Unfortunately, it turns out you can't get to Yamhill, Oregon from Pittsburgh. It took three different airline reps on their computers for more than fifteen minutes to even find the place for the tired yet intrepid explorers. However, the tiny burg of Yamhill WAS eventually found on some obscure map and then two additional reps were called over to conference about ways to get the travelers there. It became very complicated and Justin, Emmett and Daphne all lost interest in the intricate machinations of the travel industry long before their route was finally determined by the 'Experts'. However, eventually, they were booked onto a flight from Pittsburgh to Denver with a connection into Portland, Oregon. That was the closest the commercial airlines could get them. After that, they'd have to rent a car for the final leg of the journey to the little town about an hour and a half southeast of Portland.

By the time their travel arrangements were finalized, the trio had barely enough time to make it through the security check area and get to the gate before the first leg of their flight started to board. Because of their late timing, there was no way they could get three seats together. All three unanimously agreed to let Emmett have the one open seat in the business class section where he could at least stretch out his long lanky legs. That meant, however, that Daphne got squashed into the seat between the two overly-talkative Denver businessmen and Justin got the last seat in the back of the plane, sandwiched up against the window along with a young family traveling with a very excited toddler. Luckily, Justin liked children. Unluckily, the child in question developed a bit of motion sickness in the turbulent skies just east of Denver and lost his Happy Meal all over Justin's lap about twenty minutes before they landed.

Having been stuck in the very last row of seats on the airplane, Justin was unfortunately the very last person to deboard the plane when their flight landed in Denver. Emmett and Daphne were impatiently waiting for him just outside the gate - they only had a little over a half hour at this point to get all the way to another terminal in order to catch their connecting flight to Portland, Oregon. The mother of the toddler who’d upchucked on him during the flight was still apologizing as Daphne pulled Justin away and the three started jogging down the terminal towards the tram that would take them across the airport to their next flight.

They made it to the Tram that connected the two terminals just as the doors were starting to close and managed to slip into the crowded train car. The ride between terminals was fairly short. However, it wasn’t short enough as far as Daphne and Emmett were concerned - any time at all spent shoved that closely up against Justin and his vomit cover shirt was too long! The boy reeked! Not only did his two friends shuffle as far away from him as they could, but everyone else in the tram did as well. Justin was so embarrassed that his blush was almost purple before they could all escape the small enclosed space and get some fresh air.

“I’m not wearing this shirt for another two and a half fucking hours crammed into another tiny airplane seat,” Justin insisted adamantly as he trotted after his friends who were intent on getting to the next gate as quickly as possible.

“Sorry, Justin, but there’s no time to get you something different to wear and all our luggage was already checked through to Portland,” Daph hollered over her shoulder without losing a step. “You’re going to have to just grin and bear it.”

“No fucking way!” Justin was definite on this point. “There’s a souvenir shop,” he pointed to the little kiosk-type shop that was just ahead of them. “I’ll pop in there, get a new shirt and meet you on the plane.”

“Hurry, Baby!” Emmett shouted without stopping to wait for his friend.

As Justin skidded to a halt by the front of the souvenir kiosk, the overhead speakers announced the final boarding call for his flight to Portland. Fortunately, there was a rack of souvenir Colorado t-shirts right next to the register - all of them on sale for 50% off, to boot. Without bothering to look at the shirt except to note it was the right size, Justin grabbed the closest shirt, tossed a twenty dollar bill at the clerk behind the register and took off full tilt for the gate. He just barely managed to barrel into the boarding area right before the flight attendant was moving to shut the door. She tolerantly held the door with an almost-smile for the latecomer and calmly checked the young man’s boarding pass before letting him proceed down the jetway to the plane.

As he walked the length of the long jetway, Justin pulled off the soiled and stinking shirt and slipped on the newly purchased souvenir shirt. He left the old shirt in the trashbin at the end of the jetway, shaking his head at the loss of one of his favorite t’s, but unwilling to travel with the smelly thing and certain he’d never be able to get the stains out anyway. The harassed traveler still didn’t have time to look at the new shirt he was wearing though, since the flight attendant waiting for him just at the door was waving at him to hustle. He tugged the shirt over his head, getting it mostly straight as he tripped over the porthole door and was quickly guided back to his seat next to Daphne and Em.

Justin had barely finished hoisting his carry on bag into the overhead bin before he was greeted with an uproar of laughter from his supposed friends. “What?” an exasperated Justin demanded as he slumped into the aisle seat that his buddies had left open for him.

*Hehehe* Daphne, who had the middle seat, couldn’t hold back her giggles. “Really, Justin? How’s your ass been?” she asked with another freshet of laughter.

“What are you talking about, Daph? My fucking ass is none of your business, you freak. What’s got into you two.” Justin complained as he buckled up his seatbelt.

“Your shirt, Justin . . . How’s your ‘Aspen’? You COULDN’T come up with anything even a little more appropriate?” Em asked as he pointed towards the slogan on the souvenir t-shirt that Justin was now sporting.

“Oh . . . fuck,” Justin mumbled as he looked down and read his new shirt’s logo upside down. It was just his luck that the one shirt he managed to pull off the sale rack in the gift store was exactly the WRONG shirt for any self-respecting gay boy to wear. “I didn’t see what it said . . . Shit!”

That comment just elicited more hooting and guffawing from the peanut gallery as Justin scowled at his two FORMER friends in an effort to get them to shut the fuck up.

The entire rest of the two-and-a-half-hour flight consisted of a stream of veiled, and not-so-veiled, jokes about Justin’s ass. Each of the flight attendants managed to get at least a couple snide remarks in as they passed. The nearby passengers overhear the comments and couldn’t help but chime in. Then, most annoyingly, the overweight twelve-year-old boy sitting across the aisle two rows up caught on to the joke and kept yelling over the intervening seats every ten minutes at Justin as he grew more and more flustered!

At first Justin tried to explain away his highly inappropriate T-shirt:

“I’ve never actually been to Aspen . . .”

“It’s just a joke T-shirt, really . . .”

“Sorry, I didn’t notice what the shirt said when I put it on . . .”

After a bit, Justin got tired of trying to apologize for his tasteless, but desperately needed, apparel and moved on to more witty rejoinders every time he was asked, ‘How’s Your Aspen?’:

“My Aspen’s just fine, thanks for asking. How’s yours?”

“Tight and Hot! How’s your Aspen?”

“My Aspen’s dragging, I really could use a vacation.”

“My Aspen’s kinda vacant lately - I guess tourist season is over, right?”

“Got any Preparation H?”

“My Aspen’s great, but yours looks like it could use some work.”

Finally, Justin gave up any attempts to be civil at all. He’d had more than enough stupid innuendos for the day and wasn’t inclined to be nice anymore. The comebacks started to get nastier and more pointed:

“My Aspen’s annoyed enough for one day, so just fuck off!”

“It stinks, actually. I really need a fucking shower!”

Finally, as they were getting off the plane, Justin simply couldn’t take it anymore. As they exited through the plane’s porthole door, the ground crew member who was there to assist the passengers had the misfortune to ask one more time ‘How’s Your Aspen?’ It was simply too much for the beleaguered young man.

“MY ASS is out of your league. Leave me alone you fucking troll,” Justin shrieked as he rudely knocked aside the teasing man and stomped furiously down the jetway into Portland International Airport.

Daphne and Emmett had long since stopped poking the beast and were quietly following Justin down the concourse towards the baggage claim area. They weren’t about to mention his shirt again - they both valued all their appendages and didn’t want to give Justin any further justification to abbreviate any of their favorite parts.

Downstairs at the baggage carousel, the trio waited around while the rest of the bags for their flight came in. It was a rather long process. Portland International wasn’t that big of an airport, but it seemed to take an inordinate amount of time for the bags to start arriving. Then, slowly, the flight’s luggage started to drop down onto the carousel one piece at a time.  Fifteen minutes later, there had been a plethora of different suitcases, duffle bags, boxes and totes deposited on the spinning baggage carousel, but . . .  but not the bags of the three weary Pittsburgh passengers.

When it was finally evident that their bags weren’t going to be arriving with the rest, the troupe trudged over to the official ‘Customer Service Desk’ with their baggage claim tickets in hand. After a lengthy and incomprehensible period of clicking and clacking on various computers and coded conversations between various Customer Service Professionals - aka, the sorry fucks who were stuck on baggage claim detail - it was finally determined that the luggage for the three Pittsburgh passengers had be inadvertently left on the tarmac back in Denver. With copious apologies, the airline personnel promised that the bags would be on the next plane and would be delivered directly to their hotel as soon as possible.

The only problem with that scenario was that they hadn’t yet reserved any hotel room.

They scrambled. They fretted. They talked to at least twenty different, unhelpful airline reps who sent them scurrying to various desks throughout the airport. There were at least three trips via shuttle buses back and forth between terminals. They were repeatedly shuffled aside to sit on various chairs, benches, and other completely uncomfortable shaped-plastic surfaces while their situation was discussed interminably by many different people - none of whom cared a whit what the fuck happened to the three economy-class passengers stranded without their luggage. After a very unproductive hour or so, Daphne had finally had enough. She randomly picked a hotel out the of the directory at the Customer (NON) Service Desk and dialed the phone number. Ten minutes later, the trio had a room at the Portland Marriott which she strong-armed the airline rep to pay for for the night while they cooled their heels and waited for their luggage. Accommodations - check!

Then the three friends headed off to the rental car agency to pick up the car they had reserved for their trip so they could finally make their weary way to the waiting hotel.

Did anyone think that this final step of the process would be easy? If you did, you were severely naive and deluded. Dealing with the rental car agency was only marginally less annoying than dealing with the airline itself. Of course, the car they had reserved via the internet just that morning was MIA - what else? After prolonged discussion, it became apparent that the car they had reserved hadn’t been turned in on time so they were left without wheels.

Much scrambling ensued over the following thirty minutes without measurable results until . . .

“Sir, we just got another economy rental turned in early. It hasn’t been fully cleaned, but if you really want to get out of here quickly, we can just do a quick spot check and it’ll be all yours,” the cooperative rental clerk offered.

The travelers were too tired to worry about how clean their rental car was at this point. Emmett, who happened to be the only person above the age the rental agency would allow to rent their vehicles, immediately signed all the documents and then the group was ushered out to the garage where they were shown to the economy-subcompact that was being provided for their *AHEM*  comfort.

The trio was more than happy to get on the road and away from the airport. They didn’t mind in the least that there was a bit of trash on the floor in the backseat or that there were food wrappers in the refuse. Granted, the car didn’t have the same, just-from-the-factory fresh scent that they expected from the average rental car, but at this point in their travels, the three were simply happy to have transportation. They followed the map given to them by the rental agency, driving along the impersonal interstate towards their hotel in downtown Portland.

As they got closer to downtown, the traffic seemed to be getting heavier, which seemed rather odd since it was well after the traditional ‘rush hour’. Even though they were exhausted from a full day of travelling after being out far too late the night before, Emmett plowed on, trying to keep everyone in good spirits, and they eventually came to the turn off for downtown. Following the directions given to them by the rental agency, they were headed towards the setting sun on what appeared to be a fairly major thoroughfare called ‘Powell Boulevard’ when the cars around them began to start and stop, apparently at random.

Then, out of nowhere, a flesh-toned streak on a wildly careening bicycle sped past their car, threading in and out of the traffic on the other side of the street with a seeming death wish. Emmett was busy negotiating the traffic and avoiding a fender-bender as all the nearby traffic came to a reckless halt. Justin and Daphne, though, were rubbernecking along with all the rest of the bystanders, watching as first one and then more bicyclists came bombing down the steep street and zooming through the cars on the eastbound side of the street. Looking back over their shoulders, Justin and Daph saw that there was a banner erected across the street facing the direction from which the bike riders were approaching that read, “Keep Portland Weird”. As the pair was reading this enigmatic statement, another rider just happened to zoom by, pumping his fist in the air as he crossed the invisible ‘finish-line’ under the banner.

“Uh, Justin . . .” Daphne started to stutter a comment but was interrupted by another rider - this time on the west-bound side of the street, which meant that the pedalling person passed directly by the side of their own car. This rider wasn’t moving at anywhere near the speed of the first few that had ridden by, so the whole car full of travellers got a much better view this time. And what a view they got! The woman rider in question slowed down as she passed by just enough to slap hands with a couple of fans standing in the street. That wasn’t really so out of the ordinary, though. What WAS a bit different was that the bicyclist was stark naked.

While the car sat in complete gridlock, not moving at all, the three Pittsburgh natives stared in amazement at the now teeming hordes of nude bikers zooming down the hills in front of them and weaving around the stationary vehicles. The mostly nude riders were all apparently having a great time, smiling and waving at the spectators from their various odd shaped and sized bikes. Nobody seemed in the least shocked at the riders’ lack of clothing. On the street corner in front of them, a group of ordinary, overweight, middle-aged bystanders were cheering on racers with ear-splitting smiles. The racers themselves came in every shape and size - male, female, young, old (and even very, very old in a couple of cases), fat, thin, all races and ages. Most of them appeared to have various amounts of elaborate body paints on them. There were flags and banners and political statements painted on torsos. There were also some of the weirdest and most imaginative bicycles that the easterns had ever seen. It was truly an eye-opening welcome to the city of Portland.

As one especially nice looking nude biker passed them by on an extra-tall, three-wheeled bike all lit up with glow sticks, Emmett could no longer restrain himself. He quickly rolled down his window and shouted out at the top of his voice, “How’s YOUR Aspen, Honey?” causing all of the car’s occupants to erupt in uncontrollable laughter.

They were all still giggling and chortling fifteen minutes later when the stream of bikers finally ended and the traffic resumed its normal course, allowing them finally to make it all the way to their hotel.

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