This would be an amazing day ... we'd start at a great river, visit a snowcapped mountain, whiz by a large city, and end up at the magnificent Pacific.

We headed south on Route 35 from Hood River into the Hood River Valley ... pretty country ahead. Some high ground, then rolling hills and green valleys filled with fruit trees. There were apple, pear, and I believe, cherry orchards in all directions — with a lumber mill here and there. A beautiful, idyllic area.

And around many bends, we'd catch glimpses of Mt. Hood. Its tip was still covered with clouds, but the sky all around was a brilliant blue. We'd see it for a while; it would disappear; then it either crept up on us, or wham! hit us head-on unexpectedly.

And as we got closer, and it got bigger, the clouds cooperatively moved away, and we saw Mt. Hood in all its splendor ... all 11,240 feet. We stopped several times, the view was so compelling. With the binoculars, we could see people skiing!

We turned off 35 and drove up Timberline Road toward the ski area. On the way up we saw other peaks in the great Cascade range: to the south was Mt. Jefferson. Then we were above the tree line at 6,000 feet, and browns, grays and shades of white dominated the landscape. And the only color around was most unnatural ...

There were skiers and snowboarders everywhere! Was this not July? There was something a bit unsettling (and annoying) about this to me, a lover of summer heat and summer, period. I had thought winter was far behind. It wasn't too cold where we were, but I guess a ways up the mountain it was cold enough. Mt. Hood is where our Olympians train, and recreational skiers can pretty much count on a run, 365 days a year — they boast the longest ski season in North America ... hmm, I guess Canadian resorts don't bother?

We went into the wonderful old Timberline Lodge, a National Historic Landmark, built in 1937. Shades of some of the other great western lodges we'd visited — the Grand Canyon Lodge and El Tovar, in particular — with its huge timber beams, stone, and cliché "rustic charm." There was a massive 92-foot high stone chimney in the center of the lodge, surrounded by deco-style furniture. There was a hexagonal motif everywhere, from the lobby itself, to the chimney, to the light fixtures. Very impressive. And out the tall windows were great views all about. The upper level balcony was especially nice on this crystal clear day. Flags from many countries lined the stone wall, and we could see for miles.

And what kind of a ski lodge would this be without a St. Bernard? This neat guy was hanging out in the gift shop. Very mellow, friendly and handsome!

After some purchases we were on our way back down the mountain. Time for lunch. Translation: time for the first vanilla malt/shake of the trip. A favorite vacation tradition (and great excuse), this was our typical lunch on the road. We continued on 26 — the southern stretch of the Mt. Hood Loop. We made a brief stop at a roadside chainsaw sculptor's shop. The people that carve these animals (mostly bears), are pretty talented. I found one with a pleasing personality to ship home.

With the mountain behind us our focus was to the west, getting to the Oregon coast. We were aiming a bit to the south, in order to see more coast, before heading north again. We went through Sandy (first sighting of the flowers — more on that later), then got into the Portland suburbs. It was slow going through Gresham; as we crossed the Willamette River we had a good view of the Portland skyline.

Around Tigard we picked up 99W (and a speeding ticket), and the landscape changed again: fields and farms. It also got cloudier as we headed toward the coastal mountains. We merged into 18 and continued southwest. On the way we were surprised to see a large casino, on Indian land apparently. Then finally, we couldn't go any further west ... we turned south on 101 and were in Lincoln City. And our luck was holding, clear sky and bright sun were back. It was great to see the Pacific Ocean again ... it had been too long.

Next and last (almost) on the agenda: find a place to stay, fast. We were tired. How about the Edgecliff Motel? True to its name, high above the shore ... this was a cute place, it seemed, with a great view. After one oops — being sent to an unmade-up room, we settled into another aging, but clean, room.

Then we summoned up our last bits of energy ... we had to get down to the beach! After a steep descent, a broad sunny beach was in sight — and the first inkling of the driftwood paradise we'd find in the Northwest ...

The water was icy cold, the wind very brisk. Wow, it was great to feel and smell the healing, invigorating salt air.

A good seafood dinner, a short drive further south to Depoe Bay, and again, would the day never end? This may look like a sunset (from our room), but it was a fake out ... light would remain for quite awhile longer ...