I See... Fat People...

Short Version:
Cameras, books, dirty filth Portland parking wardens, fat people, a special event.

Long Version:
Long-time readers will remember us trashing the camera in Mexico, and acquiring a new one in California. We loved that camera, but it gave up the ghost just as we hit the wilderness stretch through Oakridge and the McKenzie River valley, which was bloody irritating. Also bloody irritating was the fact that the Bend outlet we visited had none in stock, and directed us to visit either the Portland or Seattle stores for a replacement. So, after descending from Gunsight Ridge, we leapt into the Reaper and set off west, to Portland, home of beer and books.

As with San Francisco, we'd inadvertantly timed our arrival in the metropolis to coincide with the end of the working day at the start of a sunny summer weekend, and as with San Fran we were pleasantly surprised by how easily we managed to get to where we were going and get our stuff done. Admittedly, returning to the Reaper from the enormous bookstore to find a parking ticket on the windshield despite having fed ample quarters into the meter was pretty crap*, and we really wanted to picnic in the Rose Test Gardens** instead of at the Pittock Mansion***, but at the end of the day we got in, got camera, got books, and got fed, then found the right road out of town and settled in for the ride to the forest around the Clackamas River. First, though, we had to get through Gresham.

I may be doing Gresham a disservice by using its name to describe the downtrodden area to the south-east of Portland through which we drove, but I don't really care. It was interesting to drive through, in the same way that some people speak of car accidents as interesting to watch happening****. The things that struck me about the place:
- Fat people. Particularly the two young women who were so fat that their upper arms were touching as they sat in the front seats of their car. And the young women who were waiting for the bus, one of whom appeared to be pushing 100kg, the other much shorter but proportionally worse, both of whom were extremely scantily-clad. I felt violated, and wanted to scrub my eyeballs with bleach and a wire brush.
- Low-grade tattoo studios. All had bad graphics and bad, cheesy names. One had a sign stating that people under 12 were excluded from being tattooed, which I thought was very responsible of them.
- The Whiskey City Rock Bar, and many like it, a number of which were already doing a roaring trade in evictions of overly-drunk and/or -obnoxious patrons. At 730pm.

And then we were out of the built-up area, and driving past the signs directing us to parking for the coming weekend's rodeo, and then past the Fairgrounds, where the rodeo was to take place. It was full of telephone poles, which was unexpected, but which made more sense once we spotted the signs:
THIS WEEKEND
HERE
LINEMAN'S RODEO

Lineman's Rodeo. My immediate thought was that that has to be even better viewing than the farmer's skills challenge we witnessed at the Mosgiel A&P Show***** back in January, although I'm guessing the linemen don't get to hammer in fence-posts with digger buckets, so maybe not.







* = Apparently, we'd parked with portions of our vehicle outside the painted lines which indicated the boundaries of the allowed parking space. On subsequent inspection, we could see the vestiges of what may once have been boundary-indication lines, back before the ravages of weather and innumerable tyres eroded them away to their current, non-viable state. Filth-monkey parking warden scoundrels.

** = 10,000+ rose plants, across 4.5 acres of parkland.

*** = Big house on hill, views, history, gardens, lawns.

**** = I've seen a couple of car accidents (the ones I've been in notwithstanding), and they really are quite something to watch. The one where the small red car executed almost two full barrel-rolls before bouncing on its roof on the median barrier on Auckland's Northern Motorway was particularly impressive.

***** = That was my second visit to Mosgiel. The first time, all of my credit- and ATM-cards stopped working. Forever. Frankly, I'm surprised I went back.