June 4, 2009 (Pacific City, Oregon) – Back in the day, heading off on the Oregon Trail might have been a two-thousand mile journey from the backwaters of the Missouri. Oregonian old-timers also might have taken the oxen-driven farm wagon instead of an air-conditioned, four wheel drive Toyota Tacoma but, still, I’d like to think there’s semblance to the same adventure – a jumping off into great wide unknown.

Washington will always be where I grew up; I can’t imagine calling anywhere but Leavenworth my hometown. Later, Utah, the university, and the snowy Wasatch Mountains form an indelible part of my past. But it’s the raw, burly backdrop of Bend, Oregon where I now call home.

From the fertile Columbia River Valley, to the Cascade Mountains, the Goldendale scenescape you see here, it’s time to shake hands and say goodbye to Washington. In the distance, if you look closely, white windmills tilt to the sky. I hope Cervantes would be proud.

Grass Valley. Moro. Shaniko. All small towns I pass along the way, holding stories of commerce and community I can only guess at.

I round a corner. Just a stone’s throw to the east rests the town of Terrebonne and the towering red spires – Smith Rock, the birthplace of U.S. sport climbing. Or so I’m told.

To the west, angry clouds collect above the Cascades. I try to remember the exact words the free-skier Doug Coombs said about listening to mountains. Something about tuning into and heeding what the mountains have to say today.

I arrive in Bend. My roommate Carl wrenches on his turbo-hopped rally car with the help of his dad. Carl is not only a fossil-fuel fun seeker. He earns his wages riding mountain bikes for a living. He’s not the only one in Bend that can seriously say this is their primary occupation.

The spelunker’s view from inside a Central Oregon lava tube. My playground. From left: Mt. Bachelor, Broken Top, South Sister, Middle Sister, North Sister.

Along with the rest of the US Ski Team, we just finished up a two week training camp on the Nordic trails of Mt. Bachelor. Including the last week of the season up at the Whistler Olympic Park earlier this month that makes for three weeks of cross-country skiing in May. Not too bad.

The weather and snow wasn’t too bad for an early morning crust cruise into Broken Top’s crater, either. After the grooming and skiing ended, we headed out to the coast. To Pacific City, Oregon, exactly.

I love water. I love the ocean. I got to unwind here in Pacific City. I got to relax. Now another block of hard training awaits. I’m up for it. I’m looking forward to it.

Until the next time, ciao, tschuess, au revoir, good bye. – Torin