Thanks, Chris! We hope you’ll visit us again soon!

What’s the best part of Terry’s Road Trip? Well, you get to help him plan it! Submit travel tips to Terry and you’ll be entered to win a two-night Central Oregon getaway.

So….what are you waiting for? Send Terry on the Road!

It’s a view that’s never twice the same down a trail that leads to a timeless place. The Tom McCall Preserve atop Rowena Crest is in the heart of the Columbia River Gorge where right now is the prime time for spring wildflowers.

The diverse colors are born of the nearly three hundred different wildflower species that grow on the Tom McCall Preserve. The preserve is an important link in the chain of Nature Conservancy Preserves across Oregon. The site was named in 1982 for Oregon Governor Tom McCall who carried a commitment for conservation.

You’ll want to explore the Tom McCall Preserve more than a little bit – perhaps to wander the mile-long trail toward the Columbia River or the three mile version the loops uphill. Both are fine adventures for folks with time and patience and a love of the Oregon outdoors. The Tom McCall Preserve is the sort of place that will satisfy your curiosity, let your heart soar and perhaps restore your soul in the beauty that is found in Oregon.

This week, we’re heading high atop Rowena Crest at the Tom McCall Preserve with noted landscape photographer Steve Terrill. While we’re there, we’ll enjoy the spectacular and colorful display of wildflowers in the heart of the Columbia River Gorge.

To see this episode, tune into KGW NewsChannel 8 Friday at noon, or check back here on Monday!

Can’t wait? Check out photos here.

When it’s grey and dreary in Portland, a forty-five minute drive east rewards you with sun and blue skies. For several years, this is exactly where my biking partner husband and I go for a day-long bike ride in the spring or fall. Fulton Canyon is our favorite. Never in summer or winter, only spring or fall, when the weather is cool with blue skies and the sun is warm and air dry.

We pack a snack, grab helmets, snap the bikes onto the car rack, then hit the road driving east on Highway 84 through The Dalles to the Deschutes River Park exit. From there we drive along the frontage road, over the Deschutes River as it flows into the Columbia. Where the asphalt of Fulton Canyon Road joins the frontage road, we park the car at a wide graveled area, the kind of place used by state road crews to store piles of gravel for freezing weather.

Once the bikes are off the car, and helmets adjusted, we head up Fulton Canyon Road pedaling a slow, steady pace for the climb. The road follows the narrow canyon that cuts down through the Oregon Columbia Gorge hills, to the wide Columbia River below. The climb is steady for several miles on a road with only occasional traffic. This gives me time to look around and think. Two lanes of asphalt with a brightly-painted yellow dash separate traffic in each direction. The yellow lines remind me of Texan Jim Hightower’s quote about social politics in his state. “The only things in the middle of the road are yellow stripes and dead armadillos.” When a pickup truck passes on the other side of the road, I start to wonder if the rancher driving will take exception to Spandex clad bicyclists on the road that is mostly traveled by pickups. Instead, the driver is considerate, giving us wide space and a friendly wave.

As I ride more slowly, breathing deeper, up the increasingly steep grade towards the Columbia Plateau, fresh green wheat fields flow and wave with a light wind on one side while Tuscan brown fields on the other show tracks of recent tilling. Even though we have biked this route several times, we see only a snap-shot view of the hillsides for a few hours each season. An urban person, I wonder what it would be like to live on a farm, to know when and what kind of wheat is planted. Left foot pushes down then the right foot down. I pedal slowly up the canyon road, reflecting that farm life would have a rhythm, too. Tilling, planting, harvesting and tilling, again.

On one spring Sunday, crisply painted, trim farm houses with front porches and freshly mowed front lawns stand facing the road. The windows of a second storey front bedroom stare out to the road and hillsides beyond. Houses, farm yards, barns, equipment, but no people are visible. Butler bee hive corrugated metal silos, green and yellow John Deere tractors and a collection of harvesting equipment stand idle in side and back yards. As we pedal upward, the wind picks up, pushing from behind, making the eight mile climb easier and faster. Occasionally the wind carries the lilting songs of meadow larks across fields to my ears, or their golden yellow breasts catch sunlight as they bob.

Down to plain wood with no paint, a clapboard one-room school house stands by itself; its windows open without glass, inviting birds and mice. The steeple rises forlornly above a broken roof, weather and vandal-beaten, alone by the side of the road. Pedaling farther up the grade the wind blows harder as we come over a rise. The road curves east towards Highway 97 and, in the distance, the small town of Wasco nestled in its fold of hills. In front of us, the road stretches ahead, rising and falling over hills and down ravines. When we crest the top of the next hill, silver flashes of giant wind propellers spin in the distance, part of the newest crop of Columbia Plateau wind farms. The long metal legs of the wind towers march across the plateau in an engineer’s straight line, designed to catch the best wind currents. The flashes disappear as we coast down into the next ravine.

At the top of the next hill, we pause to look around:. Mt Adams, with full snow cover and its humped-back north, shines above the Columbia River Hills on the Washington state side. Mt Hood glistens in the sun-light as we glance backward on the next rise. This is wheat country, few trees, wide views and big spaces. Occasionally a car or truck passes, swerving politely around us.

Down a long hill and into Wasco, the town park welcomes us with a patch of soft green lawn, a couple of picnic tables, and water from a hose to fill our now empty water bottles. We have the park to ourselves, eat our snack of dried fruit and nuts and lie back on the lawn, gazing up at the trees and clear blue sky. Midnight black crows caw from telephone lines while song birds flit from limb to limb in the trees above us.

After the leisurely rest, we’re up on our bikes again and turn into downtown Wasco. On this Sunday the streets of Wasco are empty, no people walking around and most buildings barely in use. A few brick buildings, one with the faded word “Mercantile” painted on the side wall, stand empty in a town too far from freeways and too close to bigger stores. The population of about 300 people doesn’t support a restaurant or movie theater, and in fact the town is listed as a ghost town on one website.

We turn left at the corner onto a wider road and a two story wooden building with flaking paint fronts the main street. Long ago a travelers’ road house, it was purchased a few years ago by a city couple who had hoped to run a weekend business renting rooms for guests and family gatherings. It now stands with a “For Sale” sign posted in front. There isn’t much for visitors to do in Wasco, except look at grain elevators or wind turbines spinning in the distance.

The loop back to our starting point, pedaling down Scotts Canyon Road to the Columbia River, has steeper hills and deeper troughs. The wind is much stronger in the later part of the afternoon. A morning wind report had said “gusts”, but pedaling along I begin to wonder if gusts mean being blown off my bike. I lean my bike sideways into the wind, hoping that the strong blasts will keep me from falling. Nervous, and imagining the worst, I worry that the wind will suddenly stop and I’ll fall flat sideways on to the road. The image of Barbara Savage, author of Miles from Nowhere, who described being blown from her bike in high winds, runs through my brain as I grip my handle bars tighter and concentrate on the road directly ahead. Shoulders tight and strained, head down, eyes intent on the road, I miss the sights and sounds of the landscape. A narrow stream dropping down the canyon adjacent to the road is all I notice in this intense part of the ride that seems longer and steeper than the road up.

Once back to the Columbia River at the road junction with Rufus, there is a welcoming roadside café and gas station. We stop to laugh about the wind and our imagined fears. The Columbia River wind is great for wind surfing, but for bikes, when the wind hits at a ninety degree angle, it is more of a challenge. We pledge that next time we’ll leave Portland earlier in the morning, and turn our bikes west for the final eight-mile leg of the ride.

Francie Royce writes about her travel experiences at http://www.francieroyce.blogspot.com/

It was a moody afternoon and I was racking my brain trying to figure out what to do with my ‘tween’ Little Sister Sarah from the Big Brothers/Big Sisters program. She had the school afternoon off, and I was struggling with something fun that would be of interest to someone who was sixteen that wouldn’t be totally lame in a teenager’s eyes.

On a whim, I decided to take her for a drive out the Columbia River Gorge just to ‘get out of town’ and we could catch up. Incredibly, she has lived in Portland her whole life and has never been to this amazing place before, so she was game. I decided to do the “Cook’s Tour” and throw in something that would undoubtedly pique her interest.

The first photo stop we managed was outside of the town of Corbett, at the Portland Women’s Forum State Park, which offers a majestic overlook of an amazing panorama including the nearby Vista House. Sarah seemed pretty impressed with the view, and started snapping photos with her camera phone. We looked across the expanse and I reminded her that this was one of the views that were featured in the recent hit movie, “Twilight.”

Next, we moved to the historic View Point Inn, which was where“Twilight”cast and crew filmed the prom night scene. Her excitement level increased, and Sarah began even more furiously taking pictures. I had brought my camera along too, and took additional photos. As we were walking around the exterior, a friendly lady beckoned to us. “Come on in,” she said, beckoning. I was a little reluctant because I didn’t want to interfere with the business operations of the place, but it was pretty quiet on a Monday afternoon, so we stepped inside. Just inside the doorway, the gift shop was literally overflowing with movie paraphernalia and “Twilight” keepsakes. The woman was very informative, and encouraged us to take a peek into the dining room, which at the moment had just experienced re-varnishing of the wood floors, but otherwise was the set where the movie took place. Sarah was somewhat star-struck.

Fortunately, the View Point Inn representative had seen this before, and even offered to take us upstairs into the lodging area to show the rooms. We got a wonderful first-hand tour of the rest of the Inn, and she also showed us the window from the movie where the villain “Victoria” stood looking out towards the movie hero and heroine in the last scene. The owners of the Inn had decided to leave the window dressing the exact same way as it was during the movie, which I am sure that some “Twilight” buffs would appreciate.

After perusing the gift shop wares, and Sarah giggling gleefully that this little tour of ours would make her sister completely envious, we moved on through the Columbia Gorge. A number of stops took us to some of the big waterfalls that beg for photographs to be taken, and finally, Sarah looked at me sheepishly and told me she had run out of memory space on her camera phone because of all of the photos she had taken. I knew then that she had had a great time and enjoyed herself!

If you are interested in seeing some of the other Oregon locations for the movie, here are some tips:

For the surfing scenes for the movie, the movie crew moved to Indian Beach at the Ecola State Park on the Oregon Coast. The vampire-attack scene was shot at the Blue Heron Paper Company near Willamette Falls in Oregon City, while the school field trip to a greenhouse was filmed at the greenhouses found at Clackamas Community College, also in Oregon City. To see Charlie and Bella’s house, you’ll have to travel to St. Helens, where you might also recognize the historic part of the city, which doubled for Port Angeles for the shopping scene, including the Italian restaurant where Edward and Bella have dinner together.

Ironically, as a side note, I live in Portland, and in spring 2008 my husband and I had noticed that nearby Madison High School had been taken over by movie trucks and trailers. Since I was the neighborhood newsletter editor, I wandered over to get the ‘scoop’ on what flick was being filmed there. I was told it was some kind of “teenage vampire movie’ and the actors (at the time) were no giant superstars. Several of them were wandering through the parking lot between takes and I couldn’t recognize a single face. Little did I know that would change! As best as I could tell, the main scenes in the movie that were filmed literally three streets away from my house were the cafeteria and the biology lab scene.

Amazing to have a little slice of Hollywood right near my house!

Oregon winters are a lot of fun, with plenty of snow sports activities, but by the time spring rolls around, locals are craving sun and seeing the horizon again.  The good news is that all of that winter rain and snow melt transforms the usually monochromatic arid grasslands of the state into a magical green carpet.  You’ll find the landscape dotted with rare and spectacular native wildflowers, just waiting to be discovered!

Just about an hour and half to the east of Portland, Deschutes State Park is open desert grassland.  Something about being under wide horizons in the spring and watching the sun and clouds play with each other in a spectacular display of light is enough to lift anyone’s spirits, and this is just the spot to do it.

Deschutes State Park itself has a long history.  Geologically, it is where the Deschutes River descends from the high Central Oregon plateau and meets the mighty Columbia River.   In human history, this was a home to native Oregonians who fished and lived off the land.  Despite the seemingly austere surroundings, the desert is alive with many edible plants and animals, and at one point, not too far from this park, the largest ‘city’ in North America (pre-European) existed…on an annual basis, it was estimated that up to 100,000 people from tribes all across the Pacific Northwest gathered to trade.    When the emigrants came to the area via the Oregon Trail, the Deschutes Crossing tested the mettle of determined settlers who had to try and get their wagons across the wide waterway as they continued their trek west.

Today, this area is a delightful state park with green grass and tall trees and is considered an oasis to campers, river rafters and hikers.   A former rail-way bed on the east side of the river heads south from the campground, and is a great way to stretch one’s legs and put behind some easy miles. The trail itself is level and graded, but there is a separate loop that goes down and follows the river, then climbs back up and pass on its way to the top of the ridgeline for some spectacular views of the rolling wheat lands about 1,500 feet above.

My husband Brad and I had the dogs with us and set out on our spring adventure.  The morning sunlight was almost blinding and completely glorious.  Bird song surrounded us.  After a few miles, and having the canyon arc away from the Columbia River Gorge, we saw Rattlesnake Rapids down below.  A couple of years ago when I was on this hike, I had spotted a wolverine down near the river.  (!)  Never had seen one of those before, and was glad I was far above looking down. Those are particularly surly animals!!

As we continued on our hike, swallows twittered high above us, snacking on newly hatched bugs and the like, and I heard the eerie descending chirruping of a canyon wren… I positively love the call of those birds.

Finally, as we got to about the 3.75 mile mark down the trail, there was an old corral and we stopped for lunch, enjoying the sun. Brad spotted what appeared to be a rusty wheel sticking out of some underbrush near the riverbank. Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be part of an old plow (horse-drawn kind) that had gotten deposited into the ground.  “Multnomah Iron Works” read the manufacturer label, still visible.  I later researched the company and it apparently existed up through World World II, as best as I could tell.

At this point in our journey, the sun had been skittishly staying hopeful as puffy clouds strained to make their way up the Gorge, but the skies were now threatening a downpour. So we kicked it into high gear and started the return trip back.  As we were walking along, the winds picked up significantly, gusting between 15-35 mph.  This normally wouldn’t be a problem, but the previous season’s tumbleweeds had other plans.  With each long-winded gust, a group of about five to six tumbleweeds came flying past us.  Somehow, we got stuck in a tempest wind tunnel that kept reversing course; we would continue heading north on the trail, and the winds kept changing so that the tumbleweeds were passing us, then getting blown right back at our faces.  As quaint as they are in Western movies, those things hurt – with prickles all the way around! Imagine that coming at you at 35 mph!  Timmy the dog ended up getting completely wigged out as the tumbleweed would get caught on his face. Poor guy!

As we drew back closer to the car, the winds died down and the temperatures warmed back up.  Our tumbleweed friends had dropped behind us to our relief, and the blue sky was restored.  Far across the Columbia River, the hills were a soft verdant green.   Brad and I looked at each other and sighed- Oregon is such a “Gorge-ous” place to live!!

It was truly amazing to see how the land has changed in the Columbia River Gorge since the 1800’s. I would highly recommend checking out this exhibit for a dose of Oregon history. There is even a portion of the exhibit that shows how old photographs were made- it is crazy to see how many steps it took for that process. I’m not sure I would have the patience these days!

The Asian art exhibit showed everything from kimonos to dinnerware to painted pieces. Many of the art pieces told a specific story relating to Asian traditions. It was fascinating to discover more about this culture through art, and to compare their art to the creative pieces we see in the northwest.

The Portland Art Museum is very inspiring, especially if you are looking for a creative idea. The bright colors and quirky sculptures made me want to try out my own art! Be sure to visit if you can- it will brighten up a rainy winter day!

Speaking of creative ideas, thank you for reading the Travel Oregon blog. It is Oregon enthusiasts like you that make this job great. Today is my last day as editor of the Travel Oregon blog, but I encourage you to keep reading these great stories and submitting your comments and ideas. Keep on traveling the great state of Oregon!

Signing off…

~Ashley

Rob had been on the phone all morning getting updates on his first shipment of the year: Chardonnay from a vineyard east of his winery, which is located on a hillside above the Columbia River. His small crew was cleaning and preparing the equipment for what would be “game time” in winemaking over the next few weeks. The Chardonnay that arrived today would be followed by a litany of varietals – Pinot noir, Pinot gris, Riesling, Gewurtztraminer, Syrah, Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, Zinfandel — all grown within a short drive of Cathedral Ridge.

How can a wine region produce this many varietals without importing them from hundreds — if not thousands — of miles away? The answer is simple: microclimates. Part of my visit with Rob was spent on a geology lesson that defines and drives the Columbia Gorge as a wine region.

Within a 40-mile span, the Gorge goes from rain forest to arid desert, from near sea level to elevations of several thousand feet. In short, this replicates the growing conditions of all the great wine regions of the world. In Hood River, you have cool and moist (Burgundy). Further east, in The Dalles, you have dry and warm (Bordeaux), Head up the Gorge’s steep slopes and you have high and dry (Germany’s Rhine Valley). And while temperatures can climb into the 100º range during July and August, cooling breezes from the glaciers of Mt. Hood and Mt. Adams descend into the bowl created by the Gorge, cooling the vineyards each night.

Like Southern Oregon, which figured out a decade or so ago that it didn’t have to be the stepchild of the Willamette Valley and Pinot noir, winemakers in the Gorge are defining themselves by what the land and location gives them: a slew of the world’s great varietals. And while wineries in the state’s other regions have known about these vineyards for years, Gorge vintners point out one simple fact: the grapes that go into wines made here don’t have to be trucked for hours – a tough journey for delicate fruit — to be made.

At Cathedral Ridge, Michael Sebastiani, (who hails from the Sonoma County family that’s been making wine for over a century), is the head winemaker. He loves the range of varietals, characteristics and flavors he has access to. “Being a winemaker here is like being a chef,” said Bell. “You have so many nuances.”

Over the next weeks, as the parade of trucks arrives at Cathedral Ridge bearing this year’s harvest, Bell and Sebastiani will have quite a palette to create with.

See what’s happening in every region of the state during Oregon Bounty, and then create your own culinary getaway. Cheers!

Mt. Hood and Barn

Our first time to Hood River, my wife and I had absolutely no idea of what lay behind the town, on the way up to Mt. Hood. So we took a Saturday afternoon and did the Fruit Loop, 36 different stands that banded together 15 years ago to sell the bounty of the Hood River Valley directly. Looping mostly along Highways 35 and 281, with plenty of back road ventures, we spent the better part of the day driving, eating, and picking.

Photo: Lavender Valley

And what a tour: we arrived at the very tail end of cherry season, but managed to buy two pounds of Bings from Cherry Karma’s “Purple Pit Spot,” enough to make a pie.
Just beyond, we stopped at Panorama Point for picture-perfect views of Mt. Hood. Further on, the Gorge White House—a 1910 Dutch Colonial Revival, and only occupied in its time by two families—hosts wine tastings and a 9-acre garden of snapdragons, lilies, dahlias, and sunflowers with views to Washington’s Mt. Adams.

We stopped at Rasmussen’s Farms for apricots, and the Cookie Stop Bakery for snicker doodles and molasses cookies for our picnic lunch at the Toll Bridge County Park. There were family reunions, horseshoe games, and the East Fork Hood River flowing through, milky with glacial silt—camping, too.

Shade Lovin' Annuals

At Nelson’s Blueberry Farm, “the blueberry farm with the best view of Mt. Hood,” says the owner, we bucketed five quarts of fat, no-spray berries in no time flat. Down the road, I stopped to gawk at the alpacas on the Good Fortune Farms, source of an extravagant and luxurious wool. And the Lavender Valley Lavender Farm—well, imagine that kind of color with a mountain backdrop.

No trip to the Gorge is complete without a bit of wine tasting, which we took in at Cathedral Ridge Winery—five free tastings—and Hood River Vineyards. We came out of the Valley with cherries, apricots, blueberries, an ’07 Halbtrocken, an ’03 Sangiovese, and stained fingers.

Rasmussen Farms

For more information on local Hood River wine and cuisine, please visit www.TravelOregon.com/bounty. Now is the perfect time to visit!