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Gas Stations in Oregon and an Entertaining Summer Show
Terraced lawn at Carson Ridge Cabins, Carson, Washington
For a state without a sales tax, Oregon has managed to maintain impeccable roadways. We drove from Portland to Coos Bay and across to the Columbia River Gorge during our vacation, and every single highway featured picture-perfect surfaces, whether shiny blacktop or rock-infused cement, down to the artistically painted white and yellow lines. How does Oregon do it when California can’t even fix its potholes? Oh, wait, Oregon’s governor is a woman, to start with. Diversity, I suppose that has something to do with it.
Elizabeth Weintraub and friends at Brian McEney Wood Carving Gallery in Seal Rock, OR.
You also, apparently, can’t pump your own gas at an Oregon gas station. No self-serve gas stations in Oregon that we found. Which I love. Anything that prevents excess action on my part such as digging in my bag for my credit card and inserting my health benefits card (that looks just like a VISA card) into the card reader over and over, getting more irritated by the moment as to why the machine is broken, not to mention having to actually get OUT of the car, figure out which hose I want, unscrew the damn cap and then stand there while I depress the lever and nothing happens because it’s never read my card, well, I’m all for full-service, yes sirree.
Elizabeth Weintraub and Big Foot in Stevenson, Washington
My husband, on the other hand, finds it annoying to speak to another person when he’d prefer the zen of filling his own gas tank. He doesn’t really enjoy anybody fussing over him, which is a good thing he’s married to me. I’m not much of a fussor as I am a fussee. Which is probably why I like the new Comedy Central show with one-half of the Garfunkel and Oates team (Riki Lindhome) in Another Period more than he. It’s sort of a Downton Abbey in that it’s about rich people around the turn of the century, but it’s also like Arrested Development in its family dynamics.
I would not mind getting ready to go bed at night and standing there in my bedroom with my arms outstretched waiting for somebody to undress me and slip a nightgown on over my head. But instead what I get are cats chasing Q-tips around my feet.
Still, it’s good to be back home and in our house, with my own WiFi and internet services. It’s back to selling Sacramento real estate without any interruptions of a vacation. And, unlike gas stations in Oregon, pumping my own gas. Above are several photos I thought you may enjoy that could not find a place in any of my other blogs about our trip to the Oregon Coast and the Columbia River Gorge.
Delightful Coos Bay, Oregon, and Blankets of Fog
Flowers in front of the Coos Art Museum in Coos Bay, Oregon
People are often surprised to hear that I was a Newport Beach resident and sold real estate in Orange County for about 15 years during the ’70s and ’80s. Even though along the beach we endured a lot of fog and rain during the winter months, none of it ever bothered me because it wasn’t always apparent when the season had turned to winter. The weather is always mild in Newport Beach, and Bougainvillea seems ubiquitous regardless. Well, in Coos Bay, Oregon, it’s not always evident that it is summer when temperatures fall into the 50s, but it’s so beautiful that it’s easy to embrace the fog and the chill that accompanies it.
Coos Bay fog behaves in unexpected ways. Rolling, creeping, prancing, bouncing, and then it slaps you in the face for not paying attention. We viewed the fog crawling over the bridge when we drove down 101 from Yachats and wondered if it would later burn off, which it did not. We were on our way to visit a client for whom I had just sold her last home in the Sacramento area. She had inherited a million dollars around 2008 and bought a bunch of real estate for her family. The second real estate crash, as you know, happened in 2008, so she lost some of her inheritance, which just goes to show that we can’t always predict what will happen.
This client had picked me to be her Sacramento Realtor based on my experience in the business and she said I have “kind eyes.” She found me online, like a lot of my clients. We instantly clicked and have been friends ever since. I didn’t sell her the homes she owned; I was not her buyer’s agent, so I suppose that helped our relationship. But I could help her to maximize her profit potential upon resale as her listing agent.
Sailboat in Coos Bay, Oregon
This person’s home in Coos Bay is a work in progress, located in one of the best spots, right on the water. Old pilings are in her front yard. When she bought the home, her real estate agent said that the water never comes up to her house because there is vegetation growing there. Ha, ha, yes, the water does approach the foundation. When it floods, it just kills off the vegetation and then the stuff eventually grows back. Still, she enjoys a 180-degree view of the water, out to the ocean.
Sunset Bay State Park in the fog, Charleston, Oregon
She lives near Charleston, Oregon, which is where we went for lunch, Miller’s at the Cove Sports Bar and Grill, a casual neighborhood joint with really good food. The spicy chili presents a pleasant kick, and I hear the burrito is killer. After lunch, we drove to Sunset Bay State Park in Charleston, down a newly black-topped winding road, framed by an arbor of hardwood trees, including evergreens and cedars, drooping to form a canopy in the mist. The scenery was magical. Although, once we arrived at Sunset Bay State Park, it was really too foggy to see any sea lions, much less past the line of the beach. Not to mention, I had left my jacket in our vehicle, and it was too cold for this wimp to stand outside.
Coos Boardwalk in Coos Bay, Oregon
We then decided to head back to Yachats so I could work on an offer I was about to receive for another client, when we realized we had not seen any of the downtown area. We stopped along the Coos Bay Boardwalk to view the boats in the harbor, read about the history of the area, and took a quick stroll past shops and restaurants. It was warm enough downtown Coos Bay that I did not need a jacket. I glanced down at my nails, which were in dire need of a manicure. Hmm . . . here was a nail salon, right in front of me. I dashed in and gave the manicurist $20 to remove my polish. That sparkle stuff is hard to get off.
I asked the manicurist how residents feel about so many Californians moving to Coos Bay for retirement. There are some places that really welcome new residents, like Alaska, and others that aren’t as eager to receive non-natives, such as Hawaii. She said the people who love Oregon and all it has to offer are very welcome. The people who are not welcome, those transplants, are the jerks who try to change it. The sentiment seems to be: if you don’t like it here, go home. Quit complaining and yipping because we like it this way.
Umpqua Lighthouse at Umpqua Lighthouse State Park
But that holds true for just about anywhere in the country. Nobody likes a whiner.
We tried to visit the Coos Art Museum, but the staff of three sitting behind the counter lamented they were between installations. There was nothing in the museum to see. Well, why were they sitting there? Instead, I shot photos of the flowers growing in front. They seemed to be dahlias, but I’m not sure. What do you think? See the top of this page for the photo.
On the way back, we stopped to see two things: the Umpqua Lighthouse at the Umpqua Lighthouse State Park and the Strawberry Hill wayside, which provides excellent views of the rugged beauty along the coast and the occasional groups of sleeping sea lions.
Down the road from the lighthouse was a place to rent dune buggies to ride along the beach. My husband offered to stop because he knew that was an activity I wanted to try. It’s funny when I think back to the house I built in San Felipe, Baja California, on the beach. I hated dune buggies with a passion then. Loud, noisy, obnoxious and with it loud, noisy and obnoxious people. Never had a desire to ride in much less drive a dune buggy. But now that I’m in my 60s, it seems like it would be a blast.
Strawberry Hill Wayside along the Oregon Coast
We stopped, unexpectedly, at the dune buggy rental. My husband announced, “Here’s your dune buggy place.” It was too cold and foggy. Everything I had read said you should not try to drive a dune buggy in the fog in an unknown location because you could go over a dune and off into the ocean, goodbye. Well, that turned out to be the last time we had a chance to ride dune buggies, and I declined. Maybe that’s why we are still alive today, though. You never know.
Road Signs and Elk on The Oregon Coast
A Bengal cat in Florence, Oregon, stares at her nemesis, a dog along the Siuslaw Riverbank.
A little unnerving are some of the road signs in Oregon. Some of them contain only one word. Which is OK, I suppose, because you don’t really need a lot of words to explain yourself if one word will do; however, I can’t help feeling it’s like using the F-word without the You: alone, the emphasis remains but without its companion pairing, it’s meaningfulness and impact seems to wane. Not to mention, it can leave you a little confused as to its actual intent. Somebody could be upset, for example, but why. When you add the “you” to the F-word, well, it becomes crystal clear what the problem is.
One of the signs that seems ubiquitous on the Oregon Coast is the one-word sign: ELK. Now, that raises all kinds of questions. You might say to yourself, does that mean one elk or a whole bunch of them? Will they be in the road or are you supposed to enjoy the view of elk in the distance? Is this another roadside attraction? Another one-word sign is ROCKS. It’s like the guys at the Oregon Transportation Department are people of brevity. At least the word is plural. Perhaps it is meant to build awareness of one’s surroundings? As my husband pointed out, at least it’s not Elk Throwing Rocks. Or is it?
Which brings me to thoughts of that elk head that is sitting in my family room on our floor, horns splayed into the view of our television screen. It’s a real elk with 5 points on a shoulder mount, and it’s in excellent condition. I first spotted him on a wall at my seller’s house in Winters. She shot Elkie herself and then had him stuffed, attached to a board in the shape of a crest and hung him in the living room of a house she bought for her dad. I’m not really a big fan of stuffed animal heads on the walls, but since I’ve been selling a few homes lately that have these prized possessions on display, I’ve become more tolerant and intrigued by them. My mother would roll over in her grave. My younger self would join her.
When my seller said her next-door neighbor had offered her $700 for Elkie, I couldn’t ignore my competitive nature; I offered her $500 if she’d let me take Elkie home. I couldn’t help it. Besides, the elk head was too big to fit into her car, and her new home in Coos Bay, Oregon, was not large enough to offer a space on the wall anywhere to accommodate him. On top of all of this, it’s not like we could call him a fixture and just leave him there. For real estate sale purposes, it would be better for Elkie to go live somewhere else. That somewhere else, I decided, against all signs of logic, was in my home.
After much pleading with my husband, he finally acquiesced and agreed Elkie could come live with us as long as she didn’t live over the sofa. Her long neck would separate us from each other and make it difficult to pass the remote or receive a foot massage while watching TV, anyway. Getting Elkie to my house proved to be more difficult than I had imagined.
Elkie would not fit in my car, not even with the top down. My team member, Dianne, tried to squeeze him into her SUV, but his horns almost punctured her stereo speakers, and after much twisting and turning, she gave up. Then, my other team member, Josh, offered to bring Elkie home. This involved a 90-minute drive all the way to Winters and back to my home in Land Park, but he was successful, and that’s how Elkie came to live on my family room floor. He is way too big to even try to hang over our sofa, which is out of the question anyhow.
There is no spot in my house for Elkie. We can’t even hang him from the ceiling, which I had considered, like that goofy movie theater restaurant and lounge in Lodi. I asked my seller if she could put an ad on Craig’s List or eBay to sell Elkie, which is when she pointed out to me that it is against the law in California to sell an elk head. You learn something new every day, don’t you?
Fortunately, my husband came up with a good idea. Perhaps an Elk’s Lodge would like a donation, and then I could send the tax deductible receipt to my seller, which she could use to reduce her tax liability next year. I called a bunch of Elk Lodges and left messages. Then, yesterday, as we cruised into the town of Florence, a CEO from one of them called back to say yes, the Sacramento Elk Lodge would be delighted to give Elkie a new home. We are driving down from our vacation resort in Yachats to Coos Bay today to visit with Elkie’s previous owner. Her home in Winters is closing in two days. This gives us several things to celebrate.
Photo: Bengal cat, Adam Weintraub
