I stumbled across a trip report from a couple years ago. Kinda cool. Same time, I get word of a momentous occasion: the reprint+ of an insufficiently acclaimed book. I have a signed first edition with a stunningly generous inscription. Of which I am proud and humble. – JDW
A journey is a person in itself; no two are alike. And all plans, safeguards, policing, and coercion are fruitless. We find that after years of struggle that we do not take a trip; a trip takes us. – John Steinbeck
When my friend Rick Rubin finally passed away after a long illness, he left money – and instructions – in his will suggesting a party be held in his memory. If I had money, hell, if I had a will, I might just do the same. But I would surely not merit a crowd this large.
Didn’t plan to go. But I secretly loved the man. He was his own artwork. And so I went. Out of respect, if nothing else.
I had visited him twice in May and neither time was I convinced he recognized me. This man you could never shut up never said a word. The light was on but nobody was home. Trust me, few men burned brighter over a longer period of time.
I have been on something of a farewell tour this past year, since the publication of When Running Was Young & So Were We. https://www.amazon.com/When-Running-Was-Young-Were/dp/1909457167/ref=pd_rhf_dp_p_img_12?ie=UTF8&psc=1&refRID=HGV5B2JC9CJTQPCMH0PE
Nobody is getting younger. In the last six weeks alone, I have visited with a stroke survivor, a throat cancer survivor and a kidney cancer survivor. Nobody ever said runners aren’t tough.
So, I booked a room at the Park Lane Suites on SW King St., just across Burnside from my old neighborhood of Northwest Portland. http://www.reservations.com/hotel/park-lane-suites-and-inn And summer ended as my plane landed. Torrential downpour. I was struck by the realization, when I think of decades in Oregon, I primarily remember the sunny days.
Wednesday night, dinner at Jake’s – the location somewhat obligatory – with a couple of guys I’ve known since the 80s.
Thursday lunch with a training partner from 1978. Thai food at Red Onion on NW 23rd. http://www.redonionportland.com/home.html I had squid salad. I am so over burgers and seems like if you are out and about, you might as well eat something you don’t get at home.
Thursday night, met two men I worked with at Nike in the early 80’s. We drank and dined and drank at the Rogue Distillery & Public House, because turns out one of my buddies is now the COO of the company. America, what a country. http://www.rogue.com/rogueabout/
Friday, I’ll be honest, I was fried. Didn’t leave my room. Apparently, I am too old to fly across country, workout an hour daily, eat strange foods and party into the early morning. Certainly not for consecutive days. Which doesn’t bode well for the Honolulu Marathon trip, but my wife will be with me on that adventure. You will doubtlessly be surprised to learn she is a moderating influence.
Saturday morning, I headed to The Abbey Bar on NW 21st. http://theabbeybar.com/ The Wild Boar omelette was calling me.
The place is empty. Then this young couple walks in. She orders and then he starts in, basically reading the entire menu. “I’ll have that, I’ll have that, and can I have that?” I look over. “You are pissing me off, ” I tell him. He’s certainly slender. “You a runner by any chance?”
And that’s how I met Dan Huling, a 8:13 steepler. Ah, to be young and fast. And able to eat huge quantities with impunity. Sigh.
Saturday afternoon, I arrive at Rick’s house early to beat the crowd. And the place is already rather packed. Got to talk to my girlfriend from twenty-some years ago. She hasn’t aged. Said the same thing to another buddy I hadn’t seen in years: “You must have special glasses,” he suggested.
Post-party, I dined alone at St. Jack. I had the live scallop, big, expensive mistake. But I never get live scallop at home.
Sunday morning, I headed to the Pearl District, to the Pink Rose. The Pork Belly Benedict was today’s siren. http://www.pinkrosepdx.com/
Later, I visited Powell’s – somewhat obligatory – and found only one copy of my book on the shelf. In the Overstock section, which a tall man could only reach with a stepladder. So, I got a stepladder. Guerrilla inscription & placed prominently.
Sunday evening, met up with the kid I watched the 1989 World Series with. (I apologize for that sentence.) The earthquake series. The kid is now pushing fifty, married with two kids. “Heck, you were with me when I met Julie.” Okay, if you say so. We went to St. Jack, I just like the name. http://stjackpdx.com/
Had the Chicken Liver Mousse with Dijon & port poached prunes. the roasted bone marrow, the fried tripe with capers & red onion mayonnaise. You know why.
I skipped any mention of cost or annoyance or the inevitable bullshit one encounters traveling in today’s world. Bottom line, not important. What is important is to cherish good people you have known and if possible remind them you feel that way.
Even if they have already left this lively sphere. Adios, El Coyote.
One of the greatest titles we can have is Old Friend. We never appreciate how important old friends are until we are older. The problem is we need to start our old friendships when we are young. We then have to nurture and grow those friendships over our middle age when a busy life and changing geographies can cause us to neglect those friends. Today is the day to invest in those people we hope will call us ‘old friend’ in the years to come. – Grant Fairley