The train is a journey, a romantic way to travel. To see the West Coast, and all its beauty unravel. The train is a memory, that should be experienced once. Even if you live at home, and don’t have to take the chance. The train stops at universities, where students can board. And travel home for the break, with memories to be stored.
Then came the cowboys, with their protest loud, Against the federal rule, they stood proud. But the standoff turned tragic, a spokesman fell, In the land of Malheur, where the egrets dwell. Yet nothing was resolved, the struggle ended, The land still contested, the wounds not mended. But through it all, the birds remain, In the land of Malheur, amidst the distress and pain.
Upon the path of Highway 99, Lies Wolf Creek Tavern, a sight so divine. Eight rooms of comfort, where guests may recline, With WiFi strong, and red wine so fine, a lot of work will get done. It is Devine. Clark Gable once rested his weary head, And Jack London wrote, in a room filled with Halloween dread. Stagecoaches of old, and Teslas so sleek, Both find their occupants rest here for a day or a week.
At the taproom in town, they sampled the brews, Craft beers on tap, a variety to choose. But little did they know, as the night grew late, They would encounter creatures, a mysterious fate. Two Bigfoot appeared, a male and his mate, In the misty woods of Saint Helens town, A Macgregor 26x set sail, up and down. Late September, the air crisp and cool, The crew embarked on a journey, a boating duel.
Ten years of journeys, a decade of cheer, The son learns the secrets the valley holds dear, In Grants Pass, he rests, avoiding the night, And Roseburg he visits, with yurts in his sight. The Oregon Caves, a marvel to see, Their subterranean wonders, a mystery, He sips on the brews of the valley so fair, And dreams of the Shakespeare performed in the air.