Thursday
September 11
I'm up
at 7, and having the free continental breakfast by 07:45. The TV in
the breakfast room is on Good Morning America. I am intrigued as they
talk about their Whistle Stop Tour the following week. As they show
the modified train car that will be the production centre I ask
myself “What's the transmission path?”. They show me. I highly
modified train car with two gyroscopic controlled Sat Dishes. Now how
much did that cost!!!
It's a
brilliant sunny morning as I drive north east through the bedroom
suburbs of Portland on Hwy 99W. It's a forty five minute drive from
McMinnville to downtown Portland where I want to stop at Powell's
Books. This is a huge book store that a co-worker told me is a
wonderful place. I am not prepared for just how big this place is. I
am also not sure which of the several store fronts is the original
book store, but it now occupies almost the entire city block. It
reminds me of Sam The Record Man on Yonge Street in Toronto. Powell's
is a warren of interconnecting rooms and passages. I find books I
thought were out of print like The Mote In God's Eye, a classic story
of first contact. There are used books next to new books and all of
them are well priced. After an hour I buy a small arm load and escape
back into the sunshine. I feel lucky to get away with such a small
haul. Book stores to me are like shoe stores to Imelda Marcos.
I
consult Nav to find the 3D & Stereoscopic Museum. I follow the
directions and drive by. It doesn't look like it's open so I move
onto plan B, a visit to The Traditional Chinese Garden. Nav guides me
through narrow, one way streets and soon I park at a meter space
right outside the front gate.
The
Traditional Chinese Garden was created when a group of locals got
together and created it on the site of a former parking lot. Cue the
Jonie Mitchell song but play it backward. The gardens are arranged in
several different styles. It is supposed to be a place for quiet
meditation and reflection. However it's downtown location lets in a
lot of street noise.
And I
am annoyed by the number of wedding planners wandering around
discussing upcoming events with clients. It is distracting from my
creative attempts to document the garden in pictures. Visually it's
stunning. Occasionally I stop for a moment of contemplation.
I
leave the Garden an hour later and have Nav guide me east, out of
Portland, to Hwy 84. My next destination is the Bonneville Dam, then
on to Hood River, and finally Stevenson Washington for the overnight.
The
scenery changes from rolling hills to the high cliff sides and
mountains of the Columbia River Gorge. The Gorge is broad and brown
with rock outcropping, the river blue and deep.
I
occasionally spy Mt Hood. I've never been there either and it's an
impressive chunk of rock. It's over 11,000 feet high and if there's
time I'll try and get there. Distances are deceiving both visually
and on the map, so I remind myself that a person can cover a couple
of hundred miles in a very short period of time, especially if all one has is time.
I
arrive at the Bonneville Dam around 1300. After passing through the
security checkpoint, (the trunk inspection was no extra charge) I
drive across two sets of ship locks, and then carefully drive across
the narrow two lane road in front of a large building. The appearance
of a narrow road is only an illusion due to the immense size of the
building. Once across I find a large parking lot with a good view of
the spillway.
Constructed
in the 1930's as part of Roosevelt's New Deal, the Bonneville Dam brought much
needed electrical power to the growing Pacific Northwest, and even
more needed construction jobs during the Depression. This allowed
greater industrial expansion and during World War 2 helped fuel the
West Coast's war effort. In the years since population pressures and
it's resultant demand for power has resulted in a second power
station being built.
I am
impressed by the size of the two generating stations and the
spillway. Currently there are upgrades going on that will help the
environment by installing a new design on the turbine blades. These
changes include variable pitch controls on the blades. The new blade
design will assure a greater survival rate of juvenile salmon heading
down river that used to get caught in the dam.
I take
the tour of the powerhouse put on by the U.S Army Corps of Engineers.
The Corps is the agency responsible for the construction of the dams.
The tour guide makes a reference to the headwaters of the Columbia as
being in Canada generically, not British Columbia specifically. To my
surprise, I‘m not surprised. The guide take us to visit the
original powerhouse. Turns out it's the immense building I drove
across the front of on my way in. I ask a couple of stupid questions
that are answered by the patient tour guide.
After
the powerhouse we visit the fish ladder. I am fortunate to have come
at this time of year, the salmon are beginning to return for the
spawning season.
I wrap
up my tour and head east again on the wonderful Hwy 84. My
destination is the town of Hood River and I reach it in no time flat.
This leaves me a bit at odds. I could turn left to Stevenson, or turn
right and try to get closer to Mt Hood. It's too early to call it a
day, and I am just beginning to appreciate serendipity and whimsy in
decision making.
So I
head south on Hwy 35. The map, not Nav, tells me this road will take
me to the east side of Mt Hood. By now the mountain is beginning to
dominate the scenery. By 1500 my stomach is asking for some
attention. I have been so happy in my travels that I have forgotten
lunch.
I stop
at a shaded crossroads where there is a General Store and a Deli. The map
says this is the town of Mt Hood. Nav concurs. I'm impressed, they
agree with each other. I visit the Deli and have a stacked meat
sandwich, a small pack of Lays potato chips, and a large 7-Up. It's
very good. It's a comfortable place to sit and relax for a while.
Appetite
sated I continue south and wonder what I'm getting myself into, and
how far I can get before I have to turn around. I don't want to get
caught in the dark on unfamiliar mountain roads. That's a bit too
much like my day to day work.
I'm
glad to be back in the mountains. Highway 35 is another of those great
roads the Americans build. It's wide and straight, unless it absolutely has to curve, and
it's very well maintained.
Both
the map and Nav are vague as to which roads will actually take me to
a place where I can see the mountain peak. So it's up to old
fashioned intuition and guesswork, the human factor. I see a sign
that indicates some kind of “meadow place” so I turn at the exit
and 5 minutes later arrive at the large gated parking lot of a major
ski area. The sign says it's closed for maintenance and if you
proceed you "forgo any expectation of rescue or assistance". I press
on. It's a big open parking lot and I don't anticipate getting lost
while in plain site of the gate. But I'm prepared for anything.
Vigilance is all!
The
peak is in open view. Majestic and imperial are words that come
immediately to mind. I grew up on a medium sized mountain and as I
mentioned earlier I've been up and down my fair share, but I am not prepared
for the sheer, massive size and the impression this mountain leaves.
The late afternoon sun creates just enough shadow to give it both
deep color, and definition. I suddenly realize it's part of the ring
of dormant volcanoes that dominate the north west coast. Starting with Mt
Baker to far north, almost on the Canadian border, down through to Mt
Shasta in California. In between there is Mt Rainier outside Seattle,
Mt St Helen's (pictured below) only a hundred miles or so north of Mt
Hood. I allow myself to sit and be impressed for a while before I
begin the journey back to Hood River.
By
1730 I'm in Hood River and crossing the narrow two lane toll bridge.
It's a 75 cent fee to cross a metal decked, 25mph, just a bit scary,
bridge. There would be no sure stopping on this deck without winding
up in the oncoming lane. The tires thrum on the metal grate decking.
I think the speed limit might actually be too high, because I'm not
even close to it and I can feel the loss of “road stick” through the tires.
Safely
across, I'm back in Washington State. I turn left, west, on Hwy 14
and thirty minutes later I'm checking into the Econo Lodge in
Stevenson, Washington.
The
motel isn't much, but for $69 a night I'm not expecting a Holiday
Inn. It's an older property, and a bit worn at the edges, but it's
clean. After dumping my gear and checking e-mail, I ask the desk
clerk where I can find a decent meal. The guide in the room hasn't
been much help. He suggests a pub downtown.
I
drive to the pub, it's across the street from the Sheriff's office
and courthouse. The courthouse is a large building for such a small
town, but I'm guessing it's a county courthouse and not a reflection
of overall lawlessness in Stevenson itself.
The
steak is passable, it's been heavily marinated in balsamic vinegar,
something that gives it a bit of a sharp flavour. The baked potato is
excellent and the vegetables are steamed just right. I try a couple
of local ales that once again are unremarkable.
I
drive back to the motel and am fascinated by the horrible television.
It's all purple, and the registration is way off creating double and
triple images. I try to make sense of it for an hour or so, and to
reflect on the past few days of journey. I fall asleep on top of the
covers and wake up at 2 am, then to crawl into bed proper.
