by Pa Rock
Road Warrior
Whenever I come to Oregon to visit the grandkids in Salem, I always end the trip with a night in Portland. I do that so that I don't have to fight rush hour morning traffic to get to the airport. My travel agent, a fellow named Tim who operates out of his home in Kansas, books me someplace that offers a shuttle service to and from the airport. After I return my rental car, which Tim also books, I call the hotel and patiently wait for the shuttle to take me to my accommodations for the night. Tim looks for bargains, and I seldom stay at the same place twice.
This trip I was scheduled to spend the final Oregon night at the Portlander Inn, someplace that I had not stayed at before. After telephoning the hotel and having the receptionist say that she would have to find someone from "security" to drive over and get me, I settled down outside on one of the benches in the area where the hotel shuttles do their thing.
While I was waiting for my shuttle to show, a little old man - about my age - in an airport uniform who seemed to be in charge of sorting people onto the right carriers, stopped and asked me where I was headed. "The Portlander Inn," said I. "Oh," he replied rather gravely as she stroked his chin, apparently pondering how to proceed with his interrogation - and then added, "Have you ever stayed there before?"
"No," I answered, rather tentatively, suspecting that I was about to learn that it was home to some cult of cannibals, or worse yet, vegans.
"Well," he continued, "It's in an industrial area, and it mainly serves truckers. In fact, it has a truck stop."
"That's fine with me," I assured him. At least with a truck stop I knew I would eat well!
And then the helpful old man moved along to terrorize other travelers.
When my shuttle finally arrived I was bit disappointed to find that the driver was not some kin of H.P. Lovecraft's bus driver with gills in "The Shadow Over Innsmouth," but instead was a nicely dressed young man. He said that he normally worked maintenance at the hotel, but had been drafted by the desk clerk to put down his plunger and drive to the airport to pick me up. He seemed grateful for the break in his routine.
It turns out that the drive from PDX to the Portlander Inn was rather long, twenty minutes or so, and it traversed parts of the city which I had never seen. During the long ride, the driver and I discussed several things. I told him that most of what I knew about Portland I learned from watching Grimm, and he responded that several television shows have used Portland as a backdrop, and the city has also been used in quite a few movies. When I casually dropped a remark into the conversation that my son is a successful screenwriter, the driver put in a plug for his favorite book, Neal Stephenson's Snow Crash, and stated his adamantly held belief that it would make a fantastic movie.
And then we arrived at the Portlander Inn. The hotel is four stories tall and resembles some sort of modern castle. There are several truck-related businesses within walking distance, and the hotel itself contains an assortment of shops, a post office, two delis, a quick stop, a beauty parlor, a shoe repair shop, and even a movie theatre. It also has a concert venue where, according to the shuttle driver, many country stars appeared before they became famous. The truck stop itself is a big sprawling affair next door to the hotel, and there was probably over a hundred semis in the truck stop's parking area. So far I have been for two walks about the property and have found new places to explore each time.
I have stayed several places in the city of Portland, but the Portlander Inn is by far the coolest! Tomorrow night I will be at the Hilton in La Jolla, California, but I doubt that it will have anything to compare with this place - and certainly no big rigs in the parking lot.
Oh well, I guess I'm just getting spoiled!
Road Warrior
Whenever I come to Oregon to visit the grandkids in Salem, I always end the trip with a night in Portland. I do that so that I don't have to fight rush hour morning traffic to get to the airport. My travel agent, a fellow named Tim who operates out of his home in Kansas, books me someplace that offers a shuttle service to and from the airport. After I return my rental car, which Tim also books, I call the hotel and patiently wait for the shuttle to take me to my accommodations for the night. Tim looks for bargains, and I seldom stay at the same place twice.
This trip I was scheduled to spend the final Oregon night at the Portlander Inn, someplace that I had not stayed at before. After telephoning the hotel and having the receptionist say that she would have to find someone from "security" to drive over and get me, I settled down outside on one of the benches in the area where the hotel shuttles do their thing.
While I was waiting for my shuttle to show, a little old man - about my age - in an airport uniform who seemed to be in charge of sorting people onto the right carriers, stopped and asked me where I was headed. "The Portlander Inn," said I. "Oh," he replied rather gravely as she stroked his chin, apparently pondering how to proceed with his interrogation - and then added, "Have you ever stayed there before?"
"No," I answered, rather tentatively, suspecting that I was about to learn that it was home to some cult of cannibals, or worse yet, vegans.
"Well," he continued, "It's in an industrial area, and it mainly serves truckers. In fact, it has a truck stop."
"That's fine with me," I assured him. At least with a truck stop I knew I would eat well!
And then the helpful old man moved along to terrorize other travelers.
When my shuttle finally arrived I was bit disappointed to find that the driver was not some kin of H.P. Lovecraft's bus driver with gills in "The Shadow Over Innsmouth," but instead was a nicely dressed young man. He said that he normally worked maintenance at the hotel, but had been drafted by the desk clerk to put down his plunger and drive to the airport to pick me up. He seemed grateful for the break in his routine.
It turns out that the drive from PDX to the Portlander Inn was rather long, twenty minutes or so, and it traversed parts of the city which I had never seen. During the long ride, the driver and I discussed several things. I told him that most of what I knew about Portland I learned from watching Grimm, and he responded that several television shows have used Portland as a backdrop, and the city has also been used in quite a few movies. When I casually dropped a remark into the conversation that my son is a successful screenwriter, the driver put in a plug for his favorite book, Neal Stephenson's Snow Crash, and stated his adamantly held belief that it would make a fantastic movie.
And then we arrived at the Portlander Inn. The hotel is four stories tall and resembles some sort of modern castle. There are several truck-related businesses within walking distance, and the hotel itself contains an assortment of shops, a post office, two delis, a quick stop, a beauty parlor, a shoe repair shop, and even a movie theatre. It also has a concert venue where, according to the shuttle driver, many country stars appeared before they became famous. The truck stop itself is a big sprawling affair next door to the hotel, and there was probably over a hundred semis in the truck stop's parking area. So far I have been for two walks about the property and have found new places to explore each time.
I have stayed several places in the city of Portland, but the Portlander Inn is by far the coolest! Tomorrow night I will be at the Hilton in La Jolla, California, but I doubt that it will have anything to compare with this place - and certainly no big rigs in the parking lot.
Oh well, I guess I'm just getting spoiled!
No comments:
Post a Comment