When you don�t know where you are going it is not hard to find your way. �You just need to blow the stink off.� Not sure what my friend meant, but he was right. So I pointed the little red car east and headed down the highway. Along the way found a man named Arizona in Lime, saw falling water from the top, watched the sun set a couple of times, danced with waves, rode a duck on fathers day and lived well.
Whizzing by at 80 you miss all the good stuff, go to the blue highways. Blue highways are the side roads, �old highway 57 or 8.� They dance along the freeways and used to carry the main load. Now these 'scenic by-ways' roll in and out of little towns past barns painted with Pepsi signs to closed gas stations were Gas Jockeys once waited to wash your windows and fill your tank with Ethel. 
Here is one of the adventures.
Took I-84 to Lime, the old concert factory has always fascinated me. When I was a kid the old road old went right through the factory. A huge slew ran over the highway and it was scary to go under. My dad would always make sure to tell us a wild story about it breaking open and crushing a car. Now the factory has been moved down the road and the massive concrete towers stand silently.
�They call me Arizona,� he smiled. Sitting high in his old Ford truck the laugh lines around his eyes bold under his straw hat, a hat almost as stained as his chew stained teeth. Together this man and his truck tell the tail of a fading past. A past when rugged men and equipment, gouged and bullied the land to build the west. Now Arizona is working for an investor who is going to convert the massive concrete holding towers into Condos. Condos for Gawds sake. In the middle of Oregon? That�s where all the cowboys have gone, they are building condos in the middle of no where!