(Formerly Highway 126)
The Crosscurrent is the lifeblood that runs sideways through the valley, the road that ties the mountains to the sea. Before the Fall it was known as Highway 126, an ordinary east-west route crowded with commuters, tourists, and freight. Now it has become something older and truer—a path of exchange between two living edges of the world. From the misted coves of the Pacific to the snow-fed passes of the Cascades, the Crosscurrent breathes life through the valley’s heart, and that heart is Sappho.
The Crosscurrent begins on the coast near Florence, where the ruins of piers still jut from gray surf. The westernmost mile floods each winter, and travelers must time their crossings to the tides. From there the road turns eastward, following the Siuslaw River inland. It climbs through a wilderness of moss-hung fir and alder before the forest opens to farmland near Veneta, where the first settlements reappear.
East of Veneta, the road merges with the bustle of the valley. It passes directly through Sappho, built atop the bones of old Springfield. Here the Crosscurrent becomes the beating center of movement in and out of the commune—caravans departing for trade posts to the north and south while others roll in from the mountains or coast. Beyond Sappho, the road turns toward the rising foothills, tracing the McKenzie River upstream through sharp curves and damp tunnels of cedar and fern. The pavement finally ends in the Cascade highlands near Sisters, where the old world’s bridges have fallen and the wilderness begins in earnest.
In the valley’s geography the Crosscurrent is balance itself: a single line connecting salt and snow, life and decay, west and east.
Where the Main Vein binds the valley vertically, the Crosscurrent links its contrasts. The Sellers and Scavengers use it as the great lateral route, carrying goods from the coast’s fishing enclaves to Sappho’s markets and back again. Wagons creak beneath loads of driftwood, salt, and sea-born metals heading inland, while the return caravans carry herbs, grain, and crafted goods to the settlements that cling to the ocean edge.
Traffic is slower in the mountains, where switchbacks and narrow bridges force single-file movement. Elk teams pull lighter loads there, and travelers often leave their wagons behind at the McKenzie Rest, a communal outpost halfway between Sappho and the Cascades. Beyond that, the road becomes part trail, part memory—a thread of gravel and moss that only the most experienced drivers dare attempt.
The western stretches toward Florence are easier but wetter, prone to fog and floods. Coastal winds strip paint from wagons and salt the hides of beasts, giving them a white sheen that marks them as “crossers.”
Unlike the Main Vein, which is shared by many towns, the Crosscurrent is cared for in pieces by the communities that rely on it most. Sappho oversees the central section, keeping it clear for its caravans and visiting traders. To the east, small mountain settlements maintain the McKenzie corridor, shoring up wooden bridges and keeping landslides at bay. The western half, from Veneta to Florence, belongs largely to the Sellers’ Guilds and to independent coastal groups that have learned to cooperate when storms wash out the road.
Each spring, work crews travel its length with wagons full of timber and pitch, patching what winter destroyed. These journeys are as much celebration as labor. Campfires mark their progress, and travelers stop to help without pay. The Crosscurrent, more than any other road, depends on goodwill.
Along its length the Crosscurrent passes through zones of shifting light and mood. Near the coast stand the Ruins of Florence, half-sunken under dunes but still alive with trade. Fisherwomen there harvest kelp and shellfish, sending salt, oils, and seaweed eastward in barrels.
Inland, the forest settlement of Veneta has grown around an old rest stop, its people masters of woodcraft and repair. Sappho is the road’s bright core—its largest, safest, and most traveled point—where caravans pause for resupply or turn north and south onto the Main Vein.
East of Sappho, the McKenzie Rest serves as a travelers’ haven. It stands where the Crosscurrent meets the McKenzie River, a collection of rebuilt cabins, rope bridges, and hot springs that draw healers and wanderers alike. Further on, the Blue Bridge crosses a gorge of crystalline water, the last true span before the wilderness of the Cascades swallows the road.
At its furthest reach, near the foothills around Sisters, the Crosscurrent fades into a climbing path of gravel and roots. Few wagons go beyond it, but pilgrims and prospectors still trace the way east in search of relics or refuge.
The Crosscurrent’s greatest enemy is water. The coastal stretch floods without warning, while the eastern side faces rockfall and snowmelt from the high passes. In some winters, both ends of the road vanish entirely, leaving Sappho isolated until the thaw. Travelers time their journeys carefully, guided by seasonal signs and local knowledge.
Wildlife is common—elk herds roam freely, and predators follow their trail. Rumors persist of ghost lights in the mountain tunnels, but most travelers blame swamp gas or fatigue. The real threat is mechanical: bridges weakened by rot, wheel-swallowing potholes, or the occasional fallen tree that blocks progress for days.
Despite these dangers, few avoid the Crosscurrent. To move between mountain and sea, there is simply no other way.
Where the Main Vein symbolizes endurance, the Crosscurrent represents exchange. It carries not just goods, but stories, songs, and strangers. Those born along its length speak of being “carried by the Crosscurrent,” meaning a life shaped by travel or chance.
Among the people of Sappho, it is revered as the road that breathes life into the commune—the inhalation and exhalation of trade and culture. Coastal traders bring fish oil and salt, mountain folk bring herbs and stone, and Sappho gives back crafted goods, glassware, and preserved fruits. Every movement along the Crosscurrent replenishes the commune’s pulse.
Poets sometimes call it the road of two breaths: the salt wind blowing inland and the pine wind blowing out. When the storms roll through and thunder echoes between the ridges, they say the road is talking to itself, sea answering sky.
In the present era, the Crosscurrent remains the Willamette’s essential east-west corridor. It ensures that neither coast nor mountain stands alone. Its caravans move slower than those on the Main Vein but carry rarer and more precious goods—spices, metals, tinctures, and lore. Messages between Sappho and the outer communes often travel this way, carried by riders who know the road’s every bend.
The Crosscurrent’s midpoint within Sappho makes the commune both gatekeeper and guardian. From its workshops flow the wagons that will brave the passes; to its markets come the coastal traders hungry for news of the interior. It is said that if the Main Vein is the heart’s pulse, the Crosscurrent is its breath—an endless rhythm of exchange between the valley’s two living edges.