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move over lumberjacks, BEND, ORE., OFFERS
THE PERFECT MIX
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - BY CHRISTINE BARNES | it is summer in the mountains. I know this because the guys in ponytails are
wearing short-sleeved T-shirts to work. Construction is booming in Bend,
Ore., on the eastern side of the Cascade Range, and the hunks with hammers
are strutting their stuff by day and hanging out at the microbreweries at
night. They are building because people are coming. Lots of people. The
population of Bend went from around 18,000 in the late 1980s, when my husband
and I mulled over the idea of joining the migration north from California, to
more than 32,000 today.
The draw of a town that has been written up in Sunset magazine and called
the "Aspen of the Northwest" by Newsweek magazine is simple enough -- it's
beautiful. Sunrises push a flush of pink
over the high, dry landscape and then bounce off the snow-covered volcanic
peaks
to the west. Lava flows cut through nature's canvas like a brush stroke
only Munch could execute. Clean air just that much thinner at 3,200 feet to
make the heart pulse a bit harder and the adrenaline pump with more passion.
There are springs releasing the icy aftermath of winter into rivers and
lakes. And there's Bend, a nice, small town
with good schools, safe streets and even a river running through it.
And hiking trails wind out of Bend along the river and into the Deschutes
National Forest. Rail lines built to carry
100-year-old trees to the two once-buzzing mills in Bend are now cleared of
tracks and used by mountain bikers, hikers or firefighting teams. The
Cascade Lakes Highway (a scenic byway), just west of Bend, opens in late spring
or early summer when the plows can clear the road and offers access to dozens
of lakes, the Sisters Wilderness Area, campgrounds, fishing and a
fascinating ecosystem. Recreation and tourism have replaced timber,
and the flow of tourists and transplants sometimes overburden the resources,
much like the felled trees once clogged the Deschutes River while on their
way to
be processed at the mills.
At first glance, the estimated 5 million tourists who visit annually may be
unimpressed by
the town. Highway 97, the north/south corridor that divides
Bend, is an all-American strip of motels and commercial property generously
dotted with fly fishing shops and big box discount houses. Flowering berms
with plants spelling out BEND are at each end of the strip -- small buffers
to the onslaught of commercialism. They have always held a special spot in my
heart; they are the town's living signature and the place where I did a
cartwheel when we decided
to move here, the place where I threw out my 40-something-year-old back.
Turn west off the strip to get to the heart of Bend. There lies the
original downtown and park area, where a thriving business community with
shops, brew-pubs, coffeehouses and restaurants backs against Mirror Pond, a dammed portion of the Deschutes River. The backdrop is the snow-capped Cascade Range.
I live on Bend's West Side, a few blocks from the park. Those who call this
neighborhood home believe it's the "cool" side of town. It is an odd
assortment of tiny mill shacks from the town's lumber days, now being
renovated or torn down, and lovely original and new knock-off Craftsmen-style
homes with a smattering of apartments next to newer ranch houses.
Almost every morning I walk down to Royal Blend Coffee shop, get my cup of
brew and continue with my dog, Shelby, for our morning wake up. Across from
Royal Blend is Newport Market, a supermarket turned high-end specialty food
store with wine tasting in the afternoon. A stop here
between 4 and 6 p.m. any evening will give you the perfect cross section of
Bend: "boarders" (a term used for anyone under 30 with tattoos, body
piercing, baggy clothes, questionable employability and big, fat eat-shit
grins), women from the new exclusive neighborhoods picking out Portabello
mushrooms and polenta for the evening fare and "Westsiders" who shop here
and then begrudgingly sneak into Costco for bulk, low-priced items.
The construction and landscape workers come in later as the summer sun
finally drops behind the Cascades.
High-priced homes are affixed to Awbrey Butte, which rises to
the north and around exclusive golf-course communities (prices are all
relative; you can still
find a nice house on a big lot with a view for around $250,000). The push
and pull of
money and what it can and cannot change is the undercurrent that is forming
the town's new psyche. New money wants to be welcome and projects like the
Boys and Girls Club building rehabilitation is flush with funding. Goodwill
and skepticism abound in almost equal portions. The Rotary, Kiwanis and other
service organizations are much like in other small towns, and volunteerism is
not just a White House slogan.
It is almost always sunny on the eastern side of the Cascade Range. At 7 a.m.
on a June morning, my husband and I are going skiing at Mount Bachelor, 25
minutes away, a pastime we can enjoy through July 2, when the Pine Marten
chair will close for skiers and open to sightseers. While it is a typical
summer day, snow still covers the slopes. That snow will get mushy by 10 or 11 a.m., when we'll head back to town.
We can still get in half a day's work at our home office. It is the kind
of jump-start to a morning that is the luxury of living here. I order my
Obsidian
Dark (named after the black lava that once oozed through the region) at Royal
Blend and I'm ready to observe the beginning of a typical Bend day.
While I do the usual doctoring of my coffee, I look around. The only fat in
the entire shop is found in the pastries tucked behind glass. Calf muscles
twitch and pairs of Nikes, Tevas and hiking boots move through the coffee
line in an unchoreographed warm-up. Bodies stretch and flex and eyes blink
from the already bright sunshine. The surrounding mountains, lakes, rivers
and cliffs have created the stage for outdoor enthusiasts worthy of an Oscar for
set design. And the locals' passion for partaking is as focused as Tom Hanks'
Forest Gump running across America. This passion for participation is driven
by bodies toned and taut from either working out at places like the Athletic
Club of Bend or simply working. Unlike their city counterparts, who are ready
to conquer the Stairmaster and corporate structure, they are tuned to conquer
the great outdoors. The implements are
skis for snow and asphalt, bicycles, climbing ropes and crampons, kayaks and
canoes. While some get defensive at the notion that much of the population lives to play, it is clear by the number of utility vehicles with sport racks that it is so.
I am beyond the age to take this sort of thing seriously, but I enjoy being
on the fringe. These are not the "outdoorsmen" of my childhood. To begin
with, there are women, too. You see them in Outside and Backpacking
magazine, not in Field & Stream. They drink lattes and microbrews, not Bud
and whiskey chasers. They're no longer armed with hunting rifles. The only
politically correct fishing pole is a fly rod. They wear blue jeans or
flashy, skin-hugging running tights, fleece vests and hiking boots or
running shoes. Forget that neon orange hunting vest. If you're planning on
visiting here, drop by one of two Columbia Outfitters outlet stores in town
and buy the same androgynous ensemble.
That morning, my new friend Jordan is working his final shift at Royal Blend
before joining
the U.S. Forest Service as a wilderness ranger for the summer. His goal is to
hike all the visible peaks on the Central Oregon skyline: North Sister
(10,085 feet), Middle Sister (10,047 feet), South Sister (10,358 feet),
Broken Top (9,175 feet), Mount Bachelor (9,075 feet). Between the two last
peaks, there's a 10-mile stretch. He and two friends will not
attempt this over the summer season. Not in a month. Not in a week, but in
one 24-hour period. But because Jordan will hike South Sister regularly as
part of his job, he's in training and getting paid. "I'm just lucky to have
work that feeds my passion," he explains as he fixes a double, short, nonfat,
extra-dry espresso. Only four others have attempted and been successful at
this particular feat. (That feat being the hike, but Jordan does make a mean
espresso.)
I hiked South Sister -- it took all day. It is not a technical climb, but a
tough one. The peak is covered with cinders spewed by the eruption and eroded
by ice and snow. Glaciers or simply tenacious snow fields fill the crevices.
You slip and slide straight up or straight down on the rust-colored and
razor-sharp cinders. The payoff is spectacular -- a snow-filled caldera
whose lip was once a snarling volcano. Surrounding you are the Sisters Wilderness and Deschutes and Willamette National Forests, and milk-blue glacial lakes and mountains dotted by man's timber harvest.
Jordan is just one example. The lure to participate brings out a kind of
craving. Who can resist an area where you can ski in the morning and play
golf in the afternoon? Where else can you hike to the rim of a volcano by day
and hear classical music in the park by night? Why not scale the pinnacles of
Smith Rock State Park and then attend a Sports Injury Clinic that evening?
Or go river rafting and then cap off the day at Vince Genna Stadium, where
you can watch the
Bend Bandits play baseball.
You are probably asking yourself, how do these people support themselves?
Well, Bend is the region's commercial and medical center for everything east
of the Cascades. There are doctors (many orthopedic surgeons), physical
therapists, lawyers, accountants, bankers and lots of real estate
agents. The Central Oregon Community College is a big employer. Tech firms sprout up as the lumber jobs dry up. There are start-up companies, and a regional airport transports the dozens of people who live in Bend but make a living elsewhere. However, the king of the job market is tourism. And there are
hundreds of "early" retirees with money to fund their fun.
For those who visit as a respite from city life, there are half a dozen
resorts. Bed-and-breakfast homes like Sather House and Lara House are in the heart of town, and the Bend Riverside Motel (ask for a unit with a river view) and dozens of locally owned or chain motels offer something for everyone.
The goal of many visitors is to mingle with the locals. Munch and music, the
free outdoor concert in Bend's Drake Park, July 10, 17, 24 and 31, is the perfect
place to meet the townies, and the Cascade Festival of Music featuring
everything from Vivaldi to Copland, Aug. 23-30, is its more refined Drake
Park counterpart.
But it is the Fourth of July weekend, which kicks off with a pancake breakfast in Drake Park, that is true Americana without some of the overly sentimental
trappings. After breaking the cardinal "low-fat rule" and gorging on pancakes
and pig parts, everyone strolls downtown to stake a curbside claim to
observe one of the best parades in the country.
Bend's under-12 population is out in force with their four-legged friends in
tow for the Fourth of July Pet Parade. Now, there have been some fish bowls
mounted on red wagons spotted in the mass of kids and pets, and while ponies,
llamas and even camels partake, mostly mutts and their masters steal the
show. If you get tired of the parade, check out the crowd. Two years ago a
couple next to us pulled a sofa out of their van, plunked it on the curb and
enjoyed the spectacle, barely acknowledging that they had become part of it.
Come nightfall -- and that's pretty late in these parts, the local newspaper
sponsors a substantial fireworks display off the peak of Pilot Butte, one of the hundreds of cinder cones that look like blisters on the landscape. This year will be particularly colorful: There are lots of leftover fireworks not
ignited from last July's festivities. The sparks caught the Butte on fire,
the show was halted and the firefighters went to work. Locals looked on in
amusement as flames roared around the Butte, and
visitors stood by both mystified and horrified. "Why do they light fireworks
on a tinder-dry desert volcano?" was the question of the night.
Well, because. Because it's Bend and because we like it. And
that's about that. Maybe it's something about freedom of expression.
Christine Barnes is the author of "Central Oregon: View from the Middle" and "Great Lodges of the West." In her
former life as a daily newspaper editor, she worked at the San Francisco Examiner and the Oakland Tribune.
+ + + + + + + + Find out how you can take a tour of an active -- for more than 30 million years -- volcano or lava cave. Check out Wanderlust Marketplace. + + + + + + + + |
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