A Trip to Troutdale

From: The Department of Plot Twists

Mentioned: The moon, a magic carpet ride, humans being good, the dose matters.

 Last August, my wife Carol and I had plans for a two-night stay at an Airbnb with a long day hike near Troutdale, just west of Portland followed by an evening outdoor concert. But Carol opted to stay home so she could be on-call for the birth of our 20 month old grand daughter’s brother. At the Salem, OR station, I hopped on an Amtrak with my bike and got off in Portland. I continued 15 miles east on the bike, with my 2 tickets to see Khruangbin the next night in my pocket. When I checked in at the Airbnb, the homeowner (I’ll call her Keltic*) showed me around her place. Mentioning in passing that I did have an available extra ticket, I hopped back on the bike to check out the venue (only a mile away) and grab some food.  I ended up on the south balcony of the Grand Lodge at Edgefield, surveying the crowd as they entered the Edgefield Great Lawn to see that night’s show.  Many of them were having their belongings confiscated and tossed on the huge and growing pile of illegally oversized festive beach towels, fanny packs, and purses.  A couple years earlier when they still allowed folks to bring chairs, I had to demonstrate to the chair-man that the seat of mine was in fact 8” or less from the ground WHEN YOU ARE SITTING IN IT and so he reluctantly affixed the green seal of approval to my festival furniture. This time, at home I’d wielded the tape measure deftly, rummaged thru my towels, and only brought the exact right size. I was confident that tomorrow night’s soft and fluffy towel mountain would not contain mine.

 Upon returning to the Airbnb with a burrito and a beer in hand, Keltic prepared a bowl of food, and we chatted. She said she’d decided to take me up on that extra ticket, and in compensation, would make us both dinner before the show, and indeed the next day we did enjoy  salad and pan fried salmon, along with 7.5 mg. of gummy Sativa for me and a couple bowls of dry herb for her, along with half a beer each, Wayfinder IPA from the new taphouse just down the hill, which had opened 2 weeks before. We set off for the show on foot, noting that we’d have the light of a full, super, blue moon for our walk home. 20 minutes later were going through security. I had provided Keltic with measuring information, and we both breezed past the guards.  

Just the 3 of them, with a smile, style, and power wigs instead of powdered wigs

 Setting up on the lawn with our towels required a bit of negotiation, but I held my ground so-to-speak primarily out of a confident reliance on my experience (with lawn-positioning, not with towels-she’s got the advantage there being a high-level competitive swimmer). Our next stop was the concessions, where we loaded our water bottles with the IPA du jour. We found our way to the “VIP” section in front of the stage, which consists of a section of the dancing area cordoned off to all but those who’d ponied up extra $$ for purple iridescent wristbands. Khruangbin was mesmerizing with their dramatically draped wigged heads and special light show. We were near the front enjoying our VIP dancing space when suddenly something was happening. It was a woman, Keltic to be precise, toppling over into the arms of random dancers.  As they eased her down, she seemed to be conscious, but it was hard to hear her response to standard questioning (“are you OK?”).  Being as how we were in the “VIP” section, there were several doctors at her side almost immediately. We decided to have her sit up. Seemed OK, let’s stand…down she goes again. Repeat the process several minutes later, and we’re back on the ground. The stretcher crew was called in, and they literally ran with her through the quickly and efficiently constructed corridor of Khruangbin fans, to the medical tent.

Doesn't look it but it is in fact super, full, and blue 

 We could hear her better. Vitals were taken and tests run (“I’m going to take a picture of your heart”). No worrisome history or drugs (except for alcohol and cannabis) and all the tests seemed OK. It was weird being questioned about my relationship to the “patient” and responding that I was a “houseguest”. IV fluids were suggested and declined. Standing was finally successful. We both were very impressed with the way the medical team operated, with expertise, efficiency, and common sense. Once Keltic was discharged, I told her to wait at the medical tent while I ran back to get our stuff. However, my indicator trees and other landmarks I’d planned to use to find my way from stage to the towels were nowhere in sight, every tree was the same. I quickly abandoned that plan and returned to the med tent; we left our blankets, binoculars, bags, and other belongings on the Edgefield lawn. I later called and sure enough, my 12” by 6” clear plastic bag with my windbreaker, fleece, and binoculars were waiting for me at lost and found.

Everyone in this story performed honorably. I’ve mentioned the adept medical folks. The falling-person catching  fans were great, Keltic was chill and cooperative as her body got stabilized, and I was calm, supportive, and present. Afterward, as we walked the mile home with help from the special moon, Keltic told me that she had felt a kind of ecstatic relaxation during the intervention, the crowd fashioning a comforting channel for her as she lay on a medical magic carpet, flying towards the healers.

 

 *Shortly after arriving “Keltic” told me how to find a longer road with a gentler grade, offering a much easier way to get up the hill  from the village to her house, avoiding the straight up 13% grades. At the base of this hill was the Troutdale Visitor’s Center.  The woman in charge there was named Keltic, spelled thusly since her father was a Lakers fan of Irish descent who couldn’t stomach a botched pronunciation of his daughter’s name.