Seeing the Dolls
The Journey of 1,000 Miles. No. Really!
The morning came early, and if it was bright with dew I was too tired and cranky to notice. I left Hometown USA before 7 and the moon was still up in the sky. The moon would be that impossibly small white dot above the tree in the crummy picture I have over there on the left. Because it was only a partial holiday, the roads were clear and I headed towards Sacramento to meet my sister. She was descending from her mighty mountain redoubt and our brilliant plan was to meet at the airport, stash her car in the long-term parking and then head up the Big Highway to Portland. Which we did. On the way out I received a phone call from the Korean Couple (who were heading to Portland on an entirely different quest of their own) and it appeared they were about 30 minutes ahead of me. And we drove.
And we drove.
And we drove.
And we drove some more.
And we were still in California.
I had no idea this was such a big state.
Crossing Over
Somewhere around Yreka the Korean Couple called and it seemed like we had made up some time on them. We were just heading into Yreka as they were heading out the other side and so we made plans to meet them for lunch in Ashland Oregon. They drove into town and found a little Thai restaurant and sat down and waited for us. The restaurant was nice and that little shrine over there on the right was in their front yard with two slices of pumpkin pie on the offering board. The Koreans would not let me eat any of this, so we decided to drive on. Since I had two beers I 
let The Sister drive. Which she did for about 10 minutes before she decided that she had to go to the bathroom. The bathrooms in public rest stops, you see, are so much more convenient than the hideous slop-filled bogs one tends to find in restaurants.
Or something.
We stopped for that and since it was so much fun we decided to stop a few miles on down the road to get some gas for the lesSUV.
Finally out of the boring top of California we cruised through southern Oregon until it began to rain. And I mean really rain. The Sister was still driving and we really couldn't see more than 100 yards ahead of us. This was made extra cool by the fact that we were in logging territory and there were logging trucks all over the road. What wasn't logging trucks was commercial trucks. Oddly, in Oregon, where you can't pump your own gas because that would apparently piss off the handicapped, you can drive a commercial truck with two articulations (so, three cargo areas each with their own set of wheels). I presume that by allowing this kind of dangerous rig on the freeways (freeways, by the way, on which you can't drive studded tires because they trash the road... unlike trucks with chains?) Oregon is attempting to ensure a steady stream of handicapped drivers who will continue to militate against the rest of us pumping our own gas.
The rain finally slackened and we drove through a couple of dark towns (I was driving by now). Another feature of the drive was the first porno-shops I have ever seen perched on the edge of a freeway and with enormous and tall neon signs. The Sister thinks that these are there to cater to the lonely truckers and when I saw one directly in the middle of a truck stop (between the closed café and the diesel pumps) I gathered that she was correct.
Just as we were within 5 miles of our exit in Portland (and goggling at the traffic jam of cars heading out of town) traffic slammed to a halt. We crawled the next 2 miles speculating on why the traffic was so bad. As we headed around a broad turn The Sister looked far ahead into the fast lane and said, "because some stupid morons got in an accident in the fast lane."
Sure enough, some stupid morons had got into an accident in the fast lane. And one set of those stupid morons was The Koreans! They were parked in the half-lane between the fast lane and the Jersey Barriers looking at the rear of their truck. Someone had rear-ended them, so they weren't acually the morons, but since I didn't know the other folks involved I cursed the Koreans, all Asian drivers, and their children down 13 generations. I had sobered up since lunch, and I was getting cranky.
We cruised into Portland and crossing the river was just gorgeous. The rain had stopped and the skyline was lit. We quickly descended into the bar area of town and found our hotel. When I got into my room I looked on the nightstand and saw the scene you see to the left. A branded condom on top of a little card that said "Yes." I was impressed and looked around a bit more. Nothing but some earplugs, but now I was really impressed. I quickly figured out the card went on the outside of my door and so I put the two pair of earplugs on the night-stand, the card in the door with the "Yes" clearly visible, and slapped the condom on my johnson. I thought that this was the best damned room service idea I had ever heard of. I laid back and awaited my yodeling sex slave!
When the maid came in to change the sheet (probably confused that I had apparently managed to soil them within 30 minutes of getting in my room) my misunderstanding on the use of the condom and the "Yes" card was eventually resolved in a humorous way.
If by humorous you mean the police were involved as well as a police baton and the condom.
I was ready for the Dolls!
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