Heppner

As expansive as Eastern Oregon is, sometimes it's the little things that stand out. Take the "zebra" room at the Northwestern Motel for example. Is there any reason--any possible reason--that this place should actually exist? Counting pillows, headboards, throw rugs, lamps, and other accouterments, I counted 31 pieces of zebra flair in that room. And it's just one of several themed rooms in the one-story, late-1940s, courtyard-style piece of kitschy goodness that is the Northwestern. Sitting out in the courtyard around 10:30 or so, we learned a lot about life in Heppner. The best job on the ODOT crew is to run backhoe, and don't trust Sheila as a babysitter, for example.
Heppner kinda bills itself as a sort of Irish town. Their cute downtown has a giant shamrock in the middle of the main intersection, and even their municipal garbage cans have shamrocks instead of little round holes for your trash. They also have a "Wee Bit O' Ireland" festival every year in March. As far as I could tell, churches outnumbered bars four to one, which is probably about right depending on how Catholic you're leaning. We had a horrible time trying to find something to eat during our stay, as it seems that none of the restaurants we saw had a real kitchen--just panini machines and microwaves. In all fairness, it looked like two of the restaurants were closed for remodeling or because it was Monday. We did find some sandwiches at a very eclectic 50's-themed antique mall sorta place.
Maybe it's because we had just spent three days out at the Deer Creek Guard Station, but I was really in the mood for a real beer when we got to Heppner. Best I could find at the grocery store (also conveniently located downtown) was a sixer of Mirror Pond, which was fine, but it made me think that if I had a spare million laying around I'd totally open up a brewpub in Heppner. It's pretty much the perfect place for one: A cute downtown, lots of people that probably like beer, and the nearest microbrewery has to be at least 100 miles away. Instead, we went bowling at the weirdest bowling alley on earth: The Youth Stable. I think it might actually be an old bowling alley that is slowly converting to a church annex. Half of the lanes are currently in the process of being torn out and replaced with air hockey tables and such, but it was just as good a place as any for our 27-month-old to learn how to roll. Thankfully he came in third, but just barely. I later checked out the bar in town, Bucknum's. It's like every other bar in any town under 10,000 people: Since the smoking ban, even bars in rural Eastern Oregon are soulless pits of depression with no character. Taking out the smell of cigarettes from bars only highlights the other more offensive smells: Fryer grease, cheap cologne, and urinal cakes. Lots and lots of urinal cakes.
We missed Mayor Leslie Paustian by five minutes on Monday afternoon, but the nice ladies at City Hall held onto our map overnight and made sure the Mayor autographed it by the next morning.
Heppner was probably one of our most fun towns so far, but my wife said something completely epiphanic while we were sitting in the courtyard of the motel among the tipsy young party-girls hitting on the visiting ODOT workers: "It's a nice town, but we would have had a LOT of fun in this place five years ago."
37 down, 205 to go.