The Portland Not-Exactly-Express: Catching Up - Part Two

Coming in a 3AM, staying up late drinking, and being a lazy bastard in general meant that I slept pretty late the next morning. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing since I was going to have to stay up until 3AM to catch my train out of SLC and start heading home. The only downside was that once again I wasn't getting a start until close to 2PM, and with sunset coming around 5PM there weren't a whole lot of daylight hours to burn. But there was food to be had, and I wasn't going to let a little thing like the sun disappearing ruin my day. The first meal of the day was going to be an SLC institution, The Red Iguana. The Red Iguana is home to some pretty good Mexican food in general, but they are legendary for their mole sauces. I got a table after a short wait, ordered up a sampling of their various sauces and tested them all out. Except for their verde sauce, which really didn't have much flavor at all, they were all good. Although the pumkin seed based sauce, and the chocolatey negro sauce were good, I opted for their spicy and flavorful amarilla sauce and a bottomless glass of ice cold horchata (a sweet rice milk with cinnamon and vanilla). Although I could definitely pick up on the spice of the sample, I was pleasantly surprised by the amount of fire the full dish had. What came to the table was a plate of stewed pork swimming in a pool of their amarilla mole that I scooped into steamed flour tortillas. By the time I was full and thoroughly satisfied I had a healthy brow of sweat forming and was glad for the cool glass of horchata.

Fueled up and ready to go I precariously crossed the street (which looked like it was having a new light rail track built in the middle) and stood for a really long, cold time waiting for a bus. I was initially heading to Gilgal Gardens (and oddity that a friend had recommended before leaving on my trip) but I realized the trip there took me past Temple Square, homebase of Mormonism and the site of the temple so integral to SLC navigation. I had been told by the chef at Takashi (Whose name I really wish I could remember, but I'll call Mr. Sushi for the sake of brevity) that the best view was actually from the 10th floor of the Jospeh Smith Memorial Building next door, and if the lines weren't too bad I should check out some Mormon comfort food at the restaurant up there as well. The line was more than I wanted, and I wasn't really hungry (yeah, surprised me too) so I took in the sights, snapped a few pictures, checked out Temple Square back down on terra firma and then walked to the bus station to finish my trip to Gilgal Gardens. Where I waited for a really long, cold time once again before the bus arrived.

The bus stop nearest the garden was a good 4 or 5 blocks away, so there was a short walk until I found the rather innocuous gates tucked away between two houses that lead to Gilgal Gardens. The garden was a labor of love by Mormon businessman and artsist Thomas Battersby Child Jr. built as a personal retreat during an unknown period of time between the mid 1940's and his death in the late 1960's. The garden is full of handmade sculptures that include a sphinx with the face of Mormon founder Joseph Smith, a small amphitheater with the sculpture of an unknown man (possibly Thomas himself) that seems to be dedicated to industry and various tools of various trades, a large stone arch with an unwieldy looking keystone, and dozens of tablets and random facades with pieces of scripture chiseled into them. After Thomas' death, the property was bought by his neighbor where it was poorly maintained until it was bought by the city in 2000 and has been undergoing a slow restoration process since then. Even though it was late in the evening and getting dark, it was after 5 and technically past closing time for the garden, it was a wonderful oddity and surprisingly calm as I walked around the small garden.

It was almost dark and I was beginning to worry about getting locked in the gardens, I had already started scoping out escape routes if necessary, I decided to head back towards town. It seemed like it was just as much work to walk back to the bus stop and wait around for a indirect bus as it did to walk the mile and a half back to areas I was more familiar with. This also happened to take me just a block away from Burt's Tiki Lounge, where Kevin of the Heavy Metal Shop suggested I check for some local bands. Some time later, well after dark, I stepped through the questionably labeled door between a tattoo parlor and sushi restaurant where I was introduced to a true dive bar. The "Tiki Lounge" was clearly named in irony, or leftover from some previous business, as there was nothing tiki and tropic about it. It was concrete floors, floor to ceiling (and on the ceiling as well) posters of metal bands, local concerts, and random shit. Behind the bar it was a cross between a found-art masterpiece, a random smattering of antique shop rejects, and molested toys. The place was also completely empty. After the door slammed loudly behind me, a ragged group of 20-something bar kids stumbled down the stairs and corralled around the bar. The bartender, who would later introduce herself as Toast, giggled and said something about being upstairs cleaning, but unless they were trying a new medical marijuana-based cleanser I highly doubt that. First impressions aside they were actually a really cool group of people who offered me shots after having only been there a minute or two. A couple tall-boy PBR's and a eponymously named shot of Toast later I had committed to coming back a few hours later for a local show being put on by a local record shop (not Kevin's).

The walk to Burt's had unsurprisingly left plenty of time and room to work up a bit of hunger. Toast had recommended a small parking lot down the road where several Mexican street vendors had set up shop, and being an obvious fan of street food and honest-to-god Mexican I made haste. I picked up a plate full of tamales for $3 and sat outside on a concrete curb in the 20-something degree, windy night eating from a profusely steaming plate. While they weren't as good a Doris' tamales from back in D'Iberville, MS they were better than any others I had eaten (including Fat Mama's in Natchez) before or since. They did a good job of warming and filling me up. But now I had a dilemma - what to do for the next 4 hours until I came back to Burt's. Why not head to the Beer Hive and decide there? Excellent idea!

Although I had really just been looking for an excuse to head back to the Beer Hive, I really did go there with the intentions of branching out elsewhere. There were two things I failed to consider - my love for beer I would have a hard time getting elsewhere, and meeting some really cool locals that helped entertain me. I was revisiting one of my favorite beers from the night before, Red Rock's Secale, when a group of strangers sat next to me at the bar (which I have to mention how awesome the bar - the physical bar on which you set you drinks - was as it had a trough of frozen water with a metal plate over it that was frosty cold and specifically designed for sitting your bottles and pints on to keep cold). It started out that they were politely letting me eavesdrop and toss non-sequitters in on ocassion, but eventually I was introduced to Ashely and Adam (who were beautiful people and a beautiful couple - Ashley being South Korean and Adam being Peruvian - who will one day have beautiful kids)and one of their comrades and talked about life, travels, and various other things. They would eventually invite me to hit the town and the Square with them, but thinking I didn't want to be a leachy hanger-on, and honestly thinking I was going to make it back to Burt's I declined. In hindsight that may have been the worst decision of my trip.

Instead I had one more cold one and left the Beer Hive to hit up a few places Mr. Sushi had recommended. I tried a few sides, like a pretty good mac and cheese and a pretty mediocre sesame chicken, from Bay Leaf (which I had been to the night before), and then walked down the road to Eva's where I had small plates that included a great spanacopita, sweet potato gratin, and a seriously surprising dish of sauteed brussels sprouts Mr. Sushi had suggested and I ordered despite a history of hating the sprout. I tried to hit another Mr. Sushi suggestion, called Plum Alley, but it had already closed so I started to head back towards Burt's to check out the bands and drink more PRB (when in Rome...). I never made it back to Burt's. I got lost. My phone had died shortly before leaving the Beer Hive so I couldn't look up anything, and the only person dumb enough to be out in the cold night along the streets I was wandering had no idea where the place was. I happened to spy a building that I had picked as a landmark to make it easy to get back to my hotel and giving in to defeat returned to my room. The timing was pretty good because it was now almost 1am and I had just enough time to pack, shower, and then begin the walk to the train station. I got as far as packing. I was tired, still cold from all the walking outside, and my feet were killing me. I made an executive decision and decided I would forgo the shower (likely to the chagrin of my train companions) and take a few minutes to rest the dogs. I fell back on my bed or kicked off my shoes to let out some figurative (though possibly literal as well) steam. I had no intention of falling asleep. None. I didn't even cover up. I just wanted a few minutes of stillness and quiet. I fell asleep.

It felt like seconds later, but I knew that startling feeling of waking up after unexpectedly falling asleep. I figured no more than a few minutes could have really passed but I looked over to the clock and it was 4:04am. I wasn't running late or in need of a cab instead of walking, my train had left an hour ago. A quick call to Amtrak in hopes that the train had somehow gotten hours behind confirmed I had most definitely missed it. The thought to yell, cuss, scream, or anything to vent my frustration never crossed my mind. I just shrugged and went back to sleep. Wasn't much I could do about it, so why bother? When I woke up I began making phone calls and consulting Amtrak's site to figure out a way to get home. The short of it was the trains out of SLC (there are only 2, one heading back west to LA and the other heading east to Chicago) were sold out until the 29th and even then there were no Rail Pass seats so it would cost me. At that rate I wouldn't be home until the 1st, and I had to be back at work on the 28th. I gave up on Amtrak and hit the web for plane tickets. I knew a last minute, Christmas ticket was going to hurt but I didn't realize what an average, one-way ticket was going to cost. Even when I spent an hour trying to finesse a ticket by mixing airlines, going to places that weren't even homeward bound, and looking at the red eye's I was only able to work it down to $350. Coming from someone who could spend days trying to find roundtrip tickets to Iceland that only cost $400, paying that much for one-way hurt me. It wasn't until I was on the plane and realized that just about everyone else payed $900 for the same route that I appreciated what a bargain that was.

The final trip home would have me flying from SLC to Phoenix at 8pm that night, a 3 hour layover waiting for a midnight plane to Charlotte, a 2 hour layover waiting for the plane back home to Greenville that would be delayed because there was absolutely nothing wrong with the plane (really, there was water on the tarmac that the pilot thought was coming from the engine and it took an hour for the mechanics to prove it was just ground water) and I would arrive home at 9am Christmas morning. Although I had to pay to get home, on top of having paid to get home already by train, the truth was I was not only glad to have avoided 72 hours of train rides and layovers, I was glad to be home for Christmas. It would be a sleepless night of flying, but I would get home in time to have breakfast with my folks, have dinner with the family, and then pass out and sleep on and off for about 16 hours. The truth was that my trip was pretty much over as soon as I left SLC regardless of what method of transportation I took, so not getting that grueling train ride home didn't hurt in the least and the wound in my wallet will heal.

After over two weeks of traveling, seven destinations worth of exploring, and dozens of odd, interesting, and occasionally awesome people my trip is finally over. I'm glad to be back home, sad to realize that I go back to work in a couple days, and will miss the melodic swaying of the train (but not the sore ass). As an awesome side note, Ashely and Adam that I had met at the Beer Hive texted me to wish me a Merry Christmas last night, so maybe I've even made some new friends on the way. Once I've had a few days to decompress and absorb everything I'll do a port mortem and look at what worked and what didn't.