Some of you may be wondering if I fell off a cliff.
The dirt road was a veritable minefield of potholes, craftily camouflaged in dappled midday shadows. Trees lined the road, providing a source for that insidious shade, giving those potholes ninja stealth. Driving down this minefield was akin to navigating an impassible obstacle course, where occasions of failure gave me thoughts of riding a bucking bronco, and dropping into the bigger craters evoked a guttural oof.
But what brought me to this kidney buster?
Just as I glanced back up the trail, the feet of the fellow walking down it took off in a different direction than his mind intended and gravity played a cruel trick.
Ouch. Ice will do that to a guy.
Mythology tells us the Greek gods ate ambrosia and drank nectar, giving them strength and immortality. But what sort of vessel could contain such a potion? No mere cup suffices.
THUMP! Thumpity thump, crash, thump thump. The rock (or rocks?) continued to bound down the cliff I was hanging onto as the seconds rolled on, reminding me how far I had to fall should I lose footing with the other foot as well. Once I found a new foothold to replace that sizable sounding rock I’d knocked free I looked around for my wife – she was somewhere below.
The young Kiwi schoolboy watched, first with a quizzical expression, then with astonishment. Soon it would be me that was surprised.
Who says you need drugs to get high?
How far would you travel just to see a single waterfall or hike a scenic path? A hundred miles? More? In the Portland metro area and eastbound 100 miles or so those extremes are not needed; the Columbia Gorge provides easy access to a wealth of views for all who live in the region.
“Wow, that’s pretty impressive. I wonder where it is?”
I was watching a car commercial with an impressive background with some folks in a boarding house. They were pretty nonchalant about my question; “Oh, that’s just the Columbia Gorge. It’s about 30 miles up the freeway from here.”
I wanted to know more.