It did OK for a while, but a couple of hours later it was getting low again. I ignored it for a while, then finally called Hertz emergency roadside service.

I told her that it didn't need to be dealt with tonight. She said they would send someone out in the morning. Eventually it came out that the people they sent would just put the tire on, then I would have to go get the tired fixed. When I returned it, they would reimburse me for the expense.

This was pretty much no help at all, so I said I'd call back in the morning.

I didn't leave until nine, mainly because I was avoiding having to deal with the tire. There were a Kmart and a Wal-Mart near the motel, but neither had a service department. I filled up the tire again and started driving into town.

Almost immediately I came upon a Les Schwab tire store. I had seen these throughout the trip. There was an open stall, so I pulled right in and said, "fix it". I didn't even ask how much it would cost. I was afraid that the tire had been damaged and that I would have to find somewhere to buy a new one. I would get the money back from Hertz, but I was more concerned about the time I would lose.

They had it fixed within twenty minutes or so, and they didn't charge me for it. I practically insisted, since Hertz would pay for it, but they held their ground.

So what I thought was going to be a disaster for the trip turned into a lost hour or so (and a bit of lost sleep last night). The tire has been fine.

I also spent some time last night and this morning scouting out things to do today, since I had not planned to cover this ground and had done no research. As it turns out, there were three attractions on the east side of the Cascades, the first only about 250 miles from Ontario.

The speed limit on U.S. 20 across Oregon is 55, but I set the cruise control for 64 or so, and, except for being stuck behind some slow traffic across some mountains in the east, I just cruised. The only law enforcement cars I saw were during that same slow mountain stretch.

I passed some perfectly flat fields in the far east of the state, some a kind of grain and some a dark green leafy plant. I wish I knew what they were.

I think I was on the Oregon Trail, but I was probably moving faster than the original travelers did.

In Vale I stopped to photograph the Bates Motel.

I saw another of those black birds with the long tails. I think the inner white stripes form a V on its back, meeting at the base of the tail.

The speed limit signs in Oregon have larger numbers than any I have seen elsewhere.

Soon I was driving through genuine high desert, brown earth covered only with scruffy sagebrush for the most part. At higher elevations I would occasionally see some widely spaced trees. In one area I saw purple flowers among the brush, and in another I saw yellow flowers.

The scenery stark and beautiful during this very long drive across the state, but there isn't a whole lot to write about. There were signs that warned "next gas 44 miles" or "next gas 68 miles" after every service station.

I drove through Drinkwater Pass and Stinkingwater Pass.

I saw what I think where mesas. I also saw several Buttes. They were identified by signs.

Most of the "towns" I passed through consisted of one store with maybe a trailer or two behind it, but some of them actually appear on the map of Oregon in my Atlas. That shows how sparsely populated this part of the state is. Burns (halfway through my journey) was the single exception. I filled up my gas tank and ate at a little drive in where the girl hung the tray on my window. Doing this in a convertible is a lot of fun.

They sky was filled with little scratch biscuit shaped clouds. Their shadows raced across the ground and hills.

I realized that I really should have put on a sunscreen this morning. My face, ears, and especially nose are sunburned, but the worse is the front of the upper part of my left leg. I put my atlas across it to keep it from getting any more sun, but it is quite painful now as I write this.

Luckily the burned part is hidden by my shorts when I stand up, except around my knee. My nose may end up peeling, but I think the rest of my face should be fine.

I topped a hill a few miles east of Brothers and saw three giant snow-capped mountains on the horizon. I checked the map and figured that these were probably the Three Sisters, still fifty miles or more in the distance.

Bend, Oregon, at 33,000, is probably the largest city in central Oregon. It's got over a dozen motels along U.S. 93 and all the usual chain stores. I stopped in Target and bought film and sunscreen (much too late, since my nose is now drying out and my leg is radiating heat).

Following a lead found on the Roadside America web site, I drove north of Bend until I saw a sign offering goats for sale and stopped at the Funny Farm. (Apparently they are not allowed to promote the Funny Farm down on the highway.

This is a very odd place. Run by two artists, it is a collection of, well, really weird things. The first things one sees is a small lighthouse, a large tower made of various objects, and a barn with a large coat hanger mounted on the front.

The rambling many-roomed house seems to be an antique store called Buffet Flats. Just inside the door is a big doll house. If you look around back, you can see into a living room where the Wizard of Oz is showing on a doll-sized big screen TV. There's also a pinball machine in there.

The rooms of the house are filled with an odd assortment of antiques, all with price tags on them.

Admission is free, as is a paper bag of animal crackers for feeding the animals, but donations are accepted. They are also building a yellow brick road outside and are selling bricks.

Outside it is something of a sculpture park. The first exhibit is a wall covered with agitators from washing machines painted bright colors. There's also a stand holding protest signs, in case visitors feel like being an agitator, too.

There are towers made of old tires and pieces of cars. There's a little white goat here, who, unlike the other goats later, likes being petted, even if you aren't giving him food.

Next is the Bowling Ball Garden, "said to be one of the largest gardens of its type in this country". Here dozens of bowling balls stand at the end of stalks. They sell seeds for growing ones own bowling balls.

A two headed, three-legged bowler guards the entrance.

There are too-sweet inspirational messages painted on signs throughout the Funny Farm.

In the animals area is the largest Vietnamese potbellied pig I've seen and a bunch of goats that are very eager to take food.

Next to the giant PVC chess set I was approached by a white duck that wanted a cracker, too.

There's a large cat cage for a cat that has problems getting along with the other cats wandering about. It wanted a cracker, too, but it didn't really want to eat it. It did want to be scratched through the chicken wire, but mostly it just wanted to lounge at the top of a ladder.

The roof of the barn features a tile mosaic rainbow.

I bought some bowling ball seeds and a brick (basically a $5 donation to take care of the animals). They also accept donations of food and supplies.

Just up the road was a sign for the Peterson Rock Garden. It took a few miles and turns to actually get there.

This rock garden is what I expected it to be: a collection of little houses and statues made from cement and rocks and other things. While I have done pages about the twine balls and white squirrels I've visited, I have probably visited more of these "folk are environments" than any other type of attraction.

The air was filled with the howls of peacocks, which sound something like large drunken Siamese cats. None of them opened their tails for me, but they weren't shy. They all came up to make sure I wasn't carrying food.

The museum was open and featured a large rock collection. I bought some postcards and an ice cream sandwich (I was warned to let it thaw a bit before eating it).

For a quarter (a dime for children) I was allowed in a room with a little rock building scene made from florescent rocks and given a brief lecture. After the lights were turned out, the rocks were displayed under two different wavelengths of black light. I sat on the floor, braced my elbows on my knees, and tried to take a few pictures. I have no idea if it worked.

Outside I ran across a peacock, a peahen, and a half dozen little peachicks. I expected to be run off, but instead I was encouraged to share my ice cream bar. The peacock actually followed me around for a few minutes to make sure I didn't have any more.

This rock environment had the attention to detail that the more ornate grottos do, but it didn't have any of the religious themes. Mostly it had buildings with surrounding landscape, although there was a big flag and a Statue of Liberty.

I drove up to Redmond (Oregon, remember, not Washington), then east into the mountains to the resort town of Sisters.

Sisters feels like a resort. There were people walking around on the sidewalks that looked like visitors. All the businesses were galleries or outfitters or restaurants or clothing stores.

I arrived at the Fantastic Museum just as Dory was closing up, but she let me in. The museum closed at five, she explained, but she'd still be around until six, when she had to go on to her next job. She is a waitress at a restaurant nearby.

The Fantastic Museum is a collection of collections, like a miniature House on the Rock. While there are many little odds and ends, the major collections seemed to be dolls (hundreds, including a large group of kewpie dolls); metal toy cars and trucks and boats; and sport jerseys and helmets (most from professional teams and many autographed).

There were also a lot of old coin-operated games, most of which were not in working order.

In one little corner is a skeleton in a case and Olaf the Giant, the alleged petrified remains of a nine foot tall man who has been displayed at fairs and sideshows for over a hundred years.

When I came in I had told Dory I would stop by her restaurant for dinner, but it was only 5:30 when I was done, so I told her I really needed to get back on the road.

I received email last night from some southern Oregon tourism office. Apparently I signed up to be on the mailing list by mistake during my research.

This very timely email informed me that the north entrance to Crater Lake National Park was now open. Since I had about four hours until dark, I decided to push on to Crater Lake.

I drove back to Bend (I'd made a little triangular path north of it) and down the main drag. I noticed that every motel had vacancies.

I called the Crater Lake Lodge from a pay phone to see if they'd had any cancellations. They hadn't, but they transferred me to some other lodging there run by the same people, probably a motel or cabins or something. They had an opening, but it was almost $90, and I had to get there in the next two hours.

That's why I decided to stay here in Bend. I checked into an old senior-infested motel. The room is very nice and there were mints on the pillow.

Using instructions from the girl at the desk, I drove downtown and tried to find the brewpub of the Deschutes Brewing Company. Her directions apparently had an extra turn in them. I later found out that I must have driven by it a couple of times.

I gave up and parked in a public lot with a lot of other tourist, intending to walk down to the Bend Brewing Company, which I imagined was a fairly generic commercial brewpub. Instead I was distracted by the neon sign for the Wall St. Grill and went there instead.

The front part of the Wall St. Grill (Wall St. Café on the menus) is a restaurant, but the back is a bar. I sat there, had a nice burger, and drank a couple of Deschutes Bachelor Bitter (the Bachelor Mountain is the closest geographic feature).

Tomorrow I will drive to Crater Lake, then see the other attractions in southern Oregon before heading into California. I'm not sure what route I will take to the redwoods. I could take a windy mountain road to Eureka, then come up the coast, or I could just drive down the coast a bit and then back up.