OREGON ROAD TRIP, DAY THREE

We awake and take our time today. We eat a continental breakfast offered in room #118. We take our bananas and cereal and muffins and tea into the library.

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We wander back to Powell's to pick through the aisles again. The wife and the child buy a few books.

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We drive to North Plains, searching for Horning's Hideout, which we find. We are here to play disc golf on a private course. We pay our daily entrance fee of $3 per adult and head off into the woods.

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The wife and I play the "pitch and putt" Highlands Course. Then we play the longer, and more challenging, Canyon Course. We play over freshly mown fields and through well-maintained forested fairways. We play over water hazards of a pond and a swamp, a first for both of us.

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We stop by the Rogue Pub in North Plains for dinner. We discover that they are not associated with Rogue Brewing, although they try to make it appear that they do. They carry most of Rogue's beers on tap, and the remainder in bottles. The wife asks if they are related to Rogue Brewing. The waitress tells us that "we were here first before they even existed. We serve they ales, since it works out for all of us."

But the waitress is somewhat cold to us throughout our meal, most likely because the facade has been peeled back and the truth is made known. The food was okay, and I got to have a Rogue Dead Guy Ale on tap, but I could have had the same atmosphere and attitude (and probably food) at a dive bar in Puyallup.

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After dinner, we head north for home and for our own beds. We arrive home, thankful for our time away and thankful for our return.

OREGON ROAD TRIP, DAY TWO

We begin the day by revisiting the Tillamook Cheese Factory, which is now operational on the packaging side. Different types and sizes of cheddar cheese are being packaged. We get to see the industrial side of food production, even for a beloved and local product.

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We sample more types of cheese.

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We eat ice cream at 10:00 in the morning. We indulge in Banana Split, Tilla-Mint, and Sweet Centennial (in honor of Tillamook County Creamery Association's 100 years of operation).

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We drive to the Oregon Zoo to look at meerkats and sea otters and giraffes, elephants and insects and domestic farm animals. The child takes great joy in grooming goats and pretending to be a penguin.

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A train ride around the zoo grounds, as well as in Washington Park, is a disappointment. The route passes some exhibits, but rather quickly, and on the backside of the "displays" where the "junk" is stored. This is getting to peer behind the scenes, to see the foibles of the zoo and its operations. Not only that, but the trains cars are too small to be comfortable. By the end of the half-hour ride, my back is starting to really hurt and I am fearing that I am doing damage to my recently ruptured disc. Fortunately, it seems that I depart the train just in time.

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Dinner is at Hopworks Urban Brewery in East Portland, which is actually marvelous on so many levels. The pub food is excellent. The organic lagers and ales, brewed on site, are likewise. The restaurant is broken into sections for different types of clientele. We are seated in the family friendly section, which allows the child and other kids to play with toys, to scribble on a chalkboard, and to pretend while waiting for food to arrive.

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We wander over to Powell's City of Books after we check into our residence for the evening, the wonderful Mark Spencer Hotel. We wander the stacks of the Orange, Rose, Green, Blue, Purple, Gold, and Pearl Rooms. I pick up a couple of books and issue #52 of Cometbus.

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The wife and the child retire "early" and I head back to spend more time in the aisles of Powell's while they sleep.

OREGON ROAD TRIP, DAY ONE

Today is the beginning of a three-day road trip to and through Oregon. Today is the Oregon Coast.

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We eat hamburgers at Pirate's Cove Restaurant in Warrenton. I order a BBQ Bacon Cheese Burger. I order it without mayonnaise, but it arrives with mayo. The waitress realizes the mistake at the same time that both the cook and I do. The cook becomes extremely worried and wants to fix the mistake. I insist that I will scrape the mayo off, which I do. He insists on making a new burger, which I will not allow.

The wife orders a Fish Sandwich and instead gets fish and chips. We realize the waitress has given us another table's food, which explains the two "mistakes" on our order. The cook takes back the fish and chips and makes a fish sandwich, all the while continuing to apologize. I assure him that all is well.

The child enjoys mini corndogs and french fries.

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As we eat, we all enjoy pirate themed music. It is Pirate's Cove, after all.

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We make our way to Cannon Beach and the child plays in the sand. The child makes a sand castle. A group of Japanese teenagers next to us are creating a sushi roll sand sculpture, complete with a set of large chopsticks.

The sea begins to flow toward us, the tide coming in. Soon the castle is vanquished and the sushi effigy is returned to the ocean from whence it came (in it literal and imaginative forms).

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We walk near Haystack Rock and the soft sand is warm under and around my toes. The sea is cold. After standing in shallow waves for a few moments, my feet are wet and numb. The warm sand sticks to them like fine grit.

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We drive south, marveling at the wonders of creation—sand, sea, sky, gulls, pelicans, basalt cliffs, rugged manzanita trees.

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We arrive in Tillamook to learn about the process of making cheese. The Tillamook Cheese Factory is full of other tourists. The plant is mostly non-operational this day, with only large forty pound bricks of white cheddar being vacuum sealed and sent to the warehouse for aging. We sample cheese curds and various types of cheddar. We buy a mini-brick of Habañero Hot Jack Cheese to enjoy in our hotel room.

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Tillamook smells like cow manure, sickly and sweet, like slightly decomposed clover and grass. A cheese factory that processes approximately 70 tons of cheese per day would need a lot of milk supplied to it. That milk is all from local dairy farms, hence the aroma.

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Dinner is pizza and beer. The restaurant claims its pizza to be the best on the Oregon Coast. If this is so, then I feel sorry for the other pizza joints because this pizza is mediocre and too greasy. The beer is a Kona Longboard Lager, which matches the pizza. It isn't bad, but it isn't good either. It is, to put a positive spin on it, inoffensive.

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We swim in our hotel pool. We splash. This is mostly the child. The child cannot really swim, but the child can splash.

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The wife and I play three rounds of Bananagrams, two of which I lose. Then it is time for bed, to sleep and ready ourselves for another day.

GOGO'S CRAZY BONES

The child loves small toys and cartoons. I love small toys and cartoons. Sometimes I have to remember that I am the parent. At other times I need to let the little boy in me have some fun and let loose.

The child and I found packets of small plastic creatures called Gogo's Crazy Bones. They are meant to be collected, traded, battled, et cetera. We split up the ones we bought and played a bunch of silly games with them for a couple of hours. We were both enchanted by their bright colors and shiny little bodies.


The child's Crazy Bones, left to right: Dare, Akita, Ojaku, Fujichik*, and Ufus.


TWT's Crazy Bones, left to right: Ichiro, Okori, Egbot, Aiko, Skull.

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In this series (Series 1), there appear to be eighty different figures, which can each appear in five different colors. To tap into the idea of collecting, there are also fifteen limited edition characters and five super rare limited edition characters. It appears that the child may have ended up with one of the fifteen limited edition characters in Ufus, since he doesn't look like any of the package or poster pictures of that particular character.

Anyone who knows me well, knows that I am not a collector. I believe that toys should be played with, so that is exactly what the child and I are doing. And it has been a lot of fun.

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*The child found it very funny that the "owl" figure is named Fujichik, since our cockatiel is named Fuji.

MAD COW HAPPY SALMON

The wife, the child, and I wandered around the Puyallup Farmers' Market today. The signs hanging over the fishmonger stand were the best.

They read:
*Thank you for supporting your local Washington troller.
*Wild salmon don't do drugs.
*Quality is long remembered, while price is long forgotten.
*Mad cow / happy salmon.

WHITE RIVER DISC GOLF COURSE

The brother, the child, and I headed out to White River Disc Golf Course this morning to unwind and throw some plastic. My discs seemed to keep ending up standing upright. On hole number two, my Buzzz ESP wedged itself in a tangle of roots and moss, but I found it rather quickly.


Later, on hole twelve, an overly forceful sidearm hyzer throw sent my Mirus Gripline disc heading toward the White River. Two branches impeded its progress, leaving it standing up a mere seven feet from the river. It left a nice trail in the sand that showed its movement toward liberation before being abruptly halted.


The brother took a picture of Troy's Work Table during disc retrieval. This angle shows how close it was to taking a plunge. (Photograph by the brother.)


Even though Troy's Work Table worked the trees and brush pretty hard, the brother worked them harder. But he was able to throw through branches, shrubs, and tree screens to get to where he wanted to be. (And, no, he is not giving his brother the finger. He is winding back for a very effective hammer throw through the Douglas fir branches.)


Troy's Work Table created a disc golf round worksheet, in order to analyze each shot for each hole—what disc was thrown, how it performed, and, in some cases, what could have worked better. To someone else it may look like a bunch of symbols and scribbles, but to TWT it means another tool to help improve his game.

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Putting practice earlier in the week, some good throws, and thinking things through helped to give me my best score to date—both at White River and on any course I've played.

Hole 1 - 3
Hole 2 - 4
Hole 3 - 3
Hole 4 - 4
Hole 5 - 3
Hole 6 - 3
Hole 7 - 3
Hole 8 - 4
Hole 9 - 3
Front nine - 30 (+3)

Hole 10 - 4
Hole 11 - 4
Hole 12 - 4
Hole 13 - 3
Hole 14 - 3
Hole 15 - 3
Hole 16 - 3
Hole 17 - 4
Hole 18 - 3
Back nine - 31 (+4)

Total - 61 (+7)

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The brother was not far behind at 67 (+13). Considering this is his fourth or fifth time out, and on a course he never played, he was doing extremely well. I have my work cut out for me if I intend on staying ahead of him.

on THE TAPHANDLE

Beck's, a Premium Lager by Brauerei Beck & Company

12 ounce bottle, served in the bottle.

Ah, Beck's. I was celebrating the father's birthday with the family and the father kept offering me a beer. I finally gave in because I knew that the shredded barbecued beef sandwich and the barbecued pork ribs demanded it.

I sat and drank. I pulled out my notebook and scribbled notes. I listened as the father regaled me with stories of drinking warm Beck's on tap in West Germany forty years earlier, during his days of youthful abandon. I learned. I enjoyed.

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The aroma is a hint of burning rubber tires or skunk cabbage, although it is not skunky per se. In fact, this vague and ambiguous hint of skunk is somewhat appealing. Underneath lurks hints of freshly mown hay and light lemony brine. The flavor follows suit. I imagine that if I ran out and licked a patch of sun-dried grass and then bit into a bicycle tire and gave one good wash over it with my tongue that I would be close to the taste of this. And, once again, that is not a negative. It was strangely invigorating. This is much better than other macrobrew lagers I have had. It has a clean, crisp finish with a light spiciness and subtle dryness. It is hoppier and more bitter than other lagers of its type.

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The father had no idea what I had jotted down. Yet he told those of us gathered that if he left Beck's out overnight (when he lived in Germany) that it tasted like skunk cabbage the next morning!

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We also learned that German Beck's in late-1960s West Germany was about twice as strong, alcohol-wise. The father prefers it to other German lagers, finding it to be slightly more bitter and much more to his liking.

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So, I found a beer that the father and I can enjoy together, especially during the warmer days of spring and summer. I am going to have to stock the refrigerator with some Beck's for when he visits.

WHITE RIVER DISC GOLF COURSE

A new driver, just because—a Discraft Avenger SS maximum distance driver disc in Pro-D plastic. Opaque red with green foil stamp, 171 grams.

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SS stands for Super Straight, and this disc does just that. It follows whatever line you give it. If you send it down the middle of the fairway, it stays in the middle of the fairway. If you release it too late and your hand is heading off to the right when you let go, the Avenger SS does the same, keeping a nice straight line to the right of your intended target.

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The Avenger SS prepares to head down the fairway of hole #3 of White River DGC.

This was the first time that the Avenger SS was able to see some round play. Prior usage was all driver practice in an open field. I would have to say that I like how it handles quite a bit. I also like the feel of the Pro-D plastic. It is the equivalent of Innova's DX plastic, but has a much "friendlier" feel in the hand to me.

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I was playing much looser than I expected and it helped to keep my game manageable, especially on the back nine.

Hole 1 - 3
Hole 2 - 4
Hole 3 - 3
Hole 4 - 4
Hole 5 - 5
Hole 6 - 4
Hole 7 - 3
Hole 8 - 4
Hole 9 - 4
Front nine - 34 (+7)

Hole 10 - 4
Hole 11 - 3
Hole 12 - 4
Hole 13 - 4
Hole 14 - 3
Hole 15 - 3
Hole 16 - 3
Hole 17 - 3
Hole 18 - 4
Back nine - 31 (+4)

Total - 65 (+11)

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Hole #7 and hole #14 were almost birdies. Shot number two on hole #7 caught the rim of the basket and rode around it for a quarter of its circumference before falling out. Shot number two on hole #14 hit the basket just below the rim.

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Practicing different types of drive shots a couple of nights prior really helped. I threw a perfect thumber over a screen of trees on my second throw on hole #16, which allowed the disc to drop right in front of the basket. I was very pleased to get par on a hole I usually struggle with, especially as I could hear and see the White River as it waited to gobble up my discs.

CALLING ALL AMATEUR BREWERS!

The News Tribune (of Tacoma) informs me that the Puyallup Fair is calling all amateur beer and wine brewers to enter competition at the Fair.

Read the full story here.

Read the Puyallup Fair's beer & wine exhibitor guidelines here.

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Ladies and gentlemen, get to brewing!

A RIVER & SOUND REVIEW

"We want you guys to celebrate with us...Make some noise!"
—RSR board member Michael Schmeltzer

The evening of Sunday 09 August 2009 was the latest live show from A River & Sound Review. This particular show was held at Northern Pacific Coffee Company in Parkland, next to the campus of Pacific Lutheran University.

This show was what it never was in Puyallup, and perhaps what it could never be there. The space consisted of two rooms of people, each with about forty audience members. Many people were eating food and most everyone was enjoying various drinks—beers of various styles, light and dark; coffee; hot tea; iced tea; fruit juices, water, and the occasional Italian soda. Members of the crowd were engaged in lively conversation with one another, waiting for the show to start, because, as all good literary events, this one was not going to start on time.

The evening began with the 4-minute poetry project, wherein audience members had four minutes to write a poem using each of the following words: maul, citrus, dilettante, undulate, and one other that I now fail to recall. This was followed by RSR founder and emcee Jay Bates delivering a hilarious monologue on a recent trip to Las Vegas and the "characters" he met there. Next up was singer-songwriter Jerin Falkner singing an anti-love song.

The night was co-hosted by RainierWorkshop Writing, which meant that the readers for the evening were alumni of the program or current students (as were many of the audience members). Jennifer Culkin (RWW class of 2007) read an essay about helicopter crashes and the fragility of life. Andrea, an RWW thesis student, read a poem that bounced about and lovingly played with languages. David Huddle (poet and prose writer, as well as teacher at RWW), the keynote reader for the evening, read two "naughty" pieces—a short story about warfare and violence and freedom, and a poem about "Two Joke Man."

Rounding out the night were additional songs from Jerin Falkner, the literary game of Name that Book, and the "crowning" of the new 4-Minute Poetry Project champion.

It was a night to celebrate literature in all of its various forms—poetry, music, fiction prose, non-fiction prose, humor—with like-minded lovers of the word, spoken and written. At times, the crowd even bordered on raucous. Some of that may have been the beer and the informal atmosphere, but I also believe it was simple celebration and joy to be out on a summer night, listening to good words, and being comforted by them.

DEAR READER

Troy's Work Table is taking a week-long vacation from posting. TWT will see all of you next week with new BOOKS. ART. BEER. (and WANDERINGS. and DISC GOLF.)

IMPERIAL

Troy's Work Table begins the arduous yet glorious task of reading Imperial by William T. Vollmann. It is 1200+ pages about Imperial County, California. It will take months to slowly read and savor it. It will be detailed and tortuous and pleasurable. I'm ready.