Tag: eating on the road

Solo Getaway in Oregon and Washington–Don’t Forget the Chargers!

The view from Mt. Angel Seminary in Oregon. Evergreen and deciduous trees in the foreground, red barn and other buildings in the center, open fields and farms to the cloudy horizon.

Sometimes a girl just has to get in her car and drive away. Let the winds carry her where they will. Follow her whims. Be free. Stuff a backpack, grab the keys and go.

Who am I kidding? I make myself crazy planning for months before I go anywhere. I clean the house lest the dog sitter think I’m a slob. I make reservations and fill folders with confirmation email printouts, schedules, and directions. I pack work I’m going to do, work I might do, books to read with backup books in case I hate the first ones, orange juice, granola bars, fruit, tea bags and extra tea bags, extra socks, extra underwear, two bathing suits, three pairs of shoes, copies of my books and my business cards, cold cream, face cream, hand cream, sunscreen, my guitar, sheet music and more sheet music in case I find a piano . . . If I’d had a passenger, he/she would have had to ride on the roof of my Honda.

My five-day journey concluded in Centralia, Washington, where I taught at the Southwest Washington Writers Conference. Centralia is a small town about 80 miles north of the Oregon border. Nice place. Nice college. Nice people. I taught workshops on creative nonfiction and book revision, met some great writers, won a raffle prize, and sold my books. It was a fun time that reminded me how much I love to teach. Or maybe it’s just that finally someone has to listen to me.

Photo shows cases of sausages, some straight, some round, some dark, some light, so many sausages, at a store in Mt. Angel, Oregon.

Before Centralia, I took a mini-vacation in Silverton, home of the Oregon Garden and Silver Falls and neighbor to Mt. Angel, a Bavarian-themed town down the hill from the Mt. Angel Abbey and seminary. I wrote poetry, played my guitar, swam, walked, shopped, explored, and ATE so much great food I couldn’t zip the jeans I had planned to wear for my drive home. But pulled pork tacos, chicken salad croissants, key lime pie, eggs Benedict, German pastries from Mt. Angel . . . It would be a sin not to enjoy the food.

I stayed at the Oregon Garden Resort, up the hill past the gardens. Guests stay stay in separate cottages with about six rooms, each with fireplaces and private patios. All are within walking distance of the restaurant, pool, spa, lounge and garden. Such views. Such flowers. Have you ever seen a smoke bush like the one in the picture? I never had. A friendly stranger who knows her plants told me all about it. Overall, the resort was fancy but affordable and it had a real “camp” feeling.

Photo shows odd-looking bush with orangish fluff surrounding green leaves. It's called a smoke bush.

The other two nights, I slept at the Holiday Inn in Chehalis, another smallish town north of Centralia. It was . . .  a Holiday Inn. Elevators, long hallways, soaps and shampoos in canisters attached to the wall. Kudos for their perfect indoor pool, though, and for the nearby Jeremy’s Farm to Table gluten-free restaurant and store. Fascinating décor, friendly staff, and amazing food with a healthy spin. I ate there two nights in a row and would do it every night if I lived nearby. Sure, I’d weigh 500 pounds. But life is short. Eat the pie.

 I spend most of my life shuttling between Waldport and Newport, Oregon, so it was nice to get out of Lincoln County for a while and see new things. Some folks avoid traveling alone, but I kind of like it. You’re free to do whatever you want, including changing your mind at the last second. You’re also free to get lost, to get sleepy behind the wheel, and to wish you had a designated driver, but that just adds to the adventure. In many situations, I was the only person who wasn’t part of a couple or a group, but I’m learning if I just enjoy myself and talk to whoever is around, I’m not really alone.

Some things I noticed along the way:

  • No one seems to mind men wearing baseball caps in restaurants.
  • Why is there always background music playing when nobody seems to need it or want it—except that one waitress in Woodland, Washington who was singing along as she worked? One of the joys of wearing hearing aids is that when I turn them off, the loud music disappears.
  • Why are hotel doors so heavy and the springs so tight? The one at the Holiday Inn gave me some new bruises as I tried to get in with my guitar and my ice chest. Is there some logical reason it’s three times as heavy as any door on my house?
  • I forgot the plug ends for my charger cords. Most places I stay have USB charger plug-ins anyway, but not this Holiday Inn. How would I keep my phone and hearing aids charged? Would I have to move to a different hotel? I threw an embarrassing hissy fit at the front desk and was handed a converter I could use. Lessons: Calm down and ask if they have a solution. Pack a couple of converters in your suitcase or remember to bring the plugs. At least I remembered the chargers.
  • Gas is way more expensive in Washington, and you get to pump it yourself. At my first gas stop back in Oregon, I got out of my car and a friendly woman in a red shirt came running to pump my gas before I had a chance to mess with her machine. Oregon has some self-serve pumps now, but not there.
  • Almost everyone I saw in my trip up the I-5 corridor in Oregon and Washington was white. With baseball caps. Where are all the people of color?
  • There is so much to see everywhere in this country. Take a ride. Check it out. 

Annie is hanging close to me today. She’s afraid I’ll grab my keys and go away again. Not today.

Tell us in the comments about your adventures.

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Beware of Sunday lunch on the road

Eating on the road is a gamble, especially for lunch on Sundays. You stagger in on legs stiff from driving, starving, desperately in need of a restroom and a large dose of caffeine. You’re not feeling very sociable. Suddenly you’re in the middle of a mob. All the locals just getting out of church, and the folks who don’t do church but like to go out for Sunday brunch are there in groups, waiting for tables. They’re loud, blocking the aisles and not in any hurry. You walk back out the door, try another restaurant, and it’s the same mess. You can’t even find a parking space. Where did all these people come from?

You don’t want fast food and you’re getting desperate. You really need to make it to your next destination on time. So you go into the restaurant at a hotel. They’ve got lots of empty tables, except in the banquet room, where 30 people are waiting for their food. What they don’t have is staff. The same woman is the hostess, cashier, bartender and waitress. The TV over the bar plays an infomercial about hair products while you wait for someone to notice you and bring a menu. The choices are pretty much eggs, hamburgers or a club sandwich. You take the club.

After a while, your waitress/cashier/hostess informs you that orders are being delayed because of the big group in the banquet room. “But I don’t have much time,” you inform her. She gives you more tea and calls you honey. She says she’ll put a rush on it. The guy and his wife at the next table, locals, say they’re in no hurry, it’s Sunday.

You’re looking at your watch and thinking if your food doesn’t come in five minutes, you’re going to McDonald’s. Then she passes by, saying it will be three minutes. Okay. Here it comes, sandwich wedges artfully arranged around a pile of French fries. It’s the driest, boringest club sandwich you ever tasted, but you eat it. Quickly because you said you were in a hurry. You eat the fries, fat, doughy with too much salt. You take little sips of tea because the glass is small, there isn’t enough, and the likelihood of getting more is slim. She brings the check, she brings you change. You’re standing up, sipping the last drop of tea, rushing out, your stomach feeling like you just ate concrete. You swear to bring a sack lunch and eat by the river next time.

This was Salem, Oregon, exit 256, but it could be Anywhere, USA. When you’re traveling, beware of restaurants at lunchtime on Sundays. Especially watch out for the Sunday brunch buffets. Maybe all you want is a burger or a bowl of soup, but suddenly you face a line of fancy foods for an exorbitant price and a line of people who are not in a hurry.

Sunday evening however, no problem. Everyone’s tucked back into their houses except this writer on the road. And surprise, the New Morning Bakery in Corvallis is open until 8 p.m.

I love those giant interstate truck stops with those big, cheap, buffets, places for drivers to shower and little stores with everything from motor oil to DVDs. Folks there get the concept of fueling the vehicle and the body and getting back on the road. But your average in-town restaurant on a Sunday? God have mercy.

I’d love to hear about your experiences eating on the road. Please share in the comments.