The Lisa & Clark Expedition: Old Places and Familiar Faces, a West Coast Road Trip.
In which intrepid road trippers Lisa & Clark go in pursuit of historic hotels, old friends, rusty auto parts (the more the better), wineries, and gardens. And maybe a dress or two for Lisa, because she just can’t help herself.
Looking for the beginning of the trip? Start here.
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Wednesday, June 6 & Thursday, June 7
Bend, OR; 0 miles driven by us
We could tell from the moment we arrived and Bill came out the door last evening that everything was going to be fine, and our stay was not going to be unbearably awkward. I did say he was a very nice man, didn’t I? And it turns out that he and Rosie had been just as concerned about whether or not this was going to work out, as we were.
We started every morning with work on our laptops at the dining table; Bill and Rosie disappeared to work on their own computers, too. I suppose ten years ago we would have been passing a newspaper around.
Whether liking to cook is a genetic trait or not, I don’t know, but Bill does enjoy messing around in the kitchen (as do I), so we were fed very well over the next couple of days, and also served cocktails of varying success; the new recipe out of a magazine that involved carrot juice and tequila… well… I don’t think I’m going to make that one at home. It may have just been the bright orange color that got me, I don’t know.
Which, on a tangent, brings me to the topic of citrus presses. Both Brian in Sonora and Bill had the same useless piece of junk citrus press, that looks something like this (but was not this one; just very, very similar):
This is not the press you’re looking for.
If you spend any time at all juicing lemons or limes for cooking (especially for Mexican food! Yum!), for cocktails (yum yum!), or even for homemade lemonade if you’re into that, then this is the citrus press you want:
The Hamilton Beach 932 with rack and pinion gearing and 2,000 pounds of pressure. Oh yeah.
I use mine more than any other small appliance in the kitchen.
I’ve already done the research for you and found the cheapest place to get it online, including shipping: Everything Kitchens. And no, I’m not getting a kickback from them. I offer this information purely from a sense of outrage at inadequate citrus presses.
Harrumph.
Anyway. Moving on.
Bill and Rosie took us for a walk along the Deschutes River that runs through town, and has trails on both sides. The walk started at a park with a statue of horses pulling a log, the whole thing made out of found objects — including a 1935 Ford wheel rim as part of the haunch:
Clark could recognize that horse rump at 20 yards.
The quiet part of the river.
A little further upstream.
Oh, fine, I suspect some of you are curious to see an actual picture of us. Here you go:
I swear my head is shaped like his, when seen from the side. Weird.
If there are any young, unmarried people reading this, let this be a warning: I was conceived in the backseat of a car (could Clark sense a ’59 Bel Air when he met me? Could have been part of the appeal…), and Bill and my biological mother had to drop out of college to deal with the crisis. Birth control is a good thing. Use an effective form.
Why couldn’t I have been conceived under a willow tree, on the bank of a gently flowing stream?
Before their lives took an unexpected – and temporarily disastrous – turn.
Of course, it all worked out okay for me, but I wouldn’t wish that type of stress on anyone.
A little later that day, Clark and I met up with my second cousin, Brian Cash, at Old Mill Brew Werks. Brian grew up up the street from me, and his Bend company now hosts my website (they built it, too). Need a website for your company? Take a look at Alpine Internet Solutions.
Brian’s half of the Cach/Cash family changed the spelling sometime last century, maybe to avoid the unfortunate mispronunciations that Cach is subject to. It is pronounced Cash, by the way. It is not pronounced to rhyme with Bach. Someone told me that in Czech, it would be pronounced something like Sock. Hmm. ‘Cash’ is looking better and better.
With my second cousin and web master.
The next day, Clark and Bill played golf on the course next to the house. Rosie and I went out on the deck to watch them play the 17th hole, only to see them both hit the worst shots of their rounds. Was it the pressure of an audience? They had fun, though, and according to Clark Bill is a good guy to golf with. Apparently that’s man-speak for a decent fellow.
Clark and I took a walk later, and paused by the pond near one of the other holes that had given him grief. Ah, the dark thoughts of the golfer/fisherman.
Do I understand golf? Not really. But it’s my favorite sport for Clark to watch on TV, since it’s so hushed and quiet. See previous post about being a freak about noise. (My least favorite televised sport: basketball. The shoes are too squeaky.)
All in all, a pleasant visit devoid of drama. What the hell, when an unusual opportunity comes…
Say yes!
More of the Lisa & Clark Expedition:
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Who are Lisa & Clark?
Lisa’s latest novel,
Great-Aunt Sophia’s Lessons for Bombshells, from Simon & Schuster
