Update on Sam and the car drama...the car wasn't enough to steal, the car thieves forged a check in Sam's name. Luckily, the bank seems pretty understanding.
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I traveled a very far to partake in a caving trip, but the trip didn't happen as I had hoped.
The first night, I slept in my car at a rest-stop near Portland. The streetlight bothered me, and so I built up the interior of my car to function like a tent. In the morning, I was groggy and kicked the back of my hatchback with my PJs on. A group of leather-clad bikers stared in disbelief as I wondered to the bathroom. It was one of those moments where you wonder if your a junkie but too are delusional to admit it.
Then I drove to Hood River, Oregon and spent a good 20 minutes looking for quarters in the folds of my car for the meter. Hood River is a fabulous tourist town, that caters to the athletic yuppie. And every time I'm there, I daydream about returning as an athletically talented excursionist. I have a montage in my head of windsurfing, running, doing freaky yoga and then ending the day at the brewery with Sam and waking up refreshed, to go hiking in a bewitchingly beautiful land.
However, the reality of my trip was different from my fantasy.
Being cheap, I ate at Piertos Pizza, which has an unlimited salad buffet for $5. It didn't open till 11am, and I wasted many hours drinking coffee, reading, and when I was finally sick of sitting, I stretched my aching hips in a park, much to the amusement of some nearby 8-year old girls. (also there was a library with a book about barefoot running)
When the pizza joint was open, I was hungry, and although stuffing my face with endless quantities of lettuce and vegetables seemed appealing, the $1.25 ice cream was irresistible.
After my breakfast of salad and ice cream, I was determined to go seek out cavers. However, instead of going to the campground where everyone was supposed to be at, I dicked off. I turned left instead of right, just because I could.
It brought me here to this dry, arid land of high cliffs and endless river. I watched in awe as the ecosystem transformed in front of my eyes, from lush greenery to hues of yellow. There were endlessly tall grasses surrounding a dam. I imagined the river before the dam and how it's torrid waters of noise and life were silenced by concrete and machinery. Today, I saw rock, water, sediment and wind.
From there I decided to go crazy and travel to Beacon Rock, a core of ancient volcano.
The story of Beacon rock is romantic. Geologically, it was a fiery volcano that cooled down, and it's exterior was then swept away by the piercing force of the Missoula Floods. It stands in the Columbia River as an imposing rock, which is recognizable miles away. When the gorge was being developed, it's existence was threatened by an even more imposing force: humans. In 1904 Charles Ladd purchased Beacon Rock to save it from it being destroyed by the Army Corps of Engineers, and in 1915 Henry Biddle bought in from Charles for a $1, with the sole intention of installing a hiking trail to the top. In 1935 Biddle's Heirs tried to give the rock away to the state of Washington to become a state park, but the state of Washington refused until Oregon made a a bid of it.
Afterwards, I went to the Guler campground but there was no one I could recognize. So I had a lonely night with a beer, an odd looking sandwich and a chem book.
I woke up to cook myself awful pancakes. My cooking sucks, and I ate my deep-fried, under-cooked batter with a sense of relish and misery.
In the daylight hours, I hoped that there would be someone I would recognize, but all the hairy guys at the campground looked the same.
I went to the interpretive center looking for guidance, and then I found myself on a historical walk, that had plenty of posts but few sites.
I drove back to Beacon Park and ended up climbing Mt. Hamilton. On the mountain, I met a guy named Martin, and he was climbing with a guidebook and a broken arm. I kept running into him and sensed he had a story to tell. Martin seemed like a relentless hiker, a person motivated by some fire within. Anyways, I never asked, so I'll never know.
I got back to my car hungry and found I had ticket for evading the State Parks payment system. So, I greedily ate what I could find in my car, which was a package of Kraft singles cheese. (I'm not proud). Then I drove away, saying goodbye to the Gorge and eager to get home.
I ended my day in the town of Ridgefield, I didn't see the park, but I saw hints of it's magnificent beauty.
I tried and wanted to desperately go home, but my energy crashed. And despite two cups of fuck-off coffee, I had to sleep at rest-stop. This time the light streamed straight into my eyes. This time I didn't care. I slept.
When I got home I felt sick. My face felt stuffy, and I felt almost feverish from the wasted time. But then I felt that I had changed, that I had seen a vision on my quest. The mountains of the gorge spoke to me and said, "you really need to get your priorities straight. Save me!", and then I thought about how on my next trip, I should really eat better food.
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