This weekend Larry and I drove down to Port Orford (which is on the Southern Oregon Coast) and went to a Antique Motorcycle Museum. I'm not into things like that normally but the owner (who reminded me of Johnny Cash for some reason!) had some really old and really cool bikes. It was a beautiful day and since we were only about 50 miles from the California border I asked Larry if we could just be spontaneous and go to California, which we did. We drove down to Crescent City and spent the night in a cheap but clean (isn't that an oxymoron?) motel (The Magnolia Motel..whoo whoo!)
Crescent City didn't have all that much to be desired but I was just glad we were in a different state! We went to a place that was a Grill and Brewery (only they didn't brew their own beer, which we thought was strange considering their name) and ate decent food and then we hit The Turf Club. The Turf Club was dark and dead and had a jukebox full of bad country music and we felt sorta out of place. The drinks were stiff and fairly cheap, though, so we stayed awhile.
We asked the bartender if there were any bars that had live music (which was code for: We are bored and need to be around the young people, where should we go?) and so he sent us in the direction of The Pizza King. I love the fact that we got pretty damn drunk and listened to 2 bad cover bands and hung out with a really drunk 53-year-old Native American dude named Roger. All of this transpired at the Pizza King. I even danced to an Eagles cover and I despise the Eagles. Crescent City is where the action is at!
