We were driving through brown countryside again, but there were some hills to look at, and the great Columbia River by our side. I was surprised at how much of Eastern Oregon moving into Central Oregon was brown desert. It was beautiful in its own way, but I was getting tired of it and tired of sitting in the truck all day. By the way, everything on the other side of the river is Washington, and everything on this side is Oregon.
There were small changes in the hills as we travelled along, but the barren land did seem almost endless.
Desert hills and sage along the Columbia River.
Here the hills change to rim rock, one of the trademarks of the area.
We're approaching the famous
Bonneville Dam.
There was a good rest stop at Bonneville, so we walked around for quite awhile.
I took a few photos. The mountains are getting taller. Those across the river are in Washington. I had to get used to it. "Hey, Toto, we're not in Colorado any more."
Looking back, you can just see Bonneville Dam. This was great. It was peaceful and pretty, and almost nobody was about except for Kate and me.
More trees and grass at the Bonneville rest stop. Can you tell I was starving for them?
We've taken off again, and the countryside is changing rapidly. I didn't know what to expect at each turn. It was starting to be fun again.
This may be part of the Columbia Gorge.
Remember, I'm writing this from the future. I couldn't find the name of this bridge, but Lee finally found it for me. It's at mile post 168.8, and its name is the Hood River Bridge. It's hard to find on Google Earth if you don't know the name. The town is called White Salmon.
Rain! The first rain of the trip. But what did we expect? This is Oregon. It was welcome, too. I stopped taking photos for 3 or 4 hours. As the landscape got wetter and leafier, I began to think of Ken Kesey and
Sometimes A Great Notion, which I'd read 30 years before, but didn't remember very well except for the feel of the wet forest and the river, and of course the scene at the end with the big tree and the dead man's arm! It was *this* river, I remember thinking. Amazing. In Troutdale, just this side of Portland, we had another minor catastrophe. We drove the truck into another parking lot for a quick bite, and the driveway was just steep enough that the trailer hitch bottomed out and came loose. Thanks again to a trucker couple (man and wife) who were incredibly nice to us and didn't make us feel stupid, we got it put back together again.
The sign says, "Todd Road, Port of Kalama." I don't think I have any relatives here. So, we drove from Troutdale through Portland. I'm sure we crossed the river at Government Island near the airport. It seems familiar, not that I knew any of this by sight. After you cross the river you're in Washington. We had to go north, because the road and the state line both follow the river north for an hour before they go west again to Astoria. The freeway side of the river runs through Washington. I remember George Washington's head on the freeway signs, and I remember how much I loved the forested roadside. I was creeped out by the freeway, though, and it is clearly a freeway. For the eight years I'd lived in Colorado, including the times I'd either ridden or driven over the Rocky Mountains to Denver, I hadn't realized this, but the comparative narrowness of the Interstate had made me forget what a real freeway felt like. And this is from someone who had lived 40 years in Southern California, including ten years smack in a number of the burghs of Los Angeles. There were too many lanes of cars and trucks going too fast for comfort. It would take awhile before I'd get used to it again. I actually felt a little panicked.
We turned off the freeway at Longview, and somehow found our way to the bridge that would take us into Oregon and along the much smaller Highway 30 to Astoria. For years Longview would confuse me, but it didn't take too long to get the shortcut nailed, and as long as I didn't miss any turns I was OK. I don't think we realized how close we were to Astoria when we turned off the highway, but the Crest Motel sign caught our attention, and we decided on the spur of the moment to check it out. This was one of the best choices we made on the trip. Now that we were here, I was getting separation anxiety, or starting-new-not-knowing-anyone anxiety. A couple of splurge nights at the Crest were just what I needed, and just what Kate needed, too, after the long drive. Our room had big windows overlooking this incredible view, and I began to feel very good about having made the choice to come here. And we found a place to stock up on food. Hauke's Market was just at the bottom of the hill. We were still saying, "If it's not right, we can keep going on down the road." Kate knew just what to say to make everything feel OK. I don't know what I would have done without her. She was a miracle in my life - a miraculous tapir-frog of the best kind.
This was our view of the motel grounds. I think we mainly vegged. I don't even remember. But the truck needed to be returned to Longview soon (an hour back down the road - silly me, I still thought it might be possible to do something like that here on the coast), and for that to happen, I had to find a place to live. I had no idea it would be so discouraging until we hit on the right apartment.
We were driving through brown countryside again, but there were some hills to look at, and the great Columbia River by our side. I was surprised at how much of Eastern Oregon moving into Central Oregon was brown desert. It was beautiful in its own way, but I was getting tired of it and tired of sitting in the truck all day. By the way, everything on the other side of the river is Washington, and everything on this side is Oregon.
There were small changes in the hills as we travelled along, but the barren land did seem almost endless.
Desert hills and sage along the Columbia River.
Here the hills change to rim rock, one of the trademarks of the area.
We're approaching the famous Bonneville Dam.
There was a good rest stop at Bonneville, so we walked around for quite awhile.
I took a few photos. The mountains are getting taller. Those across the river are in Washington. I had to get used to it. "Hey, Toto, we're not in Colorado any more."
Looking back, you can just see Bonneville Dam. This was great. It was peaceful and pretty, and almost nobody was about except for Kate and me.
More trees and grass at the Bonneville rest stop. Can you tell I was starving for them?
We've taken off again, and the countryside is changing rapidly. I didn't know what to expect at each turn. It was starting to be fun again.
This may be part of the Columbia Gorge.
Remember, I'm writing this from the future. I couldn't find the name of this bridge, but Lee finally found it for me. It's at mile post 168.8, and its name is the Hood River Bridge. It's hard to find on Google Earth if you don't know the name. The town is called White Salmon.
Rain! The first rain of the trip. But what did we expect? This is Oregon. It was welcome, too. I stopped taking photos for 3 or 4 hours. As the landscape got wetter and leafier, I began to think of Ken Kesey and Sometimes A Great Notion, which I'd read 30 years before, but didn't remember very well except for the feel of the wet forest and the river, and of course the scene at the end with the big tree and the dead man's arm! It was *this* river, I remember thinking. Amazing. In Troutdale, just this side of Portland, we had another minor catastrophe. We drove the truck into another parking lot for a quick bite, and the driveway was just steep enough that the trailer hitch bottomed out and came loose. Thanks again to a trucker couple (man and wife) who were incredibly nice to us and didn't make us feel stupid, we got it put back together again.
The sign says, "Todd Road, Port of Kalama." I don't think I have any relatives here. So, we drove from Troutdale through Portland. I'm sure we crossed the river at Government Island near the airport. It seems familiar, not that I knew any of this by sight. After you cross the river you're in Washington. We had to go north, because the road and the state line both follow the river north for an hour before they go west again to Astoria. The freeway side of the river runs through Washington. I remember George Washington's head on the freeway signs, and I remember how much I loved the forested roadside. I was creeped out by the freeway, though, and it is clearly a freeway. For the eight years I'd lived in Colorado, including the times I'd either ridden or driven over the Rocky Mountains to Denver, I hadn't realized this, but the comparative narrowness of the Interstate had made me forget what a real freeway felt like. And this is from someone who had lived 40 years in Southern California, including ten years smack in a number of the burghs of Los Angeles. There were too many lanes of cars and trucks going too fast for comfort. It would take awhile before I'd get used to it again. I actually felt a little panicked.
We turned off the freeway at Longview, and somehow found our way to the bridge that would take us into Oregon and along the much smaller Highway 30 to Astoria. For years Longview would confuse me, but it didn't take too long to get the shortcut nailed, and as long as I didn't miss any turns I was OK. I don't think we realized how close we were to Astoria when we turned off the highway, but the Crest Motel sign caught our attention, and we decided on the spur of the moment to check it out. This was one of the best choices we made on the trip. Now that we were here, I was getting separation anxiety, or starting-new-not-knowing-anyone anxiety. A couple of splurge nights at the Crest were just what I needed, and just what Kate needed, too, after the long drive. Our room had big windows overlooking this incredible view, and I began to feel very good about having made the choice to come here. And we found a place to stock up on food. Hauke's Market was just at the bottom of the hill. We were still saying, "If it's not right, we can keep going on down the road." Kate knew just what to say to make everything feel OK. I don't know what I would have done without her. She was a miracle in my life - a miraculous tapir-frog of the best kind.
This was our view of the motel grounds. I think we mainly vegged. I don't even remember. But the truck needed to be returned to Longview soon (an hour back down the road - silly me, I still thought it might be possible to do something like that here on the coast), and for that to happen, I had to find a place to live. I had no idea it would be so discouraging until we hit on the right apartment.
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