Portland

The coastline was shrouded in mist, a white gloom studded here and there beside the road with pink mauve and purple wildflower. Sea and cliff gave way to a river chase, low banks and rickety jetties all the way. The trees looked rounder. We passed piles of logs and rows of stars and stripes flying in RV resorts.

We stayed in the Hawthorne district of Portland, bussing back and forth across the river to drink in microbreweries downtown and wander. We criss-crossed the suburbs of Hawthorne, all easy chairs on the front porch and lots of colour. Everyone in town seemed to be our age or roundabout and everyone seemed to have a tattoo, or a piercing or at least some kind of funky hair going on.

We bussed back the first night and a man with a waxed moustache that pointed like compass needles sat opposite. Champ was transfixed by the moustache while the man apparently stared at my sandals. He recognised they were from Japan, said he had a friend who had a similar pair and all the while I beamed like a fool for someone had recognised my sandals were from Japan.

Also, I beat Champ 4-1 at pool in Portland.