Friday, July 4- Sex, Drugs, and Seattle

It rained the night of July 2nd when we were on the fringe of the golf course, and when Josh and I woke up, we packed our gear and rode a little while in a calm drizzle. It got really hot later in the day, and I ended up riding shirtless into Bremerton. While riding into the city on the side of a buisy 6-lane highway, I was screwing around with my camera when the battery door fell open and sent my batteries careening across the thoroughfare. Needless to say, I was not able to take a photograph of this intense highway I was riding on.

While on the ferry from Bremerton into Seattle, I saw Ron Ortiz, a guy who taught history at my high school and chaperoned the "Guitar Club" that I played drums for. He was doing a motorcycle tour of the Pacific Coast with some of his friends.

Josh and I rode our bikes off of the ferry and into downtown Seattle. After riding around the city and seeing our fill of Pike's Place Market (including the very first Starbucks), I called my friend Anna who used to live in Seattle, and she told me about The Rosebud, a bar she used to work at on Capitol Hill. Josh and I showed up, and after a drink, we parted ways. He was leaving to go meet his girlfriend at Sea-Tac airport, and they're going to spend the fourth of July weekend together before Josh loops around and starts to head south to Albaquerque. We hugged, exchanged numbers, and I was once again alone, for the first time in weeks.

It's difficult to give the chronological order of what happened next. I ordered another drink, and met some people out on the back patio of The Rosebud. All it took was five minutes of small talk for a guy named Chuck to invite me to sleep on an airmatress at his house.

But the wonderful opportunity to sleep for free on Chuck's couch came at a price. To say the least, my friend Chuck is one of the craziest/generous guys I've ever met.

We left The Rosebud and went back to Chuck's place. After snorting lines of coke on the back cover of a Rolling Stone Magazine, Chuck and his friends lit a joint and passed it around. And then another. And one more. More coke. Okay, now off to the bars, says Chuck.

When we were still in Chuck's driveway, a guy we were hanging out with named Brian kissed me. On the lips. And I'm not talking a peck--this dude full on kissed me. He put his hand on the back of my head, and flew at my face full force. I was speechless. He did the same thing to another guy later on in the night who ended up throwing his fist into Brian's face. Poor Brian-- mabye he should learn not to kiss-rape random dudes.

Anyhow, we went over to the Beacon Hill neighborhood where we went to the Beacon Hill Pub for more drinks. This is where I met Jon and Melissa, THE raddest people in all of Seattle. They weren't near as maniacle as Chuck, and it was nice to have a down-to-earth conversation in the middle of all the mayhem. After another few bars, (I can't remember which ones... Comet, I think was one of them) I got in the car with Chuck and had the most exhillerating three minutes of my entire life. I shit you not--Chuck's driving could easily have rivaled Nick Cage's in Gone in Sixty Seconds. Picture us fishtailing so bad that we come within inches of parked cars. Picture us blowing red lights. Picture going 70 in a 25. Now picture the long-haired tweeker driving the car. You have just pictured the most intense 3 minutes of my life.

When we stumbled out alive onto Chuck's driveway, we clambered into his house and drank more beer. Chuck and his buddies pulled out some tinfoil and plastic straws to smoke Oxycodone. More lines of coke. More Oxycodone.

Regardless of the drugs, Chuck was great. He was an entertainer, and an incredible host. He blew up a king-sized air matress just for me, pulled out some clean sheets and blankets, offered me a bowl of Trix in the morning, and did everything he possibly could to make sure I was comfortable. If you ever read this, Chuck, I owe you one, man.

The thing about Seattle that makes it Seattle isn't it's lively/artsy/cultured down-town area, but it's surrounding neighborhoods and the people within them. I'm writing this from Mama's Pizza in Capitol Hill.

So I am EXHAUSTED. I am hung over and running on 5 hours of sleep. Seattle is beginning to overwhelm me. The only reason is because again, tonight I don't have a place to sleep lined up. I've figured that the worst case senario is that I'm up all night and I'll wonder around the city until tomorrow afternoon when I can catch my train to Portland where I'll be able to sleep. I thought about staying at the Green Tortoise Hostel tonight, but all that is available is a queen sized bed for $37, which is worthless to me, because I'll be in a hostel wasting money tomorrow night back in Seaside.

Jon and Melissa gave me their phone number last night back at the pub. They told me to give them a call if I wasn't doing anything for the fourth, which I think is exactly what I'm about to do.
Happy fourth, everybody.