Road Babe Dispatch From Columbia Gorge

There's nothing better than waking up to the organic goodness of Sandborne's. I had a hot mushroom, spinach and jack-cheese biscuit. Portland's great for that: health food and home brew around every corner. “Same as Boulder,” Eddie said with his mouthful of corn beef hash.

After breakfast, we rolled up to Folkerts' place. He's an old army buddy of Eddie's on Mount Scott, a hill of gargantuan houses overlooking Portland proper. It was nice to do nothing – lay around laughing and talking until long after sunset. Then, it was off to Cinetopia, where Folkerts treated us to a film in the swanky, full-bar-serviced, leather-La-Z-Boy-laden theater. It didn't matter what movie we saw. We stuffed our faces with nachos and got drunk as Cooter Brown.

In the morning, Folkerts took us to a local joint called Biscuits for breakfast. It looked like a truck stop and the food was on point. I had been yearning to get back to nature, so we decided the Columbia River Gorge would scratch that itch.

Big grey clouds were swirling over indigo ridges and a light drizzle was falling on the car windshield. Pale mist hung above the green carpeted floorscape and sloshy drops fell on the Bridge of the Gods in a gorge that stretched to the horizon.

We took a micro-hike to Horsetail Falls where water cascaded over mossy rocks and sharp gusts whipped my hair into my eyes and mouth. We wore hooded rain jackets and listened to the pelting sounds against our covered heads. The higher we climbed the more rocky outcrops sparkled with wet needles and leaves.

After driving along the canyon a bit farther, we stopped at a parking area to rest our damp bodies against a short, stone wall surrounded by gusts of air. My dog Shakespeare's long white tail almost carried him away. I suddenly realized that I was sporting an uncontrollable smile and laughing into the wind.

By 7 pm, we'd grabbed take and bake pizzas and were returning to the mansion on the hill. While Folkerts and Eddie had a heated debate about polygamy (which made Eddie furious). I found myself wrapped up in the reflection that our road trip was nearly over. This meant our escapades had nearly ended as well. In the morning, we'd head back home and a month of traveling would conclude. Only one adventure left.

Mittie Babette Roger is from Louisiana but lives in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico. She received an M.F.A. in Creative Writing from Naropa University and authored the book It's Better to Visit the Shaman Without Questions to Ask. She travels the world volunteering to help disadvantaged children and promoting Blue Iguana Tequila to empower serious drinkers.