Packed up and ditched Motel la Rutt and went in search of breakfast.
The night before, when I checked in, the manager of the motel told me The Shilo Resort had a good breakfast. The whole thing was kind of weird actually. I had asked him of a good, reasonably priced restaurant. He kept pointing at the skylight and saying 'The Shilo is good'. He was Japanese and his English was a bit choppy but I could understand him easily enough. What I couldn't understand was why he kept pointing at the ceiling and talking about a restaurant that was clearly not up there. After the long drive that day, this added to my confusion.
Check in night the Shilo had closed ten minutes before I got to it (forcing me to settle for the aforementioned Colonel Tsao) so I was eager to try it for breakfast. Hopped in the car and headed around the corner. As I was pulling out of the parking lot I saw that, above the Motel la Rutt there was a sign, larger and more noticeable that their own, for the Shilo Resort with an arrow pointing towards the water. Then I pieced together that the manager said something about 'we advertise for them' and it was not actually the skylight he was pointing at, but what shone above it: the Shilo Resort sign.
This discovery allowed me to eat my bacon and eggs with a settled mind.
Breakfast had a great view looking out on the ocean and people flying kites next to it.
On my way out of town and with the reminder that part of the trip's purpose is to lallygag, I saw another thrift store. The Eager Beaver. The name alone drew me in.
The gentleman behind the counter allowed me to take his photo despite his claim of being 'on the lamb' and in the witness protection program. He goes by the alias 'Stephen'. I told him that it might be wise to stop telling people about being in the witness protection program. He somewhat dubiously agreed.
Then it was on to Florence where I was scheduled the day before to meet up with redbubbler Sam Dantone. Due to lallygaggin I had to move the meeting from day two to day three and told him I'd call him him when I arrived in town.
***We interrupt this blog entry to bring you A Tale of Murphy's Law. When traveling through small towns you sometimes see restaurants that you think about stopping at, decide to see what else there is in town and before you know it the town is finished and you've missed your opportunity to eat. The knowledge that there is another town down the road encourages you to not pull a u-turn as there will likely be food there. Sometimes, after this happens several times in a row, desperation kicks in and you end up eating at Dairy Queen. Then when you contact a friend in a still further town, that friend says he'll meet you at a restaurant that turns out to be the healthiest restaurant you've seen since beginning your roadtrip. Cous Cous, quinoa, organic this-and-that, soups, fresh local produce served by people who look happy and healthy. And your belly is still full of THE FLAMETHROWER (tm). In these situations the only way you can even mildly spite Murphy is to order the biggest carrot/ginger/apple juice you can.
We interrupt this interruption to bring you a tale of Roller-Girl Condescension. At the above mentioned Dairy Queen, as I munched away on my THE FLAMETHROWER (tm) some truly cool cats walked in. They had on black satin jackets and tattoos and were way too cool for school. It was as though a reform school production of Grease just walked in. I read the back of one of the jackets and it indicated to me that these ladies (& their gentleman chaperon) might be a Roller Derby Team. I asked them, 'Hey, are you guys a roller derby team?' They said they were and I told them that I had something to show them. I went out to the car and pulled out the print of 'derby girls' and held it up to the window for them to see. They read it and seemed to mildly enjoy it. I put it back and went in to order a desert and maybe strike up a conversation with them. I'm doing my best to be social and encouraging all sorts of people to check out the blog and my website and just generally be a friendly guy. I didn't want anything from them & I honestly don't care if someone doesn't like my art as it's all just relative anyway, I was just amused by the idea that I could pull something so relevant out of the back seat of my car on such short notice. They didn't seem as impressed by the coincidence. I think one of them may have liked it, but she might have felt like the rocker who's got a dirty little Abba secret. I tried to instigate conversation and quickly began to feel like the kid in school who goes around asking people 'do you want to be my friend?'. I just genuinely thought it was a neat bit of coincidence. One of them asked how much I was charging for it. I told them 'three-fifty' the response of 'oh, three dollars and fifty cents? yeah, I'll take it for that.' as she brushed by me to get a really cool straw for her drink. That was when I decided to just order my dipped cone and leave these kids to the cool plane of existence they seemed to think they were on. 'We're the Hobbs Bay roller girls man! You can't even talk to us!'
And now... back to the blog!
So, after all that was when I met Sam at Nature's Corner Cafe. It was a much nicer meeting. Sam is an incredibly talented painter who I connected with on redbubble. His work has a harsh edge to it which I really like and is in real contrast to him as a person. From his work I was expecting a more jaded angry person and discovered a very generous, soft-spoken guy. It's like, expecting Johnny Rotten and getting Angella Landsbury. (Sorry Sam... you're nothing like Angella Landsbury... I just got a real kick out of the allusion.) He showed me his sign shop (Treehouse Signs and Decorative Arts), his showroom (the entire town displays his signs so he calls the town his showroom.) and... and gave me a hand drawn ink piece. This was the coup de grace for his kindness. Really awesome guy. Here is a picture of him in his shop standing next to some of his awesome (yet sideways) art:
Then it started pouring rain again so I took that as my cue that I should start driving again.
Wait a minute... everything is all mixed up. Dairy Queen and the Roller Girls happened AFTER I met with Sam! I was too full from breakfast at The Shilo in Newport to eat healthy... then Sam... then Dairy Queen,Murphy's Law and Roller Girls...
Well... the story sound better the first way and I'm too far along to go and edit it all now so... y'all know I've been on the road for days, right? Cut a guy some slack would ya? Besides, embellishment is the cornerstone to good story telling and I could have just not told you at all! So... should I edit it? Nah, I stand by my laziness. It stays as is. What, like Shakespeare never fibbed! C'MON!
The drive, when the rain breaks, is spectacular. Here's the Troutmobile showin us some fine lallygaggin form somewhere in Southern Oregon:
8:30-ish PM we arrive at the California border. There is a checkpoint there for produce and foodstuffs. There was an old-ish guy guarding it.
'All the way from downtown British Columbia, huh?'
'Yes sir, all the way from Downtown Victoria British Columbia!'
'Well well! You've come a long way. You have any fruits or vegetables in the car with you?'
'I have a chocolate bar.'
'Well then you can be on your way. You have a pleasant life, alright?'
'I will. And you too.'
'Thank you I will.'
All boarders should be that pleasant. It made me smile a wide one on California. Arrived in Arcata at 10pm. Met my billeter Bryan Osper, blogged a little blog and passed the hell out in my sleeping bag on his couch.
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