In Salem

July 10, 2025

Today's plan has been on my schedule for a few weeks at least: a coffee date with Carl down in St. Paul at the Bankers Cup, a coffeehouse that looked appealing to me when I passed it on my loop through Champoeg and French Prairie. After we have our fill of coffee and he's likely had his fill of hearing me describe how interesting it is experiencing a psychotic event I plan to take a second pass at the flats, maybe heading east toward Mount Angel or even as far as the Gallon House covered bridge.

Fortunately though that doesn't happen because Rachael saves me from myself by noticing that my appointment for my bone density test is tomorrow and not two weeks later like I had on my calendar. Earlier in the day I had rescheduled it in response to the occasional prompt Kaiser sends out to let me know an earlier appointment is available in case I want to reschedule it. In this case I do, because it's a bit earlier in the afternoon so I'll be driving back to Portland before rush hour. I failed to notice that I also changed the date by two weeks.

So I immediately fire off emails to Carl to ask if we can pick a later date, and to Frank to see if we can meet tomorrow before my appointment instead of the date we had originally planned; and then I start whipping together a new plan for my day by mapping out a bike ride through Minto-Brown Park that I'll take before meeting up with Frank.

Whew! Thanks, Rocky!

You may remember that this is my second attempt at getting a bone density scan, which is intended to baseline me for monitoring my risk of osteoporosis, one of the risks of long-term prednisone usage. I failed that test by failing to read the pre-test instructions and noting that I'm forbidden from having calcium the night before. And I had done so, because I take 1200 mg of calcium + Vitamin D3 each morning and night to help prevent it. So when I show up for my appointment and they ask whether I've been observing this requirement I get rejected. They won't administer the test because the calcium in my system will invalidate the test, so they send me home to try again some other day. Which is irksome when it's over an hour drive down rhere and back again, but at least I had a fine visit with Frank at the Broadway Coffeehouse to make the drive worthwhile.

And as unbelievable as it might sound, I almost sabotage myself on this one too because I'm such a creature of habit. I've literally got my evening calcium pill in my mouth, moistening it with my tongue while I'm getting out my evening ibuprofen to wash it down with, when through blind luck I realize what I'm doing and quickly spit it out, Yikes.

__________

I'm out the door just past six, after waiting around for Rachael to wake up and wander down the hall and back before leaving so we can go over the plan for the day and kiss each other for luck because you never know. She helps verbally frisk me to help me make sure I have everything I need. And I do:

in the rucksack: the Canon, the iPad, a charging cable, the GoPro;
In the handlebar bag: phone, wallet, and Ray-Bans;
In a bag on the floor: my bicycling clothes and shoes;
On my person: glasses and car keys.

Check, check, check, check. Rachael helpfully holds the door open for me as I wheel the Rodriguez out the door, and a few minutes later later I've loaded the bike in the back end of the car, almost effortlessly rolling it in wheel-end first - so much easier! - and am driving down to the police station to turn in the credit card I found yesterday. It takes me a little while to find it - I end up parking and walking over to City Hall instead - but once I get there it goes well and it's obviously the right solution, the one Rachael recommended. I explain why I'm here, I slide the card under the protective glass that separates this welcoming face and I, and then I'm given a brief found object report to complete.

I hope the lady gets her card back! I gave it my best shot to get it her directly, googling her name and finding a pair of exact matches including middle initial. Interestingly, both are local photographers and photojournalists - one recently retired from one of the local newspapers, the other recently retired from her role as the director of a local civic organization. I was sorry we didn't make the connection, and it wouldn't surprise me to find that I recognized her face as a patron of the Cafe Umbria just around the corner.

And about halfway to Salem the plan for the day changes again when an alert comes up on the map screen that I've got a call from Rachael if I care to click on the alert and answer it. She's calling to ask where I am, and to let me know I left the bag of bike clothes and shoes on the floor. Much too late to turn back now, so I scale back the ride plan because I don't want to bike far with open toed sandals.

__________

When I arrive in Salem I head straight to the Governor's Cup, a place I've frequented at various times for more than thirty years. Coming to Salem is always such a memory trip for me. I lived here for thirty five years, far longer than I've lived anywhere else. My whole professional career took place here, it's where I Rachael, it's where I so improbably and embarrassingly went through three marriages and three divorces in a ten year span. There are hundreds of places in town that bring back powerful, vivid recollections and old stories worth telling and remembering, and I imagine if this scroll rolls out long enough eventually a lot of them will find their way onto it as the memories comes back to me randomly, one at a time.

The Reed Opera House, one of Salem's iconic landmarks. I have so many memories associated with this place, I could write a whole book about them. Don't get me started.

This morning I walk in, claim my usual seat facing the roaster and the long table that soon will fill up with the local geezer group of guys that have been coming here for as long as I have - I recognize some of the faces - and sit down with my bagel and coffee and open up the blog and get to work. I'm still at it three hours later when it's time to go meet up with Frank, so the ride through Minto-Brown gets tabled for a different day.

Let's take a closer look at that roaster.

Another colorful throne room! I'd forgotten about this one. Definitely my kind of place.

I enter Boon's Treasury from the street entrance, just a minute or two after the place opens for the day. The place is empty, which suits me because I want to take a few minutes looking around and taking a few photos of this building, another iconic spot that is filled with personal memories. But almost immediately Katy greets me and takes me out back where Frank is seated waiting for me.

So, no photos and no photo essay on this place - for now at least. Before sitting down with my friend though I want to say something about John Fahey, in my view one of the most exceptional musicians our country has produced. I started following him decades earlier - maybe even before the army - and I'm mentioning him now because I saw him perform live here one evening,, in a confusing concert because his life was more or less in ruins. His health was terrible, he looked terrible, and he looked like he was passing his days in a flophouse or the Mission, as he was. I was surprised to learn that he moved to Salem and ended out his days here, in conditions described well but sadly in this homage written after he passed on soon after I watched him perform.

Frank and I have another fine visit as we trade stories and reminisces for nearly two hours and would probably have kept going for another two if I hadn't remembered to set an alarm so I wouldn't miss my appointment.

Katy, a new server here whom I talked into letting me include her in the frame so I could get a shot of her dragonfly tattoo.

When the iPad calls time I drive Frank back to his home a few blocks away to admire its new paint job and to stop in for a quick hug and a hi/g'bye with Julie, and then drive south to Sunnyside for my imaging appointment, shielding my eyes from places along the way that hold so much meaning and personal history.

__________

Imaging goes fine, and I'll learn results later. I'm out by 2:30, which is perfect because northbound rush hour traffic is just starting to build up when I come to the Terwilliger Curves.

Rachael returns home soon after I've arrived and settled down at the iPad with an IPA. She's returning from a relaxed errand-walk, still keeping mostly off her feet while her big toe recovers. And then I head over to the storage unit for a final attempt to find my missing clothing, but they're not to be found. It includes most of what I take traveling in the way of street clothes: three shirts, two pair of pants, several pairs of underwear. And they're definitely gone, so a shopping spree goes on the task list. The only thing that makes sense to me is that I set them on the sidewalk when unloading the car the day we moved here, and someone scooped them up for me.

Later we sit down across from each other to share the stir-fry Rachael has whipped up. And around eight I realize I'm nodding off so I lie down for a short refreshing nap while a John Fahey album spins away in the background. And an hour later the iPad snaps me to when the second alarm goes off that I'd completely forgotten about. There's a full moon tonight - 100% full - and we've got a wide view east across the river and it's a clear night so I should get a good look.

I'm shortly out the door and headed for the riverfront where I'll get the widest, most unobstructed view. But it looks like I won't get there in time - moonrise is at 9:34 - because there's a very slow-moving freight train blocking the way. I watch for a minute anxiously watching the clock until I notice that it's actually slowing down even further and finally comes to a compete standstill.

I like this at least. The cars are reddened by reflections of the flashing lights.

While I wait I walk back to the Fields so I'll get a bit more of a view from higher up, and take a few shots to pass the time.

Ten minutes later though I hear the tug of the train extending out as it gets underway again, and at precisely 9:34 the final car passes and I and everyone else who's been waiting crosses behind it before the bar has even lifted.

For the next half hour I walk and watch along the waterfront, expecting the moon to make its dramatic appearance any minute but he never does show. Finally I can't wait any more and head back home. Almost too late, I suddenly remember to look at the window and finally see it, almost an hour past moonrise. I slip out on the balcony as quietly as I can hoping it won't wake Rachael who's sleeping right next to the door, take my best shot, and finally get to go to bed myself.

August's is the Buck Moon, named because that's when the horns start sprouting out. It's also the one where the moon is at the most distant from the earth.

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