Chapter Text

the steady continental seventy — iii

Log Land isn’t quite what Pacifica expected.

Based on the name, she had assumed that the tourist attraction is a celebration of Oregon’s logging history, maybe a museum with a bunch of black and white photographs and a big ending display about conservation. She had heard of the place, obviously, but only in passing, and it’s not like anyone she used to know would have frequented it.

The Mystery Shack is kitschy, but at least it has thematic coherence. It’s a throwback, a collection of homemade cryptozoology that hearkens to an old tradition of flimflam that Stan pulls off so well. Log Land is… a paean to logs? A monument to the fact that lumber is a thing? There’s no real historical context or conservation angle, it’s just a small amusement park made of the trees it’s surrounded by.

“Smells like corndogs,” Dipper says, sniffing the air. “Do they even have corndogs? Or does anything resembling a fair just always smell like that?”

“It really makes you think,” Mabel says with a sagacious nod of her head.

The park isn’t crowded, but there’s a decent number of people milling around. There’s a line for the women’s restroom and at least a short wait at the lemonade stand. Stan glowers at the gathered customers with envy.

“Hey, we could have rides,” Soos says, noticing Stan’s preoccupation. “What about, like, a Mysterycoaster?”

“Are you kiddin’, the profit margins on those things are razor thin,” Stan grunts. “Constant inspections and upkeep… Only if you meet safety standards, though…”

“Grunkle Stan, please don’t get sued into oblivion. We really like coming up here for the summer,” Dipper says, clearly only half-joking.

Wendy and Mabel have moved ahead; it looks like they’ve joined the line for a ride. Pacifica decides to follow for lack of any other ideas. She doesn’t know Log Land and assumes the other girls probably do. In the short time it takes Pacifica to get to the line, it’s already backed up with additional tourists, separating her from her friends. She hesitates, not sure she wants to ride by herself.

“Yo, Pacifica!” Wendy yells, waving one arm. “Take front cuts!”

“Hey, come on,” a random guy in a fedora complains as Pacifica slips by him.

Wendy turns to fix him with a look. “Dude, be cool.”

“Flume friends!” Mabel cheers when Pacifica joins them. “Who wouldn’t want to get strapped to a speeding log?”

Pacifica, possibly. By the time the group reaches the front that fedora guy must be furious, because Dipper and Soos have somehow skipped up the line to be with the girls. Pacifica is the first one in, sitting down in the hollowed-out log and carefully clicking her harness into place. The straps and the seat are wet, which is kind of gross. Dipper sits next to her, tucking his hat into his vest after he secures himself.

“Don’t want to lose it,” he explains.

That’s a bit concerning. “Is this thing really that fast?” Pacifica asks.

“It’s not so much the speed as it is the impact.”

She’s about to ask what he means by that when she’s distracted by Soos speaking up behind her.

“Excellent choice, dude,” he compliments her. “The first row always gets mega soaked.”

She tries to see him over her shoulder, but the harness gets in the way. “Wait, are you serious— aaaaah—”

She lets out a very undignified squeal as the log suddenly lurches into motion, the acceleration hard enough to whip her head back. They steadily clank their way up an incline; at the top, the log tips forward enough for Pacifica to see the deep pool of water at the bottom of the hill, the tracks partially submerged.

She tugs at Dipper’s arm, trying to use him as a shield to no avail. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“I thought you knew?” Dipper laughs. “It’s a log ride! It’s just water, you won’t melt.”

No, but her mascara will, and then she’ll look like a melting raccoon—oh god, it’s moving.

The others whoop and holler as the log flies down the slope. Pacifica holds on for dear life, not at all trusting the safety features at a little park in the middle of nowhere. The water at the bottom acts like a sudden brake, jolting her against her harness and sending an enormous wave of lukewarm water over her like a one-second bath—all she can do is cover her face. The log slowly clanks back into the station; Pacifica looks down at herself, watching the water run off her arms and legs and collect at the bottom of the log, slopping against its sides.

Mabel is sitting directly behind her. As soon as the harnesses come off, Mabel’s arms descend around Pacifica in a very soggy hug. “Wasn’t that awesome?” Mabel crows. “We should go again!”

Pacifica would prefer something drier. Lucky for her, when they disembark the line has increased to the point that the group lose their enthusiasm for the flume. They stop at the lemonade stand, where they find Stan has picked out a choice bench in the shade and is lounging there with an enormous frozen lemonade in one hand; he obviously has no intention of moving. Pacifica follows the others as they wander the circular main road of the park, ending up back where they started. The log flume is the only big ride available; everything else is either some kind of store or a more standard attraction. There’s a large treehouse, a nature trail around a small lake, a play area for younger kids, and a miniature train that follows the central loop.

The treehouse is built at the top of two enormous trees which are close together, spanning the gap and wrapping around the bulky trunks. It looks like it’s designed to sit snugly in the branches instead of being nailed in place—tree limbs weave in and out of the wooden planks, giving it a very organic appearance. Pacifica follows Dipper up the steep enclosed staircase that wraps around the trunk of the left tree, light beaming through the cracks and knotholes of the boards, the smell of pine made strong by the sun. At the top is a promenade wide enough for two or three people, open at about chest height with rungs interspersed. The far end is elevated even more, creating a viewing platform that looks back over the park. Pacifica watches the water sparkle at the flume, the people strolling around below as small as figurines. A strong breeze brings with it the earthy scent of the forest.

Pacifica shivers slightly. Though the sun is warm on her face and arms, her clothing is still damp enough that the wind is chilly at her core.

“You okay?” Dipper asks.

“No, I’m cold. Make yourself useful,” she says, and finally he takes the hint (well, direct order).

She leans back as he puts her arms around her, the hug somewhat tainted by the saturated state of his clothing, but he’s still warm. The gentle, almost imperceptible swaying of the tree is equally soothing and alarming. Any real romance implicit in the moment is undercut by all the other people passing by and milling about. Unless they vacate the premises immediately, Pacifica won’t be getting any good time with Dipper here, either.

Lacking any significant others to share the view with, Mabel, Wendy, and Soos tire of the view in short order. When they descend, Pacifica is surprised to see that Ford has joined Stan, the two of them eating chili dogs at a park bench under an umbrella.

“Very reminiscent of Curly’s,” Ford is saying. “A little less oniony, of course.”

“Makes sense. Curly’s chili was seventy percent onion,” Stan says around a mouthful of bun. “Wonder whatever happened to that place.”

“It’s hard to imagine they weren’t shut down at some point. I’ve noticed everyone takes the health department a little more seriously these days,” Ford chuckles.

“Remind me to take you to Greasy’s.”

Mabel and Dipper seem weirdly invested in the conversation; probably Family stuff, with a capital F. It makes Pacifica feel even more like a guest than usual, which she doesn’t like.

With everyone together, Soos leads them towards the nature trail. There’s a large tree at the entrance standing solo with a sign next to it:

THE AVERAGE DOUGLAS FIR IS 100 FEET TALL!

HOW DO YOU MEASURE UP?

The tree has a measuring board next to it, the height topping out at ten feet.

“First time I came here I was about yea high,” Soos says, pointing close to the five foot mark.

“Back when dinosaurs roamed the earth!” Mabel jokes, poking him in the side.

“Dude, dinosaurs roam the earth nowadays, remember? Wait… does that mean we’re actually going back in time?” Soos appears worried by the possibility.

Dipper eagerly approaches the oversized ruler, no doubt wanting to show off his ever-increasing height. He takes off his hat and presses his back to the sun-faded wood. Pacifica doesn’t feel the same need—she knows she’s the shortest person here. But she’s coaxed into it, and when it’s her turn she takes her place so everyone can see what they already know: she’s short.

Soos is the tallest at six-foot-two, which is somewhat unexpected; not that he’s the tallest, just that Pacifica always thought he was even taller, given how much he looms over her and people in general. Stan and Ford are pretty much the same height when Stan isn’t slouching, a bit shorter than Soos at about six feet even, though Ford may be a little closer to six-one. Wendy, with her willowy form, is five feet and eleven inches of flannel and denim. Dipper is ecstatic to discover he is five-foot-seven now, with more inches undoubtably to come; Mabel is just behind him at five-five. To no one’s surprise, least of all hers, Pacifica is dead last at five-foot-two.

Her exasperation at being made to take a turn must be evident on her face, because Mabel declares, “Looking good, Pacifica! You’re our pocket-sized princess!”

This does not help.

Dipper ribs Mabel about his being the ‘alpha twin,’ whatever that means. Ford is reprimanding Stan on his posture, which Stan doesn’t take very kindly to. There’s some discussion as to whether it’s worth trying the line at the flume again, but by consensus the group trails back towards the RV. It’s still afternoon, the sun only beginning its long descent towards the treetops.

Everyone piles into the RV, Ford veering off to return to the trailer. Pacifica doesn’t miss how Dipper almost follows his Great-Uncle instinctively, stopping himself just before he walks away. Still, she has hope for tonight—one of the forthcoming stops is supposed to be a nighttime attraction, which sounds possibly romantic by nature. The idea causes her to think of the fireworks show on the beach, a memory so vivid that the recollection makes her feel happy and safe.

Stan spreads the map out on the dashboard as the RV idles. “At Soos’ request, we’re skipping the corn maze this year. I assume we’re fine with that. I mean, it’s corn.”

A chorus of indifferent assent rises from the table where the kids are sitting. Pacifica hasn’t been there and even she thinks it sounds boring. Besides, she’s spent more than enough time in a maze already.

“So it’s Neon Ville, then the RV park,” Stan says.

“Can we see the House Shoe?” Mabel asks.

“It’ll be closed by the time we leave,” Stan tells her.

“Aw,” Mabel says, disappointed.

“Don’t sweat it, Mabel,” Wendy tells her. “It’s literally just a house shaped like a shoe. You can’t even go in, somebody lives there.”

“We didn’t prank Neon Ville last year,” Dipper notes.

Stan shakes his head. “Nah, they’re new. Only been out here a couple years, so they don’t got a history with the rest of us. Not even sure who runs the place. So keep your nose clean while we’re there: If we hit ‘em next year, I don’t want them to see us coming…”

“Grunkle Stan, this is a mission of peace!” Mabel loudly reminds him.

Pacifica catches Wendy’s eye across the table. “Is Neon Ville worth seeing?” she asks.

“Haven’t made it out there yet,” Wendy says. “Thompson said it was pretty cool, but he’s also really easy to impress.”

“It’s probably better than a bunch of logs.”

Wendy grins. “But that flume, man! But, yeah, Log Land is kind of a one-trick pony. There’s the flume, then there’s everything else.”

“I thought the treehouse was kind of cool,” Dipper opines.

Mabel suddenly pushes herself up in her seat, leaning forward eagerly. “Ooh! It’s that commercial, for the place! Grunkle Stan, turn it up!”

Stan obligingly turns up the radio. Someone is awkwardly extolling the virtues of Neon Ville in a manner that makes it obvious they are not a professional voice actor.

“—a magical after-dark experience,” the voice says haltingly. “We promise that you’ll love the lights! Prepare yourself to be astounded by a dazzling collection of electric features and displays. The brightest thing in Roadkill County, or your money back! Neon Ville: We Bring the Bright.”

“Sounds neat, right?” Mabel says.

Stan grunts condescendingly. “Money back guarantee? Amateurs.”

“Well, I’m prepared to be dazzled,” Mabel says stubbornly.

Pacifica is at least willing to give the place a chance. She settles in for the ride, aware it’s going to be not quite another hour to get there.