A trip I went on and took a friend named Rick and a pup named Zeus.
Well, we were traveling in an old, grey Dodge van, 1978, half-ton, no window van, slant 6, one of those that would almost last forever. No windows and good on gas. Well, we started off getting supplies, and as an added thing, we stopped at Hostess and got some little pies. Rick loved those apple pies, and I got chocolate and cherry pies, and off we went.
We took off from Longview and headed east. We went by Morton and drove through Packwood and stopped on top of White Pass, took Zeus out and walked him about. He was about 6 months old and a Rottweiler, a happy go lucky little pup. By the time we got to White Pass it was getting dark, so we pulled over for the night.
When morning came, we ate, and off we went. Well, we just left White Pass and went to Yakima. The weather was nice. It was the beginning of August, and we decided we’d head for The Dalles.
We got back as far as Stonehenge, near Mary Hill Museum, and took Zeus out once again. We put Zeus back in, and stopped at Mary Hill Museum, locked the van in the shade. Well, we were gone no longer than half an hour, and when we got back to the van we found that Zeus’s favorite pies were apple, just like Rick’s, and Zeus had ate most everyone of his, but didn’t touch mine. I think Zeus was as happy as he could be, but for some reason, Rick didn’t find the humor in it.
Well, it was time to go, so off we went. We traveled down the Gorge and into Vancouver, crossed the bridge into Portland, went towards the zoo, and took Hwy 26, on our way to the coast. We went to Jewel and seen the elk in a refuge there, and off we went. Further down 26, near Hwy 101, was the largest spruce tree. We were off again.
Rick, my friend, brought music. Some was good and some not so good. One song, about drove me out of the van, was a little ditty, goes, “Right Round Baby Right Round.” By about the 37th time, I was “Right Round,” if you know what I mean, but most everywhere we went, the radio reception left something to be desired. Twenty years later, I still have a problem with “Right Round Baby.”
Down Hwy 101, we got to Cannon Beach. My favorite stop, Ecola State Park, is a breathtaking view. Indian Beach is a great place to surf. I’m, personally, not a surfer, but it’s amazing to watch, like the windsurfers up the Gorge.
Strolling down the coast, around Nehalem, there’s a viewpoint. You see off a cliff, and you can see for miles on a clear day. The next stop we stopped at was Rockaway Beach. A bit of fog was rolling in, but the sun was out and warm. If I remember right, the next stop was Lincoln City, and we seen whales through binoculars, pushing water out their spouts.
Then, I believe, was Siletz. The day we went through, they had a big Indian get-together up on top of a mountain. We wanted to stop, but it was getting late, around 10 at night, and it was a long day, so we found a place to pull over and go to sleep, down off 101, next to the ocean.
The next morning we were off again, getting a little bored along the coast. It was time for a change. We seen a road to the left that said “Green Acres.” We had to go. (After all, Green Acres is the place to be. The old series with Eddie Arnold.) So Green Acres, we are there. Nothing really to see, kind of disappointed. Back to 101, and we went to Harbor, Oregon, about the last stop before you go into California, so we stopped there.
We got burgers at a little diner right on 101, kind of a 50s diner. Rick and I got something for Zeus, and away we went, heading back towards I-5, to Medford. From Medford, we headed north on I-5 towards Portland, stopping in a little town called Brownsville. I swear we were in The Twilight Zone, or maybe it was the land that time forgot.
Rick and I pulled into town and immediately knew something was wrong. We were driving the newest vehicle in town, a ’78 Dodge van. Something wasn’t quite right. The cars were from the 50s and even everything in the shops was vintage. The people were dressed in 50’s attire. I think the cop’s car was a 1950 Ford Bullet Nose.
I looked at my friend, and he even said, “Did we go back in time?”
I’m not sure. We stopped and even on display in a window of the local hardware store was an old style bike from the 50s. We still don’t know to this day if we were in The Twilight Zone or just a 50’s reunion. It was time to go, ’cause there’s no place like home.
Brownsville, now, is just a memory. On our way home, naturally, we got caught in a traffic jam in Portland, but in 50 more miles we were home. An hour of so later, we pulled into Longview. Home at last.
—Randy Long
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