Liquor Store

Liquor store employees are your on-​the-​road bartenders. They will hear about your points of origin, your destinations, and all the chemicals you’ll be dousing yourself in from parts A to parts B.
My typical story can be summed up in the following phrase, «Do you think that one bottle of Jack will be enough? Maybe we should get two more.» Coincidentally, that story can also be found tagged and filed under Things that Were Better Ideas Before They Actually Happened.
Frankly, I’m surprised the substitute bartenders at the liquor store in Welches haven’t cut me and my folk off during any of our purchases. They could attempt to call a cab, but when you’re in Welches and your home is in Portland, not even the most ethical substitute bartender will oblige. All the same, it’s a welcoming place en route to the mountain/​the river/​some endless field in between Redmond and Bend that might also be found in the Things that Were Better Ideas Before They Actually Happened department.

This liquor store has all you need for those liquor filled nights of festivities. It has mixers lemons limes and soda pop and one help full staff for all those suggestions you may need. The best part ‘to my knowledge this is the only liquor store located next to a county library So you can drop off the kids and shop in peace !!

The appeal of travel is often credited to adventure, exotic experiences, breathtaking natural wonders, immersive explorations of history, culture, food, sex, and I’ve claimed each and every one in the most colorful and animated language possible many, many times. But, it’s not the whole truth. It’s not even the truest part of the truth.
It is only when I travel that I am truly myself. The me you never see.
Flaubert and the rest have written more eloquently than I ever could about surrendering yet finding one’s true self only in the context of ‘other’ but I can say this: Years from now I’ll never remember the mundane moments of a Monday, a meeting, or a memo, but I will always remember commonplace moments during a journey. Yellow tea in the mountains around Tbilisi, bread and yogurt in a Paris park, reading a friend’s novel by a campfire on a cold August night.
On a hot summer journey to Oregon’s mountain, I stop in Welches for supplies and its small but well-​stocked liquor store doesn’t disappoint. The staff are friendly and efficient. It seems appropriate to pay in crumpled cash, licking sweat off my lip and pushing damp hair behind my ears. Hoping it will be cooler up on the mountain.