As the sun was setting, we passed close to Mount Shasta. The beautiful gray, snow covered peak overlooked a deep lake where we stopped to take pictures. The farther north we got, the closer we got to the mountain itself, although we never got close enough to be overwhelmed.
After making our last pass-by of the mountain, we immediately passed by a smaller mountain, covered in trees. At the base of the mountain was a monument to marijuana. I’m not sure how liberal the state’s laws are towards it, but I found the fact that an obviously permanent stone monument to pot, erected directly south of Weed, Oregon, was hilarious. Too bad the highway was too hectic and the sun too far set for photos to be taken.
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In the deep darkness, we crossed the border into Oregon at the height of a beautiful mountain pass. The highway was hugging the face of the mountain to my right, and to my left was a deep bowl valley the bottom of which could not be seen. Above me was a sky more full of stars than I could ever recount and a moon nearing full that litle the valley in a pale, deathly light. It was one of the most beautiful images I have ever seen, even if it was only a glimpse while driving around a sharp corner and then down again.
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Oregon was as beautiful as it had been described to me, although I wasn’t sure its beauty matched that of what I saw several years ago in West Virginia.
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