Early in the morning, Fitz, Mash and me surreptitiously left Thunder Island and trail days behind. In Cascade Locks, on the way to Bridge of the Gods, Turtle was stumbling through the streets, two open sleeping bags strapped to his back, resembling an oversized cape. I don’t think his glassy stare noticed us passing by. It was he that had told us the night before about a rave going on at the baseball field. Must have been a good rave.
Then it was time for our crossing into Washington. Bridge of the Gods might be a pompous name, but it lived up to it. The view of the Columbia Gorge was fitting for our crossing into the final state. Walking across the metal grating of the bridge with cars passing by right next to us was scarier than I’d liked to admit. I clenched my phone in my hand for fear that I would drop it through a hole in the grating.
At the other end was a large patch of giant, blissfully sweet blackberries. A perfect welcome and breakfast at the same time. We had to hurry though, the horde that remained on Thunder Island would wake up soon and storm the trail like a swarm of locusts. Didn’t want to be caught in that.
A familiar shirtless figure appeared ahead: Smiley. Nothing ever brought him down and he was enjoying every second of the trail. I hiked with him for most of the morning. The humidity and heat weighed hard on me. I had hoped things would get cooler this far north, but so far that had proven to be untrue.
We caught the others at their campsite, a mass of tents already there. Our attempt to escape the bubble had proven futile. People were everywhere and there was no escaping it.