A Journey With Cerebral Palsy

I enjoy a good road trip. Especially the opportunity to travel roads I haven’t seen. Following the annual golf tournament in La Grande this year. My time away from home would continue with a stay along the Oregon Coast. The small coastal town of Manzanita sits just a few miles south of Cannon Beach. To arrive in Manzanita from the tournament in La Grande, would take some doing. The travel time appeared to be somewhere in the area of six-hours. Depending on the number of stops I opted for, along the journey. My path would be following highway 84 into Portland. The highway running through La Grande, on its way from Portland to Boise. Once arriving in Portland, highway 26 would take me up and over the mountains, dropping me onto highway 101, running along the coastline. The drive sounded intriguing from the moment I learned it would be part of my trip. There was some familiarity with the route, I had driven on highway 84, at different points. Traveling the road for the final stretch, on my way to La Grande, or driving just east of Portland to the family farm. But, I had never been given the chance of connecting the dots of the highway. The part running beside the Columbia River, for miles. The final stretch of my trip would be familiar. Highway 26, connecting Portland to the coast, had been traveled more than a handful of times. It was comforting to know what to expect for the final stretch of my trip. 

The ability to drive these road trips has always felt like a gift. Many times, people with cerebral palsy, don’t experience the ability to drive a car. With my disability, the ability to walk, can be qualified as a significant accomplishment. When I learned to drive, before testing for my drivers’ license, I had questioning thoughts on the matter. Wondering if my driving instructor, while taking drivers education, might stop me in my tracks. The taking of my drivers’ education class could have squashed all belief I had in being a driver. The instructor could have felt unsafe with me behind the wheel. Or, I could have been failed out of the course work portion for questionable reasons. Then, the state of Washington could have refused to grant me the ability to drive. I recall being fearful, as the time approached, about taking the driving portion of my testing. It all weighed heavily on my mind, as I remember pulling out of the parking space. The judge sitting in the passenger seat with his clipboard. Would I be entering into another physical activity that I couldn’t achieve because of my disability, not my intellect? Leaving me isolated from my group of friends, who had the physical ability to pass their driving test. I also recall pulling back into the licensing center and looking over to the clipboard. At almost the exact moment, my tester gave me the good news, as I looked down and saw my score in the 80’s. The freedom coming with having the ability to drive, was mine. It was one of the great moments when cerebral palsy might have hampered me, but did not. 

Remembering the fear has me feeling thankful for all the driving I have been blessed to have experienced. The drive from La Grande to the coast was another exciting journey. When the thought still remains in my head each time I might be pulled over. Could they deem me too physically impaired by cerebral palsy to continue my driving life? The thought comes and goes, sometimes. Most often, I have the ability to shake off the line of thinking. On this day of driving, those questions where not invading my mind. As I headed out of La Grande under bright blue sky. The first hour of driving along highway 84 would be familiar. Climbing a pass, not far from town. The idea struck to stop by a lookout point, one I had wanted to check out on prior drives. When traveling in the company of others, I’m prone to bypass such opportunities. Making the journey on my own, the freedom was inside to stop wherever struck. The lookout point gave an amazing view of the town of Pendleton, below. Scattered over the land, around the small Oregon town, was farm after farm. Seeming to spread as far as my eyes could see. It was a cool image from such a high vantage point. The town popping up in the middle to support the acres of farmland surrounding. I felt happy to have taken the time involved with making the stop. Merging back onto the highway heading down the steep grade that ran out toward Pendleton. I opened my car windows to feel the late spring air. 

The next stretch of highway 84 running through Oregon was familiar. I perked up when passing highway 395 going north. The road taken each of my prior trips to La Grande. It would cut north into Washington and up to connect with interstate 90, the route leading home. When crossing the entrance to 395, everything became new. From that junction, the road to Portland had not been experienced before the trip. Onward I traveled for some time, before coming upon another good-sized farming town. Looking around, it didn’t appear much different from Pendleton, surrounded by planted fields. Probably, placed there for farmers to gather, have meals out, socialize with other families, and find needed supplies. Those kinds of communities have always been fascinating, as I’m the grandson of a farmer. It wasn’t much past this town; the Columbia River came into view from the highway. The interstate took a couple added miles before dropping along beside the river. From there, I followed closely by the river, until parting ways just a handful of miles east of Portland. I knew about two towns along my route, I was intrigued to see. The Dalles and Hood River, I was hoping to find reason to stop in both. However, when they appeared on the green board alongside the highway. I found them to be within a short distance of each other. Surely, a plan could be formulated.

My first stop in The Dalles would be mandatory. The diesel in my SUV was starting to get low. Combine that fact with the necessity for a restroom break, and my stop was formulated. I pulled off on one of the first exits of the town. A Chevron station, easily accessed from the highway. The surrounding area seemed to be pretty quiet. Almost providing the feeling of being on the outskirts of town to the east. The highway was removed from the Columbia River more than it had been for a few miles. As, the road traveled inland, and up onto a bit off a bluff. The station was pretty generic and felt crowded. Leading me to believe, it might be a popular place to stop, for travelers along I-84. My stop didn’t take but ten minutes, before I was fueled up, and feeling better. Back onto the highway, I made my way past a handful of exits. With the road dropping back along the Columbia River. Much of the main town of The Dalles, sat on the east side of the river, with the highway running between it and the Columbia. The Dalles was much larger than I had imagined in my mind. As some big box stores and car dealerships could be seen from the highway. I had pictured it as being smaller than Hood River to the west. Before long, I found myself back on the open road. Running along the river, looking forward to seeing the next town to come on my journey. 

The town of Hood River seemed to have a smaller footprint. Working solely from memory, I don’t recall seeing the big box stores or car dealerships along the highway. The downtown area felt like it would be considerably smaller. Possibly, being set back into the hills, away from view of the highway. Unlike my venture through The Dalles, passing through Hood River didn’t take me away from the river. I was right alongside the Columbia, seemingly the entire time. While, looking for a Dutch Bros coffee stand, I didn’t feel confident on locating. I opted for pulling off to grab a McDonald’s milkshake in Hood River. Giving me the chance to stop in on the town and stretch my legs. Just around a bridge leading over the river was an exit with a McDonald’s, Starbucks, hotel, and other places that would appeal to a traveler. I veered my way off of I-84 to gather my strawberry milkshake and a momentary rest. Walking in the warm sunshine gave me time for taking in the pictures of my mind. On the way into Hood River, from the east, I could see an industrial district on the western banks of the Columbia. The image struck me as interesting for a couple reasons. I had not seen any activity on that side of the river for, what felt like a couple hours, and I had only seen one bridge in that time, over the water. I recall driving toward Hood River and wondering, how do people get over to those buildings? Never really thinking, there must be a bridge, because I hadn’t seen one in miles. Finally, I saw the bridge, moving cars over the Columbia River. Which, just so happened to be at the same exit as the McDonald’s. It was exciting to experience another city I had heard about for years, but had never driven through. I steered my car back onto the highway, heading toward Portland. 

My final challenge of the drive would be getting around the Portland area. Coming in from the east on interstate 84, I would need to make my way around the city, and head out of Portland, to the west. I thought if traffic was going to be part of my journey, it would occur when navigating around downtown. Surprising to me, the thought in my head was false. The only traffic holding me up was further east of the city. While, driving toward the downtown area, people were back up, looking to travel north and south on the 205 freeway. A highway enabling travelers to avoid Portland, to the east of town. Once the exit for 205 was behind me, I moved without interruption around the city. The flow of traffic was light and I made my way onto highway 26, moving west toward the coast. This final stretch of my journey would be one of familiarity. I had traveled highway 26 from Portland to the Oregon Coast many times. A road that winds itself through the dense forest of a mountain. The pictures of nature are spectacular along the drive of just over an hour. Arriving at the ocean beaches of Oregon held some surprise. The temperature difference from the time I left Portland had to have been around ten degrees lower. Not to mention, the warmth of Eastern Oregon, might have been five or ten degrees above Portland. I could really feel the difference in the coastal air, as I came out of the mountain.

The day provided quite the journey from La Grande to Manzanita, in Oregon. Traveling from the dry desert like environment of Eastern Oregon. To the lush greenery of the Oregon Coast. While, driving through the picturesque Colombia River Gorge. With the highway hugging the river, along most of the path. I was lucky to have spectacular weather the entire journey. Making the drive of about six hours feel more enjoyable. My windows were down the entire way, which is one of my favorite ways to travel. The wind was wipping along the Columbia River around the town of Hood River. With the warm sunshine, I was able to see windsurfers taking advantage of the wind and warmth, on the river. Arriving in Manzanita, I pulled up to a house, sitting not far from the sand. It was early in the evening, with blue skies above. A sight rarely experience in my years of going to the Oregon Coast. I found myself excited to stretch out my body following the long day of driving. A walk along the beach felt like the ideal way to dust off the journey. I could feel the familiar ocean breeze with the sounds of waves crashing against the sand. It was a great way to begin the week anew.