Of all the blasted-out storefront parades of small town America, Oakridge, Ore., always seems one of the saddest. Timber times gone, everything pulled out. Rectilinear faces of buildings saying “pick me, pick me,” before giving up entirely. It’s a soft and pretty landscape, treed and mountainous. But sad.
(Bridge Near Oakridge; over the North fork of the Willamette).
Look closely at this photo of the watch tower at the P-ranch and you’ll see two things. One, a very eerie number of turkey vultures sitting in that tower, like, dozens. Yikes. Two, backlit freaking mosquitoes.
Chemult, in Central Oregon, is where the mosquitoes started. I got four bites taking this photo.
To get to where we’re going this weekend we are going to travel through the Hart Mountain Antelope Refuge in southeastern Oregon, where I have not technically been. We were driving south on I-5 near Salem and I had anticipation.
I asked, “Do you think we’ll see ‘lopes?”
“Probably,” said David, “unlike bighorn sheep, which we won’t see.”
“Right, because they don’t exist,” we both said at once.
“The biggest biological hoax ever played on the American public,” swore David. No one ever sees Bighorn Sheep.
“I don’t know why I’m asking. I always see antelope when I go where we’re ultimately going.”
“Right, with their one long horn.”
“Yeah, and their…wings.”
“And the glitter they leave everywhere.”
“You can tell it’s them from the soft nickering sounds they make when they’re grazing in the fields of ambrosia.”
Car conversation near Millersburg, Ore., I-5 Southbound
“You know what I’m going do to?” asked David.
“…?”
“I’m going to go to the bars near us: Roadside Attraction, Squeez, that creepy bar and grill we never go into.”
“[acknowledging sound]”
“I’m going to ask them what they do with their used frying oil. And then I’m going to take it for them.”
“Uh huh?”
“And then I’m going to put in our garage.”
“No. Hell no.”
“Damn. I was afraid of that. Anyway, I’m going to put it in our garage. And then I’m going to filter it and sell it to people with greasels or to make biodiesel.”
“Jesus. Wouldn’t it be easier just to collect empty pop cans and take them to the store?”
“You can’t make money that way!” — mock indignation.
“Yes you can.”
“Oh my GOD! I’m going to do that!”
I sighed. “Have you heard that recently, because of high gas prices, used cooking oil theft is actually on the rise?”
“Awesome!”
“So you’re going to go steal cooking oil?”
“Oh, I’m not going to steal it. I’m just going to collect it.”
I-5 south near Eugene; I am driving.
“You know what I’m going to do?” asked David.
“What?”
“I’m going to start an algae oil colony. Normally you need glass tubes but I don’t have glass tubes and I don’t want to buy them. But I can still have an algae colony in our garage. I can get plastic tubing and run it between buckets. I need to order some algae!”
He poked on his phone for a while.
“What’s the name of our school?” he asked.
“Um…Pencilhaven?”
“OK, I have to put it in this form. To order the algae, I have to tell them about our school.”
“OK.”
“What do we teach?”
“Um, classical history?”
“That’s not on the list.”
“Medieval history.”
“No no no, like…math, earth science, physics or reading?”
“Earth science and reading?”
“OK, what grade level?”
“High school?”
“It’s either a specific grade or ‘college.’”
“OK, college. Don’t you think we’re taking this ruse a bit far? Getting a bit specific in our subterfuge? Not that anyone would think that Pencilhaven is a fake school name. Better put our address as 123 Fake Street.”