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Peter Taylor
DAY 96
Thursday July 5th
Portland, OR to Roseburg, OR

My small basement bed is surprisingly comfortable, and I awake feeling very refreshed. In those early waking moments, I start to contemplate the next couple of days, and realise that, if I stay in Portland tonight, I will have 640 miles to drive by 12.00 on Saturday. So, after discussing it with Susie, I decide to make a move after lunch, and do the first few hours today.

But first, there are a couple of jobs to be done. For a couple of years now, my wife has been writing to a prisoner on Death Row in San Quentin, and I have agreed to try and visit him. I filled in the appropriate forms before leaving home, and received a list of dos and don'ts (mainly don'ts) from the prison. But I have to phone today if I want to visit next Thursday. After a couple of attempts I manage to get through, but find that all the appointments have gone. I am put through to another officer who, when she discovers I am from abroad, informs me that I could write for an appointment – 30 days in advance, which would
have been useful to know 23 days ago! Eventually I am told there are appointments left for next Friday, but to get one of them I have to phone tomorrow.

The second phone call proves surprisingly straightforward. I phone the San Francisco branch of my car rental firm, and speak to someone with a brain. She tells me that she has made a note on my file, and if I drive to San Francisco Airport sometime next week, they will exchange my car for one that doesn't need servicing. I'll believe it when it happens!

The third job will have to wait, because Susie insists on taking me out for breakfast to the local coffee shop. It's a charming place, with good coffee and home made cakes and pastries. The cakes are made with whole grain and fruit, so that you can eat chocolate and convince yourself it's a healthy breakfast. We sit outside, as it's a warm morning, say hallo to passing acquaintances of Susie, and put the world to rights.

My final job is a little stranger. Sal has asked me to find a woollen company, that sells some material with which she wishes to make stuff. So away we go, find the place very easily, and even get the right stuff. The assistant proves extremely helpful, and I now have several samples of said material on the back seat of my car.

Back to the house, we finish drying my laundry, and I set off. The journey is the opposite of the one I made with Sally when we drove from Oakland to Seattle, so I know it's going to be fairly spectacular. I am not disappointed, and by 5.00 I have put 180 miles behind me, and find myself in Roseburg.

Some motels have racks of cards in the lobby with details of local restaurants, but here I see only one that appeals to me, an Italian in the town centre. I decide to set off in that direction, and see if I pass any others to give me a choice. I see nothing to take my fancy, so park outside the Italian and walk straight in. It proves an inspired decision.

I am greeted by an extremely friendly and tactile waitress, and the evening is a delight. The lasagne is made with a spicy Italian sausage, and I precede that with melanzane, which is Italian for eggplant, which is American for aubergine, which is referred to in certain enclaves in the south of England as "the devil's vegetable." Don't ask me how I know that!
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