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We were out till sunrise and at six Mike had to work the breakfast shift. He tells us to come in for breakfast, but Paul and I have already eaten pretty well and need to hit the road.

"I can't thank you enough for letting us stay, Mike," I tell him.

"Dude, stick around," he says. "You've got nowhere to go."

"We're trying to get to Oregon. We should probably hit the road," I say.

"Oregon is only about eight hours away. Leave tomorrow."

I look over at Paul and he shrugs his shoulders. We are at the kitchen table and Mike's mom has made us coffee. Mike refills my cup.

"You're not putting me out," he says. "You always feel like that and it's not the case. What's the rush with Oregon anyway?"

"No rush, really. I've just wanted to see it and that's where we're heading, you know."

"Go if you want." Mike shrugs.

"I've got a better idea," I say. "Join us, Mike. Come with us."

"Yeah!" Paul says.

"I can't," Mike sighs.

"Why?" I ask.

"Work."

Paul chimes in again: "Come with us, Mike. Have you ever been to Oregon?"

"Never been," he says.

"You'll love it."

"Mike," I begin, "we're going up to Ridgefield to see Danielle."

"The girl we met in Colorado?"

"Yes," I tell him.

"The girl in the red dress?" he asks, perking up.

"Yes."

"What red dress?" Paul asks.

"Go take a cold shower, Paul," I tell him.

"She's a babe," Mike says to Paul.

"I knew it," Paul says. "Tell me about her, Mike."

"Look at this guy," Mike says. "Acts like he's got a shot."

"She's that pretty, huh?" Paul says.

"She's that good-looking."

"Yeah, yeah, tell me more," Paul asks.

Mike starts explaining to Paul how we met Danielle. He tells him how smart she is and that she's a great soccer player. "We were all really close that summer in Colorado," he says. "We were inseparable. We'd climb Red Mountain for sunrise. She was funny, huh, Don?"

"She was funny?"

"Used to watch old black-and-white movies or something. But, man, that red dress."

"I know," I say.

"What red dress?" Paul asks.

"She had this red dress on, our last day there, long and formfitting, you know. Man, she looked good. All of us were like, um, maybe she isn't just a tomboy, you know."

"No kidding. There's a woman in there, for sure," Mike adds.

"I've got to meet this girl!" Paul exclaims. "Let's get out of here. Mike, come with us."

"Can't," he says. "I have to work. You guys have a good time." Mike meets my eye and holds a fist over the table. I tap his fist to mine. "Say hello to Danielle," he says.

With Paul at the wheel, we drive west to Interstate 5 that will take us through Oregon and into Portland.

The van enjoys the flatness of the valley. We found our pace about one hundred miles ago and the van has not wavered, choked, or coughed in complaint since. We are sailing through America's bread basket, cabbage and beets and fruit trees and fields of grapes.

Paul tells me we should make Oregon by sunset, and then Portland before midnight, or shortly thereafter. I ask him if we intend to drive the night, and he shakes his head, saying he doesn't know if he can make it.

"Is this a pilgrimage?" I ask my friend.

"A pilgrimage?" he asks.

"Yes."

"What do you mean?" he inquires.

"Are we on a spiritual pilgrimage?"

"I don't know. I don't know what a pilgrimage is, I guess."

"I think it's when you are looking for the answer to something, or when you are trying to figure out God," I tell him.

"Are you trying to figure out God?" Paul asks.

"I don't know. I think I did, a bit, back in the canyon, but then you have to kind of jump into it, don't you? I mean, you have to see and believe the world is God's, that He is there and He made it for us. You have to see things poetically."

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April (Web-only) 2009, Vol. 53