I check out of the White Eagle hotel at 11am, walking out the door and taking an immediate right into the White Eagle Bar for an early lunch. Yesterday's barman is not alone today, partnered by what appears to be a cheap rip-off of Woody from Cheers... "Portland's a good city, but its getting too liberal for my liking... I'm not down with that. I vote for Bush, I mean I think we've got it pretty good."
I take a Bush voter as a sign to leave and head to the station for the train to San Francisco. Incredibly its on time and a lot busier than the Texas train. I'm alloted a seat next to Sam from Brooklyn who is heading to LA and introduces himself by saying there's bound to be a stop so he can get off and smoke some weed. Each to their own.
I pass an hour talking to Sam about various things, from where we've been to baseball and beyond. "...you were in Texas and you didn't fire a gun?! You have to fire a gun in Texas; don't be so close minded about it." The train winds up into the Oregon mountains and darkness begins to creep in amongst the fir trees. Sam disappears off to the lounge car and I attempt to get some sleep. An attempt is all it is as thanks to the random humming from the woman behind me and snoring from the strange man clad in Oregon University clothing across the aisle from her, my sleep is restricted to ocassional ten minute bursts and no more.
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