We ventured to the west side; with the essentials on hand, the Oregon Gazetteer and Coke, the good stuff, the kind made with real sugar.
We arrive in the land of green, of emerald forests, of poison oak, of greasy mud. We travel in a pack, VW CaraVAN style. We scout out the very best of riverside camp spots and set up home; top popped, awning out, fire going.
We drink tea and beer and listen to the rain fall; we feel it on our faces, hear it as it hits the brilliant fire, sizzling, cracking, popping. We crawl into bed, dreaming of gravel climbs and sweet single-track.
Our dreams come true.
The Alpine Trail, cloaked in clouds and fog and rain, wild flowers blooming, greasy corners without much traction, the Jedi forest in all its beauty. Pine cones and needle duff cover the trail; few tires have passed this way since the snow melt. It is magical and damp and luminous.
We are four fortunate souls, passing beneath the forest canopy; laughing, smiling, and hooting as we get baby air; a half inch of levitation feels like flying. Soaked to the bone, but warm at the core, we return to the valley floor, to the warmth of our camp and the company of good friends.
|OREGON - The land of great adventure.|
|Real Coke. Joy.|
|Heading West. The the land of emerald green forests.|
|The West Cascades|
|Post Alpine Smiles|
|Heading Back to the Sunnyside|