Confessions of an absent-minded explorer

Today's run has to rank among my all-time top 10.

6:28. Pam and I park the car in the sunshine in the Hayden Homes neighborhood just across Weyerhaeuser Road from Potato Hill. She starts her normal Saturday walk to Wallace Creek Road and back with Deanna (the friend) and Duchess (the dog). I tell her I'll meet her at home and start shuffling down Weyerhaeuser Road.

6:54. I cross Wallace Creek Road, wondering if I'll ever have the 'nads to call John Koozer and ask for permission to cross his property from Wallace Creek Road to Cedar Flat Road.

7:15. I start shuffling up Hills Creek Road, thinking how cool Weyerhaeuser Road is looking with so little vehicle traffic and so much greenery closing in. Road 100 looks tempting--I've never been up there--but Pam and I have a trip to Portland scheduled for today, so this probably isn't the best day to explore. Besides, I have a few hills to climb before I'm home. Hills Creek Road has some new culverts and a short stretch of construction (currently gravel).

7:30. I turn up 200, past some shotgun shells and a blown-up TV. The gate probably hasn't been open since hunting season. I haven't been here for years and feel like I'm getting reacquainted with old friends. Up the road a ways, I stop to watch eight elk.

8:05. I get to where I'm supposed to turn right and head for 499. New signs show that 200 continues to the left and the road to the right is called 290. I know it turns into 499, and I also know it's a heck of a downhill that I'll have to make back up on 400 and 480. I also know that JimmyJim says roads that end in 0 don't dead-end and that a shorter route home would be very pleasant. I pretend not to know that this isn't a good day to explore and head on up 200.

The road is well-established and feels oldish, which is good. The Weyerhaeuser signs immediately give way to Forest Service signs, which is somewhat disconcerting. Thowing caution to the wind, I turn off this road and explore what turns out to be a little spur that dead-ends at the bottom of a small hill (of course). At least it was short. I backtrack to the road formerly known as 200 and continue up and into the unknown, resisting the temptation to look at my watch. Significant climbing, and then, horribly, the dreaded downhill. Could this be the hill I'll have to climb back out when this road dead-ends (and then continue the run that was maybe too long to do this morning even before this extended exploration)? What was I thinking? Sure enough, the hill flattens out into an infuriatingly beautiful turnaround surrounded by a wall of trees. The branches smile and wave and laugh, "What did you expect, you idiot?"

Further exploration is out of the question. I'll be late getting home as it is, this run is getting way too long, and my success as an explorer hasn't been too good as of late. But I do see some old quad tracks up and over a little mound...

Leaving some excess body fluids and all sense of reason at the turnaround, I poke through the trees and see a short ditch on the other side of the mound. I follow the old quad track around the ditch and onto a very old 4-wheel or skidder road. Well, this is way too cool not to explore just because I'm who knows where and won't be home until who knows when. I jog the slight grade downhill, happily free from the fetters of common sense, hoping against hope that I'll at least drop into some Koozer property, where I'll probably get caught, but at least I can claim being lost and insane and too tired to go back (all true). I come to another ditch with a mound. Wait--what? Is that a road on the other side?

O. My. Gosh. It's not just A road! It's THE road--Greenhouse! I recognize it--and the mound I just popped over--instantly: PEE HILL! I am undoubtedly the most brilliant explorer on the face of the earth. Taking this new route was the best idea any runner has ever had.

8:15. I ease off Greenhill and down 40 toward Kintighs'. Something's not right--I couldn't have begun my cut-through and foray into insanity just 10 minutes ago. Surely I've been running for hours.

Just before Kintighs', above the Deerhorn clear-cut, I enjoy my all-time favorite view of the lower McKenzie Valley. I can't wait to share it with the rest of the pack. I'm so full of myself that I don't even slip around the perimeter of the tree farm like I usually do. Heck, I have permission. I run right between the greenhouses, down Cedar Flat, and into my driveway.

9:05. 2 hours and 37 minutes. About 14 miles, I suppose. I've got to call Kintighs' about letting the rest of the pack through the tree farm. We could start at Coyoda's or Albertsons and end with pancakes on my deck, and Pam and I could ferry people back to the cars. You'll all see what a brilliant explorer I am. It will be glorious.