Day 18: Traffic Would Improve if the Drawbridge was Enchanted

Oregon, man, you are one whacked-out place, and I think I love you.

I mean, check out that stick family. Parents, three kids, big dog, little dog, squirrel-cat, and eight chickens. That? Is perfect.

You’re also home to one of the funnest cool-creepy places I’ve ever been.

For my Tennessee friends: You know that creepy fairytale section of Rock City? Take that and blow it up the size of Rock City.

For my Carolina friends: You know that creepy feeling of driving through Heritage USA when it was abandoned? Take that and add in creepy fairytales.

Enchanted Forest just outside of Salem, OR, is a place unlike any other.

Earl found it on Roadside America and insisted on stopping. We had time, even though we’d gotten away later than I’d hoped after our midnight drive the night before, and even though we had to pick El Jefe up in Seattle at a set time. Velma the GPS said we had time to kill, so kill it we did.

Tofte founded Enchanted Forest at the turn of the 60s/70s, and while it’s been well maintained, the park is like a time capsule from that time. Which, I think, is what makes it still oddly enchanting 40-odd years later.

Clearly, Tofte didn’t get the rights to use the Disney-traditional dwarf names. At Enchanted Forest, the dwarves are Grouchy, Smiley, Snoozy, Droopy, Wheezy, Dingy, and Lumpy. If that’s not plum delightful, I don’t know what is. </sarcasm>

Poor Smiley, stuck with the rest of that sad sack bunch. When Earl refused to go into their mine shaft, I didn’t blame her at all. The depressed dwarves probably have it booby trapped in an effort to cheer themselves up.

The landscaping was well maintained, although I’m not sure how much maintenance fake flowers require.

I may sound totally down on the place, but it was fun and charming in its own way. The witch, for instance, was splendid!

The Crooked Little Man and his Crooked Little House were disconcertingly fun.

Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater’s wife was done with living in a pumpkin.

The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe at least gave her kids an awesome way to leave the house.

In the Wild West part of the park, I loved seeing the shaggy-haired customer thoughtfully contemplate which cut to get while the barber thoughtfully contemplated homicide.

And the dentist is clearly confused. Is it U.R. Hurtin? Or R.U. Hurtin? Does he even know? And are you?

In the village, the animatronic (oh yes, they talk and move) villagers bickering from their windows made me think of AbFab for some wholly unknown reason. Don’t ask.

And the buildings were quaint and delightful with cute little hidden gems scattered about.

Further proof it’s not Disney: Princesses in Disney wouldn’t be caught dead drinking a milk shake they’d just procured by batting their eyes at the cute soda jerk.

When we left Enchanted Forest after only 45 minutes, having not ridden the first ride (yes! they have rides!), Earl sighed. “Next time, we need to spend more time.”

“Yes. Next time we’ll stay for at least an hour and 15 minutes.”

I kid. We might stay two.

Velma said we had just enough time to make it to Seattle before El Jefe landed.

Velma was exacting her revenge. Velma lied. Velma purposefully ignored traffic.

Now you must understand. Earl and I drove over 4,500 miles without hitting anything worse than rush hour traffic in Dallas. But the moment we crossed into Porland, OR? Parking lot.

Did you know Portland has a gondola? I didn’t. But I do now. I also know you can watch it make four trips back and forth in the time it takes to cross under it when the traffic is just so.

What I don’t know is who in the everloving world puts a drawbridge on the interstate? Because best I could tell, that was the hold up—the drawbridge on I-5 at the Oregon/Washington state line.

Oh yeah. We traversed Portland, OR, at a whopping max speed of 10 mph.

So we were already late to pick up El Jefe when we hit our second parking lot in Olympia, WA.

But it was all good. Sea-Tac has a Pearl Jam Poster Art exhibit at the moment, and if there’s two things El Jefe loves more than Pearl Jam and posters, I don’t know what they might be.

Aside, obviously, from the two girls who belatedly picked him up from the airport after having driven exactly 4,750.0 miles.

We checked into our hotel and hit the streets of Seattle in search of food. But we were sidetracked by fountains and foosball.

We wandered slowly down toward Pike Place Market, the realization that Seattle closes shop early creeping over us. At last, we found a little pub for dinner and a peek of sunset.

We have a week with El Jefe before he has to get back to the business of work. As we went to bed our first night in Seattle, I cursed our series of late nights and my lack of sleep as something felt like it was taking hold in my chest. “I’m just exhausted,” I told myself. “I’m not getting sick. I can’t be getting sick.”

But then, if my body insists on getting sick, at least it can have the decency to do it when I have a back up driver for a bit. And while, for a few days, Earl is totally ga-ga over having her Papa around again.

Daddy’s girl is even moreso when she’s been stuck in the car with Mama for nearly 3 weeks. And I am completely okay with that.