I had started the day wondering when the trip was "over"--and by that I meant the forward motion upward on the map. Suddenly after asking myself the question, I knew the answer: now.
And so my Mini is pointing southward now.
When Day was three, her five-year-old friend Ellen asked her, "Are you going to spend the night or not?"--to which Day replied, "Just wait until my mommy leaves and see which way my feet are pointing."
My feet are pointing toward home, but the trip is not over yet.
Driving east on Highway 84 from Portland in the dark, I drove through the Cascade Mountain valley headed toward the Fruit Loop near Mt. Hood--a loop of orchards and farm stands in the shadow of snowy white Hood.
The phone rang at six; it was Mike. "I think I'm not much of a city traveler," I said.
"The best places are the hidden places you discover for yourself," he said, both of us recalling places we discovered together six years ago. Cities feel, we agreed, too discovered, too complete, too dazzling; it would take a long time to find its hidden secrets.
I kept driving, the sun slowly giving the Cascade River Valley a pink glow, the morning haze making the drive dream-like, mountains suddenly appearing on both sides of the road, reflecting in the river.
At that hour, there were few cars and only two trains. I wondered if the first travelers in this region gasped when they first saw this valley--said to be one of the most fertile in the country. Except for the obvious presence of the highway, everything looked pristine and newborn, as far as the eye could see.
Every day has these newborn moments, but we rarely see them. I decided this morning it was time to head toward home, but I wanted to do the return trip a different way. This, then, is hinge day--the day dividing the story in two parts. I decided to save the Orcas Islands for another day, its own separate trip.
My heavy-duty meds are wearing off and the leg pain is calling for attention--so I checked into a Best Western with a hot tub. Took a nice nap, then soaked in the spa, then drove to downtown Salem to find dinner.
Dinner in Salem was delicious! Amadeus, a little eatery on Liberty Street, served the hands-down best thin-crust pizza I've ever tasted! I had asked a policeman and four shoppers for suggestions, of course, Betty!
Compared to Portland, Salem seems like a small town, quiet with leaf-strewn streets. Everyone was so excited about the weather.
"Thanks, Y'all," I said to the three pharmacists who were giving me the scoop on where to go and where to eat in Salem.
"Y'all? You aren't from around here, are you?" they said.
I'll remember this lazy afternoon in Salem and yesterday's in Portland. The people in both are warm and friendly; the food is good; the air is gentle. When I left Portland, the lights on all the buildings and bridges were magical against the black sky.
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