it takes just enough time to listen to metric's first three albums during the drive from portland to newport, which means that the round trip to the coast will take just about as much time as driving between portland and vancouver in british columbia. you might as well have taken the trip to canada, because you'll be driving as much today as you would have if you were coming back from there. listening to those albums makes you think of canada too, because you had the sense that you understood metric as a canadian band the first time you went to vancouver. you listen to "old world underground, where are you now?" first, and there's spring in the air and they're sweeping the streets when you leave the city in the morning, just like in that one song. love is a place, portland, oregon. you should have taken the trip to vancouver, because you would have avoided the weekend here if you'd have left for canada on thursday evening like you originally planned.
vancouver was no longer an option, but you still wanted to get out of town, especially after the weekend started in portland. you'd wanted to leave saturday night, the night before the morning you left, and find a motel near the beach, but not having slept on friday night made you reconsider the advisability of driving two or more hours alone in the evening. you might have braved it, but playing it safe meant also saving on lodging. so you saved on lodging but put off sleep again until you could really relax. even though it's daylight, it's probably not all that safe to be driving after two nights without sleeping, but you also weren't sure it was safe to have taken xanax after that many drinks and so didn't let it let you close your eyes on saturday night. now, sunday morning, at least you have a reason to use caffeine non-recreationally. a large one on the way out of town and a refill in philomath. staying awake those two nights meant you had to distract yourself on something, and because you'd thought about going to the beach you thought about newport and about that chair. now, sunday morning, you're going to newport to see about that chair. emily haines is singing on the car stereo and the sun is out. you aren't unhappy because you've gotten out of town, but she makes you think that you should have just gone to canada.
the newport antique mall (cheap frills) is right at the intersection of highways 20 and 101, so you head there as soon as you roll into town. "grow up and blow away" is nearly finished. when you came to newport for the first time ten months ago, a woman in a booth downstairs told you that the danish mid-century chair she was selling looked like it was your taste. it was definitely your taste for $65, but it didn't fit into the backseat of your economy rental, for which your passenger was paying half so you couldn't ask her to take the bus back to town. there is no reason to expect that the chair will still be at the booth. in fact, you don't remember enough about the rest of the antiques that were in the booth ten months ago even to place it. but there is no danish chair on either level of the mall. you do two sweeps. the other patrons make you feel uncomfortable by smiling and excusing themselves whenever you cross their paths. you would have bought the chair and taken it home had it been there, but it's a relief to know for sure that it's not. you recognize some of the other chairs. you still don't want them. there's a blue sign with white lettering that you like when you see it in your periphery and think it's written in cyrillic but absolutely hate when you see that it was just written without regard for consistent capitalization. you regard the mall more carefully and regret that the chair is gone. the best distraction is just to sink the cost of the gas and leave.
the crab cakes at the newport cafe are unspectacular. the grapefruit juice has added sugar. you can only sit at the counter, because although most of the tables on the floor are unseated, they're also all reserved. it's sunday, but one thirty seems too late for the staff to be expecting churchgoers. sitting at the counter means facing the television showing nascar. you read a new book. for ten pages. it's difficult to keep the book open while keeping it away from your greasy plate.
the floor staff of the newport cafe, a young woman and an older one, recommend that you go south to florence instead of north to lincoln city. they recommend florence for riding a dune buggy and as a result paint you an unappealing picture of the town. you decide to go south anyway, because you haven't been to lincoln city, but you have been to all points north of there through astoria.
you hope that florence has somewhere interesting to sit -- inside -- and watch the ocean. it's sunny but not very warm, and the beach probably can't comfortably serve you more coffee. maybe florence is something like astoria. you imagine a proud but modest old city center and hills of victorians. waldport and then yachats give you hope. the drive from newport shows you the most beautiful section of the oregon coast you've seen and makes you wonder if you shouldn't just keep driving south into california and pick up the seaside motel plan one night late. cape prospecta and the lighthouse are very literally breathtaking, because you swerve trying to look back over your right shoulder to get better looks. but, florence turns out looking less like you imagined and more like 82nd avenue in portland, a long strip mall for the dune buggy renters, and with all of its coffee carts closed. so you head back north. you remember seeing something with potential in yachats. on the way out of florence, you see the pic-a-dandy flea market for the second time and almost can't resist stopping. but you came to the coast to be distracted by your chair, even if just to be able to consciously direct the unfolding of your story on the one who got away. and pic-a-dandy is probably closed.
the promising place in yachats is closed. you temper your frustration, which is goaded now by fatigue, by dismissing the place based on that the yachats cove isn't visible from the parking lot. the views from the cafe windows couldn't be much better. most everything in waldport is closed too. the tavern is open, and so is the laundromat. so is the knife store. the shell station has gas for twelve cents cheaper than the chevron, so you turn the car back south and ask to be filled up there. the coffee only costs seventy-nine cents. delicious. you might as well head back before dark because you're not going any further south. you opt to take highway 34 through the suislaw national forest instead of retracing the road to newport and driving back the way you came. you haven't been on the 34. it's picaresque in the late afternoon light, and quiet. only two cars pass you for sixty miles. halfway back to philomath there's a town called alsea that smells like every resident must be burning firewood. you feel guilty at being charmed by the ramshackle buildings along the stretch of highway that goes through the town. with the caffeine and the wooded mountains, the driving scene is essentially the same as it was in the morning, but the experience is different on the road back in.
you hadn't listened to any music for most of your way back from florence, but after alsea you replace whatever replaced metric with some mix. there's a song by carole king. your chair. you don't know if you like carole king better or worse now that you hear her as painfully sympathetic to an actual experience. danish mid-century chair at cheap frills antique mall: "still i'm glad for what we had and how i once loved you." you search for other music and think again that you should have gone to canada.
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