Oil prices were setting new highs, and dour-faced pundits filled the air waves with prophecies of gas prices soon following suit. But, driving a large V8-powered, 100,000-mile-plus gas guzzler that got 13 miles to the gallon on a good day, we knew if our RV trip-of-a-lifetime was ever going to happen, it had to be now.

Ahead of us: seven states and 2,700 miles en route to our first look at the Oregon and Northern California coasts in three decades, and my first visit ever to the Redwoods.

As we drove north on Interstate 15 out of Salt Lake City and into southeastern Idaho, spring was giving way to summer. The truck's windows open, the breezes out of the Wasatch Range, the pastoral scenery of dairy and ranch lands and the aroma of fresh grass and wildflowers were a tonic to my wife and me.

After brief stops in Idaho Falls, Idaho, and after traversing western Montana into Spokane, Wash., we turned our modern-day prairie schooner southwest. We crossed the Columbia River through south-central Washington's Tri-Cities and onto Oregon's Highway 84.

The river, wide and swollen from its tributaries, stretched through terrain that gradually changed from desert to grasslands and then ever-thickening evergreen forests; barges slowly navigated against the Columbia's whitecaps, while closer to shore wind-surfers sped along the waves.

Our first stop in Oregon: Multnomah Falls. Thirty-seven years ago, two teenagers had run to the base of this 620-foot cascade, sealing a promise of love with a long kiss. A year later, we were married. This time, we walked, but the kiss was just as sweet - certainly a happier outcome than the local legend about the falls' origins. As that story goes, an epidemic was ravaging an unidentified tribe, so the chief's daughter leaped from the cliff in self-sacrifice, hoping to stop the fatal illness. Her father found the girl's body, and as his tears flowed, water began to gush from far above and the sickness abated.

A day driving along the Historic Columbia River Highway led us through canopies of pine and cedar adorned with wild rhododendrons of white, gold and red.

After a night hooked up at our campsite in Corbett, Ore., we detoured northwest to see the first of several lighthouses we would visit, beginning with Cape Meares, 10 miles outside Tillamook off U.S. 101.

At just under 40 feet, the Cape Meares Lighthouse, its beacon fired up in 1890, is the shortest on the Oregon coast. Nonetheless its vantage point, 217 feet above the Pacific, affords breathtaking ocean views and is a popular spot for whale and seal watching (we saw the latter, not the former).

Later, we would visit the 115-year-old Yaquina Head Lighthouse - the tallest, at 93 feet high, on the Oregon coast. Looking out from this point, your face bathed in saltwater mist, you see the Pacific slap off-shore islets, briefly scattering nesting seabirds; trails from the lighthouse lead to algae-clad tidal pools filled with sea anemone, mussels and barnacles.

If you go to Tillamook, a tour of the Tillamook Cheese Factory is a must, and nearby is the Tillamook Air Museum, a former World War II naval air station.

The museum is housed in the massive Hangar B, all that is left of a once-thriving World War II Naval Air Station. Today, its prime attraction is a 1,072-foot-long, 15-story hangar - 7 acres containing nearly three dozen restored, historic aircraft. My favorites included Germany's ME-109 Messerschmitt, the American-made P-38 Lighting and P-51 Mustang and Japan's Nakajima "Oscar" KI-43 fighter. More modern warplanes included F-14 Tomcats and one of the first Russian MiGs.

Newport was next on our itinerary. This town of 10,000 boasts a seafaring history going back to at least the 1860s. Still a working port for commercial fishermen and cargo vessels, its waterfront has experienced a tourism-fed renaissance. Antique shops, restaurants, art galleries and museums invite visitors for a leisurely walk, which also features dockside entertainment: sun-bathing harbor seals.

Newport's pride, though, might be the Oregon Coast Aquarium. This private, not-for-profit aquatic and marine science educational site offers indoor and outdoor exhibits featuring 500 species of birds, seals, otters, octopus and fish.

Coos Bay, Ore., was the next stop. A town of 16,000 dating back to at least 1853, it is the gateway to forests of the Coastal Range to the east and the nearby, famed Oregon Dunes National Recreation Area. Coos Bay is the largest natural harbor between Seattle and San Francisco, busy handling timber, commercial and sports fishing traffic. All impressive, but we were most taken with the craftsmanship of The Oregon Connection: House of Myrtlewood.

Originally a family business founded in 1929, in its current incarnation it is a subsidiary of the Star of Hope Mission, an organization serving the developmentally disabled. The House of Myrtlewood provides much-needed revenue for the mission while giving its clients training in working with its rare namesake coastal wood as well as retail experience.

Another hookup and we continued south on scenic U.S. 101 to Klamath, Calif., stopping several times to visit beautiful beaches. Then came the Redwood national and state parks, home ground for the planet's biggest and most ancient trees. Towering up to 400 feet, the redwoods' thick bases have provided photographic fodder for decades.

Barbara and I visited the Trees of Mystery and Sky Trail in Klamath, a sprawling redwoods-themed park offering miles of foot trails through a veritable tree cathedral, as well as a gondola ride above nature's giants. On top of the mountain, we saw cloud-shrouded redwoods stretching east into the horizon, while to the west, distant ocean beaches were shining through the branches.

Heading home, we chose to forgo busy Interstate 5 and were rewarded by serendipity. Climbing to green summits, we often averaged only 30 mph, but it paid off with the stunning beauty of the Klamath Mountain Range. Winding through the Whiskeytown-Shasta-Trinity National Recreation Area, forest blacktop led through a gallery of waterfalls and picturesque hamlets on the way to Redding, Calif. From there, S.R. 99 took us through orchard country to Chico, and onto S.R. 149 through Oroville.

Our campsite that night was next to the Feather River, where a soft evening and the sounds of the water sped us to a good night's sleep. We rose with the dawn, heading onto S.R. 20 and then Interstate 80 through the Sierra Nevadas toward home.

Was it worth it? If vacations are less about money spent, and more about memories made and tensions fading away, then yes. (See accompanying cost breakdown of the trip.)