47 hours of transportation: Part 2

Approaching Portland is always strange. I spent the first 15 years of my adult life there (1986-2001) and lived there longer than I have in any other town or city. Being in Portland is like moving through an affective palimpsest. Rolling through it on a train was like doing a transect of the palimpsest.

Here is where my long-time outdoor buddy Neil and I went through the locks in our kayaks, with two other people in a canoe:


We almost weren't able to reach the rope to signal the lock keeper that there were boats below; it was not set for people whose boats are so low to the water.

Eastmoreland train tracks, location of many careful crossings:


Downtown Portland, where I worked for Teleport and the Oregon Relay Service:


Bridges everywhere.

Waterfront park.

And then north, across more places that Neil and I kayaked over the years and during a couple of my very few visits back to Portland.




Through Vancouver, to which I once biked in the middle of the night, and where I lived with a depressed friend for eight months while commuting to work at Intel and home to SE Portland for clothes and books.

And then north to Puget Sound.



We went under the Tacoma Narrows bridge, the one one that replaced the famous Galloping Gertie: 




And onward into Seattle, arriving there about 20 hours after leaving Davis.


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