(Formerly Highways 20 & 22)
The Breezeway sweeps across the upper valley like a long exhale, carrying the scent of sea salt eastward until it dissolves in mountain snow. Before the Fall it was a pair of highways—20 and 22—built for freight and speed. Now it is a restless corridor of wind and sound, the northernmost route still passable from coast to Cascade. Where the Main Vein pulses through the valley floor, the Breezeway hums above it, a ribbon of motion tying the Pacific’s storms to the interior calm.
The Breezeway begins at the drowned edges of Newport Piers, where the surf gnaws at the base of rebuilt docks. From there it rises through fog-drenched hills and along the winding Yaquina River, climbing toward the reclaimed farmlands near Philomath Rise. The road meets the Main Vein at Corvallis, crosses the Willamette at Albany Spans, and then bends northeast toward Salem Crossing, where its bridges and voices merge with the rest of the valley’s traffic. Beyond Salem, the Breezeway follows a jagged climb into the eastern foothills, passing through basalt cliffs, pine shadow, and finally into the alpine wilderness of Detroit Reach—its eastern terminus and last whisper before silence.
For two hundred miles the road carries shifting weather: sea mist rolling inland at dawn, warm thermals drifting outward by dusk. Travelers say you can tell where you are by the wind’s taste—briny near the coast, sweet with clover in the valley, sharp with pine and ash near the mountains.
The Breezeway is less a trade route than a messenger line. Caravans use it, but rarely in great numbers; it serves those who move quickly or alone—envoys, couriers, and scavengers who prefer quiet roads and open skies. When storms close the Crosscurrent or floods drown the Main Vein, the Breezeway becomes the lifeline of the valley, its higher ground offering safety when the rivers rage below.
Those who master its turns earn the title Windriders—drivers and riders famed for reading the weather like scripture. Their wagons are lighter than the south-bound caravans’, their elk lean and swift. They tie ribbons to their reins that flutter in the air as signals to others: green for safe travel, red for danger ahead, white for aid requested.
Because the Breezeway spans so many climates, no single group claims it. Instead, the settlements that depend on its sections tend them in rhythm with the seasons. Newport’s coastal guilds rebuild what the tides claim each winter, replacing planks and patching roads with salt-bleached driftwood. Philomath Rise maintains the orchard lanes, where roots threaten to crack the pavement each spring. Corvallis and Albany, twin anchors of the middle stretch, clear debris and mark trade rest points. Salem oversees the eastern bridges, ensuring they remain strong enough to bear the wagons that bring news to the Voices of the Valley. Beyond Salem, the duty falls to the highland people of Detroit Reach, who repair landslides with stone and prayer.
Each spring, as the storms fade, work crews from every settlement meet midway near the Albany Spans to trade supplies and celebrate the season’s first clear days. They call this gathering The Clearing, and when they part, the wind carries their songs east and west.
Newport Piers – Where the Breezeway meets the ocean. Once a harbor, now a village on stilts where fisherwomen barter salt, oil, and coral trinkets for tools and grain. Wind harps made from broken masts sing constantly above the waves.
Philomath Rise – Built on a hill of reclaimed orchards, this community thrives on cider, honey, and woodcraft. The road narrows here, lined by trees whose branches interlock overhead like ribs.
Corvallis – The central crossing, where the Breezeway meets the Main Vein. Markets bustle with caravans exchanging coastal goods for valley produce. The old university ruins serve as a forum for trade and gossip.
Albany Spans – Twin timber bridges over the Willamette, bound with iron and rope. Their hum in the wind is said to predict the weather—a low tone for rain, a high one for storm.
Salem Crossing – The great convergence where all major routes meet. Here the Breezeway bends toward the highlands, passing under the shadow of the Hall of Voices, where the valley’s Hands and envoys gather.
Detroit Reach – The final settlement before wilderness. Perched beside a deep blue lake, it marks the road’s eastern breath—quiet, cold, and thin. From here, the air itself seems to carry stories back westward.
The Breezeway is less treacherous than the mountain roads but never kind. Coastal storms flood the lower stretches; falling rock and ice threaten the eastern climb. Crosswinds can overturn wagons or sweep loose gear off the cliffs. Travelers secure everything they own with ropes and prayer.
Sound carries strangely here. Voices echo for miles, sometimes returning warped or delayed, as though the wind itself has learned to speak. Locals hang strings of seashells or bits of glass from branches along the road to “catch the chatter,” claiming it keeps travelers safe by giving the breeze something else to talk to.
To the valley, the Breezeway represents freedom. It is the open road, the choice to move rather than settle, the reminder that the Willamette is still connected to the wider world. Poets call it the road that remembers movement, the last place where the land feels alive with passage rather than permanence.
Each settlement along it honors the wind in small ways. Newport’s sails are stitched with prayers; Philomath’s cider presses turn to the rhythm of gusts; Albany’s bridges are tuned to sing; and at Detroit Reach, travelers tie bits of cloth to the guardrails, letting their wishes fly down the valley.
For Sappho, the Breezeway carries more than trade—it brings word of what lies beyond. Scavengers and Sellers returning from the coast bring with them the smell of salt, tales of distant settlements, and rumors of the wider world.
Today the Breezeway serves as the valley’s high road of air and message. When the Voices of the Valley gather in Salem Crossing, messengers take this route to summon them—its higher ground keeps them safe from flood and mud. It remains vital for trade in metal, salt, and coastal craft.
At dusk, the entire route hums with life. The sea wind runs inland, carrying the scent of brine and pine; lanterns flicker along bridges and roadsides like grounded stars. Travelers say if you stop on a clear night, you can hear the ocean and the mountains breathing in rhythm through the valley’s long corridor of wind.
The Breezeway endures as the valley’s whisper—neither the pulse of the Main Vein nor the breath of the Crosscurrent, but the voice that travels between them, telling every settlement that the world still moves, and always will.