Saturday July 30
I decided to explore the gorge eastwards; and to find a bank, as I was running out of cash. There was a town on the northern side of the gorge called Stevenson, which was probably the best place to start. I headed back over The Bridge of the Gods, paying my 50 cents. A short drive eastwards to Stevenson. And, everything is closed, including the bank. I carried on east, through small towns, and beside the river and railroad. At the town of Bingen, there was another bank; also closed. On the river, there was a surfboarding competition going on all day; but instead of sails, the boards moved with kites. Already dozens of boarders were crisscrossing the river. A dozen or so miles further on there was another bridge, and on the Oregon side another town, Hood River, had the promise of Saturday banking. I crossed the river on another box girder bridge, this one shockingly narrow, even with a saloon car. Also the metal mesh was deeper than on other bridges, so I felt on was on the verge of losing control of the car. After a while I found a parking space on a side street; walked onto Main Street to bloody Bank of America. And it’s also closed. I had run out of towns; I had no choice but to use my debit card to get cash out of the ATM. I stopped at a coffee shop to have some breakfast; well bagel and coffee. And scattered around were today’s papers. I scanned then trying to find something that had happened out of the State or not connected with sport; no luck.
I headed back over the bridge, and then carry on east. There’s no doubt it was a pleasant drive, and after some miles the gorge began to shallow out. The grass got browner and browner; and died out altogether. I saw a sign pointing to The Dalles; thinking it was a range out mountains, or maybe some lakes, I headed back across the river into Oregon again. The Dalles is just another town, pretty nondescript; partly industrial, with docks and the usual railway junction. It does have a dam, a small one; but the sluices were open sending a huge plume of water into the river below. I decided to see what lay outside the gorge, and followed route 35 up the valley sides. After a couple of miles of steep climbing, the road came out onto rolling farmland. Wheat stretched to the horizon. All vegetation was burnt brown by the unrelenting sunshine. I drove for a few miles to see if anything interesting was along the road; but no. The only thing to give its location was the towering presence of Mt Hood some 40 miles in the distance. Disappointed, I headed once again back into Washington. Across the bridge, a sign pointed east to the town of Wishram: A Railroad Town. I thought that might be interesting, and headed off. Wishram turned out to be a poor town at the base of the steep sides of the gorge. The railroad part was right: it had some marshalling yards, but no museum. The other tall mountain in the area was Mt Adams, so I thought I could go and see what that was like. I had to head back north until I got opposite Hood River, then take the Trout Lake turn back into the hills. The road continued like so many before it: all twists and turns, through forests and round hills.
The mountain was fine; I could not get too close, but took pictures to prove I made the trip.
On the way up, I had noticed signs for a winery: America seemed not to like to word Vineyard, so I thought I would go and try some local wines. The winery was situated at the end of a country road, which tuned into a dirt track, which in turn wound its way up a steep hill. Dust trailed behind me; passing vehicles coming the other way meant slowing down long enough for the dust to settle. Being in a convertible with the roof down at this point was not clever.
The Wind River Winery was situated in a copse of trees, and for $10 you could sample about 6 different wines. I started out with the Pinot Noir; and it was quite subtle, but passable; which could not be said of the Cabernet or Merlot, which lacked the depth of old world wines, or even Australian. If you bought a bottle, the wine tasting fee was waived; I bought a bottle of the Pinot Noir, and headed off again. I dare not drink too much.
Once back at the hotel, I headed out to the pub again. God, it was hot; the cold beer went down well. I had a pizza which went down well, before heading back to the hotel for another spa.
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| American Adventure, 2005: Columbia River Gorge (day 2) |
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