Bend, Benders, Boondocks, and Boobs

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Geo: 44.0573, -121.316

It's been 20+ years since I have been to Bend. As a child, we would occasionally make a road trip up to Washington to visit the grandparents, and would stay a night in Bend with an aunt. The only thing I remember is that there was a pond in the back. A glorious pond! My brother and I could swim and dive and play. We were certain that there were fish in it, and probably giant sea monsters, as well. I vaguely remember there being a boat, too. It was the best pond in the world and we could have spent a lifetime in it! Looking back, I'm sure it was only five feet wide, two feet deep, leech and tadpole infested, and covered in a thick nasty layer of slime and moss. It's probably something that I would not even dare to dip my foot into now, but as a kid, well, it was something else.

Over the past few years, I have heard many good things about the town. The more I heard about it, the more it sounded like a place that I had to visit, and might even want to live. Year round outdoor activities, lots of breweries, a young, active population. Done.

Since it was practically on the way, I figured I'd stop by Crater Lake, a big, deep, blue lake that formed in the caldera of an ancient volcano, Mount Mazama. At the turnoff from the main highway, I saw a young guy, 30ish, hitchhiking. I trusted my gut, and practically without thinking pulled over and rolled down the passenger window. "You goin to Crater Lake?" he asked. "Sure am." I got out and met him at the back of the truck to help put his things in the camper. "You're not gonna kill me, are ya?" "No," he assured me. Aaron. He's been on the road since the end of April. He started in Iowa, and other than a couple bus rides, has been hitchiking the entire way. An active member of couchsurfing.com, he said he has only had to camp out like 5 nights the entire time, and otherwise always had a bed, couch, or at least some floor space to call home for the night. The best thing about it, he said, is having a shower, and a stove. I don't mind camping, but those are nice to have! He's met some incredible people and has had some great experiences, including a white-water raft trip with one of his couch surfing hosts. We drive up to the rim, admired the view, stared in disbelief at the deepest, truest, purest blue water you'll ever see in your life (Crayola, eat your heart out), I took him back to the visitor's center where his next host worked, and was back on my way.

The Cascade Mountains, at least from what I've seen, are so different than the Rockies or the Sierra Nevada's. Not as steep or magnificent, more rolling and tree covered, but here and there, out of the trees, massive volcanic cones shoot up to the sky, dominating an otherwise plain and monotonous skyline.

I finally arrived in Bend, and quickly noticed it has three of my favorite things (if you've been reading or know me at all, you know what about to come): mountains, good beer, and pretty women. I think it's another one of those towns where girls have to audition to live there. Sheesh. Of course, one local told me, as with any good outdoor town, that the male to female ration is like 2:1. However, wikipedia claims that there is actually a 100:97 female to male ratio. Huh.

I soon found myself at Bend Brewing, busy, but roomy and comfortable. Started talking with a local, Sterling, who had been there for about a year, after living mostly in the Portland area. We talked a lot about Bend, the northwest, skiing, outdoors, traveling, and he informed me a little bit of the Bend nightlife, two locales primarily. The Summit, a club-ish venue that often has live music and good crowds, and the Boondocks - it's "that bar", the one that everyone ends the night at. (With a name like "Boondocks", not much more could really be expected). We had a good chat over some fantastic beers. I was exhausted, but I told him I would probably go take a power nap in my truck and head to Summit later, where he said he would probably be.

I found a nice spot under some big trees in a nearby residential area, parked my home, and crawled in back to rest my head. It was almost 9:30, so I set my alarm for 10. The alarm woke me up, but all too soon and hardly awake I turned it right back off. I did not wake up again until 11:30, being startled by an incoming text message sending my phone into tremors. "Holy shit!" I could have just went back to bed, but figured what the hell. Freshened up, got my boots on, and found my way to the Summit. It was pretty dead, despite a live, tight-knit reggae/blues band. My new friend was there, surprised to see me. He figured I had just fallen asleep somewhere, which, I did. 😊 We stayed there a while and then figured we'd press our luck with Boondocks.

Boondocks is on the edge of downtown, right on the river. Well, the upper part of Mirror Pond, I suppose. When I had left my truck earlier, I could already hear the drunken shenanigans on the back deck. I was scared and excited to see what was in store, but nothing would quite prepare me. Apparently it was stripper night. No cover, no drink minimum, just stripper night. And apparently, Oregon has a hold-nothing-back stance on such events. Huh. This did not feel like some crappy bar in a central Oregon mountain town! I went to get a couple drinks, was only gone a minute, but found Sterling deep into conversation with a bachelorette party he had spotted. "I guess they're kinda my specialty," he noted. I did my best to merge in unnoticed. Most of them seemed pretty miserable and bored, other than Rhonda, who could probably pass for ~36, but has a 23-year-old daughter, and is a grandmother. She was quite pleasant and entertaining to talk to.

It wasn't good, it wasn't bad, but it was fun and entertaining, so I notched a point for Bend, made my way back to my truck on the shadowy side street, took a piss on a big tree, and crawled to bed.

I spent a lot of time just exploring town and the surrounding areas. Cline Falls, which my aunt told me about, provided my first "shower" for a while. I've been trying to gt more exercise lately (the road is making me flabby!), so while I had a shower available, I did a few sets of pushups and situps, baked in the hot Oregon sun for a 30-minute jog, more pushups (my arms would be sore for a few days), and then a nice scrub in the cold waters with biodegradable soap. I have no shame. For the longest time afterward, I just sat on the tailgate of my truck and enjoyed the park, the sunshine, the cool breeze, the happy people coming and going, some reading, some snacking. One of those moments that you just know you are in the right place!

My second night was spent camping outside of town, along the Cascade Lakes highway, in hopes of getting in a good hike the next morning. Unfortunately, the weather was very temperamental, cloudy skies and spitting rain. I still spent some time exploring, both on tires and on foot. Although the clouds prevented the grandiose views of the volcanic peaks in the area, my moody friend once again provided beautiful colors and feels and modes. A small hike, more like a stroll, partially bushwhacked, around Devil's Lake was perfect for letting my head just marinade in the surroundings for a little while. It was lightly raining during the second half of the stroll along the lakeside. The sound of the tiny raindrops hitting the surface of the lake sounded like thousands of tiny locusts chirping in unison. A single sound, but comprised of countless, individual sounds. A community of sound.

My last night in Bend would prove to be eventful. I was at a bar called Velvet listening to a local singer-songwriter that I had read about earlier. A fantastic little venue, with weathered wooden walls, delicate lighting, comfy couches and ottomans tucked into all of the nooks and crannies, and a close, intimate, familiar feeling to it. I was sitting in the furthest nook with some friends of the musician when we were joined by another group who respectfully asked if they could join us. The two friends left shortly after (since their friend was done), but I had been practically adopted into this new group. Kerri, Michelle, Jackie, Tracy, John, Johnny, and Tim. Slightly older than me, but fun, energetic, loud, and feisty. Some dangerous blueberry vodka drinks provided good entertainment while I attempted to suck a blueberry onto the end of the straw and then feed it to one of the brave women (despite what you may think, this was actually not my idea). We soon made our way to JC's Bar and Grille for some pool and life-size Jenga. I had waited for 50 minutes the prior evening to get a burger here, but thankfully their beer-pouring skills were more efficient.

Soon after, I got roped (kicking and screaming, I assure you) into heading back to Johnny and Tracy's house for some drinks and hot tubbing. One of the girls asked, "So, do you always find a group of people to do this kinda shit with?!" Things remained pretty calm there (that's the difference between a 20-something house party and a 30-something, I guess). A beautiful home, a couple hyper dogs, tasty drinks, variety of potato chips, and, of course, topless hot tubbing. No shame. It was probably around 3AM when all at once people filtered out. I thanked Johnny for sharing his home, and politely asked if he minded if I kept my truck across the street for the night to sleep. "Not at all, and thank you for asking." I thanked him again, said goodnight, and laughed my way back to the truck. I was reminded of those last couple drinks both in the middle of the night when I had to climb out the back of my truck into the darkness and water the pines (I decided I need to just install a tube inside that goes through the bed wall and outside for occasions like this), and the next morning, when I woke with a small hammer in my head.

After a bender and boobies in Bend, I was ready for a rest. Perhaps a secluded farm in south central Washington? Yes, that sounds nice.

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