Ring of Fire
With high school in The Bear's experiential rearview mirror, we decided to celebrate with a journey to someplace new. After a convoluted selection process and more than one false start, we settled on a location that we had never visited: Oregon. The Bear was given freedom to plan much of the itinerary, but I had one suggestion for her (Crater Lake National Park, which was eagerly adopted) and one demand (the Evergreen Aviation and Space Museum, which was less eagerly adopted). As a part of the Pacific Ring of Fire (not a Johnny Cash reference), the region of Oregon that we explored was visibly shaped by vulcanism unlike any other place we have explored.
On Friday, August 1, we boarded an early morning United flight from Rochester to Chicago with Portland, OR as our final destination.
As commercial air travel goes, we had a remarkable journey. Both flights departed and arrived on time. No baggage was lost. There wasn't even any significant turbulence to speak of. Everything worked the way it was supposed to in a way that I have not experienced in years. A good omen. Our biggest challenge was getting breakfast in O'Hare that morning at Rick Bayless' busy Tortas Frontera.
A Vampire Travels to Oregon
Before departure, there was a small matter requiring resolution: my mystery illness that first struck while we were in Washington DC two weeks earlier. I was experiencing a bewildering range of symptoms that included fever, intensely debilitating headaches, body aches, and fatigue. Attempts to hike for exercise led to numbness and tingling in my hands and muscles that burned throughout the next day. Was it flu or covid? Maybe, but I had no respiratory symptoms at all. I wondered if I had something like Lyme disease. There was no physical evidence of a tick bite, but with all the time I spend in the woods, there was certainly opportunity.
A week in, most of the body aches faded, but pain remained in my neck and at the base of my skull. I was dispatched to the emergency room by a PA worried about meningitis. After sitting ignored in the same chair for four hours at a Rochester ER, I left for a smaller westside hospital outside the city where I was seen immediately by an ER doc who ran multiple tests. He could not rule out meningitis, but did not think it was likely. With the Oregon trip mere days away, I was not enthusiastic about the lumbar puncture procedure (which is exactly what it sounds like) necessary to assess for meningitis and, given the low likelihood of a positive, I chose to forgo that test.
Two days later, the Lyme assay came back positive for an early infection and I started on doxycycline that evening. Within 24 hours, my symptoms vanished entirely. We were down to the wire, scheduled to depart for Portland the very next morning. Other than needing to avoid direct sunlight and alcohol due to the doxy, I was completely myself again and ready for the physically active trip we planned. The night I started on doxy, I bought lightweight hiking clothes with long sleeves and long pants to manage sun exposure and reduce the risk of future tick encounters.
Lyme disease: zero stars, not recommended.
Under the Hood
As we began our descent into Portland, I was struck by the solitary peaks projecting above the haze layer visible on my side of our flying Greyhound.
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| Mt Hood. Photo by The Bear. |
But that was nothing compared to The Bear's view of Mount Hood from her side.
We landed in Portland around midday local time, selected a black Nissan Rogue from the sea of Toyota Corollas at National's Emerald Aisle, and spent just enough time in the city to have lunch at the Tin Shed Garden Cafe, which was absolutely delicious. Our waiter was a chill sixty-something hippie type sporting a Vans T-shirt. He was great, but I wanted to say to him, "Dude, you realize you're reinforcing the stereotype, right?"
After lunch, we drove four hours to our home base for the trip: Bend, OR. Our route took us through the verdant Cascade Mountains and along the lower slopes of Mt Hood where the highway was bizarrely swarmed with hundreds of California Tortoiseshell butterflies that resembled small Monarchs (until they left big yellow splats on our rental car). West of the Cascades, we entered the high desert and, at one point followed US-26 as it plunged deep into a desert valley containing the Warm Springs Reservation. Continuing south through Madras and Redmond, we mostly traversed scrub desert until reaching Bend at the edge of the Deschutes National Forest. Roadside signage proclaimed the region at high risk for wildfires everywhere we went, an unfamiliar sight for our family that had always lived in green places. We arrived in Bend just in time for dinner after a very long day of travel.
Pilot Butte
Fun fact: Bend is one of only six United States cities with a volcano within its city limits.
The old cinder cone is known as Pilot Butte, so named because it was a critical navigational landmark for early western settlers. Rising 500 feet above the city, the dead volcano is now a public park that features hiking trails and a road that spiral to the top. After a day spent on airliners and in the rental Nissan, we were eager to stretch our legs after dinner. Besides, something about the name beckoned.
Pilot Butte was the first of many cinder cones we saw during our Oregon foray. They are easy to recognize from their distinctively symmetric conical shapes.
Strangely accessed from an apartment complex, public parking for Pilot Butte is available right at the trailhead.
A common sight on our trip was The Bear pausing to capture a photo. I have no idea what might have inspired this disruptive behavior.
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| Photo taken by helpful bystander. |
A sandy path describes a helical route to the top. When we were done hiking, my shoes were grey from the fine, light colored dust covering everything.
We were only partway up when the sun began to set in earnest.
When we reached the west face of Pilot Butte, the sky went crimson. It was a striking, beautiful welcome to Bend, OR.
From near the top, the city of Bend was spread at our feet.
Still smiling! At this point, we had been awake for 20 hours.
A handy guide to the visible mountain peaks around Pilot Butte was placed at the summit.
I photographed this survey marker while thinking of Nate.
Our travel day concluded in stunning fashion, rewarding us for the long journey. We returned to a darkened parking lot and navigated Bend's copious roundabouts (there are about 50 of them) back to the hotel. The next day's adventure was a bucket list item for me: Crater Lake National Park.
