Road Trip Blogging: Portland to Seattle (175 miles)

So, I apologize in advance to all the people who come here to read my cuss-filled rants on politics.  For the next two weeks or so, I’m going to be doing most of my swearing at my car, at bad drivers, and at biker bars.  I won’t have time to read the news, I won’t have consistent internet access.  I won’t have any of the shit that makes modern life so splendid and simple.

I’ll be in flyover country.

For the moment, I’m in Seattle.  I arrived today, slightly after noon.  The whole drive here I worried about my axle, and thought my bicycles were going to fall off the bike rack.  I fretted about the condition of my clutch, the condition of my tires, the hub nut that I forgot to get properly torqued, the vise grips that I forgot to buy, and so on.

It was great.

And then when I arrived at the place I’m staying, I realized that there isn’t a driveway, that my car has all of my earthly possessions stashed in it, and that I would probably get robbed by some hooligans in the middle of the night.  The hooligans would, of course, steal my underwear, my sleeping bag, and my tent, to hock them for meth.  I would have to freeball across the Rockies, which would probably chafe.  I’d have to sleep on a towel in South Dakota.  It would all turn into a giant clusterfuck on the first damn day.

It’s midnight now, and though it hasn’t been a disaster yet, it might very well be.

Dinner menu:  steamed mussels in white wine, garlic, and shallots.  Corn on the cob.  Fresh bread to sop up the mussel sauce, green salad, pinot noir.

See you when I see you.




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