Today, we saw more Redwoods and more of the Pacific Coast. As we went along the highway, we spotted a sign warning of "Elk." Not but twenty yards from the sign was a gravel road, which we turned onto because, in the field beyond, 12-14 Roosevelt elk were sitting or ambling around in the field, and nearly all were male. We got a few pictures, then headed back on out onto the road. Later on, there was a special pullout where we came just a few yards from a female elk.

We then got into Oregon, eventually making our way up into a town called Grant's Pass. Hungry, we stopped at a place called Smokehouse Barbecue. Initially cautious about trying it, we smelled it and instantly took it for good barbecue. They did not disappoint. The ribs and pulled pork were on par with the Neely's, while the brisket was better than Neely fare. We talked with the amiable owner about barbecue, our trip, how the place got started, etc. His wife's beautiful, detailed paintings hang around the dining area - some of which are for sale, but some of which are not.

We got to Eugene, and then the adventure started. The Eugene Emeralds - a short-season single-A minor league team - plays there. They share their field with the baseball field of the University of Oregon. Being short-season, the Emeralds do not begin play until June 15, but we thought we might be able to get in and get a pennant for the collection. This is where the fun began: the parking lot was packed. We were informed by a very nearly completely bald surfer dude that the regional tournament for the College World Series was being played out in the stadium. When asked where we could get a pennant, he directed us down the road from whence we came. (He also gave directions as if we were intimately familiar with the area even after he was told - twice! - that we weren't from around the region and we were just passing through. Our accents, while not severe, should have reemphasized this point to him.) Not having anything to lose, we went down there and were told by a heavy fellow with a sparse tooth population that what we were looking for was in a building just beyond him.

That was completely the wrong building. That was part of the athletic center for the Oregon Ducks and had absolutely nothing to do with the Emeralds. We were then told on our way out that what we sought was on the other side of the stadium - on another road completely. When we got there, we couldn't park near the stadium, having to park across the street and attempt to walk, with no crosswalk to aid us. Eventually, seeing as everyone in there was concerned with the College World Series (I spotted at least three TV trucks), we abandoned the attempt as hopeless.

However, that wasn't the only minor league team in the area. We got to Salem, where the Salem-Keizer Volcanos play. The Volcanos are in the same league as the Emeralds - and their stadium, too, had people in it. We were informed by the man at the front gate, who thought that our 4800-mile trek from North Carolina to Salem was at least borderline strange if not full-on bizarre, though he had the good sense and manners not to say this to our faces. He radioed the ticket office, who opened up the shop. For free, we got a poster full of minor league hats from the congenial fellow who checked us out, and we even got some barbecue sauce there as well - though we paid for that acquisition. Interestingly, Oregon has no sales tax - as he put it, "the McDonald's Dollar Menu is actually one dollar. It's crazy!" Thanking the folks there for their time, we headed back onto Interstate 5.

We were running low on gas at this point and pulled off on an exit a little later on to fill up. Instead of filling it up ourselves, a woman came over and did it for us, telling us that Oregon and New Jersey are the only two states that mandate full service gas pumps in order to create jobs. With full tank and clean windshield, we went on to Portland.

Portland is a vastly interesting city, even though I've only seen some of it so far. Their public transport system looks like one of those big gondola ski-lifts, reaching its apex high above the highway on an intriguingly designed bridge. They have all kinds of rail systems, which can be observed from our hotel room's balcony.

Since it was dinnertime, we went downstairs to eat. The salmon was good but forgettable - but the dessert, maple ice cream, was delicious. I'm not going to want to brush my teeth for the rest of forever because of the lingering taste, but I shall eventually have to. Tomorrow we'll probably visit the place again, exclusively for the maple ice cream.

Tomorrow, we stick around in Portland, because, y'know, BRICKS CASCADE.