Animal House

We woke up the next day, checked out, and immediately remembered the seething Cashbook and the events of the previous evening. Excercising extreme caution, we transfered a deflated Cashbook from its solitary confinement cell back to the glovebox, it had learned its lesson. After passing several hundred car dealerships and auto shops on the way out of Portland, we took the opportunity to get official black tints for Spot's windows which would guarantee privacy, not to mention Gangsta status.

We hit Highway 1, the stunningly beautiful road that runs along the pacific coast. We drove for hours, soaking up the beauty of the ocean, a constant companion out of the passenger's window. Being out of season however, every community on the road, which was almost built for people staying in the summer season, had become a ghost town! We headed inland.


Eventually we hit Corvalis. With no knowledge of the place, we had to assess its potential as a place to stay from the road. After a few minutes, we had passed several groups of scantily clad teenage beauties on an evening run, and a bountiful abundance of ridiculously hot girls lining the streets. We decided to stay!


In a state of confusion as to the sudden increase in gorgeous females, we stumbled into a nearby supermarket to get supplies. Once again, we were surrounded by beauty and it suddenly became clear that we had stumbled into a college town: A place where the university campus becomes the epicentre, and practically the soul reason for a town's existence.


We got supplies, hit a nearby residential area in close proximity to a bar and parked up. Still hesitant about sleeping in the van on a public street we got out and assessed the pleasant suburb. A chap from across the road wandered over, and explained to us that if we didn't turn the van around to face the same traffic direction as the side of the road we were parked on, we would be given a ticket by the University Parking Enforcement.


As he gave us his kind advice, he spotted through the open side door our decadent interior, fully kitted out with mattress and sleeping bags; it didn't take a rocket scientist to establish our intentions. With our cover blown and fully expecting to be told to get lost, we were shocked and touched to be asked if we needed anything for the night. He introduced himself as Keith, said it was fine to park there but we should just let the lady who owned the house next to the van that we were there. We explained our story to her, and with her blessing (and recommendation to go and enjoy the town for the evening) we returned to the van and got on our slickest threads.


As we set off into town, Keith leant out of his window and said he had phoned the University Parking Enforcement and told them our van was owned by friends of his family visiting for the night and that it was not an illegitimate park up. 

On the way to the bar, we popped into a local High school football game. We paid up, went in, and sat ourselves down. We were blown away by the scale of the event. The school had its own 3000 capacity floodlit stadium, full brass band, cheerleading squad, digital scoreboard, food stands, even a merchandise shop where you could buy 'Corvalis Spartans' hoodies and baseball caps. Again, this is high school.



After a few minutes, our presence began to collect some interest from our youthful stadium companions. Feeling we had garnered interest from the surrounding youngsters due to our exotic accents, we felt comfortable enough to lean to the side and ask if the group next to us were students. They explained to us that clearly they were, as we were sat in the Student Stand. Feeling slightly like peadophiles, we left and headed for the bars!


Upon entering the first bar, we immediately struck up a rapport with a cool dude named Paul, who was working there to fund his university education while he prepared his own business. As the pub steadily filled up with squeaky clean college students, he gave us the lowdown on the American College system, culminating in a guided tour of the local Fraternity and Sorority houses. It was a truly eye-opening experience and a real insight into American life. The movies are much more accurate than we thought likely, and we were left spellbound, confused and slightly disgusted with what seemed to be a very corrupt system. After a few more local beers in Paul's bar, we ended up wandering the streets, at one point stumbling across a Fast and Furious gang in their garage, which was bristling with show-standard American muscle vehicles.


We returned to the shady security of Spot, had several I-COPS and slept.

Mike: Fast and Furious

Ken and the rapper

The next day passed by in a flurry of blog updating and freelance work activity. We shifted to a different part of town, but couldn't escape the onslaught of beautiful girls - this time the streets were swarming with the entire population of the Sorority Houses (all female dorms) dressed up for their start of term ball. Naturally, we installed ourselves in a bar and watched the proceedings. That night we moved to a downtown location, attempting to find a more mature scene. We found it in the shape of 'The Peacock', a dive bar inhabited by grizzly locals. Two of such characters were Ken and Joe, the former of which entertained us for hours with his insightful and world-wise brand of irony. The night went on and we discovered 1 dollar pints of PBR, made friends with a rapping nuclear physicist, and discovered a nightclub above the bar. Neither of us have any recollection of how this day ended.