Portland boasts more breweries within its city limits than anywhere else in the world, making this a must visit for Mike. Most of the breweries were located in the Pearl District a couple miles from our hotel, so we hopped on the streetcar. The free ride allowed us a little tour through downtown Portland, a beautiful city with brick streets and buildings surrounded by ample greenery. ” I wonder if the weather here is as bad as they say?” I asked Mike. We loved the Columbia Gorge and so far Portland looked like a place I could happily call home. “Do you think they lie about the weather to keep people away?”
The sun was shining so we settled on the patio at BridgePort Brewery. We munched on hummus and olives and Mike sipped his way through a sampler tray. Despite the over the top hops, he thought the Hop Czar was the best of their beers. Consulting reviews on his iPhone as well as the Northwest Brewery guide, Mike finalized his list of breweries for our evening pub crawl. Although I don’t really drink beer, I was excited about seeing one of my best friends from high school who was meeting us after she got off work. After finishing the tasters, Mike concluded that all the beers were good, yet none were exceptional.
Before Natalie joined us, I wanted to check out Powell’s City of Books, an independent book store filling an entire city block. While Mike hit up Henry’s Tavern, I wandered from room to room and floor to floor through the book lover’s dream. I make it a rule to always buy something at independent book stores, but felt like my head might explode from the choices. Just as I was becoming completely overwhelmed, Natalie called and agreed to meet me outside in ten minutes. I bought the last book I had considered and headed outside.
Tripping over each other’s words, Natalie and I picked up where we left off 10 years ago. We met Mike at Deschutes Brewery and grabbed a table in the bar area. Natalie and I immediately began making fun of the shape of the table. Designed to allow for extra counter space, it was a small round bar height table with an even smaller table-top stacked at eye level. We reverted back to the silliness we possessed at age sixteen resting our chins on the table discussing how this could make for a very awkward first date. We were still giggling when the waitress came to take our orders. Mike had already sampled the beer and he ordered a Fresh Squeezed IPA while Natalie and I each got a glass of wine. Munching on fresh soft pretzels, beer nuts and paprika fries, Natalie and I caught up and she and Mike got to know each other a bit. We asked her the truth about the weather and she disappointed us by explaining that it does in fact rain at least nine months a year. I sighed, “I guess we won’t be living in the same town anytime soon.”
Night was falling as we walked over to Tugboat Brewing Company, yet my eyes had to adjust to an even darker atmosphere as we entered the bar. The décor reminded me of my grandparent’s basement back in the eighties. A man circled several of the tables, hovering over the patrons like an elementary school teacher. We realized that he was monitoring what must be an important game of trivia. We ordered drinks at the bar where the bartender’s manner came across as simultaneously helpful yet utterly annoyed with us. As we observed the strange scene, Natalie grasped the fact that we had entered into a total Hipster scene. Mike found the Cask Stout to be too bitter, kind of like the atmosphere. We realized we were not cool enough for this scene (this is confirmed by my use of the word “cool”). We ended the evening at Rogue Ale where Mike confirmed their Chocolate Porter was still his favorite of the trip.
We woke Tuesday morning to the sound of rain. We had originally planned on spending some time in Eugene then camping somewhere in Southern Oregon. With a couple of exceptions, most of what we wanted to do involved outside activities. Yet rain was predicted from Portland into Northern California. We got in the car choosing to figure it out along the way. After some pizza and a short walk around the University of Oregon, we went to Ninkasi Brewing Company’s Tasting Room. They definitely had the coolest set up we had seen yet. Again we wished for a sunny day as we viewed their awesome patio. While Mike enjoyed a pint of Oatis Oatmeal Stout, we decided that we may as well drive back in to California tonight as the weather looked nasty for the next 24 hours.
After a while, the drizzle and the monotony of the interstate had us begging for a break, so we pulled off in Roseburg for a visit to Spangler Vineyards. Mike limited himself to a couple tastes, while the tasting room host poured me every red wine they had open. I was impressed with their selection that included all the Bordeaux varietals plus Petite Sirah and Syrah. The wines were lush and complex, and we purchased a Cabernet Franc and Petite Verdot.
Before hitting the California state line, we stopped at Caldera Brewing Company in Ashland. Located on appropriately named Water Street, the building lay between the street and a creek that the day’s rain had turned into a torrent. While Mike examined the beer list, I watched water rage past the windows, flowing higher than the floor of the simple tap house. Mike was delighted that they made several Porters and Stouts, selecting a few to try along with their Dry Hop Orange and Ashland Amber. Mike thought all the beers were amazing and insisted I have a sip of the Mogli. We agreed that the chocolate, bourbon, oak-aged Imperial Porter might be the best beer we both have ever had. Luckily they sold it by the bottle, so we bought several to take home. With a new favorite brewery on the list, we waved good-bye to Oregon.
We had originally planned to spend this Saturday in the Seattle area, perhaps a day in Puget Sound. However, Mike’s Northwest Brewery Guide contained an advertisement for a Brews and Blues Festival in Stevenson, Washington along the Columbia River. I had never really heard anything about the Columbia River Gorge, but the pictures in our travel brochures looked amazing. Mike was very interested in attending the event. Once he told me that several local wineries would be there, I gave in. And Puget Sound was added to the “next time” list.
Despite agreeing to the change in plans, I was a little nervous about where we would sleep. Our experience thus far had been that most campgrounds fill up by Friday night for the weekend. Mike found a couple campgrounds on the Oregon side that were not too far from the festival. We decided to get down there as quickly as possible and see if we could get a spot. I wasn’t too optimistic, but was proven wrong when we pulled into our first choice a little after noon. Less than 20 minutes from the festival, Ainsworth State Park had several open sites. We registered, set up the tent and ventured on. Since the festival went until 10 pm, Mike offered to take scenic route driving further east around the river before crossing and heading back west to Stevenson, WA.
Now that I knew we had a place to sleep. I could relax. Twenty-four hours ago, I was walking on snow, but here it was sunny, 77°, and O.A.R. was in the CD player. The sunroof was open and the windows down. I felt like a teenager on the first day of summer, in love with the possibilities the day may bring. As we drove through the Columbia Gorge, I felt astonished that I had never heard much about this area. It is gorgeous! Huge cliffs and mountains border the river. Hawks soar high above the water. Every so often a break in the trees revealed a tall waterfall spewing down the mountain. Crossing over to Washington, we were rewarded with great views of Mount Hood, an 11,200 foot, snow-covered volcano.
Arriving at the festival, Mike and I were delighted to see that the fairgrounds were along the Columbia River. The concert stage was back dropped by the mountains on the Oregon side of the water. I think Mike expected a bigger event, but I was happy with the smaller size. There was plenty of room in the audience, so we were able to set up lawn chairs fairly close to the stage. The stage was visible from almost all areas of the park and the classic rock style blues lent an even lighter mood to the day. We planted our lawn chairs fairly close to the stage. One dollar tokens bought a taste of beer or wine. However, these were the biggest tastes I had ever seen. Most pours were roughly half a glass. It’s a good thing I have no difficulty dumping or spitting, or I would’ve been in big trouble. I took a couple sips of several wines before picking my favorite. With my giant taste of Domaine Poullian’s Black Dot (a blend of Greneache, Syrah, Zinfandel and Cabernet), I settled into my chair and relaxed. Warm sunshine. Closed Eyes. Deep Breaths. Total Happiness. Even the blues couldn’t get me down.
Hurricane Ridge Road climbed up into the Olympic Mountains. Soon rain began to fall as we ascended higher. Mike slowly navigated the wet, windy roads. Once through the cloud line, the rain ceased. We rounded a corner and saw a small waterfall flowing down a gully before ending in a pile of snow. Mike pulled over and we got out of the car. It had been a long time since I felt the crunch of snow beneath my feet. I have to admit I was expecting to see snow from a distance, but not walk on it and touch it.
We drove slowly down the mountain and back through the rain. However, the sun was out when we descended back to Port Angeles. It took us about 2 ½ hours to drive and ferry across to the mainland. In the northern suburbs of Seattle, we encountered lots of traffic and traffic lights and strip malls. We were back in civilization and a little shell shocked with all the activity. Shortly after five, we finally arrived in downtown. In spite of the later hour, we decided to head to Pike Place Market anyway. Some of the vendors were packing up their crafts, but there was still plenty of seafood, produce, flowers and baked goods to drool over. We managed to see a little bit of fish throwing and caught the end of a wine tasting.
Pike Brewing Company, located on the first floor of the market, made it an easy choice for dinner. The eclectic space, filled with thousands of beer related items from all over the world, was filling up quickly. We lucked out with the last table. After a week of brewery dining, I was excited to see that the menu had several items beyond the typical brewery fare. Mike was very impressed with their beer especially the Pike Tandem Double Ale. I inhaled some unexpectedly delicious fresh mussels and broccoli. With so many brewery options in the Rainy City, we were relieved that our one stop was a winner.
I woke up Sunday morning ecstatic, as it was Redwood day. We had camped at Standish-Hickey State Park the night before. Mostly a campground, the park did boast a nice swimming hole in the Eel River. Mike really wanted to take a dip before we hit the road. We walked down the steep path to the river. The sun was just rising above the tree covered hills. At this early hour and with temperatures in the low to mid-sixties, we were the only ones down there. My husband took a deep breath and jumped in. “Brrrrrr,” he exclaimed sounding a lot like a motor boat when his head emerged from the water. After a couple laps, he warmed up and I knew he was loving the early morning swim. Pines and Redwoods lined the steep stream walls and no sound could be heard except for the occasional birds. I was ready to get going, but it was so peaceful that I was able to relax and let him enjoy himself.
We saw very few people on the trail further emphasizing the sereneness of this place. Along the hike we climbed into Redwoods that had hollow openings into their trunks and gauged the size of some of the trees based on those that had fallen. The loop down in the old grove was magnificent as this was the grove that had inspired the creation of the national park. Most of the trees were over 300 feet tall and it was impossible to see the tops of many. It was such a humbling experience and I enjoyed every second. I was so struck by the trees that I often had to stop and touch them. And as much as it embarrassed my husband, I had to hug one. I picked a baby next to a large one so I could actually get my arms around it.
#1. Drive up Highway One from Santa Cruz to San Francisco. We have driven to Santa Cruz from Monterey several times yet on previous trips to or through San Fran, we opted to take faster routes. One of my goals of this trip is to drive along the coast as much as possible. I crossed my fingers that it would not be too foggy (they will remain crossed for every coastal drive). As luck would have it, the sun emerged just we passed Wilder Ranch State Park, our previous northern most stop in Santa Cruz. Huge waves crashed against the shore. Mike unexpectedly made a turn off the highway in Pescadero. I asked if he needed to use the restroom. “No, we are getting cheese.” I was not sure whether or not to believe him. So I patiently waited to see where we were going. After a couple minutes we pulled in front of Harley Farms Cheese Shop. So that wasn’t sarcasm. I smiled, these were the kinds of things I wanted to be open to on this adventure. In a historic home, the cheeses shop was very quaint. A working milking station was next door in front of a large pasture filled with goats. A small corral held three baby goats that welcomed our nuzzling. We bought some fresh goat cheese and continued on our way.
A pork shop with the subtitle “Salty Tasty Pig Parts”. Homemade gelato. Olive oil sampling. My half-glass-empty husband was more annoyed than delighted like me. “This just makes me want to cook and we are so far from a kitchen,” he explained. Not surprisingly we ventured in to a wine store and bar and decided to have a glass. We first split a glass of a yummy Rhone. Then we tried the Barrack Brand Red blend from Happy Canyon. Our taste buds danced. Until this point, I had been questioning our decision to stay in San Francisco as we could do that anytime. This glass on wine made it worth it. We finished the evening with a return to China Town to satisfy my husband’s appetite and an early bed time as we wanted an early start.
#4 San Andreas Fault. Point Reyes National Seashore is located about an hour north of San Francisco on Hwy One. Somehow on our previous trip here, I had missed the Earthquake Trail and the opportunity to walk on the San Andreas Fault. Luckily, the trail was only a half mile loop about a half mile off Hwy. One. I learned that 20 million years ago, Point Reyes was actually south of San Francisco as it is located on the Pacific Plate. Right on the fault line itself, we saw a where a fence had split and jumped 16 feet across in one minute during the Great Earthquake of 1906. The geography nerd in me was satisfied.
Redwoods and Wine 