Estacada

The summer of '93 was arguably the best summer of my life.  I lived on 5 acres of mixed growth forest in a pole barn just outside the city limits of Estacada with a couple of other recent high-school graduates.  The one bathroom in the house didn't have walls, but it was conveniently located just below the stairs so you could rest your forehead against the stairwell as you leaned over the toilet while you threw up that bottle of Boone's Farm Strawberry Hill fortified wine.  The rent was only $50 per month, which was great since my two sources of income at that point was selling portraits at the Hollywood Fred Meyer and pawning used stereo equipment.  We lived on discounted white bread and expired lunch meat and 24-packs of Hamm's Ice.  Our idea of fun was to coast down Wildcat Mountain Road (saves gas that way) to pick up girls at the Taco Time and then turn in beer cans to get $1.20 in gas so we could crank my 1970 VW Bug back up the hill and blast the Pixies in the forest loud enough to wake up the random cougar that would occasionally saunter by the pole barn.  Also, for some reason, my friend Ben would usually show up around 3am with more Hamm's Ice and random girls from the Woodburn Dairy Queen.  It was a wonderful summer and it sounds absolutely horrible to 33-year-old me.

Estacada these days is still awesome even though I don't live there anymore.  One of my favorite things about visiting Estacada is the incongruousness of seeing Tri-Met bus #31 rolling through town along with all the jacked-up 4x4s.  When I was getting gas there yesterday I even saw the world's largest confederate flag attached to the bed of a Subaru Brat.  It drove down Broadway and even peeled out at the stop sign in front of the Safari Club.  Priceless.  Mayor Becky Arnold met me to autograph our map next door to Fearless Brewing where she was helping her Dad out with his business.  Fearless had a handwritten sign in the window that I wish I had taken a picture of that read:  "Against the beer tax?  We have a thing for you to sign."  I almost went in to add my signature but I knew I'd be cajoled into having just enough beer to not be able to drive home and end up staying in Estacada forever.  Really wish they'd bring back their sausage fondue though.  

Also, if you ever get lost in the woods around Ripplebrook and can't find your car so you end up spending the night under a bunch of cedar branches and almost losing both your pinky toes to frostbite, Estacada is the first town you see the next morning when you finally get unlost so bring cash.    

27 down, 215 to go.