From the Willamette Valley we drove east through farmlands, then burn scars, and then the scenic Central Western Cascades. In the former, fields were dotted with pasture pets like ponies, alpacas, and Pygmy goats as well as cows, sheep, and horses. The naming convention for roads here is wonderfully simple, if the streets aren’t numbered. Look for tree names, people names, and feature names. Some street names I’ve loved: Goldfish Farm Road, Fish Hatchery Road, Mill Pond Road. We stopped at many of the empty Willamette National Forest campgrounds along the North Santiam River just to look around. Whispering Falls was our favorite. I couldn’t imagine camping with little ones here, though. The river is too swift and treacherous, the bank too slippery. The kids couldn’t roam freely. After an overnight in a rustic fishing lodge on Detroit Lake, we continued on to Sisters, named for the three volcanoes about ten miles south of the town.
In Sisters we are in a dry pine subalpine forest. The architecture is by design Old Timey Times Western, with false fronts and Western-themed hand painted signs. By chance the Sisters arena is hosting its annual rodeo, so locals are excitedly asking us if we’re in town for the rodeo. JG: “the what?” was a pretty good answer.
I am musing about the competitive nature of sports. In Eugene we had hotel breakfast with the track and field team from Liberty College in Lynchburg, VA. They were in town for the NCAA Track and Field Finals. I watched some of these track heats on ESPNU. What incredible athletes, competing for hundredths of a second, just for the glory!
I also wrote about man versus bull in the bull-riding competition. Now I’m seeing competition even in Eugene’s Owen Rose Garden. Experienced, respected judges decide which new hybrid rose gets to be named and patented. Since I personally have grown rotten loser roses, good only at displaying three kinds of mold and two kinds of aphids, I can understand this type of contest. But a televised “Wiener Dog Championship,” in which adorable dachshunds in chic hat and coat ensembles strutted before a table of judges left me scratching behind my ears in dismay. Don’t all dachshunds believe they are perfect? And aren’t they all?
JohnandJanet'sJourney 
Just as you say: all dachshunds believe they are perfect, and all dachshunds are correct.
That does seem like a lot of strange things to be competitive about.
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