Taking the Long Way
I planned to get away for a couple of days to do some long overdue writing. Some generous friends of mine had offered me the use of their cabin on the side of Mt. Hood east of Portland, Oregon. If you’ve never seen the area you’re going to have to trust me on this; it is spectacular!
Normally the drive takes about an hour from my home, but it was one of those crystal clear early Fall days in the Northwest, the kind you have to take full advantage of because you know the rain is coming. So I loaded up my motorcycle and steered off the interstate and onto the back roads. I took the long way.
The first part of the journey took me through the Columbia River Gorge. Sixty miles of some of the most beautiful scenery anywhere; period. The sun was warm, but not hot. There was no wind, which was unusual. As I headed east, the road was empty and the pavement dry. To my right, the Columbia river flowed glassy and peaceful. There was just a hint of fall in the leaves. Here and there I could see the golden colors that signaled the end of Summer. The road seemed to mirror the undulating pattern of the river itself; gently weaving side to side and rolling up and down over many hills and valleys. There’s good reason to jump on the Interstate. Usually it has to do with getting from point a to point b as fast as possible. On this day though, point a and point b could wait. I was in harmony with the road, at one with the motorcycle; truly enjoying the journey.
As I neared the heart of the Gorge, the wind increased. The placid river had become turbulent and white capped. The sky seemed an even deeper blue at this point and it, in turn, caused the color of the river to become the deepest blue-green I’ve ever seen. On this particular day the wind, though it was strong felt more playful than angry. I passed dozens of brave (or stupid, depending on your perspective) folks wind and kite surfing. Skating across the water, born by the wind, it looked more like a dance than an athletic activity. It was beautiful and if I wasn’t having so much fun carving up the road on my bike I would have stopped and stayed for the rest of the dance.
I crossed the toll bridge at White Salmon. The bridges across the river in this area are steel and the road surface is a steel grate. I think they build them this way to compensate for the wind and rain, but driving across one on two wheels is frightening. The bike wobbles and weaves and the wind threatens to knock you over or into oncoming traffic. Thankfully it was only a ½ mile and I was across. I paid my .50 toll and drove into Hood River. If I ever built a town just for myself, this would be it! To the North, the skyline is dominated by the river and 12,000 foot Mt. Adams. To the south, Mt. Hood. Downtown is a small collection of old, well preserved homes and renovated, early 20th Century storefronts and hotels. The main industry here is tourism; a “Mecca” for mountain bikers, windsurfers and skiers. I think the there are more bike, kayak, and surf shops than anything else except coffee shops. As much as I wanted to stay, I moved on after a peek inside a consignment sporting goods store and a cup of coffee.
I was now moving south from Hood River up the flanks of Mt. Hood. For a while I wound along the river itself and then began to climb out into an area covered with orchards. Apple, peach, pear; hundreds, probably thousands of acres of fruit trees filled the landscape. The only thing that drew my eyes away from that was the first unobstructed glimpse of Mt. Hood. I’ve seen bigger mountains. Colorado has a hundred peaks taller than this one, but Hood stands out. Maybe its because her shape is so perfect. Remember when you were a kid and you drew pictures of mountains? They were perfect, cone-shaped and snow covered. That’s what Mt. Hood looks like. And on this particular day with the sky so piercingly blue, she stood out all the more. She never completely sheds her mantle of snow and it looked like there might have even been some fresh snow as well.
As I wound my way up the side of the mountain I noticed the change in temperature as well as plant life. It’s dryer on the east side of the Gorge and I was going up, so it got colder too. Douglas firs turned into Lodge pole pines. The deep blue-green water of the Hood River turned grey and then clear the farther up I went. I remember thinking to myself at this point how much I love to get away to these kinds of places. Something about the mountains helps to center me. I think, it part it’s because they remind me so powerfully of God’s presence. Seems like many of the most significant experiences of my life have taken place in or near the mountains.
Eventually I got to the cabin and got to work. But it was difficult to focus for a while; the memory of the journey was more alluring than the task at hand.
Normally the drive takes about an hour from my home, but it was one of those crystal clear early Fall days in the Northwest, the kind you have to take full advantage of because you know the rain is coming. So I loaded up my motorcycle and steered off the interstate and onto the back roads. I took the long way.
The first part of the journey took me through the Columbia River Gorge. Sixty miles of some of the most beautiful scenery anywhere; period. The sun was warm, but not hot. There was no wind, which was unusual. As I headed east, the road was empty and the pavement dry. To my right, the Columbia river flowed glassy and peaceful. There was just a hint of fall in the leaves. Here and there I could see the golden colors that signaled the end of Summer. The road seemed to mirror the undulating pattern of the river itself; gently weaving side to side and rolling up and down over many hills and valleys. There’s good reason to jump on the Interstate. Usually it has to do with getting from point a to point b as fast as possible. On this day though, point a and point b could wait. I was in harmony with the road, at one with the motorcycle; truly enjoying the journey.
As I neared the heart of the Gorge, the wind increased. The placid river had become turbulent and white capped. The sky seemed an even deeper blue at this point and it, in turn, caused the color of the river to become the deepest blue-green I’ve ever seen. On this particular day the wind, though it was strong felt more playful than angry. I passed dozens of brave (or stupid, depending on your perspective) folks wind and kite surfing. Skating across the water, born by the wind, it looked more like a dance than an athletic activity. It was beautiful and if I wasn’t having so much fun carving up the road on my bike I would have stopped and stayed for the rest of the dance.
I crossed the toll bridge at White Salmon. The bridges across the river in this area are steel and the road surface is a steel grate. I think they build them this way to compensate for the wind and rain, but driving across one on two wheels is frightening. The bike wobbles and weaves and the wind threatens to knock you over or into oncoming traffic. Thankfully it was only a ½ mile and I was across. I paid my .50 toll and drove into Hood River. If I ever built a town just for myself, this would be it! To the North, the skyline is dominated by the river and 12,000 foot Mt. Adams. To the south, Mt. Hood. Downtown is a small collection of old, well preserved homes and renovated, early 20th Century storefronts and hotels. The main industry here is tourism; a “Mecca” for mountain bikers, windsurfers and skiers. I think the there are more bike, kayak, and surf shops than anything else except coffee shops. As much as I wanted to stay, I moved on after a peek inside a consignment sporting goods store and a cup of coffee.
I was now moving south from Hood River up the flanks of Mt. Hood. For a while I wound along the river itself and then began to climb out into an area covered with orchards. Apple, peach, pear; hundreds, probably thousands of acres of fruit trees filled the landscape. The only thing that drew my eyes away from that was the first unobstructed glimpse of Mt. Hood. I’ve seen bigger mountains. Colorado has a hundred peaks taller than this one, but Hood stands out. Maybe its because her shape is so perfect. Remember when you were a kid and you drew pictures of mountains? They were perfect, cone-shaped and snow covered. That’s what Mt. Hood looks like. And on this particular day with the sky so piercingly blue, she stood out all the more. She never completely sheds her mantle of snow and it looked like there might have even been some fresh snow as well.
As I wound my way up the side of the mountain I noticed the change in temperature as well as plant life. It’s dryer on the east side of the Gorge and I was going up, so it got colder too. Douglas firs turned into Lodge pole pines. The deep blue-green water of the Hood River turned grey and then clear the farther up I went. I remember thinking to myself at this point how much I love to get away to these kinds of places. Something about the mountains helps to center me. I think, it part it’s because they remind me so powerfully of God’s presence. Seems like many of the most significant experiences of my life have taken place in or near the mountains.
Eventually I got to the cabin and got to work. But it was difficult to focus for a while; the memory of the journey was more alluring than the task at hand.
posted by Tomas Perez at 11:08 AM
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