Snow, SUVs and Me (In a convertible)

And so that's why the poets often write

When there's a new moon up above

It's cherry pink and apple blossom white

When you're in love.

--Mack David and Louigay

It's a bitch to be butch
Taken 4/25/07 at Timberline Lodge, Mount Hood, Oregon

Remember that you can click on any picture to see it full sized.

OK, even I’ll admit that when you’re at timberline, 6000 feet at this particular location, the outside air temperature is 37 degrees, and a fierce wind is blowing over the snowfields, it’s probably not a good idea to have the top down on your car. But hey, why have a convertible if you have to keep the top up?

As I repacked the car at my motel in The Dalles, I lowered the top. The outside temperature was 60 degrees. Still wearing a tank-top, but this time covering it with a sweatshirt as well, I headed out on day 2 of my preliminary test run for the 6,000 Mile Sunday Drive. As gas in The Dalles was around $3.20 per gallon, I decided to fill up a little closer to Portland. Not too much closer, mind you. Even with the 900C getting 30 mpg, it was now showing me the low fuel warning light.

Twenty miles down the highway, I pulled into a Shell station in Hood River, wind-surfing and kite-flying locale extraordinaire. Gas here was $3.29 a gallon, but I had no choice. Now for those of you who don’t know Oregon, the state has decided we’re all too incompetent to pump our own fuel. If you get out of your car and head toward the pumps, you’ll be accosted by a very angry attendant who will tell you, in no uncertain terms, that you are about to violate state law. While this practice still annoys me, I must say that the young man in Hood River not only filled the tank, but washed my windshield. I haven’t had an attendant do that since back in the Full Service days.

Tank full, it was time to refill my own system, so over to the Starbucks next door, and no, you don’t need to tell be about Starbucks, where I filled my travel mug with Chai. The gal at the counter commented on my ring (You remember the ring?) and we chatted a bit before I headed out. Climbing into the car, I put a jacket on over the sweatshirt, and headed south on Oregon highway 35. I’d never taken this route before, but the map showed it leading south and east of Mount Hood, then connecting with US Highway 26 on which I would drive into Portland. It’s quite a bit longer in miles, and definitely longer in time, but my life at this point is all about exploring new options, and there was no time like the present to explore this one.

Highway 35 climbs pretty steadily from 213 feet at Hood River on the Columbia, to 4,671 feet at Bennett Pass, some 40 miles to the south. About five miles south of the river, there is a viewpoint with a great view of the mountain, but you'll have to go to Eyefetch to see the pics I took.

Oregon Highway 35
Taken 4/25/07, about 5 miles south of Hood River, Oregon

As the highway continues its climb, it passes through some of the most beautiful countryside I’ve seen. This is fruit country, and all the apple and pear and cherry trees were in full bloom. Unfortunately, I never stopped to take any pictures, so someone will have to punish me. (Please!) The cherries were pink and the apples were white, and I was in love with life.

I was getting chillier by the mile, however, even with the seat heater on and the car’s heater pumping out hot air at a pretty high setting. When I passed a sign pointing out a farm that raised alpacas and sold yarn, I remembered that I had a newly woven wool scarf in my suitcase. Once I had the scarf wrapped around my neck, I continued on toward the mountain.

As I approached Bennett Pass, my neck was toasty, my body was fine, but my ears were about to freeze off. Grabbing the scarf (I always weave them at least six feet long), I rewrapped it so that it not only covered my neck, but also came up and over my cap so as to protect my precious earlobes. The outside temperature was now 42 degrees. The mountain was so close that it was almost impossible to see—the immediate foothills blocking the view. I did get a few good shots, however.

I’d heard about Timberline Lodge many years ago. My Portland friend Ted loved to go up to the lodge for dinner. I had never been there, but when I saw the sign indicating that a right turn would get me to the lodge, I turned right. Passing numerous signs warning me that I’d better be carrying chains, I fell in line with a caravan of SUVs and headed even further up the mountain. At one point the snow banks on either side of the road were taller than my car. And yes, of course the top was still down. At the parking lot I discovered that I would have to pay $4.00 for the privilege of spending 15 minutes taking photos, so I grabbed an available local to take the picture at the top of this page, and then headed back down the mountain. Well, I did sneak a couple of more shots while in the parking lot, but I never left the car. Outside temperature was now 37 degrees with a hefty wind chill factor added on for good measure.

Saab, School Bus, and Mount Hood at 37 degrees Fahrenheit
Taken 4/25/07 at Timberline Lodge, Mount Hood, Oregon

Back on US 26, heading west, and therefore down the mountain, I passed the “town” of Rhododendron” and found myself in Zigzag. If you read my Volcanoes blog, you might remember that I’m planning on an Alphabetical Oregon book. I had already chosen Zigzag for my “Z” and whadda ya know, here I was right in beautiful downtown Zigzag. Truth to tell, there’s not much to see, let alone photograph in this particular wide spot on the road, but I got out of the car and took a few shots anyway. Here’s the front of the Zigzag Mountain Store, currently being rebuilt. As I walked by the dumpster in front of the building, a large piece of wood came flying out of an upstairs window, landing neatly in the dumpster (about 2 feet away from me). On the way back, I gave the builders plenty of space. They’re not going to get this boy! A picture of the back of the building, as well as a couple of pictures of Mount Hood are on Eyefetch (details below).

Zig Zag Mtn Store (Under re-construction)
Note the debris flying between the upper windows and the dumpster
Taken 4/25/07 in Zigzag Oregon

The first large town you encounter on this route is Sandy, Oregon, population 4,500. Driving through town, I saw the Kofoo Grill, and in keeping with my developing sense of adventure, I tried it out. Kalbi, described on the menu as “short ribs in a spicy sauce” turned out to be served in thin slices still attached to the bone. Giving up on the chopsticks, I held the pieces down with a fork, and cut the meat off with a steak knife. After finishing the “prep work” myself, I piled the meat and cabbage into the rice bowl and had myself a tasty lunch. If you’re ever in Sandy, Oregon, I recommend whole-heartedly the Kofoo Grill.

When I saw the sign for Oregon Highway 212, I turned off 26 to drive through Boring, Damascus and Clackamas before reaching I-205. I wasn’t bored in Boring. Damascus was way too green for anything in Syria, and Clackamas was completely forgettable—just another bedroom community on the edge of Portland. No pictures to share from this section. In fact, no pictures at all after leaving Zigzag. I know, shame on me. What kind of travel photographer am I, anyway?

I-205 led to I-5, and I turned south on the latter toward Salem, Eugene, and Grants Pass where I would leave the interstate for the final eighty miles to Smith River. I did stop at the Woodburn Company Stores—by far the fanciest outlet mall I’ve yet encountered. Spending too much money and way too much time, I saw only a small portion of the mall, and managed to avoid getting the Le Creuset tagine or the Ultimate Bread Machine. But I did find a nifty little (and I mean LITTLE) tripod at Eddie Bauer. The clerk at Eddie Bauer's also commented on my ring, saying that her uncle has one just like it. Hmmm, I wonder what that says about her uncle?

This time of year, the mountains between Eugene and Grants Pass are a wonderland of greens and reds. I kept thinking I should stop and take some photographs, but the hour was getting later and I really wasn’t looking forward to the last 80 miles of two-lane road. So on we flew, blocking traffic by driving only five miles over the speed limit. I have found that if you drive the speed limit in Oregon, you’ll be pushed off the road. With a posted limit of 65 on the interstate, I was being pushed off the driving lane at 70. Cars in the passing lane had to be going at least 80. I flew by one State Police car parked in the median with his radar gun pointed my way. At that point I was in the passing lane and going 75. The cop didn’t even blink. How fast do you have to be going to get a ticket, I wondered. But I hope I never find out the answer to that question.

Hunan Grill in Grants Pass serves a very tasty Ma Po To Fu for $7.95. I’ve had it before and this time fell back on old favorites instead of being adventurous. It was served quickly at 8:00 p.m. (well, I did have the dining room to myself), and in no time I was back on the road, this time US Highway 199, for the final push into California and my Smith River home. In California, 199 follows the Middle Fork of the Smith River as it twists and turns through a very narrow canyon. The 900C proved what fun it can be when I treat it as a sports car—downshifting into the turns and throwing my body back and forth as we twist to the left, twist to the right, stand up, sit down, fighttttttttttttttttt Oh, sorry, I got distracted. But the car is wonderful on this kind of road, and I almost forgot how tired I was.

In the house at 10:30, I picked up the mail from my neighbor and pulled out my tickets for the San Francisco Gay Men’s Chorus concert next Monday. I unpacked the passenger compartment, but not the trunk. Fixed myself a mango margarita and a bowl of gourmet popcorn I had purchased in Woodburn, and settled down to watch the Daily Show, The Colbert Report, and South Park, falling asleep in my chair. I was determined to be able to sleep all night, and when I finally laid my head on my own pillow, it felt wonderful to be home.

Eyefetch instructions: Go to www.eyefetch.com and in the Search Images box, put in any of these numbers: 311806, 311815 (two views of Mount Hood), 311828 (Manzanita in bloom), 311842 (the back side of the Zigzag Mountain Store). I upload four pictures daily to Eyefetch, and try to make sure they are not the same shots I post here.

Miles traveled: 458

Gas Price (Shell Station, Hood River Oregon): $3.299/gallon regular

Pictures taken: 29

On The Road Again

On the road again
Goin' places that I've never been
Seein' things that I may never see again,
And I can't wait to get on the road again.

--Willie Nelson

Need I say more?
Click on any image to enlarge it!

The Six Thousand Mile Sunday Drive (that’s the official name, you understand) has now begun. Well, at least the warm up lap. High noon yesterday (Tuesday, April 24^th, 2007), having put new tires, a new windshield, new oil and filter, and fresh gas in the 900C, I put the top down and left Missoula on I-90 headed west. The outside temperature was hovering around 62, which frankly isn’t quite warm enough to drive top down at 75 mph, but that’s why we turn the heater up and turn on the heated seats. Actually, 62 is fine, IF the sun’s out. But there was a heavy cloud cover, and with the wind racing by, and me wearing only a tank top, my arms did get a bit chilled. Oh I know, I could have put on the sweat shirt I had stuffed in the footwell of the passenger’s side of the car, but that just wouldn’t have been very butch, don’t ya think?

I’ve been dreaming about this road trip for several years, and now it’s going to happen. I’m calling it the Six Thousand Mile Sunday Drive, but in actuality, I have no idea how long a drive it’s going to be. Aside from a few must sees—mostly family sites in West Virginia, and ancestral sites in Ohio, Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley, and Maryland—I have no idea where I’m going. I’ll be making it up as I go along. And if you think it’s strange that I’m driving from Montana to West Virginia by heading west on I-90, well, as I said above, this is the warm-up lap.

Friday and Saturday of this week, I’ll be participating in a workshop at Humboldt State University, Arcata, California, called Positively Speaking—which has nothing to do with Dale Carnegie. It’s training to be peer counselors for people who are HIV positive or at risk of becoming so. Once the training is over, my friend Bear and I will head on south in the Saab to the city by the bay where we’ll attend Divas’ Revenge II, a concert by the San Francisco Gay Men’s Chorus. Then it’s back to the house in Smith River so I can participate in the Tall Masted Ships Festival at the Crescent City Harbor during the first week in May. You’ll be reading all about both events in the next week. Once the Festival is done, then the Sunday Drive begins in earnest.

Anyway, back to I-90 heading west. The first sixty miles passed uneventfully—and without any picture taking stops. Oh there were plenty of opportunities I passed by. But this is my home ground. I can, and will, get out to shoot the pictographs near Alberton, the gorge near Cyr, the Clark Fork of the Columbia almost anywhere. I did leave I-90 at St. Regis, however. Back when I-90 was being completed, the eleven miles between St. Regis and Henderson (exits 33 and 22 respectively) were the last part built in Montana. The highway follows the St. Regis river through a narrow, twisting canyon, and even on the new Interstate, trucks are advised to keep below 45 mph just to handle the curves. Back in 1976, when this section was under construction, traffic followed a detour over Camel’s Hump Road. I hadn’t been on the old road in the past thirty years, so this seemed like a great opportunity.

Leaving St. Regis, there was no signage to indicate where the road headed, but eventually I passed a sign indicating Camel’s Hump Road. Shortly after that I passed a sign indicating that I was now on my own. Well, it said that I had passed the end of the county maintained road. I began to worry a bit, but just a bit. My cabin, after all, is well past the end of the county maintained road. It’s also at the end of the road. Hmmm. It wasn’t long after passing the second sign that I passed the first tree down across the road. Fortunately, someone had taken a chain saw to the downed tree and cut out a section wide enough to drive through. This was the first of many downed trees. There was also the proverbial “rock on road” but no sign to warn of this danger. The road was paved for its entire length and had a worn but still visible yellow line down the center, but in many places there was only one lane’s width clear. Sometimes that one lane was on the right, sometimes the left, but most commonly we straddled the yellow line to avoid the debris on the roadbed. Fortunately, the Saab was the only vehicle on the road, and we made it back to I-90 in fine shape. I did start laughing out loud (LOL) when I passed the sign that said “Road Narrows.” I’d been driving on a one-lane road for the past five miles.

Historic Savenac Nursery, USFS
Haugen Montana (exit 16 from I-90)
Taken 4/24/07

Most people exiting Interstate 90 at Montana exit 16 turn left and stop at Lincoln's 10,000 Silver Dollar Bar. I know I do. The display of that many silver dollars is impressive, the pie is great, and the kitch for sale in the gift shop is sales tax free, since you're in Montana. But if you turn right instead, you find yourself at the historic Savenac Nursery, where the US Forest Service grew the trees to reforest the northwest after the disastrous fires of 1910. This view shows one of the ponds in front of the main buildings from the vantage point of old US Highway 10 (which parallels I-90). There’s a view of the main campus on Eyefetch (image 309995)*.

Lunch at the Silver Dollar Bar was a Smothered Burrito, which turned out to be chile poured over a flour tortilla wrapped glob of ground beef and served with a side of chopped tomatoes, onions and lettuce. It was pretty tasty, all things considered, and I refrained from having any Strawberry-Rhubarb or Apple Custard pie. I did ask the waitress what was available just so I’d know how virtuous I was being.

Having put the top up to protect my belongings while in the restaurant, I left it up for the climb up and over Lookout Pass. Coming down the Idaho side, I pulled off at Wallace for the wonderful photo ops that town affords. I posted one on Eyefetch (image 310005)* showing the beautiful old Northern Pacific Railway Station with the I-90 bridge in the background. For those of you not from this area, I should explain a bit about Wallace. If you saw the 1997 movie Dante’s Peak you saw the town being destroyed by a volcanic eruption. As much fun as watching people drive across molten lava can be, Wallace has several other things to recommend it. As you can see, if you enlarge this picture, it is, as the blue sign says, “The Center of the Universe.” It is also the home of the last stop light on the I-90 corridor. The only way that the highway could be built through this extremely narrow canyon was to put it on stilts and effectively run it as a bridge above the town.

Downtown Wallace, Idaho--The Center of the Universe
Taken 4/24/07

Wallace is also home of the last operating (though illegal) bordello in the Northwest. The “House” closed in the late 1980s, and today there is a bordello museum downtown. The reputation of Wallace’s bedroom industry was so widespread that you can even today buy shirts that read “Honest, I’ve never been to Wallace Idaho.” I have a couple of wonderful stories myself—and the only bordellos I’ve visited have been the museums in Wallace and Butte Montana. But if you’re interested…..

Finally, Wallace is more justifiably famous for the amount of silver ore that has been taken out of the mountains here. At one time, Idaho’s Silver Valley supplied the majority of America’s silver. Over one billion ounces of silver have been taken from this area, and one mine alone, the Sunshine Mine (odd name for something underground), has produced over 300 million ounces. Other minerals have also come from these mines, including the one the miner’s couldn’t pronounce. Well, how would you pronounce “molybdenum”?

Please note that the Moly b’Damn is practically right next door to the Church of God. You may have to enlarge the picture to read the signs.

'Nuff Said!
Taken 4/24/o7

Continuing west, again with the top down, I passed through Spokane well before rush hour, and for the first time ever, without seeing any construction zones. Will wonders never cease? Off the highway at the rest area mid-way between Spokane and Ritzville where I spoke to a Native American woman walking her MinPin. (Is there really any other breed of dog worth having?) It reminded me how lonesome the trip will be without Gypsy, who is staying with Daddy Gary in Missoula for the duration, but I wouldn’t be able to put the top down with her in the car. And photo stops are so much easier when you don’t have to corral the dog before opening the door. Most importantly, it wouldn’t be fair to her to travel that far by automobile in the late spring/early summer.

I took some pretty dramatic sky shots just north of Connell,Washington, and stopped for dinner at my favorite Mexican restaurant north of Puerto Vallarta, Inca in Kennewick. Their Tostada de Ceviche de Pulpo (raw octopus salad) is great, and only $3.95. I followed that up with Adelitas, a huge ball of vanilla ice cream next to an equally huge ball of chocolate ice cream, stuffed into a fried flour tortilla, and covered with whipped cream, strawberry sauce and maraschino cherries. YUMM!!!

Before we leave Kennewick, I've posted a couple of shots of the two highway bridges spanning the Columbia on Eyefetch (images 309984 and 309960)*.

By the time I reached The Dalles, Oregon, I just couldn’t go any further, so I checked into the Comfort Inn and got myself a two queen bed room. (No, silly, I’m not that big. There were no singles left.) Normal room rate, according to the door sign in my room, is $134.95. I’m paying way too much at $86.95, but I wasn’t about to try and drive any further.

Now a couple of random thoughts before I let you go.

Why is it that I can barely keep my eyes open while driving, I drop the book while reading in bed, but once the light’s out, I can’t sleep? Would someone please answer that one for me?

Why do I write Saab? Shouldn’t it be SAAB? It is an acronym, after all. Just as FIAT is an acronym for Fabbrica Italiana Automobili Torino (no, not Fix It Again Tony), SAAB is an acronym for Svenska Aeroplan AktieBolaget, or Swedish Aeroplane Inc. Of course, the Swedes aren’t immune from the dumbing down of America, so the car company is now officially Saab AB, or Swedish Aeroplane Inc. Inc. I guess.

*Finally, all those asterixes when I mention Eyefetch? Well, Eyefetch is a community of photographers and digital artists who upload their work and do peer reviews of other folks work. To see any of the images I’ve mentioned above, just go to www.eyefetch.com and put the image number in the Seach Images box on the upper left-hand side of the screen. You don’t have to be a member to look at/for images, just to upload them and to rate or comment on them. Basic membership is free, however, and if you want to share your own work and comment on the work of others, by all means join up. It’s a great site with terrific photographers. I feel like a rank amateur in comparison with some of the stuff I see on this site.

That’s all for now. I’ll upload this, shower, dress, and hit the road toward Portland and points south.

Miles traveled: 482

Time on the road: 10 hours, including meal and photo op time

Pictures taken: 58

On the willows there...

1 By the waters of Babylon, there we sat down and wept, when we remembered Zion.

2 On the willows there we hung up our lyres.

3 For there our captors required of us songs,
and our tormentors, mirth, saying, "Sing us one of the songs of Zion!"

4 How shall we sing the LORD's song in a foreign land?

Psalm 137: 1-4, English Standard Version

Weeping Willow in bloom, Missoula Montana, 4/17/07

Losing a loved one, especially after fifty-seven years, is in many ways like going into captivity in a foreign land. In the United States, we have so distanced ourselves from the natural processes of death and dying that few of us are equipped to handle the upheavals, mostly emotional, that we go through.

To date, I count three major storms the people around me have had to weather since Mother died at Thanksgiving. First, and probably the easiest, was the immediate aftermath of her death. By that I mean dealing with the funeral home, the committal at the cemetery, and the memorial service at the church. Mother’s final days were such that death itself seemed a blessed relief, and as I had already made most of the arrangements with the funeral home, that part was brief and relatively painless. The committal, when the minister and I met at the Smith River Cemetery to say a few last words prior to the coffin being lowered into the ground, was a short ritual, and we left while the coffin was still on its stand.

At the memorial service itself, I had trouble singing the hymns that I had chosen, particularly Ivory Palaces, a hymn I have never heard sung in a church before, but which I grew up hearing my parents sing as a duet. Even though I wrote and delivered the eulogy, I had little trouble with that part of the service. It was a time to speak of the wonderful life I had shared with Mother — especially those parts the local congregation knew nothing about. After the service, the reception in the church’s Fellowship Hall was a time for further sharing, and I am grateful for all that the people of the Smith River United Methodist Church said and did. The final chapter has not yet been written, namely the thank you notes I need to get out to all those wonderful people. They are coming, the notes that is, and will be written and mailed as my top priority when I return to Smith River.

When Jim moved into my guest room, he took it upon himself to help clear up the mess that had accumulated around and through the house. One of the first things he did was to take down all the paintings in the living room and replace them with framed enlargements of my photography. I’m sure he did not anticipate the firestorm this caused when I walked into the living room that was no longer Mother’s. I wasn’t ready to lose her a second time. While I’ve grown to like the look, and while I certainly enjoy seeing my work on display, at the time I reacted badly, emotionally, and I need to apologize to Jim who was only trying to help.

After Mother was moved into the nursing home, I transformed the guest room into a storage room where I put all the clothes I cleaned out of the master bedroom closet. The guest room closet itself was already full of Mother’s clothes, as she had moved into that room years ago, finding my old twin bed more comfortable (or perhaps less ghost-filled) than the bed she had shared with Father for fifty-four years. Before his death, Father would ask me on occasion what of their “stuff” I wanted. I always told him that I wanted the bedroom set when they were done with it. I’ve been using that set, and the master bedroom, for the past several years whenever I would visit Mother, and when I moved into her home in February 2006, it became mine. I emptied the master closet onto the extra twin bed in the guest room, and that was the way things were when Jim moved in.

With him off to visit his own mother in Medford, Oregon, I took advantage of his absence to pull all of Mother’s clothing out of the spare room, and stuff them into plastic bags until I could launder them and get them to the thrift store. I ended up doing twelve loads of laundry—sorted by color—and took a Volvo station wagon full of clothing to the thrift store. I know Jim wasn’t prepared for my mood when he returned from Medford to find me in the middle of this operation. Once again I was “losing” Mother, and it hurt deeply. The church women had offered to help with the process, but it was something I felt the need to do myself. For one thing, Mother was an extremely private person and would have hated having anyone else go through her things.

Apricot in bloom, 4/17/07, Missoula Montana

At present, I’m sitting at MY desk, in MY study, in MY home, that is to say in the house that I bought in 1975 and have lived in ever since until I left for California February a year ago. So why doesn’t it feel like home? There’s unfinished business in California, that’s the truth. For one thing, the escrow hasn’t cleared, and the house in Smith River isn’t officially mine. For another, while I’ve gotten rid of most of Mother’s clothes, what about all the rest of the stuff? And why do I feel more comfortable there than here? I think it’s all part of the grieving process, and who knows how long that will last.

I’m not ready to make any definitive decisions about what will happen next. Will I sell the Smith River house? Will I keep it and rent it out? Will I move permanently to California and if so, what do I do with the property in Montana? Fortunately, I’m not in a position where I have to make those decisions in the immediate future. Barring any emergency, I have the financial resources to live at least another two years, even if my writing and photography do not reward me monetarily.

Ceramic Ornament, purchased in Cappadocia, Turkey, 2000.

Taken 4/17/07 in Missoula Montana

What I have decided is that I need to get back to writing on a regular basis, and I need to continue to work at perfecting my photographic skills. I will also take a few trips, including what I am now calling my 6,000 mile Sunday Drive. I have an obligation to be back in California by the 25^th of April, and I want to stay there through the Tall Masted Ships Festival that Crescent City is hosting in early May. Then, before it gets too hot, I want to drive south and east, traveling through the handful of states I have not yet seen: Iowa, Oklahoma, Arkansas, Georgia, South Carolina, Delaware, Rhode Island and Connecticut. I want to do genealogical research in Maryland, Virginia, West Virginia, and Ohio. I want to write and sell my stories. I want to sell my photographs as well.

Those of you who have read my blog from the beginning recognize the impetus behind what I’ve said in the previous paragraph. It’s nothing new. What is new is that I am no longer tied to any specific place, either by job or by filial devotion. For the years between 2001 and 2007, all my travel time was spent on trips to visit Mother. I’m ready to widen my horizons. Ready to travel on my own schedule. I’m open to suggestions if you’d care to influence my itinerary. Just drop me a note with anything you think I should see or write about. If I can work it in, I will! That’s a promise. And if you have friends or relatives you’d like me to visit (especially if they can put me up on my travels), tell me!

Iittala Glassware carried by hand from Finland, 1985.

Picture taken 4/17/07, Missoula Montana

Oh, one more thing, this morning I pulled a book down from the shelves, Living Without A Goal, by James Ogilvy. It’s a book I bought over ten years ago. The bookmark I found in it is an Alaska Airlines ticket stub from one of my trips to San Francisco back in 1997. The subtitle of the book is “Finding the freedom to live a creative and innovative life.” I’m really ready for that.

Volcanoes, Views and Volvos (er, Volvo)3

Ridin' along in my automobile

My Gypsy beside me at the wheel

I scratched her neck at the turn of a mile

My curiosity runnin' wild


Cruisin' and playin' the radio

With no particular place to go.

With apologies to Chuck Berry

I’ve driven US 97 across Oregon before--several times, in fact. There are only four major north/south highways crossing Oregon, and I’ve driven the western three several times. US 101, the western most highway in the old US Highway system, clings to the Pacific coast as it runs 366 miles from Astoria to the California line south of Brookings. It’s a stunningly beautiful drive, and my preferred way of getting between Portland and Smith River.

Oregon's section of I-5, the western most north/south piece of the Interstate Highway system, is 307 miles long, and passes through the most heavily populated parts of the state. It parallels the old US 99 and is a fast, efficient option. It does have some scenic parts, especially in the southern reaches. From Eugene north to Portland, however, you’re in the Willamette Valley and the road is long and straight and, in my opinion, pretty boring. Unless, that is, you're traveling through when they're burning the fields. Then it's boring and unhealthy at the same time.

US 95 only touches Oregon in Malheur County, Oregon’s southeastern corner, and home to few people, mostly Basque, and a lot of sheep. It’s alternative, US 395, enters the state alongside Goose Lake which straddles the Oregon/California state line, and heads north to Umatilla, passing through some of the emptiest land in the West. While I’ve driven parts of 395 in southern Oregon, and will be driving it for the first two and a half hours of today’s route across Washington, I have never driven the section between Burns and Pendleton in northeastern Oregon.

What Oregon does not have is a diagonal route that crosses from the northeast to the southwest. That fact has driven me crazy for the past thirty years as I’ve traveled between Missoula and Smith River. With no hypotenuse, I’ve been forced to make a right angle driving I-84 along the Columbia River heading west, then turning south at Portland on either I-5 or crossing the coastal range to pick up 101 at Lincoln City. The closest thing to a diagonal road is US 97, but calling it a diagonal is really a stretch as Biggs Junction at the northern end is at 120.50 west and Klamath Falls, near the southern end, is at 121.46 or so. A difference of one degree of longitude does not a diagonal make. Still, that is the road I chose for yesterday’s drive.

I pulled out of Smith River at 6 a.m. PDT, heading south on 101 to go north once I reached 199. Crossing the coastal mountains in heavy fog, I watched as the outside temperature dropped below freezing on the California/Oregon border. 199 is not a road to take lightly, with its sharp curves, lack of shoulders, and steep drops into the wild and scenic Smith River. That said, I had no difficulty getting to Grants Pass where, once again, I turned south on I-5. Amazing how I keep going south to get north.

After breakfast in Medford with my friend Jim, and after buying yet another jacket at Fred Meyers (hey, it’s a Columbia fleece and was 30% off, plus I get to add to my gas discount), I continued south on I-5 to Ashland where I took Oregon 66 to cross over to Klamath Falls. And the jacket thing? Well, when I left Smith River I forgot to grab any of my jackets there. Knowing that I have plenty of clothes in Missoula, I wasn’t concerned until I saw the snow on the hills and watched the thermometer drop. I figured I’d better have something to keep me warm at the photo ops along the way.

On the map, Oregon 66 looks like a much shorter crossing than Oregon 140 which runs from Medford to Klamath Falls. I’ve taken that road before and my memory says that it was a long twisty road and that it took forever to get from point M to point K. What I don’t remember is whether it climbs a mountain in all its twists and turns. Oregon 66 definitely climbs. And climbs. And then it climbs some more. Leaving I-5 at Ashland, you’re at 1900 feet elevation. Green Springs summit, on Oregon 66, is 4551 feet. From there you drop down to Pinehurst at 3368, then climb some more to cross Parker Mountain Pass at 4356. I can’t say that I remember this pass, because we were no longer twisting and turning, and there is virtually no drop the rest of the way to Klamath Falls which sits at 4340 feet. And remember the snow I mentioned seeing on the hills? Well on Oregon 66 it was not only along side the road, but in sheltered areas it was on the road. It was a beautiful drive, snow notwithstanding, and my only real complaint is that while I passed vista after vista, panorama after panorama, what I did not pass was any place to pull off the road and snap some shots. There are no shoulders on this road, let alone pull outs for photographic purposes. I did pull into the John C. Boyle Reservoir parking lot to take a shot of the Klamath River with Mount McLoughlin in the background.

Even though I’d had breakfast 80 miles earlier in Medford, that was four hours ago, and the map showed no promising spots to the north for quite a ways, so I decided to have lunch in Klamath Falls. There was method in my madness. Klamath Falls was going to be my major photo op for the day. Among the ideas I’m kicking around for photo/essay books, is one I call Alphabetical Oregon. I’d like to travel around the state profiling various towns from Astoria to Zigzag. My Oregon Atlas gives population figures for only three locales beginning with K, and Keizer, the largest of the three, is really just a suburb of Salem. Klamath Falls, on the other hand, sits isolated at the southern end of Upper Klamath Lake and is the largest city (19,000 people) in southern Oregon not on I-5.

I’d stopped in Klamath Falls one time before, back when I was taking and selling Cell Tech’s blue-green algae supplements. Cell Tech, whose blue-green algae (aphanizomenon flos-aquae—and how did I remember that?) is harvested from Upper Klamath Lake, had its corporate headquarters in Klamath Falls, and I chose to drop in the Corporate HQ on one trip in the distant past. I can’t say that the city made much of an impression on me at that time, although I do remember the office building itself appearing to be a transformed art deco car dealership. This trip I was going to spend a little time in town and see if I couldn’t get some good shots.

This time I was impressed by the town and will gladly return to do a more in-depth profile for my Alphabetical Oregon. I got some great shots, spoke with some interesting people (including one who recognized my license plate and asked if I was from Missoula), and had a second breakfast at The Klamath Grill, seemingly the most popular spot in town—or maybe just the only downtown restaurant open for Sunday lunch. I’ll write about Klamath Falls and its architecture and scenic beauty when I return for my follow up. What I really wanted to talk about today is US 97.

My memories of 97 are of long, straight stretches of road with no vistas to speak of. The road is bordered on both sides by thick forest, and as you drive across the state, you begin to wonder if you’ll ever get out of the trees. I also remember heavy snow, on the road, and the fear that we had descended into some form of frozen hell as the road went on and on, with nothing to see and snow falling constantly for hours on end. Suffice it to say that on this trip, I was pleasantly surprised by the highway.

US 97 has its southern terminus at Weed, California, where it merges with (or diverges from, depending on the direction you’re heading) I-5. Weed is the site of the infamous green highway sign that offers you the choice between Weed and College. There are 290 miles of US 97 in Oregon, and yesterday’s drive covered most of them. Having had dense fog on the first leg of my trip, and snow on 66, I was pleased to find sunshine and blue skies all along 97. I also noted that while the highway is still bordered on both sides by dense forest, the forest wasn’t nearly as dense as I remembered it. For pictures of the road, go to Marc Reitzell’s site at http://www.w6mar.net/oregon.htm. What was notable was the constant visibility of the volcanic peaks of the Cascade Range. If I ever submit a travel essay on US 97, I’ll call it Driving the Volcano View Highway. I seriously doubt that there is any other road in the world that gives you such an array of potentially explosive mountains.

Upper Klamath Lake & Mount McLoughlin
Taken 4/15/07 just north of Klamath Falls, Oregon

Just north of Klamath Falls, as the road follows the shore of Upper Klamath Lake, you see Mount McLoughlin (9495 feet). An almost perfectly shaped volcanic cone, the mountain is visible from I-5 between Grants Pass and Medford as you’re heading southeast. The view from I-5 is impressive, but the view from 97 is awe inspiring, in my opinion.

Mount Mazama (AKA Crater Lake National Park)
Taken 4/15/07 from US Highway 97, Central Oregon

You’re not quite out of sight of McLoughlin when Mount Mazama comes into view. Mazama, at 8050 feet, isn’t quite as high as her sisters, but then you have to cut her some slack. She lost the top third of her height when she erupted about 7,000 years ago, spewing rocks as far away as central Canada, and leaving a large caldera we know today as Crater Lake. http://www.dlmark.net/cmazama.htm.

Mount Thielsen, I believe
Taken 4/15/07, US Highway 97, Central Oregon

From one vantage point, you can see Mount Mazama to the southwest and Mount Thielsen (9182 feet) to the northwest. I’m not sure if I saw Diamond Peak (8744 feet), but there was something in my sight looking west from La Pine. Mount Bachelor (9065 feet), Broken Top (9175 feet) and the Three Sisters (named North Sister, Middle Sister, and South Sister, and all over 10,000 feet) are all visible from US 97 as you drive through Bend, the largest city on 97 in Oregon.

Diamond Peak (?), Looking West from La Pine, Oregon
Taken 4/15/07

Mount Washington (7794 feet) is almost due west of Redmond, and Three-Fingered Jack (7841 feet) is just north of that. Mount Jefferson (10,497 feet) is west of Madras, and while looking at Mount Jefferson, if you turn slightly to your right, you’ll see Mount Hood, Oregon’s tallest mountain at 11,240 feet. There is a turnoff on the southbound side of 97 where signs indicate which peak you’re looking at, but I was northbound and in traffic, and didn’t chose to stop there. While still in Oregon, you can see Mount Hood and Mount Adams (12,276 feet and across the Columbia in Washington state). If you continue north on 97 into Washington, there is a spot where you can see three volcanoes from one vantage point.

As awe-inspiring as these mountains are, especially when you just lose sight of one in time to catch the next, or even see two, or three, or as at Bend a whole series all at the same time, they do form the horizon line as you’re looking west. It reminds me of the old joke about 8 naked women performing the William Tell Overture, titty, bum, titty, bum, titty, bum, bum, bum. The mountains are kind of like that. Peak, rounded hills, Peak, rounded hills, Peak, rounded hills, Peak, Peak, Peak, flat space, Peak! Much closer to the road is the Newberry Caldera which sits a few miles east of 97. The highway crosses through the Newberry National Volcanic Monument and Lava Butte is immediately to the west of the highway. The monument was created by act of Congress in 1990. Boy am I sorry I didn’t get off the highway to explore that. Believe me, I will next time. (http://vulcan.wr.usgs.gov/Volcanoes/Newberry/Locale/framework.html)

I stopped at Biggs Junction to fill both my tank and the Volvo’s. The Volvo got Shell selling for $2.99/gallon. I filled my tank with Linda’s Diner’s liver and onions and got to speak to the chef after dinner (gee, just like in the fancy places). Turning east on I-84, I headed toward Umatilla where I crossed the Columbia into Washington State. Arriving in Kennewick at about 10 p.m., I got a room for Gypsy and me at the Econo Lodge where I’d stayed last October.

Once I get this posted, it’s time to shower, change, and head on north and east to Ritzville, Spokane, Coeur d’Alene, Lookout Pass, and, dare I say it, home, Missoula that is.

Till the next time, I wish you clear roads, blue sky, and lovely scenery. Oh and by the way, the Volvo g0t almost 29 mpg, YES!!!! 29 mpg in a Volvo V70 XC AWD. I think that's pretty awesome. And as for listening to the radio, well actually I was listening to Charles Hillinger's America, downloaded from audible.com and played on my pc, but broadcast to the car's sound system using a Belkin TuneCast. Also pretty awesome! Miles travelled, 581.