From Cleveland to Portland: Day 4

States Visited: Montana, Idaho, Washington, Oregon

Distance Traveled: 812 miles

Time: 15 hours, including a 2 hour rest in Missoula, MT

"White knuckle driving through Bozeman Pass just north of Yellowstone. Rain, sleet, snow and steep curving roads...what a way to wake up"

-kinook_creative on Twitter | May 8, 2011 at 7:42am

Fifteen hours shy of my arrival in Portland, I was leaving Big Timber, MT and driving north west through the isolated town of Bozeman and into the Beartooth Mountain Range. I had encountered a bit of weather the day before, but that was in the valleys. There, the road was fairly straight and on level ground. Not here. Not even close. Here, I was winding around hairpin turns, ascending and descending the mountain range in the midst of a complete white-out. It was white-knuckle driving at its finest and had me completely re-thinking my day's agenda.

The first thing I did when I woke up in the morning was to check the weather. My plan was to actually arrive into Portland on either May 9 or 10th. Before then, I looked towards verging south from Big Timber towards Yellowstone National Park and staying there for the night, possibly camping out in the National Forests that surrounded it. From there I could travel through western Yellowstone and into the small, isolated town of Kelly, WY, the setting of a book I had read years before called Merle's Door. Written by Ted Kerasote, the pages documented the twelve year relationship between himself and an orphaned retriever-mix he came across in the river canyons of southern Utah. This book had an tremendous effect on my relationship with Kino and only strengthened the bond that was already there. Montana's morning weather, however, put an abrupt halt to those plans. Because of a freak snowstorm, closed roads and blinding whiteouts, I would be unable to go anywhere remotely near Yellowstone or Kelly, WY. They would have to wait. Instead, my only real option included a heading over the ranges to my north and pushing my way into Portland.

Once over Bozeman Pass, things cleared up considerably. Behind me, black clouds billowed over the mountains, hiding them behind the violence and ferociousness of the storms they unleashed. Ahead of me, blue skies, blinding sunlight and sporadic, cumulous clouds. In an instant, my surroundings evolved into some of the most scenic of the trip so far. Green lush valleys and rolling foothills, spotted with colorful patches of wildflowers and flowing mountain floral, hugged the edges of the interstate while rugged, white-capped peaks rose into the heavens above me. Each turn of the road offered something new that nearly took my breath away. What ended up being a four hour leg of the drive ended up feeling like mere minutes....just around the time I found myself entering Missoula.

On the advice of a friend, I decided to make a quick stop in Missoula to find a nice, quiet place for lunch and check out the town for an hour or so. What I ended up coming across kept me there for a full two and a half hours, entertained to a degree that I didn't anticipate. Missoula, MT became, sure enough, one of the main highlights of the entire trip.

Everyone's seen a parade, but not many people do parades the way they do it in Missoula. After parking the car and taking Kino for a stroll through the small and quaint downtown area, I had the rare fortune of stumbling into a mass of people, some dressed as tigers, others as elephants and lions, most just enjoying themselves with their families amidst the celebrations. Within about 20 minutes or so of discovered this motley crowd, the majority of them lined up in the street and began what seemed to be a parade straight out of the Lion King. Small bands played on bicycle-drawn carriages, children danced in the street to the beats of bongo drums and moroccas and each participant bathed in the pure joy of contributing to the day's events. They looked happy, ...serene, really. I hadn't seen a mass amount of people this content, probably ever. It was eye-opening.

Following a leisurely walk, lunch and a pint outside at a small pub called Sean Kelly's, I hesitantly got back in my car and headed back onto the road, Missoula disappearing between the hills behind me. Soon I found myself climbing into the mountains again, this time through the Northern reaches of Lolo National Forest and into the panhandle of Idaho. As I passed into the potato state via Lookout Pass, once again bearing white knuckles and a fascination of my mist-covered surroundings, I became aware that I had never really considered Idaho as something that would embody serenity and beauty. Yet, here I was was, descending through a region that reminded me of my drive through the Black Forests of Germany and photos I've seen of the misty mountains in Japan. My time in Idaho, although short and eventually relaxing, was immensely appreciated, especially around the area of Coeur D Alene, a serene and quiet little city that rests on the banks of a mountain lake hidden between the peaks of the western passes. The word 'striking' doesn't do it a bit of justice.

Immediately east of the Washington/Idaho border is the city Spokane, Washington. Located in the eastern high deserts of the state, Spokane is the home to a few reputable collages including Gonzaga University, where my little cousin Jon is currently attending school. Hoping to spend some time with him as I passed through, I learned a few weeks before I left Ohio that he would actually be back in Arizona that week with the rest of his family and we would miss one another by a good week and a half. With only six hours between him and my future home in Portland, however, we were certain that we'd be able to arrange a visit soon. And thus I passed through Spokane, the last "city" I would see before arriving in Portland later that evening.

So when I say the eastern deserts of Washington, I mean it. It is absolutely not what you think of when you picture the landscapes of the northwest. Arid and desolate, Washington's high desert region is the product of living in the shadow of the Cascade Mountains, which efficiently blocks the eastern flow of moisture generated by the Pacific Ocean. With no source of water to reach its rolling plains, a desert forms, a complete contradiction to the living conditions of the western, rain-forest like regions of the state.

I wouldn't say that this part of the drive was boring. It was quite fascinating, really. As I broke off of I-90 (for the first time since Cleveland) and traveled south along SR 395 towards Kennewick, WA, it almost felt moorish, like a dry and lifeless cousin of what you'd expect from the English countryside. It paled in comparison to what came next, however, as I found myself dropping into the Columbia River Valleys, and eventually, The Gorge.

Easily the most striking and awe-inspiring landscape of the trip, the Columbia River Gorge can not possibly be justified through the use of photography. Experiencing the Gorge is like nothing you've ever seen and it took every bit of will I owned to keep my eyes on the road.

With grass-covered, lava-formed cliffs on the left and the wide expanse of the Columbia River on the right, I-84 winds it's way along the steep and imposing walls of the gorge while offering the most spectacular views of plummeting waterfalls, cloud-covered mountains and rock formations that pepper the river's banks. Areas such as The Dalles and Hood River are pummeled by such strong trade winds that outdoor extremists flock here to take advantage of its windsurfing and kite boarding opportunities on a regular basis, nearly year-round. As I continued east, into the setting sun and closer to Portland, I passed the picturesque Multnomah Falls and the Vista House, two iconic landmarks of not only the Gorge, but Oregon as well.

And then, before I was really able to take it in, I was there. It only took minutes to pass the airport, cross the I-405 bridge, take the Burnside Road exit and drive the last quarter mile up the street before pulling into the parking lot beside my building. In fact, even as I met my manager at the door, received my keys and unloaded Kino and my bags into the small, 380 sq. foot apartment, I was barely able to comprehend the end of my journey, or maybe understand that this was just the beginning of it. As Kino stretched out on the floor and I opened a celebratory bottle of red wine (drunken out of my limited stockpile of plastic cups...classy, I know), I looked around the bare, characteristic apartment and smiled. This was just the start of a whole new adventure.

"3.5 days, 2,768 miles, 11 states, 4 time zones and roughly 143 gallons of gas. ...After all that, Kino seems to already have made himself at home."

-brian j conti, mobile uploads on facebook | May 9, 2011 at 12:26am

In the days that followed, I would explore my immediate surroundings as thoroughly as one possibly could, walking with Kino to the far reaches of the hills above my neighborhood and through the maze of paths that weave throughout the wonders of Forest Park. Soon, the familiar would become knowledge and I found myself firmly planting the seeds of a long-anticipated change...almost five years in the making. Welcome to Portland.