Shellski goes to Eugene. A lot. It’s a handy place to score supplies for her business (she’s a jewelry artist). I’m blowing town myself soon. I’ll be gone for a few weeks. And so it was decided that this overnighter would be our "together" summer vacation. The drive north was a very welcome escape from the latest round of deadlines. We never even turned on the stereo. But the A/C and Cruise Control were wailing. Sheila the Wonderdog and I dropped Shellski at the Lane County Fairgrounds to attend a gem show. She went in with three large empty shopping bags.
I attended a few Grateful Dead shows in Eugene in the late sixties, and consequently have little memory of the shows or the town. Sixteen miles from our town of Medford, Oregon lies Ashland, once a grassroots arts community, now an elitist hideout for well-heeled retired hipsters. I lived in Ashland for a while in ’69 and ’70, because it had a fun scene (arts and hot rods) and was the cheapest rent in the valley ($25 a month for me and my eleven roommates, in a huge downtown vintage Victorian. You can’t find a parking space for that today). Eugene (housing most students and staff of the University of Oregon) still has an upbeat creativity that I’ve been missing for years. This place really hit the spot.
Sheila and I set out to rediscover Eugene. Top priority was my first ever visit to Autzen Stadium – home of my beloved Oregon Ducks. Even if you’re a Cubs fan, you really don’t know the depths of fandom until you’ve had your heart kicked around like Duck fans of the 1950s through the nineties. Brutal stuff. Their current success is a sweet salve of redemption, to be savored like oxygen, while it lasts. I was born and raised here and am a lifetime fan, but could never afford a ticket. This was a big day. We found the stadium (featuring a new monolith of some kind under construction) and made laps around it, looking for an opening. A friendly passerby tipped us to a possible crack in security, which we sniffed out and exploited. Sheila and I left the camera in the car and undertook an exploratory reconnaissance mission. We found the holy grail of fandom within five minutes: An unlocked gate to the playing field! It was irresistible. A concrete path from the gate led to the rubberized ramp from the home locker room to the field. Sheila walked a few feet ahead of me, checking for security badges and looking threatening. I bounced down the rubber ramp, imagining the team and coaches rumbling down it with me, nervously chattering and jacking up for game time. As we rolled down the tunnel, the light at the end grew brighter and larger. And then, there we were. Bathed in glorious Saturday afternoon sunlight, we both stopped and took a slow scan of the thousands of seats curved around us. They seemed to rise right up into the stratosphere. Very dramatic. Then I saw the headline: “Medford man arrested for trespassing and animal endangerment during stadium construction. Hearing scheduled for Monday. Bail set at $50,000.” Sheila and I each touched a toe lightly to the end zone turf, spun on our heels, and made a hasty retreat. Don’t be surprised to find a blog post this fall about why I want to sell my car to finance a ticket to the home opener.
We found our way back to town and booked a room at a Mom and Pop motel, across from the Greyhound bus station. Next to the bus station was a pretty colorful bar, hosting a “Fetish Fest” – also colorful. I was still sworn to vacation status and missed some killer photo opps. We picked up Sweet Shellski (now struggling with three large bags of stones) and settled in for the night. Shellski was predictably tentative about the motel, but it turned out to be a nice little room. Sheila didn’t even have to wear her disguise.
Before we left town on Sunday morning, we ate a knockout breakfast at an artsy little café, then Shellski wanted to pick up some items at a downtown store. Sheila and I quickly became antsy, and I was feeling that old work ethic guilt trip. I pulled the camera from the car and we hit the bricks to shoot something. Consider the following to be kind of a freshman-level photo journalism tutorial/tourist snapshots of a summer vacation photo essay...
If you laid down on the ground and shot up at a car here (snail's eye view), the tire store might become more interesting than distracting.
Although I've shot cars under overpasses and bridges, I've always wanted to try a bank drive-thru. This one was pretty clean. Lots of opportunity for creativity here...
Some other stuff that we found interesting within the three block radius...
The final leg into Med Town...
Fascinating, eh kids? Wish you all could've fit into the car with us. My camera and I will be on assignment for the next three weeks. We'll be out there somewhere, looking for Charles Kurault. But I'll be thinking of you...
Scotty
