Wednesday’s headline: Ready for a spanking?

             The headline of the first day on the road comes from the East Oregonian in Pendleton, Ore. Have a look at the headline on the top left of the paper’s Page 1.

How could I not buy this paper?

The story inside explains that 26-year-old Dustin Irons appeared in the Umatilla County Court via a video hookup from the jail, where he has been since December for tearing apart a room in the Pillars Motel. The judge wanted to review Irons’ case, but Irons was having none of it.

Despite being in restraints, Irons managed to drop his pants and expose himself on a large screen TV in the actual courtroom.

“How he was able to do that with restraints was pretty creative,” a sheriff’s captain told reporter Phil Wright.

But the judge gave Irons no points for creativity. Instead, Irons got another 30 days in jail for contempt.

This is the kind of story that would have headline writers scrambling to see who could come up with the best title that would never appear in a family newspaper. As a former headline writer, I could not resist imagining what my entries would be:

In a flash, Irons back in irons

Exhibit A does not please the court

My fav:

Man must stick it out in jail 30 more days

            Pendleton had two attractions for me: The outlet store at the Pendleton Woolen Mills and a Chevron station, or so the exit sign said. I hate it when the sign says “gas this exit” and the station is miles away. I never found the Chevron station in Pendleton, and the woolen mill store turned out to disappoint me just like it did a year ago when I stopped. What they consider a sale really doesn’t register cash out of my pocket.

            But I spent about an hour in Pendleton, left without getting gas and barely made it to LaGrande, OR, where the exit sign assured me of a Chevron station, However, the sign at the top of the exit ramp said the station was two miles away, straight through downtown. But it’s a very nice downtown, and I did get gas.

          Worst joke of the day came at the gas station. Since it is against the law to pump your own gas in Oregon, an attendant appeared at the side of my truck as I pulled up. “Fill it up,” I said. “The canoes?” he said. “They’re kayaks.” “You want them filled?” Groan.

         I realized I was behind schedule while in LaGrande and that I would not get to Idaho as planned. Then I thought of Huntington, OR. I biked through here in 2004 when on an Astoria, OR, to Boise, ID, ride with my sister.  We were about three days into the search for the best fruit cobbler in the nation when I stopped in at Howell’s Café here. My speedy sister had streaked on ahead of me as usual so she missed out on what might be the national winner. A big bowl of warm peaches in a delicious crust with ice cream melting down through it. I may have licked the bowl.

      I also noticed that the people behind me were having a breakfast (anytime is cobbler time) of pancakes as big as the hubcaps on my truck. I have the Howell’s menu in my cabin and see that the note with the $12.95 pancake entry says, “IF YOU CAN EAT IT ALL . . . WE WILL BUY IT.”

      I’d like to try, but unfortunately the sign on their door says they do not open until 9 a.m. I’m hoping for an early start in the morning and plan to be on the road before then. Maybe next time.

     

Right under the word "Cafe," it says, "All white help." Sorry about the shadows.

       Something else brought me back to Huntington: my fascination with the sign on the side of the building that houses the café. “All White Help,” it reads in fading letters. In 2004, the café had a postcard of the sign, and when I remarked on it, the waitress told me it was still visible on the side of the building. And it still is.

       Paint over it? I’d be against that, just as I’m against leaving out the offensive language in “Huckleberry Finn.” Those are reminders of how racist our society has been, contact points to push away from toward what I consider progress. Sad thing is that when you look around today, it seems that not all of us are pushing very hard.

       Deluxe accommodations here in Huntington. A room with a single uncovered light bulb in the center of the ceiling. The bathroom sink is in the shower stall (first time I have seen that arrangement) and the TV doesn’t work. No phone, no pool, no pets. Cheap though.

     Off to the Streamliner Lounge, companion to Howell’s Café.  I was there earlier to rent this room. Only one person at the bar, a lady having Black Velvet mixed with Red Bull. Is there a name for that drink? Does it have to do with a painting of a matador on black velvet? It should.