Sunday, August 5, 2012

Knocking About

Mrs Elliott and I went to the Deschutes County Fair on Saturday night. Never been there before. It ain't San Diego's Del Mar Fair, but it's a perfectly adequate and satisfactory fair. I got no gripes, and found access to be far easier than dealing with the horrific traffic we used to have to wade through on the I-5 in Del Mar.

We got some indifferent barbecue, we got to the rodeo too late to get a seat in the bleachers, we watched a dog competition of some sort (I was kind of baked so it seemed more interesting than it probably really was, but I loved the childlike energy of the dogs), and we almost paid $40 ("This normally sells for $60! But the `fair price' is only $40!") for a decent-seeming floor mat that can be found on the Webbernetz for $15.

I didn't find a ride I wanted to go on. Our tradition, since we first started dating, is to take a ride on the Ferris wheel at sunset, and smooch at the top.

There was no Ferris wheel.

I had a sad.

But since I was baked--did I already mention that?--I had a lovely time anyway.

Anyway, moving into the much-anticipated photo event.

 We visited a photo booth:
Automated Photo Booth
Mr and Mrs Elliott
2012
Mrs Elliott looked pretty cute so I snapped a shot:

Jack Elliott
The Swell Mrs Elliott
Rack courtesy of setting sun's tasteful side lighting

And my entry into the "Photos of the Fair" category is here:

Jack Elliott
Deschutes County Fair, 2012

When we left, we took the wrong exit from the expo and found ourselves wandering about the parking lot, convinced that nefarious personages--evildoers!--had stolen the car. But we found it, and laughed at our mistake.

On the way back to Bend we stopped by Maverick's, a country bar and grill on Bend's NE side. Why? Because our goofy 26 year-old son, Brian, has taken up some kind of cowboy line-dancing or Texas one-and-a-half-step dance activity there and we hoped to see him and act all old parents-y with him--but he had other plans. So we went to the Brickhouse restaurant at the Old Mill instead.

I ordered a glass of Pinot Grigio, which was terrible, and requested the Prosecco to replace it. It was barely any better. But the cheese and fruit platter was quite satisfactory. Call it a "mixed review."

Back home for an hour of reruns, then to bed.

We rode our bikes this morning. Used our sweet little Specialized road bikes. Up Shevlin Park to Mt. Washington Drive, west until we ran into the road closure, then back home via the same route. I let Mrs Elliott set the pace and route because she was torn between going to Zumba class or going on a bike ride. I knew she wanted to feel like she'd burned off last night's fair food, so I wanted her to feel like she got all the riding she wanted. 

This afternoon, after I put some ribs into the oven, we (Mrs Elliott, son Brian, and I) loaded up our new kayak hauler, hooked it to Mrs Elliott's (Bend-mandated) Subaru Outback, and hauled those kayaks up to a spot above Healy Bridge on Alderwood Circle and launched them from the Deschutes River Trail. There's a brief--far too brief--chunk of Class I or II river (I don't know the designations well) right above the bridge before it flattens out and becomes the classic Bend river float. 

Must. Find. More. Interesting. Chunks. Of. River. To. Paddle.

I could a used about two hours of river just like that short bit above the bridge. Anyone knows of a place like that around here, pls 2 advise.  

 BUT, the kayak hauler worked just fine! It towed like a dream. 

"Too bad," sighed Mrs Elliott,"that the hauler could also carry two bicycles on it."

Brilliant, that women. Glad I married her. 

I'll start working on it right away. 

2 comments:

  1. Mrs. E looks really cute in those photos. Mr. E -- meh. And y'all need to git yerself a cowboy hat, son.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Mrs. Blackdog and I dined at Brickhouse once. My mediocre steak arrived almost well-done instead of medium rare, and a side dish Mrs. B ordered never arrived at all. We wouldn't go back -- and yet everybody around here raves about it. Poor yokels.

    ReplyDelete

 
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