Back in the day, heading off on the Oregon Trail might have been a two-thousand mile journey from the backwaters of the Missouri. Oregonian old-timers also might have taken the oxen-driven farm wagon instead of an air-conditioned, four wheel drive Toyota Tacoma but, still, I’d like to think there’s semblance to the same adventure – a jumping off into great wide unknown. Washington will always be where I grew up; I can’t imagine calling anywhere but Leavenworth my hometown. Later, Utah, the University, and the snowy Wasatch Mountains form an indelible part of my past. But it’s the raw, burly backdrop of Bend, Oregon where I’m now home. br /br /a onblur=”try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}” href=”http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qy8LpbgYOag/ShhF-Phvx-I/AAAAAAAAAK8/fgquP5JQVq8/s1600-h/windmills+in+the+distance.jpg”img style=”display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;” src=”http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qy8LpbgYOag/ShhF-Phvx-I/AAAAAAAAAK8/fgquP5JQVq8/s400/windmills+in+the+distance.jpg” border=”0″ alt=””id=”BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339094293870004194″ //abr /br /br /From the fertile Columbia River Valley, to the Cascade Mountains, the Goldendale scenescape you see here below, it’s time to shake hands and say goodbye to Washington. In the distance, if you look closely, white windmills tilt to the sky. I hope Cervantes would be proud.br /br /br /a onblur=”try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}” href=”http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qy8LpbgYOag/ShhF-RKOw1I/AAAAAAAAALE/BHtt7rYPeEs/s1600-h/shaniko,+oregon.jpg”img style=”display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 224px;” src=”http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qy8LpbgYOag/ShhF-RKOw1I/AAAAAAAAALE/BHtt7rYPeEs/s400/shaniko,+oregon.jpg” border=”0″ alt=””id=”BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339094294308242258″ //abr /br /Grass Valley. Moro. Shaniko. All small towns I pass along the way, holding stories of commerce and community I can only guess at.br /br /a onblur=”try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}” href=”http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qy8LpbgYOag/ShhF-r7MRJI/AAAAAAAAALM/8wzbL0Y9G3E/s1600-h/storm+brewing+above+cascades.jpg”img style=”display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;” src=”http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qy8LpbgYOag/ShhF-r7MRJI/AAAAAAAAALM/8wzbL0Y9G3E/s400/storm+brewing+above+cascades.jpg” border=”0″ alt=””id=”BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339094301492921490″ //abr /br /I round a corner. Just a stone’s throw to the east rests the town of Terrebonne and the towering red spires – Smith Rock, span style=”font-style:italic;”the/span birthplace of U.S. sport climbing. Or so I’m told. br /br /To the west, angry clouds collect above the Cascades. I try to remember the exact words the free-skier Doug Coombs said about listening to mountains. Something about tuning into and heeding what the mountains have to say today.br /br /a onblur=”try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}” href=”http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qy8LpbgYOag/ShhHCJf3EZI/AAAAAAAAALk/5TWYm1TGHOQ/s1600-h/rally+car+wrenching.jpg”img style=”display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;” src=”http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qy8LpbgYOag/ShhHCJf3EZI/AAAAAAAAALk/5TWYm1TGHOQ/s400/rally+car+wrenching.jpg” border=”0″ alt=””id=”BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339095460482584978″ //abr /br /I arrive in Bend. My roommate Carl wrenches on his turbo-hopped rally car with the help of his dad. Mr. Dekker is not only a fossil-fuel fun seeker. He earns his wages riding mountain bikes for a living. He’s not the only one in Bend that can seriously say this is their primary occupation. br /br /a onblur=”try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}” href=”http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qy8LpbgYOag/ShhF-wCLvFI/AAAAAAAAALU/_VtHmWKXAYM/s1600-h/email+-+lava+tube.jpg”img style=”display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;” src=”http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qy8LpbgYOag/ShhF-wCLvFI/AAAAAAAAALU/_VtHmWKXAYM/s400/email+-+lava+tube.jpg” border=”0″ alt=””id=”BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339094302595988562″ //abr /br /The spelunker’s view from inside a Central Oregon lava tube.br /br /a onblur=”try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}” href=”http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qy8LpbgYOag/ShhF_IgArvI/AAAAAAAAALc/JzIdFWSgRLc/s1600-h/five+peaks+B%26W.jpg”img style=”display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 154px;” src=”http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qy8LpbgYOag/ShhF_IgArvI/AAAAAAAAALc/JzIdFWSgRLc/s400/five+peaks+B%26W.jpg” border=”0″ alt=””id=”BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339094309163544306″ //abr /br /My playground. From left: Mt. Bachelor, Broken Top, South Sister, Middle Sister, North Sister.br /br /a onblur=”try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}” href=”http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qy8LpbgYOag/ShhHCRPjPlI/AAAAAAAAALs/7tjMBOSEeKQ/s1600-h/Team.jpg”img style=”display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 279px;” src=”http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qy8LpbgYOag/ShhHCRPjPlI/AAAAAAAAALs/7tjMBOSEeKQ/s400/Team.jpg” border=”0″ alt=””id=”BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339095462561660498″ //abr /br /The US Ski Team getting together for a national team camp on the cross country trails of Mt. Bachelor. To the best of times. And those that will be. Ciao.div class=”blogger-post-footer”img width=’1′ height=’1′ src=’https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2691525267872963085-8448842689665328168?l=in-the-arena-torin.blogspot.com’ alt=” //div
