Posted Feb 23, 2019
Around the year 2001, I drove down on a whim from Seattle to central Oregon — an area that would later become known for cults and militiamen, but at the time was mostly just a blank space on the map to me. I wanted to explore, take a few photos, and find a place I remembered my grandfather once talking about, called Steens Mountain.
At the end of the second day, barreling down the backside of that mountain toward my motel room and a shower and a bed, a side road flashed into my peripheral vision and then was gone. Something about it grabbed me; I slammed on my brakes and went back to snap this picture.
This remains a favorite photo and a favorite memory — one of those times I ventured out on my own to nowhere in particular, just to see what I could see.