Foggy Mountain Snake-down

The road east of Burns crosses the flattest part of the Harney Basin and then begins to climb up the mountains. I stopped for gas at the tiny hamlet of Buchanan. The sole business was one of those old-looking gas stations with a single pump under small covering---like something from old Route 66.

When the proprietress emerged to pump my gas, she apologized that she would have to go back and forth inside, because she had customers. She was wearing a fancy western shirt and a big metal belt buckle.

In the meantime I went inside and found it was a large western jewelry and knick-knack store. I looked around until the gas was done pumping. This fill-up would tell me well into Idaho, so this was probably going to be the last time I would have someone else pump my gas for a while.

The day had been bright and beautiful, but ten minutes after getting back on the road, at the top of Stinkingwater Pass, it was well fogged in. I figured it this was because it was the top of the mountain, but as I came the other side into the narrow valley of the Malheur River, the fog just kept getting thicker.

It was socked in that same way all the way down the lonely unpolulated river valley for the next hour, curve and curve beneath the fog-topped bluffs. I didn't really mind. It gave me a chance to let my thoughts unroll.

After an hour, I got to civilization again near the town of Vale, which sits in the agricultural valley along the Snake River near the Idaho border.

Vale actually has a Bates Motel, believe it or not, and it looks exactly like you would expect it to. It could well be the set from the Hitchcock movie. Needless to say it was not on my agenda for lodging.

Vale is a town that time has passed by, at least the downtown. The buildings are nearly all vacant, although they seemed curiously renovated, rather than dilapidated. It's as if someone decided "rebuild it and they will come back." I wish them luck. Like I said, with universal connectivity, the golden of the small towns may be yet in the future.

Then it was another short drive into the town of Ontario, which is sort of the "capital" of this area of Eastern Oregon along the Snake River. Here is where my journey on side roads came to aend, as I planned to get back on I-84 for the rest of my journey that day.

By then it was obvious that the entire valley of the Snake was fogged in hard. On the Interstate, I had to keep my eyes glued on the road, navigating between the many semi trucks. Even though it was still daytime, I could see no trace of the mountains or the terrain beyond quarter of a mile from the road. It could have been the middle of Kansas. I'd spent the entire day looking forward to getting back to civilization, but I already missed the isolation of Central Oregon.

That's the way life is, isn't it. The perfect road trip is always the one you just took, or the one you're about to take.

Sometimes if you're lucky it's one you're on right now. It happens.