Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois 2014: A Pas de Deux
Posted: Wed Aug 06, 2014 7:44 pm
The Woodsman damn near sparkles in the morning sun as I pack up and say goodbye to all things Crescent.
Coffee in the room and cellophane wrapped pastries constituted the "breakfast" at the Woodsman, though looking back on it now, why didn't I go to the Mohawk? Shoulda coulda woulda. The sometimes story of my life. You can never get too many "honeys" from a buxom waitress, Unlikely heroes emerge throughout one's life. Gandhi, Mandela, Broderick Crawford. Yes, they all liked to be called Honey by a buxom waitress. I'll bet the Broderick would've gone back to the Mohawk, got a mess of eggs and bacon, real coffee, "for a man." and all with shined shoes, coat and tie, and hat.
But, I fall short of Broderick Crawford's wardrobe, stature, and girth, and attitude, and well, most everything, except liking to be called Honey. I hit again the Dalles California Highway, aka US 97, north bound toward Bend.
Through Bend (and I suppose now "Bent") I follow 97 toward Redmond where I will take a right to cross the Evergreen State in the direction of places with names like John Day and Enterprise, places I've formerly only seen in promos for national ralleys and always seemed so distant, because they were. Not now though.
I follow US 26, pass through John Day, then take OR7, enjoying nearly perfect conditions of no traffic, beautiful roads, partly cloudy skies and 70 degree weather. I know it's not always this way, but count your blessings, right? I wind up for the evening in La Grande, Or., a town that was forced to change its name (from Brownsville...there was already a town that had dibbs on the name), but chose wisely, choosing the name given the area by Frenchie Charles Dause, thus named for the area's beauty.
I stay at The Royal Motor Inn, nothing fancy, nothing Royal, but comfortable and clean...and cheap. It is a mom and pop place, but I only saw mom and only at check in, the desk was empty the rest of the time. I'm thinking there is no pop.
something for everyone
I hit Tripadvisor for restaurant recs, and spy the Golden Harvest, just a block or two away. I have a bit, well two bits of my Redbreast, and I walk on over after seeing the sights of La Grande. The Golden Harvest is sort of a hole in the wall, but better than that. A hand painted sign boldly proclaims:
Best Asian Food in the NorthWest
I kinda doubt that Seattle and Portland might not possibly have a better place?
(The food was good though)
Glass fronted, it is twilight lit within, Chinese music plays, that ding ding-ding-ding-ding medly that is heard in every Chinese Restaurant.
I am greeted by the lady on the left (this is not my picture, but I have it on good authority that the guy in the picture? the one with the "cake?" He, in the next moment, and I wish I had this picture, he puts every layer into her face, and she never loosened her grip on the festive balloons!).
So, the lady on the left is the proprietrix of The Golden Harvest and is just so chatty as to beat the band, she's bubbly, effervescent, the ginger ale of charm.
You on FaceBook, she asks?
What I say is Yes,
what I am thinking is that it is a waste of time, mostly the domain of 30 something moms.
You like Us on FaceBook, Look Golden Harvest, you LIKE us!
OK, I will, taste untasted. I will like you. And seeking the path of least resistance and having been with strong women all my life, while awaiting a menu, I get the Like thing out of the way, so that when Cio-Cio San returns I can ingratiate myself, having Liked the Golden Harvest on FaceBook.
Cio-Cio San returns and just beams when I tell her I've ALREADY Liked the Golden Harvest.
She hands me a menu, but it is only a distraction from the "special of the day," and that is "white fish" and the stuff you see with it.
I throw her a curve.
"What is the 'white' fish?"
Trouble and care cross Cio-Cio San's face. Perhaps she's never been asked this before...was it a challenge, disrespect from the Occident? But, we swamp people treat our seafood with respect and "white" fish covers a whole lot of territory and I am curious. We'll eat anything, but we want a name on it
I don't know, she gets out, but assures me she will find out.
She returns, but does not know, comfortable that it is indeed "white fish."
I've just ridden from the crotch to the left shoulder of the US of A, I'm ready. I order the White Fish. And it was delicious, yum, gimme more!
Aside: I hate food pictures, they always seem to look like garbage, so for me to include one speaks something, but it was good, and if in La Grande again I would again drop in at the Golden Harvest.
I retreat to the Royal Motor Inn from the Golden Harvest, He!! I feel richer already! Life is good, ya know? And tomorrow the weather still looks good for Rattlesnake Grade and on to the Palouse. The stuff of motorcycle dreams.
Coffee in the room and cellophane wrapped pastries constituted the "breakfast" at the Woodsman, though looking back on it now, why didn't I go to the Mohawk? Shoulda coulda woulda. The sometimes story of my life. You can never get too many "honeys" from a buxom waitress, Unlikely heroes emerge throughout one's life. Gandhi, Mandela, Broderick Crawford. Yes, they all liked to be called Honey by a buxom waitress. I'll bet the Broderick would've gone back to the Mohawk, got a mess of eggs and bacon, real coffee, "for a man." and all with shined shoes, coat and tie, and hat.
But, I fall short of Broderick Crawford's wardrobe, stature, and girth, and attitude, and well, most everything, except liking to be called Honey. I hit again the Dalles California Highway, aka US 97, north bound toward Bend.
Through Bend (and I suppose now "Bent") I follow 97 toward Redmond where I will take a right to cross the Evergreen State in the direction of places with names like John Day and Enterprise, places I've formerly only seen in promos for national ralleys and always seemed so distant, because they were. Not now though.
I follow US 26, pass through John Day, then take OR7, enjoying nearly perfect conditions of no traffic, beautiful roads, partly cloudy skies and 70 degree weather. I know it's not always this way, but count your blessings, right? I wind up for the evening in La Grande, Or., a town that was forced to change its name (from Brownsville...there was already a town that had dibbs on the name), but chose wisely, choosing the name given the area by Frenchie Charles Dause, thus named for the area's beauty.
I stay at The Royal Motor Inn, nothing fancy, nothing Royal, but comfortable and clean...and cheap. It is a mom and pop place, but I only saw mom and only at check in, the desk was empty the rest of the time. I'm thinking there is no pop.
something for everyone
I hit Tripadvisor for restaurant recs, and spy the Golden Harvest, just a block or two away. I have a bit, well two bits of my Redbreast, and I walk on over after seeing the sights of La Grande. The Golden Harvest is sort of a hole in the wall, but better than that. A hand painted sign boldly proclaims:
Best Asian Food in the NorthWest
I kinda doubt that Seattle and Portland might not possibly have a better place?
(The food was good though)
Glass fronted, it is twilight lit within, Chinese music plays, that ding ding-ding-ding-ding medly that is heard in every Chinese Restaurant.
I am greeted by the lady on the left (this is not my picture, but I have it on good authority that the guy in the picture? the one with the "cake?" He, in the next moment, and I wish I had this picture, he puts every layer into her face, and she never loosened her grip on the festive balloons!).
So, the lady on the left is the proprietrix of The Golden Harvest and is just so chatty as to beat the band, she's bubbly, effervescent, the ginger ale of charm.
You on FaceBook, she asks?
What I say is Yes,
what I am thinking is that it is a waste of time, mostly the domain of 30 something moms.
You like Us on FaceBook, Look Golden Harvest, you LIKE us!
OK, I will, taste untasted. I will like you. And seeking the path of least resistance and having been with strong women all my life, while awaiting a menu, I get the Like thing out of the way, so that when Cio-Cio San returns I can ingratiate myself, having Liked the Golden Harvest on FaceBook.
Cio-Cio San returns and just beams when I tell her I've ALREADY Liked the Golden Harvest.
She hands me a menu, but it is only a distraction from the "special of the day," and that is "white fish" and the stuff you see with it.
I throw her a curve.
"What is the 'white' fish?"
Trouble and care cross Cio-Cio San's face. Perhaps she's never been asked this before...was it a challenge, disrespect from the Occident? But, we swamp people treat our seafood with respect and "white" fish covers a whole lot of territory and I am curious. We'll eat anything, but we want a name on it
I don't know, she gets out, but assures me she will find out.
She returns, but does not know, comfortable that it is indeed "white fish."
I've just ridden from the crotch to the left shoulder of the US of A, I'm ready. I order the White Fish. And it was delicious, yum, gimme more!
Aside: I hate food pictures, they always seem to look like garbage, so for me to include one speaks something, but it was good, and if in La Grande again I would again drop in at the Golden Harvest.
I retreat to the Royal Motor Inn from the Golden Harvest, He!! I feel richer already! Life is good, ya know? And tomorrow the weather still looks good for Rattlesnake Grade and on to the Palouse. The stuff of motorcycle dreams.