The Long Ride Home

The trip home is 6 hours -- but it works out to be 7 hours there and 5 hours back.

The view on the trip home is amazing each time. The scenery begins to change around that dividing line in Oregon, somewhere after Pendleton. Tree walls line the freeway, an indication that the Columbia is just miles away from sight.

I always wonder what is behind those tree walls. What could they possibly be protecting, besides the obvious crop or two. New trees are growing, indicating that more protection is necessary.

The trees pass and then there's a glimmer of the river near Boardman. The railroad track acts as a baracade to the sight line of the river until the moment.

The road winds along, rising and falling, the river still hidden behind hills, until it crests and reveals the Columbia River as the road dives down and approaches it's long journey parallel with it. It feels like the dullness before it has parted and has again invoked the Portland spirit present only in Western Oregon. I never remember which hill it is, so each time the scene is a suprise. It's also unique, as the time of day dictates it's look.

The scene is always beautiful, but today it reached breathtaking.

The river looked like frosted glass, not sparkling like usual but glimmering with a million tiny dots. At times the water was bright white from this effect.

The bright white Columbia was a stark contrast to the blue Mount Hood. The mountain's usual majesty was lost without it's white cap. Small patches of white clung to the sides, but the cap remained bare, making it look almost lost in the skyline. The postcard image was inverted, and had all the usual parts except the white Mount Hood.

I had Ani DiFranco playing, and for some reason it was the perfect soundtrack to this scene. Each song's rhythm and tone fit the scene's personality, which is ever-changing as the road winds along.

The moments where the river sparkled like glitter. The cliff's shade creating midnight blue and sea foam green. The sailboat with a flacid sail despite the whipping wind. The wind and kite surfers, blazing their wake trails, barely noticable from the road. The large nest on a light pole, two falcons perched nearby.

I felt like this was the first time I opened my eyes and took notes, trying to remember the magic so I can re-create it at any time. Driving and taking notes of the scenery may not be the best idea, but it only took a second to record each moment.

The only other time that tops this would be sunset, as the yellows, reds, purples, and oranges blend together in the water, rippling along with the small waves. I will never forget that moment when I came over that hill and saw the Columbia illuminated in sunset colors, the sky blazing just the same.

It's moments like these that make other not-so-great moments melt away.