Oregon Section B
It’s morning. Mooseburger brings in a plate of 3 pieces bacon, 2 peices toast. “They say they are behind because of the wedding last night, and this is all they could scrounge up for us,” he says. That’s fine with me. Time is ticking, and I wanted to be out of Callahans more than an hour ago. But we ignore my alarm, are slow to rise, slow to cobble our backpacks back together. Last showers must be taken. Cash must be stuffed into envelopes to give to housekeepers. The dog must be patted by all the puffy eyed flower bearers. Yet we make it out the door, into the elevator, through the hallway, past all potential distrations and temptations, into the bright light and bustling wind. Mooseburger nods. I nod. D.Chaser whines and pulls forward on the leash, ever impatient. It’s time. So we walk.
On pavement. Under the highway once, twice. Soon the trail plunges down and into a thicket of trees, and we are finally on dirt. It’s shady and breezy and the trail meanders upwards, into and out of impeding gangs of white flowered bushes and fields of green and purple grasses that hem and haw-this way, that way- until we are deposited back onto forests of old, drying trees that chill and creak and smell wonderful. And so the day goes on like this.
We rest and see people driving to go hike Pilot Rock. A woman quietly takes photos of wildflowers as she ambles along. She has a guidebook tucked under her arm. The sun heats up but there is just too much shade to take it seriously. We find camp and do chores. Lick our paws. We are all three tired and glad to be together. There is a tug of war over tent space, but soon we settle and fall asleep.