Road Babe Dispatch From Seattle

After 3 weeks on the road and a week without bathing, there was nothing left to do but head for Seattle. Not that we were complaining. Seattle had called to us down the long winding road, and we were ready to answer. Got a hotel room in the suburb of Everett, because it was cheaper. Took the shower we'd been dying for then drove into the heart of the city.

After getting lost in Chinatown, we lucked into Pioneer Square and found some parking. Wandered into the first open bar door we encountered: J&M’s Card House. This is an old wooden bar where draft beers and ghosts of old salts abound. One beer became four as we flipped through the paper for that night's events.

Much to Eddie's flannel-wearing chagrin, Seattle isn’t what it used to be in the glory days of grunge (his words). We canceled plans to seek out live tunes and walked 15 blocks to a hole-in-the-wall sushi joint serving late. (That's what I call sobering up.) Might have been by chance, but if I had to guess, I'd say divine intervention played its role. It was quite possibly the most delicious sushi I've ever eaten. We washed down our salmon sashimi, yellow fin tuna and rolls with sake then Japanese Sapporo beer.

By the time we left and started back to J&M's, Eddie turned to me and said, “I need tequila. I don't want it. I need it.” The wild look in his eyes indicated he was serious and I'd be driving. We walked into the bar, but the scene had changed drastically. It was late. What was a laid-back, chill-spot had become a frat-packed, rap-vibe, meat-market. I sipped mineral water while Eddie downed tequila after tequila.

Though I didn't know the way back, I was the sober one. Driving in circles thru an unfamiliar city, I pulled into a gas station to ask a cabbie for directions, but we still got lost. After another half hour of wandering, Eddie got frustrated with the map and tore it up before passing out. I pounded his chest with my fist trying to wake him up. Finally, I pulled into another gas station to ask more directions. To my surprise, it was the same cabbie. “Are you kidding?” he asked.

“No. It's just that Eddie drove us here and now he's …”

“Nevermind,” he said. “Follow me.”

He led me in the right direction far enough to save us. I debated leaving Eddie in the car overnight but didn't have the heart. I kicked him till he woke instead.

The morning was nothing short of painful, if only because of the hour we got in the night before. We checked out around 11 with two goals: find Ivor's to down as much of their famous chowder as possible and get the hell out of Seattle. Our misssions accomplished, we headed South for Portland. Eddie slept the whole way.

Mittie Babette Roger is from Louisiana but lives in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico. She received an M.F.A. in Creative Writing from Naropa University and authored the book It's Better to Visit the Shaman Without Questions to Ask. She travels the world volunteering to help disadvantaged children and promoting Blue Iguana Tequila to empower serious drinkers.