It's afternoon, and I've driven to a mountaintop, apparently with Mark. We can see a trail that seems familiar from other dreams, a fun couple-hour walk to another mountaintop. I think it's called "Saddle Mountain" although it's nothing like the real Saddle Mountain trail, over by the Oregon Coast. It's got a fork near the top, and two destinations. We can see bits of the trail from our vantage point, and we look for the "saddle".

We decide we're going to hike it that afternoon, but have to go home first. I have a horse at home (which I think is Sydney my dog), and I am going to take her for a ride on the trail.

We drive back to the city, in an old car belonging to Mark. We stop for gas, but he wanders off and we wait and wait. It's as though the gas station is in Multnomah Village, and I can see all the way down Multomah toward the corridor, and see him walking along the road. But he's stopping, wandering off the road, talking to people.

A girl is in the car with me, both of us in the back seat, and we're getting impatient after nearly two hours. I reach up to the front and turn the key as if getting ready to leave, and it unlocks the wheels and the car starts to roll, yet still with the gas hose in the tank. The car rolls sideways until it the hose comes taught, as I scramble to get up to the front seat and get it stopped. When the hose gets tight it starts swinging the car around in a circle, several times around the gas pumps until it stops. Luckily, we don't hit anything.

We take the car and pick up Mark, but now it's nearly dark, and too late for the hike. I get on a bike and start riding down Multnomah back toward home, with Mark in a little trailer dragging behind. A woman who looks like a librarian asks me for a ride, and I let her sit on the seat behind me. As I ride, I am loudly complaining about Mark's dilly-dallying, and how it has cost us our hike for the day.