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Susan says:
We left my grandparent’s house in Boise, along with my wallet, and drove along what is my least favourite highway in all of the U.S. The road is terrible, it’s windy, and the scenery is boring. By the time we crested the mountains into decent scenery, I was too grumpy to camp and we ended up in Pendleton, home of Pendleton Woolen Mills and a mighty fine rodeo. After a relatively uneventful stay we continued on along the extremely impressive Columbia River to Portland and beyond, on our way the coast. About an hour outside of Portland we stopped for the night in an Oregon State park. It was easy and uneventful, except for our nighttime encounter. As we were finishing off a bottle of wine by lamplight, a person of extremely diminutive stature stumbled straight through our campsite with nary a word, disappearing into the darkness. Very David Lynch.
The next day we continued to the coast, stopping at various wineries along the way, and picnicking at one. Ahhh… nice. Once on the coast, we stayed at a campsite near the beach and a town called Newport. It’s still an active fishing port, and home of the most excellent Rogue Brewing Company. Essentially, that means we ate and drank very well - before, during, and after our ocean gazing.
Debbie says:
After spending a night in a cheap motel in a tiny place called Pendleton (where some old geezer attempted to get into our motel room with his room key) we drove towards the coast and ended up in Champoeg campsite (pronounced “Sham-POO-e” – emphasis on the “POO” - which is ironic since we had to pitch our tent pretty close to the campsite toilet.)
Nothing bizarre to report… apart from the real-life midget taking a short cut from the toilet through our campsite while we were having dinner. Some (little) people have no manners and I had freakish “Twin Peaks” style dreams that night.
After stopping for a mini picnic (beer and sandwich) at Horsetails Falls and hitting 4 wine tasting rooms along the way, we arrived at Beverly Beach campsite. Pretty chilly because of the amount of shade from all the trees so it was the perfect time to start making fire. Or rather, attempt to create a rip-roaring fire. I must have got substandard wood because for a good hour, all I was making was smoke. Enough smoke to make our campsite look like it had been hit by a couple of canisters of teargas. Eventually the beaver stepped in, did a funny little “fire-dance” and we had ourselves a fire.
Newport is a little place about 15 minutes from where we were camping. Sampled 8 wines (for $2 – bargain) at the “Flying Dutchman” winery before going to the pub for lunch. Nice day spent appreciating booze, checking out tide pools and walking along the beach.
dx
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