All the roadrunning

(SUBTITLE: BEN, ME AND MARK KNOPFLER AND EMMYLOU HARRIS)

Ben and I are on the road again -- this time a quick jaunt down to Portland to see the Mom Unit. My daughter-in-law, The Miz, is joining us Friay for a little Ladies' Time.



In hindsight, I'm not quite sure why I decided to drive. Perhaps it was a shout-out to the reincarnated long-haul truck driver in me. Or maybe it was allure of 6 hours of relative solitude -- and the fact I could listen to NPR and my own selection of music. (This trip's playlist includes The Chieftains, Buena Vista Social Club, soundtrack from "Big Night," Bette Midler channeling Rosemary Clooney, Andrea Boccelli, Vaughn Williams' "Lark Ascending," and, of course, the Mark (Dire Straits) Knopfler/Emmylou Harris collaboration "All the Road Running'" Hmmmm. Maybe this schizophrenic collection explains why I rarely get to pick the music when I travel with the Wonderfully Patient Spouse and Family.)

I haven't made the Bermtopia-Portland drive in a while. After duly noting some of the more exciting changes along the way -- prison expansion in Connell! BIG new feedlot just north of Pasco! -- I settled in and enjoyed how starkly beautiful the high desert can be this time of year.

The topography is not for everyone. Take it from a transplanted Portland rat who was born and raised believing it's not beautiful unless it's green. Nevertheless, I've come to love the rolling hills of the Palouse in late autumn, golden brown after harvest and dotted with bright yellow and red fall foliage. The heavy pewter-gray skyline, portending rain, magnifies the land's simple beauty.



With all agricultural distractions stripped away, the landscape and its structures, tinted with dreamlike shades of gray and ochre, seem at peace with the winter days to come.

I'm afraid my travel companion, Ben, did not share these musings. He was less than impressed with the pet areas just above Connell and west of Boardman. Ben sniffed around reluctantly, walking stiff-legged and disapprovingly across the grass as though wading through dog poo. (which, come to think of it, we were.)

He finally perked up at the Memaloose rest stop on the Columbia Gorge. We went "off road" from the pet area and walked down a rocky path to a bluff overlooking the Columbia River. Across from us, although the volcanic cliffs of the gorge were rain-slicked and hazy with mist, we could still see fall's abundant scarlet and gold dappling reaching up to the skyline. It was heart-achingly lovely.



I think even Ben was impressed.

Ben, me and Pink Martini

Ben, the dog, and I hit the road Thursday for a cross-state car trip. The Wonderfully Patient Spouse had a conference in Seattle. What better excuse than to slip out of Bermtopia and check in on Number 2 Son -- and maybe play just a little?

Ben is a reluctant traveler at best. An old soul, he likes his yard and bed and Comstock Park. But every once and awhile, we'll shake up his little canine world and hit the road. To ease the pain, I promised the pup we would stop at almost every rest area on I-90. He was not impressed.

Rest stop pet areas on the east side of the state are less than inspiring. Dirt, tumbleweeds and prickly grass. Ben looked like he was walking on hot coals as he meandered across the pet area at Moses Lake.

Rye Grass Hill was better. There were chipmunks! Yessss! Things are looking up.

And, yes, that's Mount Rainier in the background.

Once over the Vantage Hill, the landscape improves considerably although Ben failed to see the charm of the Bottle Cap House in Ellensburg.

Just outside of Ellensburg, there's actually grass. And a herd? flock? gaggle? of wild turkeys.

But of course there's nothing like The Promised Land. The Green Lake loop. Happy dog.

P.S. I want to go on record there's nothing quite as satisfying as belting out "Hey Eugene" with Pink Martini surrounded by the Cascades. Gone, gone, gone.