The thing about sock knitters is that, while they’re nice and all, when they talk to you, they stare at your feet.

This is, of course, not rude, like when guys talk to your chest. My breasts don’t say a lot about me as a person, but, I suppose, my foot clothing does say something about me as a knitter of socks.

As such, one of my great regrets of Sock Summit is that I did not bring enough socks for the whole time I was there.

In my defense, Portland had just survived a 107-degree heatwave. I felt justified in assuming that half the time I’d want to be wearing my flip flops, which are my summer footwear of choice in D.C. once the weather hits 75. I just hadn’t counted on the fact that Oregon in August would not hit 75…

The Saturday of Sock Summit can be divided into five distinct parts:

The day began with a swim. I’d picked the hotel I stayed at because it had a pool. This was the only day I managed to avail myself of it, which was a real shame.

I spent my lunchtime at Saturday Market, a Portland institution Rebs first told me about back in college. I hadn’t made it to the open-air crafts market in either of my previous visits to the city, so I made sure to allot myself a couple of hours to head across the river to check it out.

Saturday Market is nice, but it’s not especially different from D.C.’s own Eastern Market. It does have more incense and patchouli and palm readers, but less African American art.

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Friday promised exciting new learning opportunities as I had a three-hour class from Joan Schrouder scheduled that promised to teach me different ways to shape knee socks. Many of you may remember back when we were kids (when we wore knee socks) that inevitably they ended up in a pool around your ankles and you were forever tugging them to keep them in place. That would be because they were manufactured socks made around some set measurements that would fit what some fashion designer deemed to be an average leg. If your leg differed from those measurements at all — by being too shapely or not shapely enough or being taller or shorter than specified — your socks were predestined to fall down. (more…)

I know… I know… The only excuse I had is that I wrote this post out in its entirety once and then some hotel-internet-related mishap caused it to disappear entirely. I could have cried. Instead I put the computer away and went to bed.

My introduction to Sock Summit began the way many of my days do — with me trying to sidle into a room, tardy and hoping not to inconvenience anyone. Of course, normally I’m not trying to do this as the room is lead in a loud chant, as my two dozen classmates in Stephen Houghton’s Hip Hems for Him and Her were when I opened the door. I did offer to do a cheer as I made my way to an empty chair around the horseshoe of tables familiar to any college student, but thankfully no one took me up on the offer. Sock Summit was on.

I was looking forward to this class for two reasons: One, Stephen hosts a knitting podcast (which I haven’t heard, although I did hear his appearance on Stash and Burn), which led me to hope that he was good at communicating with people. Two, the class description had promised to help decorate your sock top with manly or girly edging. I tried a picot hem last summer and had given up in frustration (For those who don’t follow fashion, picot is that feminine, v-shaped edging often found on little girls’ dresses.), so I was particularly interested to find that on the class’ itinerary. (more…)

Last time we met, I was whining about being unprepared for my trip out to Portland. Well, that remained true up to the very minute Rudi stuffed me in a cab at 3:30 in the morning, 15 minutes later than I was supposed to be walking out the door. Luckily, the woman who drove me to the train station was quick and we made it downtown with enough time for me to buy a ticket and to stop at Starbucks to get some tea and a snack before boarding my on-time train.

My flight was nondescript, perhaps because I slept through most of them. On the second flight that was a blessing because the woman sitting next to me was very chatty. Usually I associate that trait with Midwesterners, but she was from Ithaca. Between my napping and my headphones, though, I was subjected to her questions only for takeoff and landing.

I took MAX, Portland’s metro train system, to the Convention Center, where I found I was too early to register (but just in time to see the Yarn Harlot wrapping up final details). I also found I had no idea where my hotel was located, but the Convention Center folks had a map, and I tracked down the building and checked in. I opted to forgo the nap in favor of heading out (and a blackberry shake at Burgerville, Portland’s local fast food joint specializing in locally produced food). I went back and registered for the conference and then headed across the Willamette River to Portland’s downtown in search of lunch and books.

Portland is known for their vast fleet of lunch carts, which, I now know, can often be found parked in commuter lots. There were close to two dozen down by Powells, selling everything from German bratwurst to crepes to burritos. I ordered from a cart specializing in soup and sandwiches, and can attest that my vegetarian sandwich was quite tasty.

A couple hours of wandering Powells could leave anyone feeling a bit light-headed and confused. I left with only a couple of books and headed down Burnside to locate Voodoo Doughnuts, a local shop recommended on Ravelry. (It is possible that Carli brought us to this shop the last time we were in town. I only have a vague recollection of that night. I know it involved sushi and video games…) I did not buy any of the crazy doughnuts in the photo. I opted for an Oregon Cream Doughnut, the city’s official doughnut, which tastes an awful lot like a Boston Cream Doughnut, although I suppose I might not mention that to the bakers.

The day was sunny with pleasant temperatures, so I thought I’d walk back across the river over the Burnside Bridge (which, I suppose might be called something else). Having mistaken how far up the river I actually was from my hotel about halfway across the river, I realized I was a bit of a hike from “home.” (The building with the pointy towers is the convention center. The tall building behind it is next to my hotel, several blocks away.)

Oops!

So what did I do?

Why, I decided I ought to walk further afield in search of someplace to eat dinner. I couldn’t find what I was looking for, though, so I turned around about a mile up the road and began the trek back to the hotel.

After arriving back at the hotel, I decided that before I ventured back out in search of dinner, I ought to talk to BW, who is also in Portland, to make plans to meet up. I got chilly during our call, though, and climbed under the covers and was starting to doze by the end. Rudi’s goodnight call an hour or so later did not rouse me sufficiently, and it wasn’t until nearly 4 a.m. that I was awake enough to get up, take out the contacts, and get out of my pants.

This feels a bit like The Hobbit, except without the trolls. I walked a lot and I ate a lot. But, really, that was pretty much the day. That and the weird sleeping.

Up next: a belated TBTs and Sock Summit: Day 1. There’ll be actual knitting content!

You may have noticed I am not a good traveler. I’m a great visitor. I love being other places and seeing new sights and meeting new and old friends. But I’m terrible at the traveling part, probably because it relies on things I’m not especially good at — timeliness and organization.

I leave for Portland for Sock Summit in 25 hours. Yup, that’s right. I will have to walk out the door to catch a cab to Union Station at approximately 3:15 Wednesday morning. (Please let Amtrak be running on time for that train…) Who was it who thought a 6:15 a.m. flight from BWI was a good idea again?

Oh, right…

Just in case I don’t get a chance to post tomorrow during my pre-travel frenzy, I will have a laptop with me in Portland and will be sharing the fun of the conference and my Northwest visit as I go along. I have a new camera card, so posts might even include pictures.

But, in the meantime, if you imagine a rather frazzled knitter frantically throwing around balls of yarn (the class that requires five yarns would have to start before the Marketplace opens!), every dpn she’s ever owned, books, and her bathing suit while muttering under her breath about C-Tran buses to Vancouver, the Fareless Square, and Saturday market while repeatedly removing cats from a carry-on, you probably wouldn’t be far off the mark.

Rudi and I are heading out on vacation today. So what are we doing right now? Cleaning? Packing? Buying the cats some more food and litter?

Nope.

We’re watching the Tour de France.

We’ll get to those all-important pre-trip tasks soon, as well as a stop by the garden, the library, and a couple spots to drop off Michael’s posters and postcards. (In D.C.? Go see his play Friday, Saturday, or Sunday at Redrum at Fort Fringe. You’ll laugh. You’ll feel smart. You’ll think it’s much better than Cats.)

But our first day of vacation will be a relaxed one. We’re only planning to go as far as Princeton, N.J., this evening, so we can wander about town tonight and then backtrack a smidge to the Grounds for Sculpture. Tomorrow evening is our first real appointment, when we have New York City dinner plans with Erik and maybe a couple of other friends.

Friday we’ll head upstate. We’re hoping to spend some time with my college roommate, but if that doesn’t work out, there’s still bike riding and wandering about Dutchess County.

Saturday, we head up to the folk festival. Shelley and Mike weren’t able to camp the whole weekend this year, and we’ve had a couple years in a row of torrential rains (plus hail, fire, and tornado) which made us think a year of doing a daytrip might be in order. The fact we aren’t camping should guarantee the festival beautiful, picture-perfect weather for the whole weekend.

Sunday, we’ll be at my folks and hope to head a bit further east to catch up with Karen and meet Marshall if they’re feeling up for a visit. If not, some more family time and bike riding will give us a relaxing conclusion to our holiday before we head south again on Monday.

But, in the meantime, we have another 19 kilometers of today’s Tour de France stage to go.