Along the River Gorge

In the morning, the wind is already picking up right outside the school on the edge of the valley. I’m not going to miss anything today. Over to Hood River, buy a bus ticket and off to Pasco, Washington. I arrive there around 14:30, half an hour late. On to the airport. My new car is waiting. Another seven days without lugging equipment and travelling for miles. I drive back west along the Columbia River.

On the journey, it becomes clear why it’s such a drag. Here in the east, Oregon is a real desert steppe. It’s over 30 degrees and very dry. Not a cloud in sight. All the hills are golden. And if they are green, then only in circles.
Irrigation systems circle around the centre line. It heats and sucks here in the east.

The interstate is falling asleep again. An old habit. I resist my brain’s cry for coffee in the hope of a few golden kite minutes in the evening. Again, only country on the radio, and after my last free 16-speaker saloon, the sound system in my new compact is pure ear cancer. Not even the rear-view mirror shakes to the rhythm of the music. But no police will stop me this time either. Impossible with the engine. If a rutting moose screamed like that, hares would come running at best.

After a three-hour drive, I leave the interstate and head for the Washington side of the Columbia River. On the higher highway, violent gusts of wind almost knock me off the road several times. It’s still choppy, and I can even see the whitecaps on the river from up here. It’s another 30 miles to Hood River.

Around 18.00 I finally cross the bridge for the first time in my own car. Equipment out to the event spot. What do I see? Nothing. 30 minutes earlier the wind had suddenly stopped completely. Some locals say: wait. That’s what I do. At around 18:30, the wind suddenly picks up again from 5 to 50 kilometres per hour. I give up and pack up my kite. That’s it for the Columbia River. Tomorrow I’m off to California.