I have a love affair with the High Desert. I grew up in it, playing barefoot on its clay-filled soil. Outside of Madras Oregon, a small farm community North of Bend, thousands of acres of government-dubbed "wasteland" were my childhood stomping grounds. Chasing wild jack rabbits or stalking antelope were common hobbies of mine, as I dreamed of someday seeing the outside world. It was a rare occasion when my older brother and his wife took me on an outing to the eastern Oregon town of Dayville. To get there from central Oregon, we took Highway 26 East. I was only 16 at the time. Compared to the desolate surroundings I was accustomed to, the thought of any road trip was exciting.
