The Toutle Lake RV Resort (yep, I said “Resort”) was almost perfect. Less than a week old, the amenities were outstanding… playground, ping pong, giant croquet set, etc. There was only one drawback…AMTRAK. We had no idea that we were so close to the tracks when we checked in around 9 p.m. The horn would startle us and the RV would rock every time a train passed. We were exhausted after a less than perfect slumber, so we allowed for some down time the next morning. Wanting the kids to be good and tired before another long day of driving, we let them run and play for a couple of hours before heading off for Boise. Our plan worked and they all had a nice long nap in the afternoon.

The drive that followed definitely made the list of the top five best stretches of road on our trip. As we approached Portland, I was initially disappointed. I knew the city was supposed to be wonderful but from the interstate it didn’t look like much. I was afraid we would miss seeing something of Portland’s beauty because we were in a rush to make it to Boise. There was no time to stop since we let the kids play all morning. On the phone with Leigh, I was just telling her that Portland looks a lot like Seattle only without all the water. It had that industrial meets technology feel that can leave you feeling cold and uninspired. I was about to give up on Portland when we approached the Columbia River. 

Here, the river is large and swiftly moving. It isn’t a murky, muddy, brown like the Mississippi, nor is it as large. From the overpass, it appears to be quite clean and a nice dark blue. Over the river, there were several bridges almost all with lanes for biking and walking. We saw dozens of people running in a park alongside the river and on the bridges. All of this activity gave Portland a youthful and energetic feel. The kid of place where young parents feed their kids organic berries and meet for stroller jogs in the park. The restaurants are probably hip and fabulous serving only local delicacies. I had to add Portland to the list of places worthy of a return trip.

Leaving Portland, Mount St. Helens was off to our left and Mount Hood was ahead of us. The stark contrast between the two provided a fascinating back drop. While Mt. Hood’s snow covered peak reaches sharply into the horizon, Mt. St. Helens wears a flat top. Mt. Hood shines brightly in the sun while Mt. St. Helens is ashen and appears crestfallen and sad. It’s been more than twenty years since the volcanic eruption of St. Helens and yet the evidence is still there.

The Interstate met up with the Columbia River once again and followed it for miles and miles. Here the landscape begins to change. It no longer feels coastal. We were moving inland. The wind whipped through the Columbia River Gorge making waves on the river and encouraging windsurfers and small sailboats. The gorge rose on either side of us and as we traveled eastward the green pine trees gave way to golden grasses. The RV warmed right up and it felt like we were traveling in a toaster. After being on the West Coast for two weeks, we were incredibly sensitive to the rising thermometer. We turned on the A/C and wondered why we had ever complained about the cold of Victoria. When we stopped for gas, the temperature had gone from a gorgeous 70 to a stifling 90.

Floating on the river beside us was a small cruise ship, no doubt this was the Lewis and Clark experience. I thought of my grandparents and especially Daddy Bay. He and Nonnie once took that cruise and touted it as one of their favorites. I can just imagine my gradfather sitting on his balcony with a camera and some historical tome about the adventures of Lewis and Clark. Daddy Bay was never content as a passive explorer. It was one of my favorite things about him.

All along the hills above us giant, blindingly white windmills churned in the wind seemingly exclaiming, “T. Boone Pickens was here.” Up ahead, the Dalles dam was busy creating yet another form of energy with its hydro-electric generators rising from the top of the concrete monolith. The harnassing of energy from the environment around us through hydro-electricity, windmills, even wind surfers powered by the gusts was a fitting comparison to the energy projected by the nearby city of Portland. The sliver of Oregon along I-84 was wild and energetic. I loved it.

Continuing on to Boise, the mountains became hills. The Blue Mountains reminded me in size of the Smokies. They weren’t as dramatic as some of the others we passed, but they were a soothing, calm, and lovely respite from all the drama of the coastal ranges. These hills were sparsely dotted with dark green pines and shrubs. Continuing eastward, these hills looked drier and hotter prompting Abby to look out the window and ask if they had been burned. “Only by the scorching heat,” I told her. It was getting hotter and hotter with every mile.

By the time we rolled into Boise, the temperature on the bark marquee read 98 degrees at dusk. Again, WHY DID WE COMPLAIN ABOUT THE COLD? We stopped for the night at a clean and friendly yet no-frills campground. We were only staying for one night. No need for the amenities. As soon as the coach came to a stop it was time for the dinner drill. Megan and I jumped out of the rig to retrieve the grill and get it set up to cook those kebabs I didn’t have time to cook yesterday. As we opened the door, we were nearly knocked over by the scorchingly dry heat. After weeks of cool, damp air and hanging out on the patio while we cooked, I threw the meat and potatoes on the grill and ran back inside the coach, watching the grill from the kitchen window. One night here would be plenty. We agreed to set the alarm for 6:30 and take off ASAP. I even skipped the Starbucks that was right across the street. When I’m too hot for coffee, you know it’s miserable.