Skip Navigation
Humboldt State University | Department of Journalism and Mass Communication | Home - 2007

TRAVEL JOURNAL

Story Banner

Our Last Trip: Jeanne Selden

The road winds its way back and forth along the river. It runs through green fields of cows and alfalfa, the occasional yellow mustard field, and groves of redwood trees peppered throughout the hills. We’re driving north along Highway 101, almost to the border of Oregon. On this June day, 2006, Washington is our final destination. We’re on our way to see Uncle Bill and Aunt Sally – family that I haven’t seen since my grandmother died when I was 10.

I had been constantly getting on my mother’s case about going up to see them. The most important reason was to go before one of them dies.  So, here we were, my mom, aunt and I, driving up the coast, with family waiting for us at the end. I had never really spent all that much time in Oregon – not long enough to absorb all of the quirks and weirdness that Oregon has to offer. Believe me, there’s plenty.

I was in the driver’s seat. Just a few miles south of the border we passed a giant sign advertising the “Last Chance Liquor Store.” Below the sign sat a huge, white building with totem poles adorning the perimeter and a full parking lot. I didn’t pay much attention at first and continued down the road, but then wondered why they called it the “last chance” store.
Mom said, “Well, I think it’s hard to get booze in Oregon because of all the laws.”

“Laws?” I said.
“Yeah, they’ve got lots of liquor laws, and you can’t just buy it anywhere.”

Both Mom and Auntie gasped as the car came to a screeching halt and I turned us around. “Last chance my ass,” I thought, and proceeded to steer us back to the store. After a quick trip inside for whiskey and cigarettes, we were ready to cross the California/Oregon border. Good thing I said something, otherwise, I’d have entered into a liquor-limited state without the necessary libations to make it through the next couple of weeks traveling with my mother. 

After driving across the border into Brookings, we came upon a campground packed with people at the north end of town. The campground was on a cliff above the water, staged in the middle of several small, grassy plateaus. There were towering Monterey Cypress trees, and giant boulders which you could crawl upon to get a great view of the water and beach below. We decided this was the best place to spend our first night.

Page 1 - 2 - 3 - 4

Previous Story: New Jersey