Off to get gas in Nyssa. Wind and rain leavin the house..
My wife runs the budget. She rides the "card" close to drawn and it's only good for about a tank's worth. So she knows if I splurg for a burger and brew, knows before I get home, because shes always with her new BFF, Sam, (Samsong) or standby Ken (Kendall). But granddad's old co-op account gets billed once a month and no self serve in OR., just ride in and they put it on the account. Don't even have to swipe a card.
Off to Vale.
I work up over the highland between the valleys of the Snake and Malheur. It's cool and windy and with a roll of the head through a turn I see the whole encirclement by mountains, close and across-the-valley far, that feed the rivers that join the Snake here.
I pick up the Oregon Trail a few miles north of Cow Hollow. It climbs slow dusty scrub to Kenny Pass then down to the Malheur at Vale.
At the last rocky slope before the river, at the toe, lies Jon D Hinderson, along the trail where he breathed his last. Remembered because it was etched in stone, 1853.
At Vale, the stone stronghold with a once thick sod roof to withstand a casual burning by the hands or arrows of hostiles.
In 1872 Kenny's way-stop was cornered by Rineharts Inn.
With the advent of rail one could fetch a Sears house like this: pre-cut lumber, fixtures, hardware, and kegs of nail, mail-order catalog shipped and dropped at the station.
A puddle was much deeper than it looked along here, topped my boots and filled them with cold muddy water.