Elevation: 2 mountain passes.
Temperature: high 105
The days are fast, yet drawn out.
Tranquilized and over stimulated.
Engaged in every act of the day.
Sucked into the flow of a motion we've become accustomed to. The load of weight is a part of us now. And Ralph dethaws in the 105 degree heat as if punishment was a reward. Here we are in the pure glory of a moment: perched on a farmer's hill staring down in awe at the Columbia river. No one knows we are here, no one cares and it's beautiful. The land cools, the road winds around the cliff. It is traveled by late comers and goers and mile long trains. They sing to us from a mezmorized amphitheater that always echoes. To memorize a place, where only the now matters, when city life becomes too ordinary, the escape is locked into memory. The only thing to ever give back to this place, the only respectable gift, is the body that has been here. Even if the chance to grow old and grey were unwantingly taken... I know I have lived dreams to the fullest. And this land taught me to give myself back.
A little rest, a half gallon of milk and many feet of sandwich has magically turned legs into solid muscle. We were revived, strong, unabated by heat or hills. We had passed the hump of hardness, and were well rewarded for it. Washington had finally opened its palace doors, bugs flew off to the east and camper vans clotted into the arteries of the great unseen highways.
If what you are doing is really important, it's enough; it seeps out of pores, it inspires others without having to say a word. Sometimes we forget the magnitude of what we are doing. But then a stranger will find us downing ice water at a gas station in 105 degree desert heat and their curiosity rejuvinates our story. It's an art of struggle, topped with dares over shots of salt packets. Living a life opposite of most lives we push the most menial home America could fathom. And without much but simple basics we sit staring at infinity, with the values of life shining crystal clear back at us. Worry ceases, stresses are left states behind. A giant rock in it's gravitational pull, illuminated by the sun, rises over the earth, and we are so lucky. Lucky to be here and to see these moments and take them with us for a lifetime.
Today's post was a collaboration of writing styles thanks to O'Reilly. Having gained a deeper appreciation for Mother Earth we both shared similar thoughts. Leaving our newfound glory, a road side marker reads a line in history. European immigrants "bought" this land from the original people. Funny how the choice of words paints a surreal picture. Bullshit, we killed those Indians for this land, we stole it and barricaded their waterfalls that were fished in for ten thousand years. The sad story continues when we've learned nothing and the same cycle continues 250 years later. Warzones killed the most innocent of family's in far away countries. Simply over the want for others to have our ways.
Source of life: water:
Sunset:
Colombia Gorge:
Camp:
Moonshine:
Field notes: hwy 97S is a medium busy road with a good should and tons of fun. Lots of climbs and fun long decents. No water for 40 miles. Hwy 14 west is beautiful! Follows the Columbia river all the way to the sea.