Driving into Oregon was just as I had imagined. Twilight had prepared me well for what to expect from the Pacific Northwest.
Up the 101 through California, the weather was beautiful and the scenery was gorgeous. As if to comedically reinforce the cliched differences between the states, one moment after we made out the words on the Welcome to Oregon sign, the clouds heaved down their contents, and a thick fog enveloped us amongst the redwoods. This was a true test of the Mustang’s newly repaired soft top, as I had recently disposed of half a tube of silicone within the old vinyl folds.
It was a test the Mustang did not pass. As I peered through the furiously speckled windshield and weaved her around sodden bends, an ominous sloshing made itself heard from the rear. A quick glance back revealed a babbling brook trickling its way down from the rear window. This old girl had lived in Los Angeles all her life, for most of it the worst she’d seen was a grey sky.
The fury of Oregon // Sam rediscovers ‘weather’ after months in Los Angeles.
Photo by Pete Gedye. (howlblog.tumblr.com).
We fought our way through the skyfall, driving through miles of what was probably gorgeous scenery. All I saw was the valiant battle taking place on the pane of glass before me, as the wiper blades fought their best to send the water on its way. However the enemy seemed just as determined, and perhaps stronger in number. Behind this struggle two lanes disappeared into the grey.
A few Greatest Hits albums later, night arrived carrying the signs for Lincoln City.
Our tires cut swathes through the puddles in the Liberty Inn’s parking lot, and Pete and I soon found ourselves shaking off the rain by the fire of a lavishly furnished lobby, full of leather armchairs. An older chap named Larry appeared from the direction of a room with television noise, beaming at the two of us. As we checked in, he informed us of a deal where upon our whimsy he can call a free 24 hour shuttle to take us to the local Indian Casino. I immediately decided that as we were starving and tired, this was the ideal place to go and grab a meal. Plus, I was intrigued by the idea of these casinos and wanted to see if they were as kitsch and garish as I had imagined. Pete was decidedly less enticed by the idea, but I was convinced and convincing. I was done with driving for the day, and from my cursory observation on the drive over, the surrounding town seemed rather devoid of cheap late night food and beverage service. Or really anything other than houses.
We visited our room, and marveled over its large size and interesting decor. It was one of the nicest yet cheapest places we stayed in on our whole journey. I dumped my bag on the floor, and gathered up all my spare quarters for the video poker machines.
Larry called the shuttle for us and we chatted with him about his life and his ex-wife. Fifteen minutes later, a gigantic white bus covered in lights and signage rolled up and rolled out a gaggle of red faced Americans. They stumbled and mumbled their way inside and gave Larry a wave. They looked like they’d had a good night.
I stepped into the bus and nodded at the young bloke with inconsistent facial hair at the wheel who looked suitably thrilled to be shuttling drunk old people about all evening. Pete and I took a seat under the coloured LEDs, and watched out the window as we turned a corner about 30 seconds down the road and arrived at our destination. Once I was finished entertaining myself regarding the laziest and most unnecessary shuttle service I’d ever seen, my attention was taken by this immense structure. Outlined in neon and bathed in light amongst a smattering of small beach houses stood a gigantic warehouse, Chinook Winds seared onto its side.
I hope this photograph I have borrowed from coastvisitor.com does something to convey the oddness of this huge thing, dominating a patch of seaside in this sparse beach town. Thanks coastvisitor dot com.
Pete and I wandered through the automatic doors and took it all in. A huge lobby, staircase, and ‘trees’ led down to a wide gambling floor. All manner of large white Americans sat perched on stools, like balls of vanilla ice cream atop sundae glasses. We verified our ages, and descended the steps into the depths, weaving between lights, sounds, and bursts of smoke like the adventurers from Journey to the Centre of the Earth.
After a self guided tiki tour of the entire establishment, we arrived at the food counter. The pricing was suitably casino, but with the shock of a free drinks stand. Not alcohol, don’t get too excited, but a Burger King-esque post mix machine and big dispensers of coffee. Nice touch, I feel like I’m saving money, I’ll stay, spend a little, you clever bastards.
Genuine fake trees. The rocks and waterfall are definitely real though.
My quarters jingled excitedly in my pocket as I approached the machines. However, a disappointing investigation revealed slots for notes and prepaid cards, but no receptacle for my estranged change. All the other players had white cards jammed in the machines. They were professionals. I gave up and asked at the counter how it all worked. Turns out my high stakes spare change idea of gambling from old movies was no longer the modus operandi. I would not get to experience the excitement of my winnings cascading down like a silver Niagara Falls, screams of delight melding with dings and clattering.
I produced a crisp Jackson from my wallet, and decided that this was the budget for the evening’s festivities. I found a 1c machine with physical slots, a cheap beer, and perched myself on a stool. Out of all the sundaes, a child would probably have been disappointed to receive me, the least ice cream in the glass.
My tolerance for flashing lights and noises was slightly higher than Pete’s, and I was just hitting my winner’s apex by the time he was definitely done. I had spent all of my twenty, and won about $13. The evening was a success.
I pinched a poorly designed book of matches, and Pete and I made the five minute hike back to the Liberty Inn through gentle evening spray. We thanked Larry for providing us with the inspiration for an interesting evening, and retired to our room. The cathode ray tube television sprang on with a nostalgic whine, and some navigation provided us with a Seinfeld to wind down to. There’s always a Seinfeld on if you know how to find it.
I sank into the bed and thought about the weirdness of the casino. Later a local would tell me that it had taken over the neighbourhood, and that all anyone did anymore was go there. While trying to find a free slot machine, I had certainly gotten that impression.
