I exited Arizona through Page on State Route 89 — a beautiful drive through some of the most unique and traditional Arizona/Utah-ish rock formations. I drove through the quaint town of Kanab, past Zion National Park and Bryce National Park in Utah, and then I connected with I-15 and drove until I stopped at the north end of Salt Lake City for the night (wanting to be past rush hour traffic during my morning departure). I have to mention here that my hotel choices were limited, not only by lack of room availability, but having to find dog-friendly hotels. My favorites were Best Western Plus (besides the beer party they were having in the parking lot at 6:30 a.m. in Utah), La Quinta (La Quinta told me that they were 100% dog-friendly and they couldn’t have been friendlier), and Holiday Inn Express (who saved me on my return trip when there were no rooms at any hotels, because I had waited too long to reserve something). Every room was nice, clean, and more than sufficient for my brief stays.

The speed limit in Utah and Idaho is 80 miles-per-hour on the interstates. It’s amazing how quickly you get somewhere when you’re going that fast. At the top of Utah, I connected with I-84 and once I was in Idaho, I headed west. I-84 parallels and at some points, it follows the Old Oregon Trail — the great western migration. Around 1842 through 1866, over 400,000 immigrants left Independence, Missouri or Council Bluffs, Iowa and traveled over 2,100 miles to Willamette Valley, Oregon (around Portland) on over 60,000 covered wagons. Once they left Iowa and Missouri (in the spring), they entered what they called the Great American Desert and pushed on, overcoming hardships with perseverance to reach Independence Rock by July 4th. Here, they would have to cross the Rocky Mountains before the winter weather kicked in. 

I couldn’t help but think how similar it was to our present-day exodus from lockdown other than it took them a lot longer. Mules, horses and oxen were much slower and could only pull wagons at a rate of one-mile per hour — 16 miles per day — on a good day. I, however, made it to the Oregon coast to Jeff and Denise’s house by 7:00 p.m. that night. I drove along the immensely long Columbia River through the Dalles where many pioneers perished because of its treacherous waters and pretty strong winds. However, the drive was beautiful; twisting and turning through forested highways as it climbed to higher elevations and then back down paralleling the rushing, white-capped water below the sharp-edged cliffs. I noticed Mount Hood off in the distance - the highest peak in Oregon at 1,239 feet in elevation — appearing occasionally on the horizon around bends in the highway. It was incredibly scenic until I reached the urban maze of highways as I entered Portland. My timing was perfect and I skirted through the city and was heading west on the “beach cities” highway in no time.

The coast of Oregon is beyond any description I could muster for this article with its rocky shoreline and wind blown mountain cedar and arches carved out of rock. Duncan and I hit the beach at about 6:30 a.m. the morning after our arrival and it was devoid of people —something rarely experienced at other beaches I’ve visited. We had to carefully climb over a belt of smooth grey rocks that made cackling noises as you stepped across them. They were naturally tumbled, round and smooth, by the ocean and deposited in a neat line, which created a balancing challenge for beach combers wanting to reach the sand. Once we made it over the rocks, I let Duncan off his leash and he, after two days in the truck, sprinted as fast as could along the water. He turned occasionally, running back to check on me, jumping and dancing with a crazy smile on his face. I glanced up toward the houses and I noticed a family standing in their large picture window watching us and laughing at his antics. 

After breakfast, Jeff, Denise, Duncan, and I headed back to the beach to see the orange and purple starfish clinging to rocks in the tide pools. The rocks were covered with black mussel and barnacles and mint-green sea anemones. Wind blown Lion’s Mane jellyfish dotted the shoreline and the squawks and croons of seagulls competed with the roar of the crashing waves. That night we ate dinner on the deck overlooking the ocean and I saw one of the most beautiful western sunsets I have ever seen — something the eastern immigrants of the great western migration had never seen before until they embarked on their trip over prairies, rivers, and mountains. It was something I have been fortunate enough to take for granted. We also had a visit from a small mule deer and watched an eagle soar past.

The next day, Jeff, Duncan and I hiked a portion of the Oregon Coast Trail. The giant leaves of skunk cabbage, horse tail, dense ferns, and redwood sorrel created a saturated carpet of green surrounding the moss-covered, enormous ancient trees of the North Pacific Coastal Rainforest. We hiked across bridges and through narrow paths under towering western hemlock, massive Douglas firs and western red cedars. As we hiked deeper into the forest, we spotted what looked like bear scat, which was potentially confirmed (I’m still waiting to hear) after we spotted the large cave further up the trail. It was hard to believe that this lush area lacked moisture earlier this summer. Fortunately, there was some rain the first night I got there and more was on the way.

The next morning, after three nights and two days in Oregon, I packed my truck and Duncan and I hit the road to complete my goal of visiting more Northwestern states. I diverted my route away from Portland’s early morning traffic (the fastest route) and decided to drive up the coast on U.S.101 to the Port City of Astoria — a great choice!  

Founded in 1811, Astoria is the seat of Clatsop County (named after the Clatsop Tribe) and is the first and oldest city in the state of Oregon. Astoria is named for John Jacob Astor, a New York City investor and entrepreneur. It sits at the mouth of the Columbia River where the river flows into the Pacific Ocean. Highway 101 continues into Astoria, but crosses the 4.1-mile Astoria-Megler steel cantilever through truss bridge where it meets the border of the state of Washington. Just on the other side of the bridge and to the north, is a historical marker for the “Dismal Nitch.” This is where the Lewis and Clark Expedition — the Corp of Discovery — spent six days and nights on the shores of the Columbia River during a winter rain storm with inappropriate clothing and no shelter. I had visited it earlier during my visit, but this time, I followed U.S. 101 to U.S. 30 in Astoria, crossed over the Columbia River on the Lewis and Clark Cantilever Bridge in Longview, Washington, and headed toward I-5 north to connect with U.S. 12, also known as White Pass Scenic Byway. I was on my way to Mount Rainier National Park. 

I passed the turn-off to Mount St. Helena, which is an active stratovolcano and part of the Cascade Range. I would have loved to visit the deadliest and most economically destructive volcano in the United States (infamous for its eruption in 1980), but I had a hotel reservation in Wallace, Idaho for the night and I still had to make a detour off of the Byway to see another active volcano, Mount Rainier.

Mount Rainier National Park was established in 1899 (17 years before the National Park System was established). It is our fifth National Park. At 14,410 feet in elevation, this stratovolcano is the highest peak in the state of Washington and the most glaciated peak in the contiguous U.S.A. It has 25 named glaciers - the largest stretching over four miles and it is the water source for six rivers. Several Native American tribes called it by a different name, Tacoma or Tahoma, which means “the source of nourishment from the many streams coming from the slopes.” Mount Rainier has the potential to erupt again. The most recent, a small summit explosion, happened between 1820 and 1850 about the time folks were migrating west further south in Oregon.

I drove through the park on U.S. 123 to U.S. 410, stopping at scenic areas along the way. Once I re-connected with the White Pass Scenic Byway/U.S. 12, I followed it to the City of Yakima and caught I-82 north to I-90 east. I drove I-90 through Spokane, Washington and crossed over the state’s border back into Idaho. On the other side of the border lies the beautiful City of Coeur d’Alene. I only caught a glimpse of Coeur d’Alene Lake from the highway and by the low light of dusk, but I could tell that it was a place I would have to revisit. On my way to the historic City of Wallace, where my room waited for me, I stopped to talk to my good friend, Brian Bressel, former General Manager of Sunrise Park Resort. Brian is now the General Manager of Lookout Pass Ski Hill. He was waiting for me in the City of Kellogg (a mere 7 minutes from Wallace) to go over our plans for the next day — a 15-mile bike ride on the Route of the Hiawatha Bike Trail (a Hall of Fame Rails to Trails experience), located in the Coeurd’Alene National Forest and managed and operated by the great folks at Lookout Pass.  

To be continued…

“To see the world, things dangerous to come to, to see behind walls, draw closer, to find each other, and to feel. That is the purpose of life." — The Secret Life of Walter Mitty/Movie