Well travelled beginnings

The trip started when I left home, but the vacation started at Washtucna where I talked with some old wheat farmers about harvest. An hour later, a winding road along a ridgetop was my path forward. A few miles of freeway avoided. At the Columbia, I would stay on the north side of the river and avoid another hundred.

The wind is in my hair and the sun warms my face, with one of the grand rivers of the West to my left. Bliss, at 60 miles per hour. At The Dalles, I cross the river, hit I-84 for a short time, before exiting along the old US-30 route to avoid another few miles of freeway. It’s all familiar routine. The years change, but this story doesn’t.

Lunch in Hood River. Beer. Turn north, enter the National Forest, and disconnect from our connected world—a few days later, reconnect on a different path, head north, and focus on the memories, new and old.

This is not a new story, it is the story of my annual trip to Mt St Helens, and describes each year that I go. The details may change, but the core story remains true.