So, every few weeks or months Nancy and I like to hop in the car and spend a half day or so crawling around new and familiar haunts, most often sampling creative craft beers and savory eats, and sometimes - like this past Father’s Day weekend - pursuing more heartfelt purposes.

On this particular Saturday, after a brief stop at the Woodinville Farmers’ Market for fresh strawberries, we arced our way over the top of Lake Washington, pausing for a quaff at the Project 9 Brewery in Lake City, then settling on the mideast fringe of Green Lake. After a pleasant 3-mile people-watching circumnavigation on the pedestrian footpath, we landed on barstools at Wooden City Tavern, to wish good friend Brock Lynch a fond farewell, as he departs next week to Tucson, Arizona, to open a Sonoran BBQ joint called the Lucky Penny.  

And now they’re realizing that dream. It’ll take a full year to build out the current shell of a building, but when it’s done, we have no doubt the place will be perfect.  And he promises an authentic Sonoran Hot Dog on the menu, which if you know, you know.  Godspeed Brock.

And from there we drifted into the U-District to bid adieu to a longtime favorite, the College Inn Pub, who closed their doors on Sunday after five decades of business. They opened in 1974, the year I began school at the University of Washington, but I expect my peers and I began our entrenchment there a good 5 years later.  And for us our purpose for settling into one of their long table booths with the single bulb light overhead wasn’t so much to drink beer - dominated back in those days by traditional American lagers - but to break out the padded cup and play endless rounds of liar’s dice, the loser buying the next round.  Games would stretch ridiculously long as dice-play was often usurped by tall tales and grand jest. 

In those earliest years there were six of us: Stan Lucas, Eric Edeen, John Kaschko, Rob Greenlund, Jack Talley, and myself, all having met at the University Christian Union quasi-fraternity on the fringe of Greek Row.  But over the years Jack and Rob moved away, the burdens and beauties of life shifted our priorities, and our at least monthly visits progressively diminished, eventually settling on an annual singular commitment, that often postponed till next time. Great memories made, that’s for sure.  And bonds deeply forged.  (I leave in a few hours for 3 days with Eric at Stan’s cabin north of Leavenworth.  Newer friend Matt Minton will be joining us.) 

The place was packed on Saturday night, every booth full of raucous revelers, many of them noticeably in their later years. We sat at a booth adjacent to our usual, though I slipped in for a photo later in the night.  And we met the man who carved his name first in the tabletop that eventually could withstand no more autographs, and was repurposed as a wall ornament some 20 years ago. That’s them in the photo above, bottom left. 

And on Father’s Day itself I learned from my dad’s widow Angela of the passing of her first husband David Maslin, a long time great friend of my family on Grand Turk.  When we first moved to the Turks & Caicos in 1973, David and Angela lived next door to our Salt Raker Inn, and became regulars at our Secret Garden Bar and Restaurant.  He was always a favorite of mine, with his pronounced British accent, rakish presence, and wicked sense of humor.  Angela shared with me this photo of him with my dad on the right and my youngest brother Jay, all three of them now gone.  RIP David.

Okay, the countdown continues; we’re just under two weeks until we depart for South Carolina.  Last Friday was my shopping day: a couple pairs of non-athletic walking shoes, primarily for Italy, and lightweight, quick-drying travel shirts, shorts and pants. Fitting 3.5 months of clothes into a single overhead-kosher suitcase required a wardrobe revamp.  Not to mention a new half-zip fleece and rain jacket for our month in the United KIngdom. 

We’ll be in touch.