Train traffic in the Columbia Gorge was slow, owing to trackwork on the Oregon side (that is, the UP main), Saturday doldrums on the Washington side (I don't even need to mention that that's the BNSF main, do I?), and an economy slain by derivatives, indebtedness, GWB, and now BHO.
Nonetheless, there were trains running. While still on the I-84 I spied an eastbound in the Wishram yard which looked like it might move sometime soon. Crossing over at Biggs a few miles later we climbed up US 97 to WA 14, drove a mile to the Stonehenge replica/war memorial, and then back down the hill to a railroad crossing next to an expanse of riverside orchards. Breaking out the baguette and cheese we procured in Portland for supper, we set in to eating. I rolled down the windows so the fresh, clean, cool river air could move through the car, and so we could toss our strawberry leaves out onto the gravel.
The unmistakable thrum of some 12,000 horsepower floated upriver from Wishram, and soon enough three points of light appeared at the bottom of the bluff at the far edge of the orchard. I jumped out, found a spot by the tracks, and got a picture of the eastbound freight. Returning to the car, I found Flannery, strawberry and magic markers on her face, standing up out the window, watching the train pass, in awe at the movement of metal and the wet wind it blew up at her and through her hair.
Moments like that make a fella feel like he has somewhat of a handle on parenting.
Nonetheless, there were trains running. While still on the I-84 I spied an eastbound in the Wishram yard which looked like it might move sometime soon. Crossing over at Biggs a few miles later we climbed up US 97 to WA 14, drove a mile to the Stonehenge replica/war memorial, and then back down the hill to a railroad crossing next to an expanse of riverside orchards. Breaking out the baguette and cheese we procured in Portland for supper, we set in to eating. I rolled down the windows so the fresh, clean, cool river air could move through the car, and so we could toss our strawberry leaves out onto the gravel.
The unmistakable thrum of some 12,000 horsepower floated upriver from Wishram, and soon enough three points of light appeared at the bottom of the bluff at the far edge of the orchard. I jumped out, found a spot by the tracks, and got a picture of the eastbound freight. Returning to the car, I found Flannery, strawberry and magic markers on her face, standing up out the window, watching the train pass, in awe at the movement of metal and the wet wind it blew up at her and through her hair.
Moments like that make a fella feel like he has somewhat of a handle on parenting.