Uncharted Territory
By Gretchen Keyser
I am a fifth-generation Oregonian and yet there is so much in this great state that I haven’t seen. A year ago I took a job as an Animal Health Sales Representative and my days are now spent alone in a company mini-van driving to various feed stores across Oregon. I have been to towns that I cannot believe I had never been to in my 35 years of living here. With no GPS, I have spent much of travels lost and relying on my internal compass to get me to where I was going and back again. It often fails me. I had logged over 50,000 miles on my car in a period of eleven months and I was beginning to get a little road weary, when my boss called and informed me that my territory just got bigger. The North Eastern part of the state had been covered by someone living in Yakima who was no longer with the company so it now belonged to me. There were a couple of ways to look at this. One, as a divorced mother of two small children, how will be able to pull this off? I am barely managing to make it to all my accounts as it is. Or two, my employer is sending me on a much needed vacation. They are paying for my gas, lodging, and meals. I chose the second approach. Road trip!
I had remembered that my parents had friends who had a cabin in Joseph. They told me once that I could use it whenever I wanted. I had been to Joseph for the Chief Joseph Days Rodeo 15 years ago when I was the St. Paul Rodeo Queen. I didn’t do the driving nor did I pay attention to how we got there or even remember exactly where it was. I just knew that is was somewhere near La Grande which was to be my first stop on Monday morning. I made the call and the cabin was mine for the weekend. My daughters were going to be spending a long weekend with their dad so I would take them to school Thursday morning and head over the mountain to Central Oregon like a do every two weeks. Only, this time it was going to be different.
I set out on my journey to my first stop in Madras. I made my usual stop at the rest area near Government Camp as I knew my next chance would be Warm Springs. I grabbed a cup of coffee, and was on my way. At the point in my trip when the Portland radio stations get scratchy and I before my favorite Classic Country station comes in (AM 690 out of Prineville FYI) I was already wanting to be there. I turned off the radio and dug for a CD. It skipped, so I turned it off. As I approached the big wooden sign that said Kah-Ne-tah 21 miles, I turned left. This added more than 30 miles to my trip, but this trip was not about that. I was going to stop and smell the Juniper, look at places I had been before with new eyes, learn something, be a tourist, enjoy myself.
I crossed the cattle guard as I left HWY 26 and when I saw fresh horse evidence in the road, I continued to keep it a little slow. On the reservation, this means one thing…wild horses. A mile or so down the road I came upon a small herd about a hundred yards away. I slowed to about 30 MPH but then sped up again. I thought about stopping to take a picture, but didn’t. As I motored on, I thought to myself, “Now, a tourist from out-of-state would have taken a picture and immediately put it on facebook with a caption like “OMG I just saw wild horses on an Indian reservation in Oregon.” Their friends would click “like” and their Grandma would comment, “Have fun, be careful”.
“I am on vacation and I too will do that.” I thought or maybe even said out loud at that point.
And so my journey officially began. A few miles down the road in Simnasho there were more wild horses. They were grazing behind the gas station, very close to the road. I pulled up next to them and rolled down my window. A big, roan stallion was the closest to me. He looked up and watched for a second, his dark, kind eyes peering through his forelock. When he had seen enough, he went back to grazing. I, on the other hand, watched him for quite a while. There are very few places in this country were wild horses can still be seen. I knew that this was special.
Over the next 14 miles, I saw three more herds and I stopped to take pictures, marveled at them, and of course posted them on facebook which is when my friends and family joined on me on my otherwise solo trip. I posted pictures as I went and they commented on memories they had of the places I visited. At times, I laughed so hard at our back and forth banter that I cried and my side ached. We began discovering Oregon Back Roads together.
That afternoon, I visited my accounts in Bend, Madras, and Prineville. I checked into the Motel 6 to save my company a little money since I did take the long way getting there on their dime. It was the nicest Motel 6 I had ever seen and only $49.99. Besides, I wasn’t going to be there long. I was off to a concert. I took myself to a Sammy Kershaw concert down the road and actually ran into a few old friends and met a few new ones. I only wish I had brought a coat. I don’t care what time of year it is, it is always cold at night in the High Desert. As I stood there shivering, I struck up a conversation with a soft-spoken hay farmer about my age from Crane, Oregon. Not many people know that Oregon has the last remaining public boarding school in the country. It’s a school district covering over 7500 square miles with some students living as far away from home as 100 miles. I knew this fun-fact because I had gone to college with someone from Crane. As it turned out, he was his brother.
I had a conference call Friday morning and a few more customers to visit before I hit the road to Joseph. I was so excited about the unknown that was waiting for me. I love it when I’m somewhere in Oregon and I can say, “Hmm, never been here before.” I Mapquested my trip. 363 miles, 6 hours and 40 minutes up hwy 97, through Maupin, to Biggs then hit 84 and go east for a long time. I stopped at friend’s house to raid his firewood pile as I had been informed that the woodstove was the only heat source at the cabin. I let him know which way I was planning on going and apparently Mapquest lead me astray.
He said, “No, watch yer gonna wanna do, is go up 197 through Shaniko and it’ll dump ya out at Biggs.”
“Perfect”, I said “a place I’ve never been.”
And I was off down another Oregon back road. I drove through the Redmond Starbucks for a Venti Iced Latte and with my AM station coming in loud and clear, it was Shaniko or Bust. I passed the cut-off to the Fossil beds and reminded myself to go there someday. 80 miles and my latte sucked dry, I reached Shaniko. From what I had heard about it, it was essentially a ghost town, but this place was hopping. There were men setting up white, market tents, country music blaring from a boom box, and three ladies in lawn chairs in the middle of the street watching it all happen. As I got out of my car, people stopped to look at me for a second and then went about their business just as the slightly curious, but not surprised wild horse had done the day before in Simnasho. The first building I came to was the mustard yellow post office. I stepped up on to the board walk and peered in at the postmaster sitting behind the counter as if he was waiting for the stage to arrive so that he had something to do. My boots clomped on the wooden sidewalk as I moseyed toward the next building with any sign of life which was a little shop at the end of the street with a table out front with some homemade offerings like those you might find at a bazaar. I went inside and browsed a bit at the turquoise jewelry, knitted scarves, knives, and t-shirts. I was most interested, however, in the pictures on the wall depicting days gone by, and the piano set at the back of the store with an old saloon mirror hung above it. They rested there, retired behind a Keep Out sign. As I made my way back to the front door, the shop owner asked me where I was from and if I was in town for the Wool Gathering.
“Canby”, I said “No, just passing through.”
“Oh you really should stay for the wool gathering” said Wanda.
She began to rattle off interesting facts about this little ghost town.
Wanda’s words as I remember them were “Shaniko was built for the sole purpose of being a terminal for wool. The wool went by train to Biggs to be sent down the Columbia River and to Salem’s or Pendleton’s woolen mills. It was the “Wool Capitol of the World” and the wool used to make the uniforms for soldiers during both World Wars was all shipped out of Shaniko. There was once nine saloons in this town, in fact, this building used to be a saloon and that is the original piano and mirror in the back…”
She went on for some time with her verbal tour and enthusiastic history lesson. I then stepped back out onto the board walk and checked out all the sights she recommended. It truly is an amazing place. It was just as if one day the town when out of business and everyone left. All but 26 people, according to Wanda. I will go back and will bring my children. This they must see.
I no sooner posted my photos on facebook, which had now become my modus operandi , when a friend commented that her grandfather had gone to high school there which was followed by my aunt informing me that my grandparents got married there.
I continued up hwy 197 through Grass Valley and Moro. Somewhere around Moro and Wasco, the first wind turbines came into view. As I drove, they would disappear behind the horizon for a mile or two and the landscape was untouched again. I would see farm houses and wooden barns that had no doubt been there for the last 100 years. I wondered what the people were doing inside and what they thought of the turbines. Did they think they were as beautiful as I did or were they saddened to see their previously, uncluttered land invaded by the hands of man? As I got closer to Biggs, the turbines were everywhere. It really is an awe inspiring sight to see. I had to force myself to keep my eyes on the road because if I stared at their slow, steady rotation it became hypnotizing.
Evening was approaching sooner than I would have liked this September day, so I continued on towards La Grande leaving 84 just once for a quick detour through Pendleton to scope out the Pendleton Grain Growers store that I was scheduled to go see on Monday. The town was an anthill of those preparing for the Round-up’s 100th anniversary. It was not the best day to spend in Pendleton so I put her in cruise, pointed East with the Indian summer sun setting behind me.
I left the free-way and went north through Elgin, Wallowa, and Enterprise stopping once to buy a bottle of wine for later that night. 70 miles from 84, I finally saw the first sign for Joseph; Joseph 8 miles. The town was a buzz. Cars lined the street and the lights were still on in many restaurants and pubs. I started scoping them out as I drove slowly by. I tried to get a peek at the patrons inside through their open doors. Some had Harley’s out front, one appeared to be a sports bar, and others had large signs that read Welcome Hunters and some Welcome Cycle Oregon. According to my directions, my cabin was three miles out of town. I thought about stopping since I hadn’t eaten all day, but decided to find the cabin first, change my clothes, and head back into town for a late dinner. That is it not how my evening turned out.
I successfully navigated my first mile out of town. I took a sharp right and several sharp lefts and the road narrowed just as it said it would. The pavement turned to gravel as I had been warned and I passed the landmarks I had been given though they were difficult to make out in the moonless night and with the blinding light of my Blackberry that held the email with my directions. I reached a fork in the road and I pulled a Robert Frost and took the one less traveled. My directions said, cross the cattle guard and go for a couple of miles. The road is very rough and just when you think, where in the hell am I? Stay the course. The cabin is at the end of the road. The road began to get rougher and narrower and at what I thought was two miles, it became scary. I hadn’t seen a house or a drive-way for a very long time and when I would come upon house numbers they were next to locked gates virtually unnoticeable through the vegetation. I finally saw a sign of life; a small cabin on the right. I rolled down my passenger side window to get a better look and heard the hum of a generator and the bray of a chained hound dog. I would not have been surprised if I had heard the unmistakable sound of a shot gun shell being loaded into the chamber. The road Y’d again and I went straight. When I saw a sign that read Private Land Keep Out, I backed out and turned around in the first spot possible. Shaken, I went back to the first landmark that I had seen, reread my directions, turned around and tried it again. The words, “Just when you think where the hell am I? stay the course” gave me the courage to keep going. After all, that was exactly what I was saying. I passed the creepy, shot gun shack and ignored the Keep Out sign. The road again narrowed to something more indicative of a hiking trail. I navigated my way through log decks, through open, road closure gates, and around stumps. At one point, the road became so steep that my tires began spinning. I turned the wheel to the left and to the right to release my tired van from the clutches of this Chisholm Trail, but I only rolled backwards. To my left was a vertical bank that came dangerously close to my side mirror. To my right I saw only tree tops. I knew what that meant. If I left this road, it was a long way down. The problem that I faced was that there was nowhere to turn around. I had to indeed, stay the course.
When I reached the end of the road I came to a clearing and there stood a cabin about 30 feet in front of me. Well, stood is not quite the right word. There, a cabin lay in front of me. Half of it was caved in and the gaping hole was once covered in clear plastic that now hung on from just one point. It floated up and down from the wind slowly and rhythmically like the wings of a large bird taking flight and then it would whip up high above the cabin and sway back and forth like the a ghost high above me. It was at this point that I wished I had never read The Shack. My adrenaline pumping, my mouth dry, and my hands shaking, I turned around and carefully and methodically drove back to town, some two hours after I had arrived earlier that evening. When I regained cell coverage, I called to clarify the directions and I was quickly and easily directed into the cabin on a lovely, gravel road that seemed like the Autobahn after where I had been.
The flickering porch light gave me intermittent opportunities to open the lock box and eventually the front door. Clutching my phone and my bottle of wine I began sweeping the walls for a light switch where it seemed one should be. Working my way through the pitch black cabin, I found a flashlight. Dead batteries. I shook it and frantically switched it on and off again. Darkness. The stove must have a light. I ran my hands over the knobs of the stove and found a switch and turned it on. A night light that was more like a spot light came on and blinded me. When my pupils regained consciousness, I was able to find the kitchen light. My next mission…find a cork screw, glass optional. I checked the dead bolt a few times and began to explore the cabin. I was secretly hoping for a T.V. so that I didn’t have to be alone with my imagination. No T.V. I ran to my car and grabbed my lap top, wrapped myself in a blanket and logged on to facebook. I was not handling alone with as much grace as I had intended.
What’s on your mind? This is what I wrote… you were here. . Any one of you, I don't care.
As comments from old friends began to pour in, I suddenly felt better. An old friend from college commented and then a childhood friend. I went from scared out of my mind to laughing like crazy in a matter of minutes. I was off on an adventure alone, but somehow felt comforted by being able to share it with others in real time.
This is how it went…
College Friend-Oh. I so wish I was locked in a random cabin with u and wine and hours of nothingness but to catch up. Miss u! Glad u are having a great adventure!!!
September 11 at 12:17am ·
Gretchen Keyser It has been too long. I wish you were hear too. How are you with bears? I'll open the wine while you shoo the bears.
September 11 at 12:23am ·
College friend- I'll shoot. But anything I kill, you must skin. I am not killing bears unless I have proof.
September 11 at 12:25am ·
Gretchen Keyser- Deal. We will make a bear skin rug, head and all. I've always wanted a bear skin rug. Let's make him smile just a bit. No need for an angry looking rug. Try to tell him a joke just before you shoot. I don't know, how 'bout "A bear walked into a bar with his arm in a sling and said, I'm lookin' for the man who shot my paw" No, that's stupid and I don't even remember how that joke goes.
September 11 at 12:40am
Childhood friend- LOL! I'd like to be in a cabin with both of you. I'm staying close to the wine though. Sounds like you've had enough to help you sleep through the night Gretchen.
September 11 at 12:49am ·
Gretchen Keyser That would be fun Sheila. Actually, I just poured my second glass. Do I post as though I've had more? Just road weary.
September 11 at 12:55am
Childhood friend- I forget how funny you are. You don't need drinks to be funny. I wish you posted your thoughts more ;)
September 11 at 1:20am ·
Uncle- Oh Gretch!! Yes it's wilderness-y out there!! Take care!
September 11 at 2:21am ·
September 11 at 7:35am ·
September 11 at 8:45am ·
September 11 at 8:54am ·
Friend-You are far braver then me...but thank God for wine to help calm your nerves;)
September 11 at 10:07am ·
Gretchen Keyser -O.K. Mother what did I spell wrong? Do I need to figure it out on my own and get back to you or will you just tell me so that I can quickly correct, my horrific errors and avoid any further embarrassment? Oh and can you call me, I think a bear got my phone. Either that or it is in the couch cushions.
September 11 at 10:10am ·
Gretchen Keyser -Krista...Bear joke "Why shouldn't you take a bear to the zoo?
Because they'd rather go to the movies.
Actually, now that's it light out I realize the bear is just pine cones dropping. Oops. For the record, I said shoo the bears not shoot the bears. You know clapping, stomping you feet. Maybe a broom. We got off on this gun thing. I just wanted to clear that up for any of my PETA friends. I do want a bear skin rug still. I guess I’ll have to settle for a basket of pine cones.
Because they'd rather go to the movies.
Actually, now that's it light out I realize the bear is just pine cones dropping. Oops. For the record, I said shoo the bears not shoot the bears. You know clapping, stomping you feet. Maybe a broom. We got off on this gun thing. I just wanted to clear that up for any of my PETA friends. I do want a bear skin rug still. I guess I’ll have to settle for a basket of pine cones.
September 11 at 10:29am ·
Aunt- Gretchen, you did the right thing, you opened the wine but was it bar mints you needed? Anyway just glad you made it through the night. Your adventure is making my weekend!
September 11 at 11:56am
In the light of day, I discovered that the cabin was wonderfully quaint, the view was amazing and none of it was scary at all. I went into town visited Simply Sandy’s which was, by far, the most delicious piece of eye candy that I had ever seen. It was a mix of but not limited to antiques, over-sized jewelry, candles, and eclectic folk-art. Had I not been a budget, I could have done some serious damage. I went to the farmer’s market where I listened to bluegrass music by the group Homemade Jam. Their soft, folksy sound was accompanied by the popping of kernels coming from the Kettle corn lady’s tent. She stirred and she danced. I wandered around town for a couple of hours enjoying the shops and marveling at the abundance of life-sized bronze statues. A bronze artist once explained the intense process of the art and it made these sculptures even more impressive.
The lady at the information booth told me that Hell’s Canyon Mule Days was going on down the road in Enterprise. I love a good mule, so I went. I missed the parade, but I caught the Pony Express race which was both entertaining and exciting. I visited with a man watching the competition from a top on a buck board wagon hitched to a team of mules. These 20 year old Belgian Mollies are owned by the Forest Service and used regularly for hauling logs and mowing in the Oregon forests, where vehicles cannot or should not go. He said that as a tax payer, Patti and Nellie belonged to me. I had no idea that we Oregonians are all mule owners.
I went into Joseph for dinner and found a restaurant called The Stubborn Mule. Fitting, I thought. I struck up a conversation with the cook and the bartender and it was decided that I should go next door and spend the rest of my evening listening to others sing Karaoke. It was also suggested that I come back for dinner on Sunday because they make the best ribs.
I went back on Sunday, but the ribs had been sold out. The cook was clocked out and the bartender was wiping tables. Early bird gets the worm in this town. As I turned to leave, a large group of people in town for Cycle Oregon came in hungry and thirsty. It was decided that they would reopen. I let them know that I had spent some time waiting tables and I was happy to help. I was given an apron and the three of us went to work. When the evening was through, they found some more ribs. When I got back to the cabin that night, I opened my to-go box and found a thank you note, ribs and a fully loaded baked potato. They were the best ribs I had ever eaten and it was one of the most fun evenings I had had in a long time. Getting a little BBQ sauce on my laptop, I shared my adventure with my friends and they all had a good laugh.
I left the next morning and worked my home stopping at all the Pendleton Grain Growers stores along the way. I made a brief stop at The Pendleton Round-up which was just getting under-way. I watched the Steer Roping through the eyes of a tourist who hadn’t ever been to a rodeo before, though I’d been to many in my life. I peeked in the Let ‘er Buck room and saw a few people having an afternoon beer and witnessed the calm before the storm that was due to arrive in the days ahead.
I pulled in my drive-way at 9 o’ clock that evening. My journey came to an end, but the anticipation of my next adventure grew. I thought about my scheduled route and began imagining the wonderful discoveries to be made between each feed store along Oregon’s back roads.
No comments:
Post a Comment