Grateful

Getting back to reality after a long and exciting trip takes a little transitional decompression time. The piles of suitcase scrunched clothes and life-on-the-road detritus seem a little overwhelming, but above all else, I am filled with gratitude.

I am grateful for:

• 4,000 miles of safe travel. Mercifully, we were spared any harm as we meandered through unfamiliar territory and long stretches of highways and interstate roads.
• America. Our country is a wonderland of natural delight. Tall prairie grasses, stately coniferous trees, chunky lava beds, windswept high deserts, tumbling waterfalls, massive mountains and thunderous ocean waves are just a few sights we were able to experience and enjoy. Get the atlas out (or smartphone app) and get going! 
• a new son-in-law. What fun to be a part of a new chapter in our daughter's life. We are looking forward to making memories with them.
• kind strangers. They gave us tips on where to eat, best roads to travel and interesting sights to see. Their generosity reminds me to be aware of others who might be in need of a little helpful advice.
• friends and family. They took time out to help us celebrate a wedding in Oregon and an open house by South Dakota's Missouri River. We were able to meet many new folks and reconnect with a host of others.
•  a patient husband. My fretting tendencies make me a challenging passenger at best. I never once heard him complain...out loud.
• cuisine diversity. Golden baby beets, elephant garlic, obsidian berries, tiger prawns and fish tacos are just a few of the treats I will miss.
• the Welcome to South Dakota sign. As we enjoyed a cup of coffee and watched a storm thunder bang along the banks of the Missouri River, it was easy to understand why Dorothy of the Wizard of Oz clicked her heels and said, "There's no place like home."

Travel Math

Life on the road means calculating distances, estimated times of arrival and gas station stops.  It has been wise for us to add at least two hours to our travel time calculations due to alternate route decisions, points of interest and frequent breaks. Our day in Wyoming, however, stretched us to a near breaking point with a few miscalculations.

There are three mountain passes on the route we chose from the edge of Idaho through Wyoming. I'm a bit squeamish (okay. a lot squeamish) when it comes to mountain driving, but a moment of weakness made me think I was strong enough to persevere. Shortly after leaving Idaho, we made it through our first summit, 8,431 feet. One down, two to go. It was time for our routine lunch break of sandwiches and fruit so we pulled into the parking lot at a convenience store and shortly thereafter eased out onto the road again. We continued onward through summit two and I sighed with relief. One to go.

There is a point in every trip that will forever go down in history and this was it. As we rounded the curve at the base of the mountain, I saw the "Welcome to Idaho" sign. Few words were exchanged between my husband and me but we both knew what had happened. We had mentally turned ourselves around in the C-store parking lot and had just crossed the same summit twice. Two summits down, three to go. Inhale deeply. Summit again and again.

By late afternoon, I was mainlining Cheese curls and my husband was looking for an illegal-in-some-states size soda pop so we could maintain our sanity. Our last push was through the highest summit of all, 9665 feet. The scenery was absolutely stunning but my husband had seen enough curvy roads with a skittish passenger for one day. We also had a slow moving caravan of three RVs ahead of us and a renegade Cujo RV with fuming diesel pushing us from behind.

More Cheese curls, please.

Finally, we limped into our hotel, looking like a couple of jellyfish washed up along the shore.

Our final calculation: one more travel day. That's a number that's looking mighty good.

Fly Me To The Moon

We officially crawled back into our silver shuttle and we are headed homeward. I don't even want to look at a map because I know how many pages I have to turn in the Atlas to arrive at our destination. We (I, that is) decided not to kill ourselves with outrageously long days and take a more modest approach so we can decompress at a slower pace. I know my husband is envisioning our lawn burning to a crisp for each minute that ticks by, but, oh well.

We took a scenic route called the Old McKenzie Highway through the McKenzie Pass in the Cascade Mountains. After we wound our way through curve after curve, my husband remarked that he probably would not take this road again because "all we are seeing is more trees." A few curves later we saw a feature that puzzled us. It looked like a dump truck had backed up and unloaded tons and tons of rubble in a very large pile along the side of the road. A sign indicated that this was a crater site. As we continued along the way we saw more and more of the rich black obsidian rock piled up in a helter skelter fashion around us. It was evident that we were passing through the rubble of a volcanic mountain. The landscape looked eerily like a moonscape. Life seemed to be screeching to a halt, but for a few scrappy trees and the birds soaring overhead. It was truly a magnificent place.

We continued down the mountain and entered the high plains of Oregon. I discovered that one does not need a volcano to slow down the pace of life. We drove for miles with nothing but sagebrush and the shadows of hawks reflecting on the highway ahead of us. I was waiting for the credits of a John Wayne movie to start rolling on my Garmin. Hot and dry and more of it.

We finished our day with a chicken dinner from the local Safeway (only store open on a Sunday evening in a tiny town on the high plains).  It was a gourmet feast for two weary travelers who had been to the moon and back.

 

Firsts

Our trip has certainly been filled with firsts. Many were expected such as our first three week road trip, our first time on the Pacific Ocean beach, our first time driving through four states in one day and our first time tidepooling. Other firsts, however, cannot be anticipated. One, in particular, was and could NEVER have been expected.

My husband and I were put in charge of our daughter's new home on their wedding night. There were still a few houseguests lingering around and doors needed to be unlocked and locked for the evening. One duty, however, put me on a new learning curve trajectory. My daughter and her husband just adopted a new  golden retriever puppy. Along with the duties of the house came the duties of the dog for the night and next morning before our departure. The groom gave me last minute instructions after the wedding, concluding with, "and he will wake you in the morning when he has to go to the bathroom, usually around 6:00." Alarms went off in my head at that moment. My husband is not a morning person and so it was inevitable that I would be in charge of the doggie do-do business. According to the groom it would go like this. Dog wakes you up. Dog goes outside and does the tinkle thing. Dog comes in. Dog eats a scoop of puppy chow. Dog goes back out and does poo-poo. Simple enough.

As with all instructions, steps are missed. I sailed through the first three steps thinking that I'm quite the dog charmer. And then the chain of events started to unravel. Apparently, Charlie needs to play before he can do the poo-poo thing. I do not play with dogs. I don't understand the nipping, the head shaking with toys, the tail waving in the face, the plaintive eyes begging for attention. Simply stated, I just don't know how to read dog signals.

After the tenth trip to the lawn, hoping for some action, I finally had to let him loose on my sleeping husband. Fortunately, he loves dogs and was kind enough to give him a little doggie love. Back to the lawn we went and voila, a prize was rendered. Holding my breath and thinking happy thoughts, I picked up the the treasure with a plastic bag wrapped tightly around my hand and gave Charlie a little high paw. A first, indeed.

Oh, and we also had our first wedding in a barn on a gorgeous Oregon evening with a beautiful bride and beaming groom. We sat on hay bales for the ceremony and played "You Are My Sunshine" on our kazoos for the processional, accompanied by the local Hoe Down Band. The evening was extraordinary and it will be a first that will always be a divine memory.

Kissing booth in the barn

Moving Inland

We are packing up and heading inland. Here are a few things I will most certainly miss.


The Luna Sea House--best fish and chips in the area. I also had my first fish taco here, oh so good. Low on ambiance, high in class.

The "Hobbit trail" from our cottage to the ocean. Always an adventure.

The Green Salmon Coffee Shop--best cup of coffee and fruit danish, hands down. The oh-so-friendly counter guy made it even more inviting.

Ona's Restaurant--serving saffron laced bouillabaisse and tempura tiger prawns that will be forever seared in my brain as a divine food memory.

The brightly colored rhododendrons, lovin' their acidic soil.

Beachcombing. So much to find. So little time.

The view of the ocean from our deck. High tide, low tide and everything in between, a sight to behold.

Our vehicle rarely leaving the driveway. Enough entertainment by foot or staying put.

Yes, it's time to hang up our lazy bum shoes and don our gettin'-ready-for-a-wedding frocks. In a couple of short days we will welcome a son into our family. Sweet dreams.

Sneakers

My old sneakers are in a state of shock this week. They usually sit very quietly in the back of my closet for days, okay, weeks on end. Now they have been commissioned back into action due to a shoreline begging for discovery and a little coastal town that has everything we need within walking distance.

One of my favorite walking adventures is checking out the local tidepools, albeit, there is a skill set involved. First of all, one needs to be able to read the tide charts. Thanks to Ranger Clameron we are able to navigate the foreign looking tables and determine when the lowest tide time of the day is and thus, we know the best time to be on the beach. Walking on the slippery rock formations is another story. The tip sheet says, "Step on bare rock only. A "crunch" or a "squish" could mean death to a living creature." Oops. Midwestener coming through. Sorry, little creatures.

Secondly, tiidepooling is not a binoculars activity. One has to get down, nose to water and patiently observe the small ponds of life. A small stick is helpful so you can gently nudge whatever looks interesting. Your patience will be rewarded. We were able to observe thousands of tiny Acorn Barnacles, hitchhiking on mussels or patiently awaiting on rocks for the next high tide.

Colonies of Aggregating Anemonies huddled among the red Coralline Algae.

Kelp of all colors and varieties laced the rocks and puddles.

Vibrant Green Anemones nestled in among the purple and ochre sea stars.

Brilliant Purple Sea Urchins flexed their spines in search of another snack of seaweed salad.

Large animals can be discovered as well, but mostly from afar. Harbor seals slip on and off the rocks as they lollygag their day away. (Look very carefully for a couple of white blobs on the rock ledge in the center of the picture.)

Yes, much can be seen while walking along the ocean. And it is good to follow the advice of J.R. Beaver and the Oregon State Parks--Never turn your back on the ocean. Sneaker waves appear suddenly and will certainly cut your walk short. Walker, beware and be safe.

Observations

Forgive me for beginning this post with a worn out lead sentence but as a Midwesterner looking into the window of a Pacific Northwest state, I just can't help myself.

You know you are in Oregon when.....

*fish is on every menu. I can die now because I've had the best fish and chips ever at a little hole-in-the-wall establishment just a short walk from our place. It was the sampler option with halibut, albacore and salmon as the featured fish. I'm still dreaming about the salmon, silky smooth and oh so fresh. It will be difficult to order the mystery fish used for fish and chips back home.

*you don't pump your own gas. This is a strange experience for those of us who are accustomed to standing outside during rain, shine, blizzard or sleet as we fill up our vehicles. Also, don't expect to find restrooms at all gas stops. Many stations are just pumps and a little shelter for the attendants to await their next customers. Plan accordingly.

*there are more dogs on leashes than babies in strollers. I'm not a dog lover (due to a series of unfortunate incidents in my past) but I must confess that Oregonian dogs are very well behaved. They dutifully walk beside their masters, weaving in and out of crowds of people without any frantic behaviors. They dash around on the beach with little interest in other people and are quickly reigned in my their owners when play time is over.

*the sun is a precious sighting. We all have the need for a little sunshine but I get the feeling that Oregonians especially like a break in the clouds. The local weather chatter often ends with the phrase, "at least the sun is out today."

And, finally, you know you are in Oregon when you are walking along the beach and a purple sea star wishes you well and I must say, nothing excites a Midwesterner more than a cute little echinoderm.

Jewels

The Farmer's Market culture is a thriving business in this part of the country. One can purchase handcrafted goat cheese, locally foraged mushrooms, crusty loaves of sourdough bread and heirloom tomatoes of all colors and shapes. The real stars of the show, however, are berries, berries and more berries. We sampled real strawberries (the kind that don't taste like cardboard), plump raspberries and blueberries that were just plain addictive. Two new berries for us were marion berries and obsidian berries, both bursting with sweet goodness. We left the market, tapping our toes to the sounds of all the street musicians and licking the last of the purplish red juice from our fingers. Our wallet was a bit lighter but, oh, the antioxidants we enjoyed.

Our next jewel came in the form of a young man at a visitor's center near the coast. Ranger Clameron was brimming full of friendly advice on how to maximize our stay in the area. Best of all, he was from Minnesota so he could translate ocean talk into prairie-ese. Thanks to him, I think we can figure out how to read a tide chart and not get ourselves caught on a land bridge that turns into an island. He also gave us  great recommendations for the best tidepools, hiking trails, birdwatching and restaurants. (We've already warned our daughter we might not make it to the wedding.)

Without a doubt, the crowning jewel of our day was the Pacific Ocean. We made it! We walked along the beach with the ocean waves swirling and churning around us. The sand was spattered with seaweed, driftwood and shards of mollusks. We felt dwarfed by the vastness of so much water and truly blessed to be a part of such a marvelously created world.

The Man Behind the Counter

We are in the heart of wine country so what's a person to do? I was too lazy to take pictures (pressing buttons is such hard work) so you'll have to imagine the rows and rows of neatly cultivated grapevines soaking up just the right amount of daytime heat units and cool evening breezes. Locals say that their microclimate  produces the best Pinot Noir wine in the world.

We stopped at a recommended winery and upon entering, I had the immediate impression that we were going to have to wait awhile before being served, not because of the crowds (there were just four of us in the tasting room) but because of the gentleman behind the counter. The man clearly had an unkempt look with his battered baseball cap askew on his head. His movements were a bit jerky and his speech was halted and flighty. My thought was that he was cleaning up the counter and soon we would be greeted by the person in charge. After a few awkward moments, the gentleman asked us what we would like to taste. From that moment forward, we found ourselves in the very best of hands. Our friend was witty, charming and best of all, unpretentiously knowledgeable and kind. We enjoyed sipping the wines as he shared the stories behind their creation. He also proudly shared that he was a part of the family that owned the winery.

We did not meet any of the other family members of the winery, but I have a feeling that I would like them. After all, they were smart enough to select their finest to be the number one greeter on the estate.

White, Blue and Red

We're back on the road again and in our usual pattern, we doubled our travel time by meandering the back routes. But, oh the the sights we see. We started with the white, snow capped landscape of Mt. Hood. The lodge was crawling with folks donned in ski boots, snow goggles, shorts, sandals and cameras. There were purveyors of necessary goods scattered throughout the multi-tiered lodge. Gift shops. Snack shops. Outdoor wear shops. And I think some folks were actually skiing.

The scenic highway that led us to our next destination was a patchwork of vineyards, fruit orchards and lush forests. Such travels are always a little bittersweet. Visually stimulating but hard on the posterior muscles. We were both relieved when our hotel sign popped into view in the heart of Willamette Valley.

The local community was hosting a 4th of July extravaganza by the river and we were only too happy to join in the festivities. A blues band was playing its strong bass rhythms and we settled in for a great show. It is true that being out of town can inspire a person to participate in activities that would never even blip on the hometown radar screen. Me, outdoors, past 9:00 pm, eating kettle corn, contemplating a blues dance. Intervention time.

The day was completed by an explosion of red singed fireworks. The oohs and ahs were shared by the little peeps, older folks and everyone in between.

One thing is for sure, neither South Dakota or Oregon is afraid to celebrate with a few pyrotechnics.

Happy Birthday, America!

Reset

We took time off from the grind of the road and stayed along the beautiful Columbia River Gorge for a second night. Our minds were incapable of making any decisions greater than choosing between a waffle or a bowl of Raisin Bran in the breakfast room. The view from our hotel was fascinatingly stunning and we had no reason to push ourselves beyond our low energy levels.

We made one short jaunt down the road to the famous Oregon Multnomah Falls, 620 feet of tumbling gloriousness. Apparently a third of the nation also decided it was a good day to visit the Falls as well. We usually travel during off-peak times of the year so the throngs of tourists ravaging their way through a must-see photo stop was new for us. There were kids in strollers, dogs (and cats!) on leashes, Tibetan monks, a  traveling minstrel and many, many smiles for the camera. The one relatively quiet sanctuary was the information center. The reading, thinking and slowing down that is required in such a place thinned the crowds to a manageable level. A very kind, elderly volunteer in her pseudo-ranger outfit cornered us at the fish display and proceeded to give us the life history of the salmon. She was passionate about her little fishy friends and we patiently listened to her presentation, a sobering reminder why it's good not to be born a salmon.

The rest of our day was spent watching the Columbia River move by as we sat still. I would highly recommend this method of renewal. No batteries required.

The Good, The Bad and The Beautiful

Four states in one day. Montana. Check. Idaho. Check. Washington. Check. Oregon. Check. For one with semi-agoraphobic tendencies, it was quite an accomplishment. Along with our marathon day came the good and the bad. The bad was certainly a triple bad. Triple digits that is. At one point our car thermometer registered 111 degrees. As we whizzed by stalled and abandoned vehicles one could not help but wonder who would be next in the roulette of misfortune.

The good was leaving the interstate system for most of the day. Not having to travel in wolf packs of campers, trucks and pickups with suspicious bedliners was a respite from the pulsating, gotta-get-there traffic of the past two days. Our route choice allowed us to stop at the beautiful Lolo Pass visitor's center, complete with free coffee, hot chocolate and rangers who were ready and willing to share their wealth of knowledge. We were inspired by the stories of Lewis and Clark and their travels through this area. Surely, we, too, could make it to our destination with the added bonus of a car, hotels and convenience stores.

Beautiful rivers held our hands throughout most of the day. First, the Snake River with its crystal clear waters, swirling eddies and an occasional tube rafter, desperately trying to escape the heat of the day and the next set of rapids. Next came the mighty Columbia River. It is easy to see why Lewis and Clark used this waterway as a welcome relief for their moccasin weary feet. The steep gorges and expansive, glittering water provided us with many calendar worthy visuals.

The lowest point of the trip happened at a Shell gas station about 90 miles from our final destination. I was beyond benout (Dutch, for crawling out of your skin). The temperature was still well over 100 degrees. Our air conditioner was having its own benout issues and to top it off, the air conditioner at the Shell station was not working at all. I think my dear, long-suffering husband was ready to put me out if there hadn't been a crowd of witnesses nearby. We sullenly crawled back into the car and chugged a few more miles down the road to another convenience store. Gloriously, its air conditioner was working to full capacity and it had french fries available for this addict. With renewed vigor, we gutted out the last leg of our journey.

Just as we pulled into our hotel parking lot, my husband spied a truly beautiful sight, a ramshackle little fruit stand across the street. At that moment we both felt the list of bads for the day start to melt away because nothing says welcome better to a couple of dog-spit tired South Dakotans than a stand of fresh cherries.

Hello Oregon.

Sense Fest

Montana. Big Sky Country. The Treasure State. Land of the Shining Mountains. Whatever you call it, Montana is certainly a land of space and diversity. We chugged our way across most of the state and I can honestly say the sights, sounds and smells were ever changing and ever giving. We saw jagged mountain peaks scraping the sky while we drove through valleys of sweet smelling grass tickling the fickle breezes. The  sounds of jingling cowboy spurs punctured the air as golden meadowlarks swabbed the wind with trilling melodies. The 100 degree heat created ripe smells of freshly cut hay and steaming pavement. Towering pine trees soon gave way to scrubby sagebrush and back again to a coniferous wonderland. Pressure changes rattled water bottles as altitudes climbed past a mile high and just as quickly dropped to the comfort levels of prairie folks. Horses nibbled on wildflowers as turkey vultures soared the air waves scanning from above for their next buffet. A squawking magpie hippity-hopped through the parking lot looking for a morsel left in the wake of munching travelers.

The wheezing of weary ones climbing a steep hill to a bathroom at a rest stop had the thrill of Mt. Everest attached to the final summit. The siren song of coffee in the hotel breakfast room lured the bleary eyed into another day of road cruising. The clanking of gas pumps played like hand bells in yet another convenience station. Harried mothers chided children when they scampered ahead too far and dogs yelped in delight when they were finally released from their cramped quarters. Long hours of traveling were cleansed away by chlorine and happy children in the hotel pool.

Gratefully we experienced an uneventful five hundred miles but Montana made sure our senses were filled with wonder and delight. And if you watch and listen very carefully, you might even get lucky enough to see the elusive purple cow.

Angels and Pet Washes

The deed is done. We are officially on our way to Oregon. I would like to report that we've had a peaceful, uneventful trip so far, but that has not been the case. All was well until we entered heavier traffic circumventing a city a few hours into our trip. I had just taken over the wheel and my husband was sound asleep, dreaming of ice cream sundaes and ocean waves. I was caught in traffic on all sides of my vehicle and was stuck behind a very slow moving vehicle. Suddenly, the vehicle in front of me swerved and in the blink of an eye I saw that I had two choices. Go head on into an unidentified barrier of black, menacing material, 4 feet high and completely barricading my lane or swerve into the traffic in the next lane. A scream and a jerk of the wheel found me in the adjoining lane with a van desperately trying to avoid hitting me as the driver rode the edge of the ditch. Needless to say, my husband was now very wide awake and I managed to pull over onto the nearest off ramp. The lady in the van also pulled over and we held hands in a cathartic moment of gratitude and well being. After determining that neither of us was hurt and my vehicle had only minor scratches from the unidentified road object, the sweet lady went on her way. Seconds later, our second angel arrived. The county sheriff happened to be leaving his office for the day and saw the event unfold as he drove home. He was able to assure us that we had done nothing wrong and told us that the black object was a pickup bedliner that had fallen off into oncoming traffic. After collecting our wits, my dear husband took over the wheel and very cautiously completed the drive to our day's destination.

One ham and cheese sandwich and a few french fries later, I was almost as good as new. We took a lovely walk in a little town in the foothills of the Big Horn Mountains and came across a delightful service for the canine keepers of the area, a self serve Pet Wash. (I'm sure felines are welcome, too, but we all know that that would not go down well.) The happy little suds-haloed dog on the sign calmed my heart and reminded me that sometimes life's woes can be scrubbed away with a little water, some soap and the wings of angels.