3107

Friday July 29

There was going to be a hot rod meeting in Packwood over the weekend, and all rooms were taken. So I was going to have to find somewhere else to stay. Anyway, the thought of the little town being filled with hundreds of petrol heads did not thrill me. But it would have made evenings in the bar interesting: both nights, I was the only one eating and only a couple of others drinking.

I looked at the map, and thought that the Columbia River Gorge looked interesting. I had heard it was spectacular, and might be worth a visit. I packed and once again had a fight with the car to get the case in the trunk. The interior trim of the trunk was falling apart: I was dreading handing it back in to Hertz. The first part of the trip was the road I took yesterday to Mt St Helens.

Once again, the road was empty, and driving was fun, whizzing round the corners in the Mustang. I had the roof down, and music blasting out. Looking in the rear view mirror, I saw that my face was red, and my eyebrows had been bleached white by the sun. South of the turnoff to St Helens, the road had occasional views of the volcano. I stopped a few times hoping to see more gas venting out.

Sure enough, after coming out of a thick forest, a large white cloud was drifting away from the crater. I parked up, and pointed it to a woman who was also looking at the volcano. She thought it was just a normal cloud. A few miles further on, the road passed right under the cloud: I thought nothing of it, until I stopped for gas a couple of hours later, and the whole car was covered in a layer of fine ash: how cool is that?

All the way south, the land remained unchanged, forested hills and the occasional lake. The road twisted and turned, and was almost empty. Eventually, the road descended into the gorge; and first impressions are wow! It is almost like the Mosel valley in Germany, but wider, and the valley sides steeper. At Carson, I headed towards the nearest town hoping to find a dentist to help fix my cap: it was by now very lose, and I was worried about swallowing it accidentally when eating.

In Stevenson there was a dentist: but it was closed on Fridays and at weekends. Further along, I came to a resort hotel. Well, a golf resort hotel: it looked very nice, had great views of the gorge. I drove up, and after parking inquired about rates and availability. The concierge said it was $179 a night, and they could only do one night: I was shocked. There must be somewhere cheaper around here. I really wanted two nights, as I was not booked into Portland until Sunday night.

On either side of the gorge were main roads. On the Oregon side, it was an interstate: I84, but on the Washington side, just a two lane route 14. Alongside each road was a transcontinental railroad: at regular intervals, massive triple headed freight trains thundered along beside the road.

Further along route 14, a Best Western Hotel was signposted: great, I thought. One of the places I had been told to visit was The Bridge of the Gods, which is where the hotel was. The bridge was well named, as it was several hundred feet above the river: and was of the box girder construction as before with the metal mesh roadway: which is disconcerting when driving over it. The state line between Washington and Oregon runs along the river, so, once across I was in a new State.

The hotel was just off the ramp to the bridge. I was early; it was only just gone midday, so I thought I should have no trouble getting a room. Unfortunately, there was a family reunion that night at the hotel, and all rooms were taken. A short way along Main Street was a small motel. I pulled in and asked if they had rooms. Turns out they only had one room: the Bridal Suite.

I asked if it was compulsory to have a bride, and I pointed out that the day was still young. So, I checked in: the owner, Roger said there was a paddle steamer that did buffet cruises at night, and he could book up for me if I liked. It sounded a great idea, so I let him. He also pointed out that along the old Columbia River Highway there are a series of waterfalls. Great I thought something to do in the afternoon. I put my case in the room, and saw that it had a spa bath which should be great fun.

I jumped back in the car and headed out in the car along I84. A few miles further on was the turn off and soon I was in the trees under the shadows of the cliffs. The first falls were the Horsetail Falls. Parking was a problem, I ended up on the edge of the road, quite near the railroad tracks. After taking pictures, I headed further west, and in time came to Multnomah Falls. This was also on my list of things to see in the State, and once parked up was clear why this was a ‘must see.’ Although it was touristy, it was free to see, and there were several good view points. I followed the trail up to the bridge, and got a better view of the upper falls.

Once again, I was hot and thirsty after the driving, and thoughts began to a pub that Roger mentioned a few hundred yards down from the motel. I headed back to Cascade Locks, which is where the motel was. And after parking the car in front of my room, walked down for a few tall, frosty glasses of local beer. The chef makes his own horseradish sauce, which is amazingly hot: I bought a jar for my friends in Arkansas.

My room has a huge Queen sized bed, as well as the spa bath: although the controls for the spa were disguised as light switches. Although I enjoyed the spa, whether they are worth the money is doubtful.

I dressed up for a change for the trip o the paddle steamer. I walked down to the dock, and joined the others waiting before we were allowed to board. I had a table to myself; unfortunately, it was right in the rays of the setting sun and so was unbearably hot. However, once the steamer got under way, things cooled down. The buffet was good, prime rib, salad and lots of vegetables. The views were stunning as we slowly made our way up the river, on either side of the river freight trains thundered past, trailing up to 90 cars. I stood on the deck as we headed back to Cascade Lock, it was dusk, and all was clam, not a breath of wind stirred.

Lying in my bed, I could hear distant train whistles, and the noise as one passed through the town.

Saturday July 30

I decided to explore the gorge eastwards; and to find a bank, as I was running out of cash. There was a town on the northern side of the gorge called Stevenson, which was probably the best place to start. I headed back over The Bridge of the Gods, paying my 50 cents. A short drive eastwards to Stevenson. And, everything is closed, including the bank.

I carried on east, through small towns, and beside the river and railroad. At the town of Bingen, there was another bank; also closed. On the river, there was a surfboarding co petition going on all day; but instead of sails, the boards moved with kites. Already dozens of boarders were crisscrossing the river. A dozen or so miles further on there was another bridge, and on the Oregon side another town, Hood River, had the promise of Saturday banking.

I crossed the river on another box girder bridge, this one shockingly narrow, even with a saloon car. Also the metal mesh was deeper than on other bridges, so I felt on was on the verge of losing control of the car. After a while I found a parking space on a side street; walked onto Main Street to bloody Bank of America. And it’s also closed. I had run out of towns; I had no choice but to use my debit card to get cash out of the ATM. I stopped at a coffee shop to have some breakfast; well bagel and coffee. And scattered around were today’s papers. I scanned then trying to find something that had happened out of the State or not connected with sport; no luck.

I headed back over the bridge, and then carry on east. There’s no doubt it was a pleasant drive, and after some miles the gorge began to shallow out. The grass got browner and browner; and died out altogether. I saw a sign pointing to The Dalles; thinking it was a range out mountains, or maybe some lakes, I headed back across the river into Oregon again.

The Dalles is just another town, pretty nondescript; partly industrial, with docks and the usual railway junction. It does have a dam, a small one; but the sluices were open sending a huge plume of water into the river below. I decided to see what lay outside the gorge, and followed route 35 up the valley sides. After a couple of miles of steep climbing, the road came out onto rolling farmland. Wheat stretched to the horizon. All vegetation was burnt brown by the unrelenting sunshine.

I drove for a few miles to see if anything interesting was along the road; but no. The only thing to give its location was the towering presence of Mt Hood some 40 miles in the distance. Disappointed, I headed once again back into Washington. Across the bridge, a sign pointed east to the town of Wishram: A Railroad Town. I thought that might be interesting, and headed off. Wishram turned out to be a poor town at the base of the steep sides of the gorge.

The railroad part was right: it had some marshalling yards, but no museum. The other tall mountain in the area was Mt Adams, so I thought I could go and see what that was like. I had to head back west until I got opposite Hood River, then take the Trout Lake turn back into the hills. The road continued like so many before it: all twists and turns, through forests and round hills.

The mountain was fine; I could not get too close, but took pictures to prove I made the trip.

On the way up, I had noticed signs for a winery: America seemed not to like to word Vineyard, so I thought I would go and try some local wines.

The winery was situated at the end of a country road, that tuned into a dirt track, which in turn wound its way up a steep hill. Dust trailed behind me; passing vehicles coming the other way meant slowing down long enough for the dust to settle. Being in a convertible with the roof down at this point was not clever.

The Wind River Winery was situated in a copse of trees, and for $10 you could sample about 6 different wines. I started out with the Pinot Noir; and it was quite subtle, but passable; which could not be said of the Cabernet or Merlot, which lacked the depth of old world wines, or even Australian. If you bought a bottle, the wine tasting fee was waived; I bought a bottle of the Pinot Noir, and headed off again. I dare not drink too much.

Once back at the hotel, I headed out to the pub again. God, it was hot; the cold beer went down well. I had a pizza which went down well, before heading back to the hotel for another spa.