Monday, August 11, 2008
Camping on the Columbia
In comparison to Jesse's poetic entries, I have little to report, and not nearly in his sense of prose. The bulk of our Sunday consisted of driving. Nine hours, give or take. The conversations of the road hold little amusement to any but those involved. If you haven't experienced it, ask one of us, or someone who has been in a similar situation, and you will soon see my meaning (i.e. fart jokes seem A LOT funnier after six hours in a car).
I digress.
We, as you, the Constant Reader, knows, have lost Jesse. His absence has made everyone stop at one point, sure that we have forgotten someone. We wish him safe travels and reluctantly let him return to work. The culmination of his tour experience is left behind.
So, down a percussionist, Sunday night we pulled into a combination rest stop and campground. A friendly and helpful staff set us up next to the Columbia River on the Oregon/Washington border. We quickly set up camp as the sun went down and barely beat the darkness. The timing was great, a little nerve-racking, but we survived. A camp fire, some pasta, and a couple beers saw Snakebeard through the evening.
Morning broke earlier than some would like, but home-cooked breakfast and a little outdoor jam works wonders. Perchance there is new music involved.
Again, I digress.
At present, we are standing in Portland with some folks from back home. It is always good to see those you haven't in many years. If it weren't for a lack of family and pets, it feels a lot like home.
Again with the digression.
Tonight we will roll over to the Famous Kenton Club and see what Oregon thinks. To drop a cliche: Only time will tell.
One of us will surely let you know.
Yours truly,
SBJ/Trav
