Bend

So I was cycling up to Starbucks this lunchtime, as is my custom, when I was greeted by the sight of a woman running very quickly towards me, dressed in a full-length white medical gown, as if in flight from the operating theatre - the scene of some macabre incident, no doubt. It was only when I got much closer that I realised she was wearing some kind of avant-garde rain-gear which would have looked more at home in an episode of Buck Rogers. I expect we'll all be wearing them soon. At least we will around here if the rain keeps up. Despite about three days in the nineties last week, it's been one of the soggiest Springs on record in what is already one of the soggiest parts of the world.

On the weekend before last, Rachel and I fled the inclement weather for a weekend in Bend, a small city located about 200 miles to the South-East, on the far side of the Cascade Mountains. You really begin to appreciate how unpopulated this state is when you take to the roads, just four million people in an area larger than the UK. I have grown particularly fond of American place-names and also their willingness to recycle same; our journey took as through Sublimity, Detroit, Sisters, Madras, Zigzag and Rhododendron to name but a few...

It's really quite incredible how different the climate is on the dry side of the mountains, in the region they call the High Desert; all red soil and pale, patchy scrub grass and cloudless vistas, rather like the Outback when compared to the green, forested valleys to the West. We stayed downtown in a hotel that had been once been a school and where they'd thoughfully converted the gym into cinema, then bolted on a Turkish Bath, various bars etc. Bend is something of a resort town, a base camp to explore the many natural wonders of the area. I'm guessing it's Oregon's fourth biggest city, which makes it about the size of Haywards Heath, only - thankfully - more interesting. Indeed I found an Australian outlet store where I succesfully purchased a packet of Tim-Tams, somewhat of a delicacy down-under. Basically they're a bit like a penguin, or a chocolate covered bourbon, if you prefer, unremarkable in themselves but nevertheless an essential component of the Tim-Tam-Slam, which many believe to be the ultimate biscuit dunking experience. I'm happy to report that this antipodean practice lives up to its reputation, although, like so many of the best things in life, it is over far too quickly.

And now some photographs, far too many of which were taken at the Peterson Rock Garden, a truly bizarre and some would say pointless piece of Americana just North of the city...



The rather impressive Smith Rock State Park. It was very hot and, coming from Portland, we were completely unprepared for sunshine, hence the hastily arranged sunhat.

We went for a stroll along the river, leaving the infamous "Trail of Misery" for another occasion.

As you can see we went to New York for the weekend.

Or of course that's what that stunningly rendered analogue of the Statue of Liberty would have you believe. But no, we are actually located in a strange world built entirely from volcanic rock.






more nonsense



I like a doughnut, even if it's misspelt. Here I am outside a popular vendor in Stayton. Rachel ate some ridiculous concoction, an enormous cinnamon roll, deep-fried and covered in chocolate. That was pretty much all she needed to eat that day.



We've been playing a lot of scrabble lately. You probably think you're pretty tasty, but would you take on the grand master (above)? I think not.