In Gorged
Oh, worry worry. Tomorrow is my speech to the AWSI -- the association of windsurf companies -- and I'm spending far too much time worrying about what I'm going to say. I'm up at dawn and bite the bullet, write up about 2,000 words of notes and a longish Powerpoint presentation. Then I'm racing down to the airport to catch the 2:00 p.m. to PDX.
The flight is very nice, with good views the whole way. I listen to the podcasts of This American Life and arrive feeling more awake and less nervous than when I left. It's raining in Portland, but the rain relents heading into the Columbia River Gorge, which is even more beautiful than I remember.
It's brisk and the air smells great and there's just something about the light. I head up to Hood River, a town where I could easily live, and phone one of the AWSI Executive Directors along the way. Darren seems like a really nice guy. I spend some time at Panorama Point outside of town, but Mt. Hood, twenty miles away, is socked from the storm on the coast. It's still pretty though.
Darren and I meet for dinner at the 6th Street Bistro, one of my favorite places in Hood River; a place loaded with good memories. He's affable, I enjoy talking to him, and generally feel much less nervous about my talk afterwards. He lined up a room for me at Husum Highlands Bed & Breakfast outside of town, up the road twenty minutes on the Washington side of the border.
It's now around 10:00 p.m. and dark as I head up the road. Pavement gives way to gravel which gives way to a mildly steep dirt road bisecting a fresh clear cut. Where the heck am I going? I haven't seen a house in ten minutes. A large cattle gate is at road's end. I open it up and the close it behind me, the dark and quiet of the forest heightening the feeling that I'm a long way from anywhere.
The house up ahead is beautiful and owners Carol and Jerry Stockwell soon make me feel at home. I work a bit on my speech, but soon fall asleep in the soft four-poster bed, exhausted.
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