This day was easy, ferry style. Even more relaxed and comfortable, actually. No cool, foggy winds to ice cube my head. Those winds were less than a foot from my elbow, but double panes made them untouchable. The Timberline Lodge’s huge exposed wood beams, angular and simple in form, were providing cozy protection against the dense fog that was shot through with whipping snow.
The lack of mileage was reported to the No Complaint Department. We had originally intended to stick our noses into places around Mount Hood, wherever looked interesting for a view or hike. A soaking, chilling rain – that slushed into falling snow near the lodge – changed those plans. We quickly dismounted, with many quick-walking passers-by cracking friendly jokes about our wetness and motorcycles up there at snowy altitude.
The atmosphere of Timberline enveloped us immediately as we passed the carved wooden Indian head embedded in the entrance door. I was ready for a relaxing getaway spot like this, and Dad was ready to be pampered too.
The relaxation took hold of me: seduction into an afternoon nap and writing at a table littered with peanuts and glasses from the bar, all before dinner. The original, solid wood table got a good wiping with some left-over napkins, and I pulled up a hard but well butt-contoured chair. A family that spoke in a southern-draw joined me in the alcove of four tables, and I even became a stop on a packed lodge tour that provided the same information I heard earlier (and that the tour guide could likely repeat over and over backwards).
Dinner break: I treated Dad to a Father’s Day meal, one of the best pile of vittles I ever had. The ambiance was great, with dark wood surrounds and fancy-pleasant service. Appetizer was stuffed mushrooms. I had never eaten mushrooms so tasty. The main course was even better. Poached salmon for Dad and Oregon pine-ridge salmon for me. All worth the extra wait and price, only to be topped by the best cheesecake I had ever slowly savored.
Snow starting to cover our bikes after arriving at Timberline Lodge
I returned later to my alcove. The noise became more intense, with loud laughing dinner parties and people sinking into a lodge version of nightlife. It included some of the strangest, most piercing laugh cackles ever heard. Hearing without seeing allowed me to pull the noise stampede apart and hear selected people and their attempts at civilized volume.
The snow was spraying down still, and the parking lot was getting lost in a dark, foggy swirl. Dad and I jumped outside to our bikes to see growing motorcycle snowdrifts. I hoped that the weather would clear for the next day and that all the snow removal equipment was ready to roll and shove. Otherwise, we were in for a long slide ride down the mountain road, or we could have been stranded. Not a bad oasis to be stranded in, but we were aiming home. Plus the lodge only had fashion magazines to read, so this could have been a Machiavellian problem of reading survival with stranded guests fighting over anything good in print.
The Timberline had a storied history, especially for a building. The Public Works Administration was convinced by vacationers and skiers to throw some of their anti-Depression money at carpenters and metalworkers to construct this huge, rough hewn place. Over fifteen months of hauling, pulleying, and forging, and 1.2 million dollars completed it. FDR officially dedicated the lodge in 1937.
I was impressed by the mammoth beams, animal-shape carved stair posts, solid rock walls, and massive smokestack chimneys. What a great idea, scaled down to size, for a house.
“What would this place probably cost to build nowadays?”
The ranger said, “We asked an architectural firm to estimate that on its 50th anniversary in 1987. The firm concluded it probably could not realistically be built in today’s world of wages and materials, but a bill of 35 to 50 million dollars might do it.”
Oh.
I outlasted the dinner din, but may not outlast the lodge.