Coming home gorgeously

If you had to drive home from a business assignment, you could certainly do much worse than to go north from Bend via Oregon 97 up to timberline and then take 35 north to Hood River, heading west on I-84, crossing the Columbia at Cascade Locks and then west on Washington 14 through Washougal and Camas.  The fact that it had been pouring the last several days made the air seem fresher than remembered, the afternoon light purer and sharper, and the Cascades to the west that much more distinctive with snow cover matching memory, not the minimal dusting of the past few winters.  It took all my concentration not to keep looking off at the Three Sisters and Mt. Jefferson and wanting to head off in that direction just to see the hills and peaks blanketed in white and blessed again with that special muffling of sound that comes with a world blanketed by abundant snowfall.

I know that the drive north from Madras until reaching timberline can be hot, dusty and neverending in the middle of summer, but today that part of the drive also seemed touched by the clear light and gentle wind, with views in every direction unbelievably sharp and dimensional in a way that made repeated glances necessary just to convince the mind's eye that you can see that far away that clearly without even trying.

I was fortunate in that I made it to the timberline junction just around sunset, and could travel on 35 with the twilight helping me navigate the twists and turns of that path out of the forest.  Once I got used to the notion that all the reflections in the road really were water-caused, not ice (at least for the moment), and that the "dust" being kicked up by the vehicles ahead of me was loose snow, I could tackle the drive with bravado and caution, making sure that my speed was just enough to make it out of the forest into the orchards south of Hood River before the last of the day's light disappeared, replaced as it was by the darkest blue night sky I had seen for some time.  I stopped for a Diet Coke and spent some moments looking at the stars twinkling overhead and their light reflecting off the river's smooth, barely rustling surface...and then marveled at the realization that I wasn't the only person in that parking lot taking a moment or two to let the wonder of the place took hold of our souls.

All around, the fields and hills were quiet, with only an occasional bird call breaking the silence.  Even the number of cars on the road wasn't as many as I would have thought for a Friday evening, though admittedly neither Hood River nor Cascade Locks are social magnets; what restaurants I did encounter were filled reasonably so, and the people seemed like me delighted by the clear weather but a bit wary as well, wondering when the rains will return...the true hallmark of a Pacific Northwestener.