In late summer the weather in Oregon is lovely, warm and dry, as if conjured by some Chamber of Commerce to atone for the wetness past. There is a sense that you can see forever, or failing that, at least, and with ease, to the awesome mountains that surround Portland. The air is clear, as if from another preindustrial age, since potential polluters fear the power of Oregon's ecologically alert citizenry, and after the long gray months so recently past and so soon to return, it seems a special gift. On days like this it is inconceivable to stay inside, inconceivable to work, and there is a feeling that no business is being transacted in Portland at this moment, that an entire state may be on vacation.
The Breaks of the Game, David Halberstam