walked off a little of our meal returning to their house, where we all sat around laughing about the goofy things we’ve done and how skydiving has affected our lives. The yawns began growing closer as the night waned, so we excused ourselves knowing that they had to get up and head to work the next morning, and we had more exploring to do.
We were both up early the next morning, when Zibby got some work done and I read some more of my book,. Around lunchtime, we loaded up the car and headed to Multnomah Falls, a 611 foot waterfall about twenty minutes east of town. A short walk from the parking lot in the median of I-84 (where we walked through a tunnel under the highway), we stood at the lodge in awe. The falls loomed above us, partially hidden from view by the trees and rock carved over centuries by the powerful waters. A light mist in the air, even from this distance, spoke the power and magnitude of the falling waters.
A larger crowd than we had anticipated was milling about, but it never felt crowded or overrun. Every one of us was having very similar conversations, I’m sure, as we pointed and stared at the wonder before us. The cobblestone and pavement led us up some stairs and winding ramps to get closer to the base, where we could see people standing on a bridge a hundred feet above.
After a few photos, we followed the path further until we were the ones standing on that bridge, the mist heavier now that the path had brought us closer to the waterfall. As much as I hate getting wet, I hustled through there quickly and wound up the path on the other side, wondering if this path might lead us to the very top. After another switchback, the signs indicated that we could reach the observation deck at the top of the falls in only another mile! Excited and energized, I continued up the path with Zibby in my wake, stopping every now and then to wait for her to catch up. With her longer legs, she’s usually the one that has to wait for me, but while her legs of a gazelle perform magnificently on the flat paths and roads of the midwest, my little goat legs were better suited for the incline and uneven footing of the paved mountain path worn away by weather, fires, and age. In 2017, a fire tore through the land surrounding us, which decimated the forest and man-made paths. As we climbed, stout old growth trees with singed trunks would give way to saplings and brush pushing their way past charred logs and stumps, then back again as if the fire was strong enough in some areas, but couldn’t overpower nature just a hundred feet away.
At the half mile marker, we found a level clearing with some benches to take a rest. Zibby was cold and out of breath so she decided to turn back toward the lodge while I foolishly plodded ahead. I was determined to see the top, so I pushed on while she headed for warmth. The pavement wore away further as I climbed, buckling, cracking, and missing altogether to show the beating it has taken. I counted the switchback markers when I saw them, hoping the next one I saw would say 11/11, but sadly they were not evenly spaced. When I passed 9/11, I asked the people walking the other way if I was almost at the top. They assured me that it wasn’t too much longer before I’d be headed back down. I didn’t realize that they meant the path peaks, then descends before winding its way to the observation deck, but I finally made it to a short set of stairs that led down to the observation deck. The half dozen or so people all took turns taking pictures and staying out of each other’s way. A couple and I took turns trading phones and getting pictures of each other as the rest of the crowd dissipated.
Finally, I was the last one there and started my journey back down (by first going back up). Let me tell ya, the way down? A LOT easier! I chuckled to myself as I saw people on their way up, eyeing me with a look that said “we’re almost there, right?” The further I got to the bottom, the more energetic and excited they were. I remember thinking to myself, “ah, I was young and excited once, clamoring up the hill, but that was almost a whole hour ago. You’ll learn, young one… you’ll learn.” I crossed the bridge as quickly as I could so as to remain dry, wove my way down the path, and followed Zibby’s directions to the fireplace she had plopped herself in front of to regale her with stories and pictures from my adventure.
After a stop in the gift shop, we headed to the car for a light snack and move along to the next part of our adventure. Traffic was relatively light heading back into town, and our conversation about how much fun we’d just had helped pass the time quickly. We headed to Radio Room, a restaurant and lounge located in the Alberta Arts district for some dinner and people watching. The mac and cheese didn’t disappoint, nor did the art on the walls and retro look and feel of the place. We even got a little piece of art to take home from a repurposed old cigarette vending machine.
After dinner, we went for a stroll down Alberta, peeking into some of the closed shops and checking out some food trucks. We even stopped into a couple retailers, including a yarn store for Zibby to geek out a little. We talked about what it would be like to live around there, and decided it was too busy and expensive for our tastes. When the shops started thinning and houses started appearing, we turned around and worked our way back to the car. Tired from our day, we headed back to the hotel to put up our legs and have a little dessert. In the morning, we packed up the car and headed to Seattle to visit Tom and his family. I’ll have stories about that next time.