Good Morning

Jeremy’s alarm goes off at 6:30 a.m., but I’m fairly certain I do not hear it. Instead, I wake to him gently stroking my arm, pulling me out of a dream in which I was training geese to perform tricks.

I do not know why the geese were so cooperative.

I lie there for a moment, warm and sleepy in his arms, trying to convince my brain that morning is a reasonable concept. Eventually, we rise and shower, steam and resolve helping usher us properly into the day.

Downstairs at breakfast, I opt for English muffins and an apple danish. Jeremy assembles a plate of hard-boiled egg, sausage, and biscuits with gravy—fuel for mountain adventures.

Mount Hood, Oregon

We set out toward Mount Hood, and driving into Mount Hood National Forest feels like crossing a threshold into another season entirely.

At our first viewpoint, the mountain stands with its lower half green and its upper half dusted in snow—like winter and summer shaking hands. An older couple is taking photos beside us, and when we see them again at the next viewpoint, we exchange knowing giggles. Fellow wanderers.

We attempt to drive to a lake, but the road is slick with icy snow, and the lake itself is closed off anyway. Still, the detour is beautiful—white-dusted trees lining the quiet road.

We continue upward until we reach the visitor center, which turns out to be Timberline Lodge—the very lodge used for the exterior shots of the hotel in The Shining. We had removed it from our itinerary, unaware it would simply be waiting for us anyway.

The gift shop is more ski-and-snowboard outfitter than treasure trove. We browse politely, peek into the café (no food available), and then retreat back to the car.

The descent is slow and cautious—partly because of lingering snow, partly because we are following a vehicle that has become Jeremy’s unofficial “speed guardian.”

Bottom of the Mountain

At the base, we accidentally turn the wrong direction. Realizing our mistake—and seeing no other cars in sight—we execute a bold little U-turn. Adventurous, yet responsible.

We aim for the Columbia River, but when I plug “Columbia Gorge” into my phone, it confidently directs us to a random person’s driveway. Not the majestic overlook we had envisioned.

We regroup.

Eventually we find our way to Highway 85 and follow the river properly this time. We stop at various pull-offs, gazing at the water winding between tree-covered foothills. It reminds me of growing up near the Mississippi River—the way the towns nestle close to the banks, the quiet presence of water shaping everything around it.

There’s something deeply comforting about rivers.

The Evening + Good Night

We cross back into Washington over the Bridge of the Gods, which offers a sweeping view of the Columbia below. The name feels dramatic, and the scenery rises to meet it.

On the drive back, I book us a 9:00 p.m. couples massage at LH Foot Care and Massage—giving us just enough time to return, refresh, and pretend we are people who plan things intentionally.

The massage room is private and softly lit. We settle under blankets, side by side. The experience is nothing short of glorious. Backs, shoulders, legs, feet—every travel-worn muscle receives attention. Jeremy, who has never had a “real” massage before, is officially converted.

Afterward, in a blissed-out haze, we go to Shari’s for a very late dinner. Jeremy orders country fried steak with loaded hash browns and bacon. I choose the sampler—pancakes, hash browns, bacon, and scrambled eggs—because apparently breakfast for dinner is my life’s theme.

We both order macchiato frappés. Naturally.

Before leaving, we add two slices of pie to go: Washington Deep Dish Apple and cookies & cream. Because moderation has already left the building.

We return to the hotel, pie in hand, muscles loose and happy. The day folds in around us as we settle into bed—snowy mountains, winding rivers, and the faint scent of massage oil lingering like a quiet victory.