StumpTown Stroll: Riffin on ‘What-not’
Sunday, April 5th, 2009
Posts Tagged ‘Travel’
April’s Fool Dispatch: Day One
Wednesday, April 1st, 2009
Greet the Day
The day began with a screeching alarm at 4:30 am. Then the sudden realization that I was late for something, immediately followed by the sweet discovery that today is April 1st. April Fools Day and the beginning of what will be called the April’s Fool Tour. I’m late for nothing. In fact, in the world of Rock n Roll, I’m early. Way early. My flight leaves Phoenix at 9 am and I’ve got a few more hours to tie up loose ends and grab the satchel and skedaddle. The next few days belong to me and the Muse. Portland Oregon and my music. And I’m sure I’ll work in a fair amount of malted barley and choice hops. Perhaps even sample a little Northwestern vinification. There’s something waiting for me at the bottom of a bottle of whatever-you-got; An Idea, a song, a laugh, or a new friend.
Time-Warp
Before bed last night I packed my bag, put the guitar and camera’s in their proper place and prepped the coffee for an easy fire-up in the AM. I’ve done this before but the pre-departure is always like a fuzzy dream. It’s usually done through one blood-shot eye at some freakishly early hour in the day. Therefore, the late-night pre-trip preparations were a great idea. I’m glad I thought of that. Because all of what I take must be carried on my back, or in my hands, I pack light. I’m no Thurston Howell the Third. I need not accompanying accoutrement’s. I got my shirt, them jeans, my shoes, a git-fiddle and my soul. I’m ready to roll.
Hobo-Travel
Years ago, I gave up the luxury of driving. To me, it is just that: a luxury. I’ve been untethered from a car for 6 years and I find a way to make it work in a city that is quite inhospitable to the non-driver. So dear friends, here is an introduction to what I have termed Hobo-Travel.
I live on the fringe of the Indian Reservation and about a half-mile off of the public transit routes in my city (Phoenix, AZ). So, my morning walk consists of a half-mile stroll to Granite Reef and McDowell to catch Route 17. This will carry me West all the way to 44th Street where I’ll transfer buses and Route 44 will jettison me South right to the heart of the Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport (PHX).
Graffiti I can agree with. To the AZ authorities: “I am not the bus-stop blogger.”
Then, I’ll hop a big freedom bird and set flames to ancient dinosaur graves and burn a streak in the sky all the way to Portland, Oregon. Upon arrival, I’ll gather bag, and shag-ass out the door of PDX airport and onto the Max Train.
Portland International Airport (PDX), and the city of Portland collectively say, “f the car.” You can move in a town like this without your own dedicated foursome of rims. Who needs a gas card in this town? Call me a happy Hobo, here I come Portland. All apologies OPEC.
The Max Train just outside the door of PDX airport.
I should be on the ground around 6pm Local PDX Time, which happens to be local AZ time as well. So, I’ll hit you with an update and post some more pictures and video of the journey thus far, then it is off to the Alberta Street Public House to strike the first note on the April’s Fool Tour.
Doing Something SuperNormal
Through the creation of this little record label and standing at the precipice of the second official SuperNormal Records Tour, one thing has remained my constant. A philosophy upon which this tiny dream of mine is perched. We need not be great, we should not just be normal either. All we need to strive for is to be a bit above normal = SuperNormal. We all have our dreams and passions, these are mine and thank you for joining me on this little ride we call life.
“Das Rock-n-Roll!” - Tyler Christensen
- Please click on the links below and leave a comment. I read these daily, it’s kinda like fuel. Be my OPEC. (Organization of People Entertained and/or Concerned).
Day 4: Portland, Oregon
Wednesday, May 14th, 2008
Exodus
Well, I managed to do it. After a night out at 9 muses and a late return to the Hawthorne Traveller’s Hostel, I awoke at 7 AM by chance and showered up to head out the door. Today’s the day for the start of the Supernormal Wine Tour: Willamette Valley, so, it’s pack up the bags lightning quick and out the door and onto the MAX red line to the Airport, a practice run for the day I am trying to not consider; the day I have to leave Portland behind. But, this trip to the airport will be to rent a Dollar Rental Car and drive out to the Willamette Valley and finally walk amongst the vines. Sunshine and grapevines.
I said goodbye to a few fellow travellers and put back together the Supernormal Road Kit and jettisoned my now oblong and imbalanced self out the door and on to the 14 Hawthorne Bus to downtown. My head still reeling from the previous evenings revelries at 9 Muses. I celebrated the coming of today last night with some fellow Hobo Travellers, and now I’m paying for it with ineffective Bayer tablets and sunglasses. Heavy stuff in-tow. That will kill the hangover, or me. My money is on it killing the hangover, so it’s lumber on, Lumpy.
View from the window of the MAX Redline to the Airport
Long Black Train
It’s overcast this morning, but, there is something more than that. I feel like I am slipping into a little lull emotionally. When I travel there is a formula. I do not intend it, and it is not quite unique to me. Other ‘conscious hobo’s’ have similar experiences. Travelling as I choose to, alone, lugging everything I need on my back, ‘backpacking’ as it’s commonly called. I find that there are certain stages or emotional states that always come in an ordered cycle.
First: The Gush - A giddy bubbly love for anything and everything in the wide-world. That lasts for a few days; sometimes a week. Then: The Dump - that’s when then the gilded-tinge on everything fades and I begin to go inside of myself and start to feel that bastard loneliness and emptiness. A peek into a pit of despair and your heart goes to your shoes so that you stomp all over it with every step you take the weight of your pack emphasizing the blows. The Hobo Traveller questions his motives and criticizes his actions. ”Why not the beach?” I hear someone say inside my own mind. ‘The Dump’ doesn’t last long, but, I think that stage is working it’s way in now. It sucks but, the other side of it is: The Rise – a leveling off and a smooth climb into a complete happiness with the place and the process of travel and the knowledge that it brings. But, as any cycle isn’t a one time gig, so, don’t mind the down-times and look a loft. For round and round it goes.
There’s a college education in 8 days on the road. There’s a Master’s in a month. Institutional education won’t teach you how to hold on to the world when it goes wobbly and you’ve abandoned yourself for a strange town and a whirlwind. This is why I travel like I do. Sounds heavy, and it is, there is no doubt that you’re among the living and learning to live better, and reflecting on the cycle is brand new for me. This is but my second go-round.
The car deal didn’t work out. No major woop, just a brief bummer. I finally chalked it up as a ‘slight adjustment’ and got back on the MAX to City Center. Enter “The Dump” – I put my sunglasses on and moved through the motions while the MAX clacked me back to the best thing that resembles home – the hostel. Good thing the Red line is a long jaunt from the airport to downtown, it gave me time to work it through. That bastard loneliness came back and moistened my eyes and put the aortas and ventricles out of order. I Hung my head and lumbered back to the hostel to book the rest of my stay. They only have tonight open. The weekend is booked but I’ll check in the morning for a potential cancellation. If not there is another hostel across town in Northwest Portland. If that’s bust, then there’s always the luxury of a Days Inn.
A little Fence in the Japanese Gardens Portland, Oregon
Emotional Daybreak and a Distilling of the Dream
Enter ”The Rise”. It clicked on the MAX and now I am finding out how to define it. The reason why everything went awry at the airport and I can’t get the car until tomorrow which means I had to cancel the first day’s appointments is this: I don’t want to go to wine country. That simple. Maybe some day in the future, but right now I’m in Portland, Oregon, man. I’m here on a Public Transit Tour. I got plans, baby. I want to just do the job and do it righteously. I want to rock this thing out and stay where the getting is good. I’m rounding the corner and setting out on a new and elevated path. The tears distilled the dream and refocused the vision. Oh, the ideas and the little treats I’ve got coming for you. Let’s get Supernormal! I got a little light and guess what I’m gonna let it do!
Day 2: Portland, Oregon
Tuesday, May 13th, 2008
Creaking for the Coffee
My hostel room has a built in alarm clock. A feature not listed on the Portland Hawthorne Hostel website pre-arrival, nor was it covered in the tour. When the early-riser goes to the kitchen for their morning cup of Joe, the aging floor boards creak underfoot. The floorboards also happen to be my ceiling above my top bunk perch. Mind you, this is not a complaint. It gets me up and out for the day, I didn’t have to call the front desk and request an 8 am wake-up call, instead I am nudged awake gently by little creaking noises and the occasional dropped item. Hostel travel is all positives. In fact, this feature should be touted as an upgrade. A wise traveller should opt for the room with the 8 am creaky-roof”. It’s all mine for two more nights, sorry guys.
Gresham MAX line
Out the door and on the Tri-met
After the shower, and the java it’s to the 14 Hawthorne, over the river and up the hill to the Japanese Gardens. I had heard about the gardens and saw some footage on YouTube, so I added this to my mental-list of must-see places. On my first ‘free-day’ I jumped at the chance to see this beautiful place. Being from Arizona, I am accustomed to a different kind of green. Foliage and what-not is a very hearty green back home, yellow-green and browns, reds, etc. I was in need of some good ole’ deciduous-chewy-basil-kind-of-green.
Enter the Garden
A Little Walk
I explored every inch of the Japanese Gardens and spent a good three hours retracing my steps and turning back to do it all again. When I visit a place like the Japanese Gardens, or a zoo I like to go through the park in one direction and then revers the path so that I see everything differently. If I were capable I would have burrowed into the soil and dug on them roots.
Central pond, reminded me of Monet’s Giverny
Loopy-loops
On one of my reverse laps, I found something I had missed the first time around. I stumbled into a little hut type meditation thing. I don’t really meditate in the traditional sense, but I figured I’d try to get into it, Supernormal-style. So I took out my notebook, closed my eyes, and began making little hash marks on the paper while I sat and listened to the garden and walked through the Garden again in my mind.
I was surprised when I opened my eyes that there was a picture-of-sorts there. And it did look a little like a Japanese Garden. I titled and dated it and I’m gonna keep it, but, here you can have a copy. No one ever said I was a visual artist. I play music like a banshee, but, I draw like a monkey. No shame in that. If you can walk you can dance, if you can talk you can sing. No judgment on how well, just a can-do kind of thing.
This place is enchanting, delicately trained vines sculpted with rudimentary methodology. Simple sticks of bamboo fastened to branches with twine have done the majority of the shaping and training of the branches, but, most of the Japanese trees and plants look as though that is just how they grow. What I know of Japan is it’s art, I can say Japanese art, and I get an image in my mind as I am sure you do as well. There is a distinctive look beyond a simple font to all things Japanese, and the reason for that I would guess is nature. The trees shrubs and other things beyond my botanical prowess have that distinctive ordered Japanese look.
Right-click, Save as Desktop
From the Garden to the City
I spent the next few hours walking downtown and asking around if anyone knew of a place where I could have a Beer and Blog. I don’t mean Wi-fi. I mean, a bar with physical computers in it. Why do we all have to own a laptop? I don’t like carrying around all of that stuff, power cable, computer, then with all of the other elements of this SupernormalRecords.com enterprise. What if i drop it? What if I get caught in the rain, and soaked to the bone, or in this case; memory? Just to many what-if’s. But, here is yet another ‘what if’.
Training Branches Traditionally
What if?
What if a bar put along one of its walls an array of a few basic desktops. I am in the Fat Straw, a little Bubble Tea Joint and I love working in this place, but I want a beer man. My love for blogging and my love for beer are two very strong competitors. And I would argue, life sustaining drives, urges man! C’mon Bar Owners. Open the Beer and Blog, the Blog-N-Beer Tavern, or The Blogger and Lager! I’ll do it if you give me the dough of course.
If this were filled with Sake I would have Stayed here all day
There’s that for now. I think I’m gonna traipse around downtown and see if I can get a little more of the strong pulse of this cities music scene. Back into the city now…
