Portland, OR

Apparently Portland has a bustling yachting scene as evidenced by last Sunday's "Sail For the Cure" event at the harbor. The well-heeled and blue-blazered elderly white folk were out en masse raising capital and presumably throwing back a few Manhattans to boot. The yacht club, as I discovered, is conveniently located near both the Portland Country Club and the airport...thus a visitor could have an action-packed day without having to drive through the undignified parts of town. Meanwhile, a mild bike ride away in the ethnic ghettos the Food not Bombs crew was performing their rabble rousing ritual.

Discovery #2 of the week: the East Burn Tavern's Tuesday $2 pint extravaganza...best deal in town, and you can watch BMX championships on the TVs gratis. Even better, a few doors down at the local wing joint the Sodbusters were playing their weekly set of old-timey classics and clever covers. Somehow the whole lot of us (including an older chap professing a fanatical zeal for the Dead Kennedy's Fresh Fruit for Rotting Vegetables album) ended up paying witness to the pseudo-African rhythm collective called Toubab Krewe...a delightfully percussive end to the evening, save for a fruitless search to find a mythical empanada cart.

Having enough urbaneering we ventured out to the Columbia Gorge for some waterfall viewing and (for the slightly more spunky) cliff diving. It also served as the swan song for my trusty North Face daypack, which has been through Hell and back three or four times and is now crusty from several strata of sweat salt. The ideal whether brought out a delightful mix of Japanese tourists hustling about less they miss out on anything, PBR-swilling college students, and yoga fanatics looking for sacred spaces and karma cleansing. Not enough water for yachties, unfortunately.

Portland, OR

If Portland had to be described in one word, that word would be "scrappy". In a town with a critical mass of overeducated and/or underemployed folks with nothing but time on their hands, financial obstacles are overcome with creativity, sweat equity, and a willingness to hurry up and wait (the waiting usually involving plenty of beverages).

A suitably epic night of post rock with Explosions in the Sky and the Dirty Three during the annual Music Fest Northwest was paid for with several hours of schlepping amps, hauling drum kits, and operating the red velvet curtain (!) the following night at the Someday Lounge. The opening act's garage-y tale on Wham!'s "Careless Whispers" instantly made everything worthwhile. My partner in this latest taste of free labor was in no less than three bands and is a social worker during the day, patiently helping autistic adults overcome debilitating obsessions with California Raisins, among other things. Hanging out backstage drinking complimentary Heinekens lends a whole new perspective on live music, specifically the unglamorous drudgery that comprises 80% of a performance.

10 hours after the spirited encore from the Shaky Hands I found myself in a small backyard self-contained office owned and constructed by a professional architect and aspiring ukulele maestro. Portland's annual Green Home Expo showcases buildings that are meticulously designed, ultra-modern in appearance, and priced out of the range of pretty much everybody who lives in the city. Fortunately, some of Portland's professionals have embraced the scrappy DIY ethic and build humble "bungalitos" out of salvaged wood over the course of a summer by themselves. An inspiring piece of work that shows what a few basic power tools, several trips to the Rebuilding Center, and a healthy amounts of patience and green tea can accomplish. The ancient Douglas Fir made the space feel as if it had sat in the backyard for generations, even though it was erected a mere two years ago. Moreover, it didn't require gangs of gangly hippies stomping on piles of mud for weeks on end.

Randolph, NY

Decided it was high time to trade in compostable vegan hemp sandals for some rubber hip waders and head back to WNY for some R&R amidst rugged loggers, rough lagers, and a refreshing absence of calculated irony. When you actually have to perform physical labor for your bread, you don't have much energy left to scour boutique thrift shops in search of $30 vintage Dukes of Hazzard t-shirts. Besides, you'll likely have a closet full of them anyhow.

Backpackers and tourists burn millions of gallons of jet fuel every year since time immemorial seeking "authenticity", yet invariably end up in some resort in Borneo resenting the other fat white guys with cameras hanging out in the hotel bar. However, if it is "authentic", unspoiled culture you seek, save the frequent flier miles and hitch a ride to western New York, where unemployment is high, sunshine is scarce, and the mosquitos are as fierce and stubborn as the farmers, hunters, and assorted rugged yet big-hearted hillbillies who make sure the rustic charm never fades into strip mall oblivion.

Randolph's main recreational activities typically require firearms, ATVs, chainsaws, and a frightening amount of alcohol. Assuming you are a Sophisticated Modern Traveler with an aversion to loud noises, I'll focus on the latter category.

Sophisticated Modern Travelers with sensitive palettes may be disappointed if they hope to find organic tofu curry bowls, cappucinos, or frothy microbrews, but they will have an abundance of cheap-as-dirt Fish Fries (and don't bogart that batter!), gallons of Busch beer, and enough bottom shelf whiskey to turn a dog off a gut cart. (Side note: Pinch holds the distinction for the most expensive rotgut Scotch in the world...take my word!). I was fortunate enough to dine at the best restaurant in the Southern Tier, but it's location shall remain undisclosed. In the meantime, belly up to the bar, throw down a ten-spot (which will probably last you the rest of the night), and BS about the good old days with the good old boys while George Straight sings in the background. If you stay until closing, you may be propositioned to finance a used car lot, start a goat farm in west Texas complete with underground house, or learn the best way to drive to the Erie VA. Just be sure to hit the road when the corn-fed farmers daughters start to look good.

After several days of epic gorgefests and visits to various veterans' clubs, I found myself in Newark Int'l Airport, where the open glassy expanses are as close as we get to a Red Square in this country. Fortified by Rolf Potts' compilation of travel adventures titled Marco Polo Didn't Go There, I felt compelled to wander around the international departures looking for a Sophisticated Modern Traveler who could recommend an unknown off-the-beaten-path village in Borneo to spend New Years Eve. Failing that, we could always nurse $7 bottles of Heineken in the hotel bar and loathe fellow travelers for ruining it for everyone else.

Bend, OR

Emerged from a ten-day schwag beer hibernation to catch Scandinavian psych-rock heroes Dungen downtown, only to suffer an irreversible camera-on-concrete collision. Too bad; they put on a marvelously sweaty performance with all the epic fuzzed-out guitar solos and subtle organ interludes one could handle. It was clearly a sign to gain a different perspective. Thus, on to the much-hyped Bend for some adventures in the Great Outdoors.

Bend is Oregon's 21st century boomtown, thanks in large part to the high and dry climate and close proximity to outdoor adventuring. Since Oregon is so progressive and liberal, I was hoping to see some sterling examples of forward-thinking sustainable development, the sort of which will set a positive example for suburban desert expansion. Unfortunately, all I saw was the usual endless fields of nondescript condos (nary a solar panel in sight, despite Bend's sunny disposition) and the requisite golf courses in the middle of barren and parched land...how's that for water conservation? Wholly biased and ill-informed opinions aside, the Deschutes Brewery gives ample opportunity to indulge in their excellent beverages. Their Black IPA is pure genius, but unfortunately it's not available at your local 7-11.

Into the heart of the Three Sisters Wilderness. A lovely slice of earth, but if the weather rolls in, it can be a real bitch, especially if you happen to be a chump dead-set on summiting South Sister in spite of the fact it is bathed in fierce winds and impenetrable clouds. Better off relaxing with a frothy brew and waiting for another day.