Even knowing Mt. Hood was nearby in the darkness didn’t make me feel any less frustrated at the traffic in downtown Portland. Hollis was using his phone to direct us to the motel he’d booked, but there’d been an accident and my bladder was full to almost bursting.
“I have an empty bottle in the back seat. You can use that,” he offered, and I glared at him.
“You know it’s not easy to pee sitting down, right?”
He raised his hands. “I was just trying to help.”
Eventually, traffic eased and Hollis pointed out a gas station where I could take care of business. Relieved, I sat in the passenger seat and he drove us to the motel, then got us checked in.
“We need to get you fed before you turn into a bear. You’re certainly grumbling like one right now,” was his only comment as we locked up our
