Tillamook Creamery

I had slept along the coast, parked on a street above the beach in Newport that seemed unofficially reserved for camper vans. In the morning, I drove back to Route 101—about a mile—to a Starbucks. The large parking lot was mostly empty at 8 a.m., with only four cars in the drive-through, but inside it was surprisingly full. Maybe a third of the people there were homeless, which seems to be an epidemic across Oregon right now.

In one corner, two older men were deep into a conversation about the markets—where to invest, what inflation might do, and how Trump’s foreign policies might ripple through everything. One of them was convinced we were heading toward a global recession because of the Strait of Hormuz. A few seats away sat a woman in her late fifties. She looked like she tried to take care of herself. When she passed by me on her way out, I noticed her one bag was filled with blankets.

I grabbed my latte and opened my laptop, planning to catch up on the blog and emails. I was sitting at one of the larger tables when a man asked if anyone was using the other end. He was soft-spoken, carrying a backpack, a few small boxes, and a bag. I assumed he might be homeless too, but then he started unpacking—colored paper, pens, supplies—and began drawing flowers.

About 30 minutes later, a family came in. While waiting for their order, the woman—Christine—noticed his work and said, “Those are fun.” He showed her a stack of drawings, and she smiled, “Oh, that is nice,” trying to get her daughter to take a look.

The artist, Tim Evoniuk, explained, “I trade my drawings for a smile,” and invited her to pick one. She chose an orange rose on multicolored paper. He stepped outside, came back with a DeWalt tool bag that somehow held a camera, a printer, and everything else he needed, and got set up to take her photo.

I offered to take the picture. While he was getting ready, I said to Christine, “You look a lot like Sheryl Crow.” Her husband laughed and nodded, and she said, “I haven’t heard that in a while, but I used to get that a lot more when I was younger.”

We got the shot. He printed two copies—one for her, one for his archive—and carefully packaged hers in a protective sleeve. He showed me a book of recent photos and what he called his “smile books”—eight volumes filled with drawings and notes from people he’d met.

While I was sitting there, I looked him up—“Tim the smiles man in Newport Oregon”—and found a local newspaper article about him. He hadn’t seen it in years.

The drive up the coast felt familiar by now—Highway 101 winding through hills, opening up to wide beaches, then pulling you back into small towns. It’s a rhythm you fall into pretty quickly.

I did stop for gas—$118. I had read that the average price in Oregon is $5.30 a gallon, but I haven’t seen anything under $6 anywhere along the coast. Most places are closer to $6.30. I’m not sure where they’re getting that average from, but it’s not from anywhere I’ve actually been.

My itinerary had me taking the Three Capes Scenic Route, but somewhere along the way I gave up trying to find it and just drove toward my next stop: Tillamook Creamery.

Tillamook Creamery

I’ve seen Tillamook cheese in stores plenty of times, but I don’t remember ever seeing their ice cream. When I pulled in, I wasn’t expecting this. The place is huge. The visitor center alone feels more like a small airport terminal than a creamery, and the parking lot holds hundreds of cars.

I didn’t even try for a close spot. I went straight to the farthest row. There was exactly one other camper van out there, which felt about right.

Inside, the space opens up into a mix of cafeteria, viewing areas, and retail. It’s clean, modern, and built to move a lot of people through without feeling chaotic. You can look down through big windows into parts of the production floor, watch blocks of cheese moving along conveyors, and get just enough of a behind-the-scenes feel without actually being in the way of anything.

It was lunchtime, so I grabbed a burger, fries, and a Pelican Brewery ale. I don’t usually drink beer before 6 p.m., and this turned out to be a poor decision. It gets worse.

After lunch, I walked through the store. It’s packed with everything—cheese, gift boxes (cheese and champagne), branded clothes, and anything else you can put a Tillamook logo on. People were loading up. One woman was half complaining, half bragging that she’d just spent over $300. I had the thought: no one made you do that.

Upstairs, the self-guided tour walks you through how they make their products—milk sourcing, processing, aging. It’s well done without being over the top. You follow along at your own pace, reading displays, watching short videos, and occasionally looking down onto the production floor.

At the end, there were samples—five-year and ten-year aged cheddar, along with a couple of small packaged pieces. I tried both. The ten-year had that sharper, more complex flavor that sticks with you. Definitely my favorite.

There’s also a hands-on section geared toward kids, including a station where you can learn how to attach a milking machine to a cow’s udder. I watched a few kids get it exactly right. Growing up near a dairy farm, I had a moment of, “Yep, that checks out.”

There’s also a hands-on section geared toward kids, including a station where you can learn how to attach a milking machine to a cow’s udder. I watched a few kids get it exactly right. Growing up near a dairy farm, I had a moment of, “Yep, that checks out.”

I stopped at the info desk downstairs and realized there was a tour of the larger factory just starting. It required a ticket, and I decided to skip it. I’ve seen enough production lines in my life to have a pretty good idea of how that would go.

For reasons I still don’t fully understand, I decided to finish with ice cream. Cookies and cream.

Let’s recap: burger, fries, beer, cheese samples, and now ice cream. This was not a winning strategy. By the time I got back to the van, I had the kind of indigestion that makes you rethink your life choices.

I figured driving might help, so I pointed Google toward Cape Meares Lighthouse and headed out. The route took me along Bayocean Road, following the Tillamook River—a wide, slow-moving stretch of water that looks like it’s claimed more than a few buildings over the years. You can see remnants along the banks that suggest it’s not always as calm as it looks.

Eventually, I ended up in a small community where Google directed me onto a street marked by a skeleton pointing up a hill. That seemed like a warning sign, but I followed it anyway. At the bottom of the street was a large sign: “No Lighthouse Here! Google is wrong!!!”

I had to laugh. I got out to take a photo. A guy walking down the hill said, “It happens all day. During tourist season, there’s a line of cars turning around here.”

Apparently, the neighbors have tried to get Google to fix it, with no success. So they made their own solution. It works.

After rerouting—properly this time—I eventually found the road toward the lighthouse. The parking lot was full, and my stomach was still not on board with the day’s decisions. So I kept going.

A little farther down, near Oceanside, I found Tunnel Beach. I pulled in, sat for about an hour, and did nothing. Mostly just relaxing, no walking around. Just let things settle.

At the end of the day, I found a spot to park for the night in Tillamook and let my stomach work through the days food adventure.