I haven't posted much lately; been in an introspective mood. Not that anyone reads this blog anyway...

Olfactory Maps

Riding my spiffy new cruiser bike home from work I ride by all kinds of things. Things to see. Things to hear. But lately what's been on my mind are the things to smell.

First, when I walk out the door of the book store, I might smell one of three things: Either disgusting, rotten broccoli smell wafting over from the pulpmill across the bay, sharp scent of roasting coffee from the coffee shop around the corner, or toasted bagel smell from Los Bagels, the local cool bagel store.

I swing on my bike and coast down 2nd Street, or Two Street, as the old-timers call it. Pretty soon I pass by the homeless shelter, the so-called Rescue Mission. By this time, about 6:10, there is a line of homeless people waiting to get in. I guess they don't let them in until 6:30 or 7:00 or something. If you go by slow enough, you can smell the homeless person smell, dull, a little acrid, with a hint of ammonia. Sometimes there is a waft of marijuana. But usually I just zip right by.

Then I turn off of 2nd Street toward the bay, crossing over the railroad track. This is were the railroad yard used to be, back when there used to be trains that came to Humboldt County. Now there is just a string of four rusting diesel locomotives. Sometimes I think I can smell the diesel engines idling, but these engines haven't idled in several years (but hey, imaginary smells can be almost as powerful as real ones).

Then I pass by the fish processing plant on the right. The seafood smell is different almost every time. I'm not sure why. It's usually very strong, and I usually like it. It reminds me of little coastal villages in the south of France, or maybe on the westcoast of Italy, with fishing boats lying on their sides in the sandflats in the harbor.

Several hundred feet down the road I pass by the lot where they load woodchips onto barges. There are huge piles of redwood chips and all manner of machinery to move it around. It smells really fresh, like fresh cut wood, a wood shop smell.

A little farther along you pass by a logpile. Imagine a really gigantic pile of redwood logs, neatly piled like breadsticks at a buffet. Now imagine it a lot bigger than what you just imagined. It's that big. It's bigger than the biggest building in Eureka, which, they tell me, is the Pink House, the county jail right smack downtown. These logs are fresh from the woods. There isn't really a cut wood smell here. What it smells like is the damp, earthy, fungoid smell of forest. You could close your eyes and imagine that you're in the middle of an old growth forest. Well, you ARE, really, it's just a forest that's been pulled up and stacked on it's side.

Then I go around a corner and past the Eureka Garbage company. It's a huge warehouse with piles of garbage inside, being pushed around by bulldozers. And smelling like garbage. It smells a little like homeless people, only a lot stronger. And a little more sickly sweet.

I come to Broadway, which is really Highway 101 as it passes through town. I have to cross it, and there is no traffic light, so I usually sit here for ten to 15 minutes. What do I smell? Car fumes.

Across Broadway it goes, and up the hill, past Serenity Inn. Serenity Inn is a special kind of homeless shelter, for more upscale homeless people. It pretends to be a motel, but nobody there is a tourist. Children play in the parking lot while their parents watch TV in their rooms. Is this the only life these kids will ever know? Probably.

I'm almost home. I delve into a residential neighborhood, and the smell become a confused jumble of barbecue, shampoo, and wood fired stoves. Sometimes the smell of a burning house (why do I always end up writing about houses on fire? See this story that Marya ended up posting).

Then I'm home. If I'm lucky, I smell the blossoms of the beautiful garden that my sweetie planted as I push my bike towards the shed.