Memorial Day

Memorial Day Weekend - Chuck E Cheese to Crater Lake

At Memorial day weekend virtually everyone went home. Helen, the only
other Brit, went to California with Lewis and I was left with only Dan
for company. Since we had a three-day weekend to take advantage of we
briefly considered going away somewhere but we were both low on the
green stuff and couldn't bear to part with it in exchange for motel
accommodation. Our cheap and simple solution was that we would use our
days to go see places and return to Corvallis every night. This limited
our choices to within Oregon, but that was fine. Our first day was
spent in activities that I'm sure most Americans would recognise from
their childhood. We spent the morning at an arcade in Portland. They
had batting cages out back so we had a go in them. I am pleased to
announce that I am absolutely no threat to the stars of the major
league. But even though I sucked, it was great fun. Listening to all
those Dads shouting at their young sons for not holding the bat right,
or not standing correctly. While Dan and I rolled around laughing
because I'd managed to get hit by the ball again. I don't know why I
was laughing because those ball machines really really hurt. I got the
hang of it eventually if only to deflect the glares of disdainful
parents. We went to eat dinner in a place called 'Chuck E. Cheese'. Any
Americans reading this will probably be recalling fond memories. For
everyone else I'll explain. Chuck E. Cheese is heaven if it were run by
kids. It's a chain of pizza places, and the pizza is good but not
great. The thing that makes it heavenly is the games. The whole fronts
of the restaurants are filled with all manner of arcade games and ball
pits and play areas of all descriptions. We were too big, alas, to play
in the play areas or ball pits. But the arcade games were fun enough
for us. You have to get special Chuck E Cheese money to use them and
when you play the machine spits out ribbons of tickets which you
collect and exchange for prizes. From what I've heard almost every
single inhabitant of the great country of America has attended a
birthday party at this wondrous establishment. It certainly beats a
birthday party I went to once at McDonalds when I was a kid. Their idea
of entertainment was to lock us in the freezer. Thrills and spills. I
honestly believe that we British should have the opportunity to share
in this jewel of childhood and I urge you to write to your MP insisting
that we import Chuck E Cheese to this country. And batting cages
(nothing gets rid of stress like hitting a ball with a big
stick).

The next day we indulged in slightly older activities. We drove to
Portland again to visit Oregon Zoo. I love zoos. When I was a smaller
person we used to visit London Zoo at every opportunity. We even ate
our lunch in the elephant house once, one of the most unsavoury
experiences of my young life. If I'm completely honest, I still visit
London Zoo as often as I can. But I eat my lunch in the restaurant now.
We all know, I'm sure, that London Zoo is the pioneer of zoos. It
strives to provide the best possible habitat for its animals. No mean
feat considering it's aged and outdated enclosures. Long ago they got
rid of their bears when it became apparent they were not able to
provide adequate surroundings for them in a zoo. More recently the
elephants and rhinos have been moved to Whipsnade Safari Park for, I
believe, much the same reason. London Zoo's commitment to the happiness
and comfort of its animals should be an inspiration to all zoos. Oregon
Zoo included. The enclosures for some of the big cats were horrifyingly
small and I was astonished to find that, even in this enlightened age,
they still had bears cooped up in terribly small cages. The image of
those poor bears rocking from side to side, or the tiger pacing
dejectedly around it's little area will remain with me and haunt me
forever. Those animals blank, depressed expressions made a damn good
case for the abolition of zoos, a step I have always vehemently
opposed; and made fools of those who say that beasts have no emotions.
Go to Oregon Zoo, look into the eyes of the bears, then tell me they
are not depressed as hell. To Oregon Zoo's credit I believe they are in
the process of redesigning their enclosures and re-homing the animals.
And not a moment too soon. I do not mean to suggest all their animals
were poorly treated. Even those in the small cages looked healthy,
despite their gloom. And some of the animals were blessed with decent
sized homes. One of the aviaries there is a wonderful place. You get to
walk through it and have birds of dazzling colours dart around you.
Away from the subject of animals, it was at Oregon Zoo that I first
tasted an elephant ear. Not, as I first thought in horror, an actual
elephant's ear. It's a deep-fried kind of pastry, coated with icing
sugar and cinnamon. And it's the most delicious thing, though as I
write it I realise the description sounds disgusting. But you have to
remember that Americans deep fry anything they can get their hands on.
Some turn out great; elephant ears and corn dogs being prime examples.
Others are insane. I came across deep fried mars bars and deep fried
ice-cream while I was in the States. I recommend neither. After we'd
finished our circuit of the zoo, we took a ride on a little train
through the Rose Gardens where the zoo is situated. If I am reluctant
to recommend the zoo, I highly recommend the train ride around the
gardens. In the big city of Portland it is an oasis of tranquillity,
pardon my cliche. The little train winds through acres of manufactured
wilderness. Trees tower gracefully above you and flowers and plants
clamour for your attention. If you didn't know you were within a few
blocks of downtown Portland you could easily believe you were lost in
the forests of North America. After this restful endeavour Dan took me
to a pool hall he knew and we played a few frames. Dan's very good at
pool, but he's a generous lad and let me win a couple. He really
shouldn't have. I'm afraid I'm rather a bad winner.

Our final day of this short holiday was spent driving the length of the
state to visit Crater Lake. This left no time for anything else that
day. Oregon may be a relatively small state, but it's still quite a
drive. Especially since Dan insisted he knew a short cut and we found
ourselves over the Cascades and heading for central Oregon. We
backtracked and made it to Crater Lake. Crater Lake is one of the
mountains in the volcanic Cascade range, the same range of which Mt.
St. Helen's is a part. Crater Lake was previously known as Mount
Mazama. The volcano erupted many thousands of years ago and the magma
chamber beneath the mountain collapsed in on itself creating a crater
25 miles in circumference. Subsequent years of rain and melting snow
filled the crater, and Crater Lake was born (the 'crater' is
technically a caldera so it really should be Caldera Lake, but I'm just
being a smart ass). Even in late May the snow was still deep at the
lake and many of the trails around it were shut. But we were still able
to drive up to the summit and survey the geological phenomenon that is
Oregon's most famous landmark. The lake is unearthly. It is the blue
that I used to colour lakes and rivers when I was a kid. I grew up and
discovered that lakes and rivers aren't blue at all. But Crater Lake
is. It's an incredible, shining blue, punctuated by Wizard Island which
is the cinder cone that marks the volcano's once active peak. In the
summer months you can take a boat ride on to the water, but we were
around a month too early for that so we were forced to stand at the
edge of the lake and mutter stupid comments like 'it's very blue, isn't
it?'. I'm always amazed by my own ability to state the blatantly
obvious and make it sound like a startling discovery. It's a gift, what
can I say? Our visit to Crater Lake was only slightly marred by the
fact that I took a misstep and almost disappeared through a hole in the
snow. Why do these things happen to me? Writing these tales and my
numerous accidents, I now understand why TWP christened me Exxon
Valdez, insinuating I was a disaster area. I assumed it was because I'm
clumsy and have absolutely no grace and poise. Now, I'm beginning to
think that it's because I always manage to have the most unlikely
things happen to me. I'm either the unluckiest person in the world; or
the luckiest because I'm not dead or badly injured yet. Depends on your
point of view I suppose.