Coked to the Gills

It's been a while since I traveled to Corvallis. As I am thinking this, a crisis pops up and I am called to jet across the world to help with it. I pack my bags. The wife is also going to be travelling to LA later this year. She shows me her itinerary. She is going for a three day conference and her whole trip will last thirty days. She is spending the rest of the time visiting with friends and hiking the trails. Not a bad plan, I think and a germ of an idea begins to form in my mind. I work in a week’s vacation and start planning for a road trip. But more about that later.

My flight takes me through Dubai. The first leg is short and sweet. Dubai to Seattle is the long leg of over 14 hours. I am in 39C and I squeeze in. The seats seem to be getting smaller each time I travel or maybe it’s just my gut which is getting bigger. I am seated next to a strange guy. I try to think of what is wrong with him and it suddenly hits me. He is built upside down – his feet smell and his nose runs.  I wait for the liquor service to start. Thank God for small mercies. I quickly get drunk. To sit next to this guy for any length of time, drunkenness is absolutely mandatory.

I land in Seattle to good weather. The temperature is exactly half of what it was in Bangalore although it is sunny. This is a welcome relief from the sweltering heat of Bangalore though it makes me feel cold. I pull on an extra sweater and get weird looks from people around me who are all in shorts. 

I drive leisurely, enjoying the feeling of déjà vu as I pass familiar landmarks. I tune the radio to my favorite station. Someone is talking about the salmon in Oregon. Apparently, people have been flushing cocaine and Prozac down the drain, though why they would do that I have no idea. This ultimately ends up in the river and the salmon absorb and accumulate this in their bodies. This explains why they are jumping up river. They must be feeling pretty high being ‘coked to the gills’, so to speak. I don’t grudge them their high – I mean, wouldn’t you do drugs if you had to swim 900 miles upriver to have sex once and die? I decide to eat salmon at every opportunity. It’s an easy and legal way to get a hit.

P has a hot meal waiting for me when I arrive in Albany a few hours later. G has cooked some Indian curry to welcome the weary Indian traveler. She is a great cook and it is some of the best curry I have tasted, in India or outside. I partake heartily and feel refreshed. I steal some of P’s whisky to take back with me to the hotel. Food and drink on arrival – it doesn’t get much better than that!

 Friday night finds me at Flattail Brewing, meeting up with old friends. Old habits die hard and we make our way to the Peacock. The women of Corvallis seem to love the top of the ‘cock! I meet Al here. Al was a kid when we used to live in Corvallis many years ago but he is grown up enough now to legally drink in a bar. J is playing the fool as usual and Al pulls me aside “What are you doing with that woman?” he asks. “Be careful of her. She is a hustler!” It’s sweet to see this young man looking out for me.

They decide to put the cheap Indian labor to good use and I end up cooking at Tiffs the following day. Of course, we have salmon. The Americans have never eaten real Indian food and they are easy to fool; which works out well for me and my culinary skills. It’s either that or the coke in the salmon is doing its thing and making everybody happy.

Work is hectic and the days go by quickly. A part that was supposed to be here when I arrived was shipped on time, but ended up in Singapore. It takes a few frantic phone calls to track it down and get someone to overnight it back to Corvallis. It arrives a week later and I am about a bit apprehensive of whether I will be able to get it to work in time. My road trip is at risk if it doesn’t work. The electronic Gods smile down on us and it works like a charm. My work here is done. I can start planning my road trip.

Salt Water is Better Than Fresh

Milwaukee is a blast. I called Larry three weeks ago and asked him what I should pack for and he said to get my shorts and T shirt as the temperature was 5 degrees (-18C).  Well, I land in Milwaukee three weeks later and the temperature is a mild 32 (0 C). The sun is shining and everything looks great.

Well, I’m here for work and not for the weather and I get down to it. Call it beginner’s luck (or you could just say that I am darn good!) but I have the boards working in two days against the four days that I had planned. I try to advance my flight to Portland but it’s just too expensive so I decide to stay. There’s a snow storm brewing and I want to see it. We’re going to get six inches tonight, maybe even eight. Well, it sounds obscene, I tell them - they don’t find it funny. The morning turns out beautiful. How the whole landscape can look so pristine and virgin after being slipped 6 inches the night before is beyond me.

The days pass in a blur. There’s beer at lunch and there’s Scotch at dinner; and sometimes there is Scotch for dinner. I make a new friend in Tim and he offers to drop me off at the airport. We detour along the way for a few Fat Tires. One is too many and two are one too few and in the end we make a mad rush to the airport to find that my flight is delayed. That doesn’t matter, because the Fat Tires keep on coming. I only hope that I will be OK to drive when I get to Portland.

Corvallis feels like coming home. All the signs are familiar on the drive down. I stop on the way at Albany to see my seaman friend and there it all starts. He has a good Glenfiddich which is already 12 years old and there seems no point in letting it get any older. He drives down to Corvallis with me and after a quick shower I am ready to hit the bars. A bunch of people join us and we close the bars down – one by one. The designated driver is drinking water. Don’t drink water, I tell him, because fish do it in water (it sounds better when you use the actual word but this is a kid friendly blog). It’s not just the fish, J announces to the bar. Apparently she does it in the water too; and salt water is better than fresh. That was more information than I needed and I vow never to drink water again. But then again…. Why not! It might be interesting.

I am a bit dismayed at the number of my friends that I find are recently divorced. I remember reading a recent statistic which said that 50% of all marriages end in divorce. Might as well, I guess, because the other 50% end in death!

Sunday is slow. I recover from my flight and the jetlag. We watch the game. The Beavers are playing the Ducks which is always interesting. The Beavers seem to be holding their own until the last ten minutes where they lose it. The night ends with me walking into a glass door. The door is undamaged which is more than I can say for me; I have a bug bump on my forehead and the guys are rolling on the floor laughing.

Saturday is the (Pub) Crawl for a Cause and we enthusiastically sign up. I doubt the enthusiasm is for the right cause though – I think we all have our own private agenda. Apparently more women care about the cause than men which is not really a problem. We take a group pictures and G has his eyes closed. It’s not surprising – I think he has had his eyes closed for a long time now. A tiny pink thong turns up miraculously and the women can now become superwomen – they merely have to wear the thong over their pants. J confiscates the thong. I suspect that it will be just the thing to wear under water.

Lunch the next day is  with friends at the Red Robin. The burgers are exceptional and the service is impeccable. They give me a card to fill out and I tick all the right boxes. There is a question at the end: “Would you like to see anything else on the menu?”. Hell Yes …. The waitress! I wonder if anybody ever reads the feedback cards.

Sunday is a family dinner and we are cooking Indian food. They make good use of the cheap Indian labor and I even end up cleaning the floor. I have two beautiful women as helpers and this makes cooking a pleasure. We are having roast chicken. I stuff the birds and then find that the chicks just can’t keep their legs together. I ask for some string to tie them with and find that there is no string in the house. Is this symbolic, I wonder. Maybe there should be more string in this house.

The flight back is uneventful. I am in a little matchbox on the Portland to Seattle leg and this is not something you want to do in turbulent weather. It puts most roller coasters to shame and I can hear a few barf bags getting used around me. Thankfully it’s a short flight. The 747 from Seattle onwards is smooth and I sleep off my excesses. I have enjoyed my trip but it feels good to be coming home.