Bend, OR Part 2

Getting to Bend

I have very little to say about the 2,146-mile drive to Bend. It is limited to these three salient takeaways:

1. If historically I've tried to convince you how wonderful Omaha, Nebraska is, FORGET IT. Delete my phone number. Never trust me again. Even though my love is still strong for the bronze buffalo statues, after having to go to four different gas stations to find a working pump, I retract everything good I've ever said.

2. Denver, Colorado is still an enigma to me. What type of person lives here and how do they spend their time? Never mind I don't really want to know.

3. Menomonee Falls, Wisconsin... oops sorry I mean Twin Falls, Idaho has the best strip malls and most horrible cold brew coffee.

   
   

Floo flabbergasted me with how well she handled the whole circus, paws up.

Bend, OR (for permanent this time)

We're Oregon official by definition of the state government! And by "we" I mean my 17-year old cat, 25-year old car, and 33-year old self. Perfect 8-year intervals between us girls; now we all must stay alive to preserve our perfect pattern.

My car was technically illegal by the second week of May when the temporary permit expired. How am I supposed to put down roots in that amount of time? Or buy the plant even? Put soil in the pot?? Where the HELL is the Home Depot to get all the stuff??? HELP I WAS ON MY WAY TO HOME DEPOT BUT I'M TRAPPED IN ONE OF BEND'S THREE HUNDRED TRAFFIC CIRCLES!!

We rolled (literally, the AirBNB was on a very steep gravel hill) into Bend at 3PM on Friday April 3. It's truly amazing how quickly I went from "the anonymity sounds r e f r e s h i n g" and "I liKe bEiNg By MySeLf" to weeping publicly in Backporch Coffee Roasters because I hadn't yet deeply connected with someone in two days. The difference, I've learned, is indentured solitude versus choosing to be alone when you have the option not to be.

In an absolute panic on day 2.5 that everyone in Bend is no younger than 81 years old, I signed up for approximately 32 fitness classes thinking I may find young friends there (like, maybe 60 years old, if God is good). The best way to lose weight, after Ozempic, is to move to a place where you don't really know anyone. Whether I do or don't make friends, I'll get strong, which is awesome so that I can kick myself really hard for moving cross-country in pursuit of a hobby I did five times.

Lonestar most certainly wrote this song before actually leaving. Why should we wait? Well I can give you plenty of reasons why, Lonestar: *Charlie Brown teacher noises*

Why do you have to be a centenarian to appreciate living in a place that is clean, beautiful, and caters to activity? I rode the "townie 17-mile loop" on my road bike on which I crossed three different biomes, all spotless; was cordially greeted by UPF-clad townspeople; and was joined by Steller's Jays flying alongside like I was Snow White sponsored by Trek. I don't get why all my old friends don't just move here? It still has city stuff - breweries, overpriced average steakhouses, a museum... Come on! COME ON!!

To be fair, I knew about the elderly concentration. When I first visited Bend I wrote that "our species" (single childless women in their 30s) must be "near extinction in Bend." But I wouldn't be a 33-year-old unmarried woman if I wasn't ignoring a few red flags, now would I? 

Speaking of being a spinster, I have gone on several first dates since arriving. Don't get it twisted; though I'm seeing half the city and writing a blog or whatever this is, I'm not trying to be the Carrie Bradshaw of Bend. Even if I wanted to, nobody here wears heels unless you are part of a bachelorette party from out of town. And even if the locals did don Manolo Blahniks, I wouldn't wear them because of the dates I've gone on, 60% of them have lied about their height by 2 inches. One didn't disclose his height which is really skewing the statistics as I'm sure if he did, it would have been falsified. To all my short kings, live your truth! I don't care if you are short; I just want to prepare myself to look straight into your eyes by default the whole night.

No panic, whether it be about a lack of friends or concentration of eye contact, can't be forgotten when barreling 40 miles per hour down a cinder-ridden road shoulder. That's why I moved here, and barrel I will. Age aside, I am in good company; Bendites do love bikes. Interestingly it is not a great place to travel by bike. There is a bike lane on the literal highway with a posted speed limit of 45 MPH, like that is something bikers requested -- to be sucked into the vacuum of a passing semi-truck while heaving in exhaust up a climb.

After much (much) research I purchased a mountain bike. I succumbed to peer pressure and went with Specalized and no I will not tell you the price but I will tell you the available model names: Gravelgrinder, Stumpjumper, Rockhopper, Bouldereater, Twigsnapper, Dirtmuncher, and Pinepuncher. Only two of those are real! Guess which. I have many more fake ones; contact me and we can continue.

As I have come to understand in the west and the pacific northwest, there's a lot of driving TO a place to bike or hike or ski. This is new to me; I assumed everything would be accessed by the same mode of transportation that you intended to participate and am surprised to find it's actually easier to get around by bike in Chicago than in Bend (infrastructure-wise). That being said I very much enjoy the post-work vehicular exodus to the trails; we all have our little bikes on our little racks scooting out to Phil's trailhead to forget about our horrible corporate remote work jobs that afford us the pleasure of hurtling over our terribly expensive handlebars.

Climbing up Skyliners, one of the five road biker highways of Bend, everyone (by law, probably) acknowledges each other with either a head nod or a wave, sometimes both. I haven't decided which I want to be. Which do you think I am? Which are you and why? These are questions I am practicing for ice breakers with my new friends. One guy went totally off book and went with a hang loose. Should I add that to the list of options? Decisions, decisions...

For now I am a bobblehead, as that is the majority. All of us on bikes are bobblehead novelties in an Oregon museum store. Most of the model names are cool like "Doris, Completing her 200,000th mile" or "Roger, training for Race Across America" and then there is my model: "Rachel, Transplant Who Did Not Read Route Correctly But Won't Turn Around and Suffering."

The people of Oregon are simply a different breed. Like everywhere else, they wear shirts from the events in which they've participated but there isn't any "Turkey Trot" or "5K Fun Run," no, it's "Mud Killer Triple Ultra Marathon" or "3492K One Week Oregon Trail Dash." But nobody TALKS about it incessantly. Elite physical fitness is run of the mill. An old man on a bike lapped me twice on Pilot Butte: a 500 foot gain over 1 mile. I was fighting for my life, racing an old lady who was on foot. I beat her ass, but heaving and salty (physically and emotionally) while she was cute and refreshed -- waving a four finger wag-down when she breezed by me at the summit where I was wolfing down a Clif bar like a dog that got a hold of a steak. She had brought no snacks because this was quite literally a walk in the park for her.

Still, no one is on their phones. If you're not scrolling endlessly what are you even doing with your time?! Maybe they are training for that 3492K run. Maybe because everyone is 90 or older they all have Jitterbug phones and can only press help when they've fallen down, and decline spam calls. Not this time scammers! Not this time... probably next time though because if someone calls twice it must be real.

It is June as I write this, which is synonymous with garage sale season. And by golly I think I've cracked the case -- no one is on their phones because they're spending their waking hours leading up to June cataloging all their belongings in preparation for garage sale season. They are carefully making their garage sale signs (but not too carefully, as it should be barely legible) and researching the locations at which to post them for optimal attendance. Tracking women, me specifically, on their daily walks to the coffee house to see at which corners they turn so that the signs are utterly unmissable, and the hours of operation undeniably convenient. I have been to so many garage sales I've purchased enough things to have my own sale next year. Once I do, I'll be both Oregon AND Bend official.

It is definitely easier, or at least less stressful, to make friends when you have some disposable income. Oh you're going to a glass blowing class tonight? Yeah I'd love to join. $180? No problem I've actually been wanting to blow glass forever it's like you know me so well... we are really connecting aren't we? I feel it. You know it's funny, I was JUST thinking to myself how nobody here wants to eat Italian food and watch western movies but you're telling me there's a night dedicated to that? And there's one ticket left?!

I'm still running with the lies I told when I visited here the first time but I'm getting lost in my own web. Am I from Wisconsin or Chicago? But I am here now so I'm from here? I went to a dinner I found on meetup.com titled "Dinner for Losers in their 20s and 30s" oops sorry I mean "People Ages 20's and 30's - Do YOU Like Food and/or Conversation?"

If you know me, I don't like food in the traditional sense (breakfast, lunch, dinner - all in moderated proportions) and I most certainly don't like conversation. I prefer desert for breakfast, no lunch, and "dinner:" a baked potato over the sink and then 20 minutes later four adult-sized carrots, maybe everything in the refrigerator, and then before bed a varying number of spoonfuls of Cool Whip depending on how bad the day was.

But it's all an act; another two lies to add to the list. Dinner? Yes I have this all the time, every night in fact. Protein and carbohydrates and vegetables all on a plate together, at once? Standard evening for me here. Utensils? Please, please, hand me that rounded one, I am a utensils expert. Do you like forks or knives better? This is a good conversation, yes?

I am maybe finding friends, some even below 60! It is so funny to spend time with people like me who don't want to après after the event. Everyone packs up quickly and expeditiously exits. There is little chit, maybe a tiny bit of chat, but while we're opening the building door and then the car door and then shouting bye through the crack before shutting it. Since we're both trying to get away it's actually quite a smooth and efficient conversation. Hey... maybe I DO like conversation. My favorite is the fork.

The most embarrassing thing that has happened to me since I got here was asking a grocery store employee if they sell Uncrustables. She said "Uncrustables?" I explained to this cavewoman that they are pre-made, un-crusted, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. She said "Pre-made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?" and stared at me wondrously. "That's right, never mind..." and she said "Well they certainly sound good!" Yes, lady, they ARE good and you know what's BEST about them is that I can sit on my fat ass and waste plastic and cardboard and have dumb little circular sandwiches ready to shove into my big dumb mouth without my having to clean two knives or accidentally drag a tiny drop of jelly all over the countertop and leave it to deal with later.

As of the summer solstice, I am feeling good. I only panic about once every six weeks now, and usually for shorter periods of time. I have two bikes; a signed apartment lease; a horse to ride; a lot of new contacts in my phone tagged with (Bend, Friend?) some of whom I text or visit at their job at the farmers market or pick up from their 100-mile bike race; and my two most prized possessions still chugging: my car and my cat.

* horse people do not contact me re: safety; he is trained to step off his lead if he steps on it, and the perspective makes him look closer than he is in the case of a spook

Things are going too smoothly; I am so suspicious, like a life-altering mountain bike accident must be imminent in my future to bring balance to the harmoniousness. I'm not wishing for it... but I guess I'm waiting? Don't be worried, unless you do not like me and want me to be morbidly injured. At the speed I'm learning, I'll not have the opportunity for a life-altering mountain bike accident. Here I am hitting a jump and catching an impressive 1.17 inches of air time and then getting bucked on the back end.

Every week Bend continues to surprise me. Last night I was offered cocaine; I went ten years in Chicago not seeing a singular line of cocaine and you're telling me all I need to do is knock three times on the bathroom door of the Commonwealth Pub? Well golly gee. And, I continue to surprise myself. I floated the Deschutes River with a friend (?) and had FUN (?!). If you know me, you know I hate water more than dinner and conversation. I look forward to all the ways I am changed and surprised.

I have so much more to say about Bend and what it does and doesn't offer. I've cut a lot out of this because it's already reading chaotic and more fragmented thoughts aren't going to convince you that really, I'm fine, and it's been over 75 days since I last cried -- publicly or privately.

When catching up with a friend she asked me to remind her which city I moved to. She said "Well good thing it's not called Bendover." But when you say the full city and state Bend, Oregon, it almost is? I've already claimed residency, so bend over!