Somewhere in Wyoming
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| Hurricane Ridge, Olympic Mountains |
If there were any doubt that Bucky and I are more of the mountains than of the arid, flat ranch lands of Wyoming, it was validated when we hit the lush, orchards and vineyards of Oregon. The canyons and valleys offered an immediate feeling of comfort and well being. Looking out at the organized rows of fruit trees and grapes made me anxious for 5:00pm....my official quitting time, Our driving days can be long, 10 hours the usual, but on occasion, I end my day before Bucky, heading from my co-pilot seat to the comfort of the dinette. With pastel, plastic wine glass in hand......it is now cocktail hour! While Wyoming embodied dryness, draining heat and strong winds, the hills and valleys of Oregon wafted the sweetness of ripening fruit and exuded good health. With the speed limit at 75, not within our reach, and a Wyoming wind almost able to match this, Bucky struggled at times to hold the wheel. Several times I found myself startled from a state of monatanous drowziness when the tires beneath me hit the rumble strips.
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| Harnessing the wind seems easy in WY. |
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| I see Utah! |
It was with relief that we skirted the Great Salt Lake and glanced up into the snow capped peaks surrounding Salt Lake City. The mountains tamed the winds and Bucky's hands relaxed and as he reached for one of mine he mumbled, "this is more like it". To which I stated the obvious, "yes, we're more of the mountains."
Brigham, Utah sat huddled beneath jagged peaks with the letter B proudly displayed on a hillside above town. I felt the white steeple was in keeping with a region steeped in the Mormon faith. It was easy to feel the presence of a greater being with scenery so magnificent. We slid through southern Idaho wishing we could head up north to Mc Call or slightly east into the Sawtooth Mountains, but knew we needed to stay low and get to Oregon.
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fruit fields of Oregon
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| Mt. Adams, 12,307 feet |
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Mt. Rainier, 14,410 feet
Long uphills and steep curvy downhills, chain up areas and high mountains shadowed in clouds met the gold of the Oregon valleys. The smallness of the houses and towns nestled against the greatness of the hills surrounding them greeted us at each turn of the road. Snoqualie Pass brought us into the high mountains of Washington, the jagged Cascades.
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Leaving the Cascades, a place of comfort, we arrived outside of bustling Tacoma, somewhere less comfortable. Then, quickly out and north onto the Olympic Peninsula, where we had never been before. We excitedly arrived, 3,200 miles away from Ripton, in sunny Sequim, the one spot on the peninsula that experiences 300 days of sunshine a year!
