FRIDAY, JUNE 24, 2011

Seeley Lake, Montana to Newton, Washington

303 miles/2,570 miles

From Seeley Lake, we had originally planned to head north into Canada, and then west on Route 3, to Vancouver.  However, a couple of days ago, Rachel had dinner with our neighbors, Dave and Corinne, and another guest suggested that we change plans and take Route 20 across northern Washington, which we decided to do over breakfast this morning at Bud’s. 

So, we went back down the “hill” to Missoula, went north on Route 90 for a few miles, then onto Route 200 until we reached Route 20.  Route 20 will take us to far-western Washington before we make our final turn, north, to Vancouver, in a couple of days, where I will be dropped off and Al and Tom will continue south, back to Reno and San Diego. 

The GPS spot tracker that Al has strapped to his arm has allowed our arm-chair traveling companions to observe our every step and, via the wonder of the cell phone, quickly comment on our every wrong turn or lengthy stop (the spot checker also caused us, in Nevada, to skip the whorehouses we passed - thanks, Al).  


Earlier today, for example, with me leading the way, I missed the turnoff of Route 200 to the west, and meandered along, blissfully ignorant of the misdirection, until we saw signs that we were 13 miles from the Canadian border!  Oops!  Nice scenery, revisited.  Naturally, we got a bit of commentary on our turnaround.  Hey, this isn’t called an Adventure for nothing!  Lewis and Clark, on the first United States exploration to the Pacific Ocean (1804-1807), I’m sure, missed the same turn off......and they had a guide!  Did anyone make note of that?  No!  Technology is just too advanced!  

As we ride along, we have seen many abandoned houses, barns and other assorted out-buildings and, though some have been without the human element for many decades, each, at one time, represented hopes and dreams, family and friends, happiness and sadness – perhaps, many generations worth.  

Abandoned House

When I was younger, I gave the houses I lived in an animated liveliness; that each house enjoyed happy occupation and was disturbed by sadness and strife, and always retained a bit of each as the families came and went, to be supplanted by the personalities of another family, and so on, for the life of the house.  


When I was around 15 years old, by which time I had decided to be an architect, we lived in a house that was part of a subdivision, within which our house plan was repeated every fourth or fifth house.  I wondered if the lives in those houses, therefore, were similar to ours, but realized that the house itself was not the determining factor – personalities, objects and myriad other small differences made them, effectively, different as night and day.

What of these places that we pass, with their ghostly personification of their departed human presence?  What secrets and stories of lives do they hold that can never, now, be known, as nature, with wind and rain and snow and spreading plants, slowly consume their place in our world?  There is a story there, to be read and considered, where time passes, alone and aloof, and the intent of habitation of a particular place blows softly away in the wind and, eventually, that place disappears.

From Idaho, through Montana and, now, just into Washington, we know from conversations with folks at various stops, that we have had the good fortune of good weather that is very recent to the region; other than the 10 minutes of rain we rode through outside of Missoula, we have had the sun with us for the entire trip.  However, every river we have ridden along is full and fast; occasionally, we glide by flooded houses, indicative of the heavy, winter snows now melting, and the constant rain, here and elsewhere, we have all seen on the news.

High water rising, the shacks are sliding down
Folks lose their possessions and folks are leaving town

Bob Dylan, from High Water

This afternoon, we rode by Lake Pend Oreille, an unexpectedly huge lake, and then, for several hours, along the Pend Oreille River, a large tributary of the mighty Columbia River, the largest river in the Pacific Northwest, "with a drainage basin roughly the size of France," which we will cross later on the trip.


So roll on, Columbia, roll on
Green Douglas firs where the waters cut through
Down her wild mountains and canyons she flew
Canadian Northwest to the oceans so blue
Roll on Columbia, roll on

Woody Guthrie, from Roll On Columbia

Lake Pend Oreille

At one point, we stopped to stretch somewhere along the Pend Oreille River and, as we contemplated the view, Al's battery was quietly discharging - he had left his lights on.  Getting back on the bikes and ready to go, suddenly Al let out a number of Very Bad Words, which I can not reveal here, lest his family be shocked!  Most fortunately, we had stopped on a slight incline and we were able to get the bike started the old-fashioned way - Tom and I pushed, Al got a little speed up, put the bike in second gear, popped the clutch, and off we went.

Tom at the Pend Oreille River, while Al's Battery Discharged

Soon after the river stop, we pulled into the next town to gas up, then we were ready, finally, for a nice, long ride after a series of stops for various and sundry reasons; leaving the gas station, however, with Al in the lead, he immediately goes straight across the road, and stopped in front of another building - driven, as he was, by his unerring nose for.........ice cream!

Al with His Ice Cream.....

....and Tom with His

The greatest pleasure of the trip has been having an extended period of time with Al, the duration of which far exceeds any opportunity we've had to be together for many years, certainly, since I left San Diego to move to Portland, Oregon in 1978, eventually, moving to New England, where Rachel and I lived for 26 years, prior to relocating to Vancouver, BC in the summer of 2009.  

Time and distance combined for just occasional get-togethers, but not for such a stretch of time.  We've always enjoyed each other's company and contact via telephone but it's nice to have the luxury of time together, even if for a short time.  Laughter is always present when we're together, which manages to ease the tensions of life, and we've been able to reminisce a bit about our younger lives together.


This trip sparked remembrances of a previous road trip we took together, in the summer of 1971, the duration of which - confidently planned up through California, Oregon, Washington, across Canada, down to Connecticut and, then, west across the U.S. - ended, rather ignominiously, with a blown engine in my 1960s Volkswagen van (30hp!) in Eugene, Oregon, where we wiled away our time, while the mechanics drained our "bankroll," by watching the recently released Planet of the Apes.  We limped back to San Diego.  We hope to complete this trip with no such mechanical similarities.


On that trip, at one point we were driving at night, and it was quite warm, so we decided to turn the side screen windows - small, operable windows in front of the door window, that pivoted so you could get air movement inside the car without having to fully open the window - so that wind was directed directly on us (no air conditioning back in Those Olden Days).  Within a few miles, however, we drove through a massive ball of tiny insects, many millions of which, then, entered the car, caught and directed into our faces, via the open and turned screens.  We pulled over.  Quickly.  Ah, memories!

Al and Joe

While today's ride, through the first parts of Route 20, has been less dramatic than many of the places we have gone through, it was not without it's pleasures of gentle rolling hills, green farming areas, and a ray of sun on the landscape - of which Tom, waving his arms and stopping, pointed out that I should take a photo.  Tomorrow, and the following day in particular, we'll be traveling through the heart of the Northern Cascade Mountains which, I'm sure, will afford us plenty of dramatic land forms and vistas. 

A Farming Valley with a Ray of Sunshine on the Landscape.....



    

           ...and the Ever-present Mountains

At one of the rest stops today, we had a view within what was, 30 years ago, a huge fire, the remnants of which are manifested in the remaining, black, mostly branchless, tree trunks, with the new trees growing densely as far as we could see.  It was here that Tom and I brought up a Trip Event Which Cannot be Revealed (due to the very strict Code of the Guy Trip), about which, Tom and I were convulsed with laughter....at Al's expense!

Al and Tom at a Rest Stop

Tom, Convulsed with Laughter.......

.....and Wiping Away a Tear

When we finally found tonight's campground, we pulled up to the entry office, signed in and payed the overnight fee; we were surprised to see that they felt the necessity of an actual swing gate.  Once we paid, they opened the gate bar, and Tom and I drove through;  just as Al was driving through, however, they decided that this was the appropriate time to close the gate....on his head!  Fortunately, he had his helmet on, as the wooden gate shattered and broke off on impact with the helmet.  The next morning, we rode back to the gate and staged a reenactment, with Al, sans helmet.

The Gate Incident: a Re-enactment

The Offending Gate: a Detail

The campground, as it turned out, was really set up for RV vehicles, not tent campers, and each camp site was gravel, rather than the grass we were accustomed to from previous camp stops.  Thank god for air mattresses and tired bodies - we had no problems with sleep!

Al and Joe, Setting Up Camp on the Gravel

Tonight, on a clear, moonless night, the stars are in their full glory and summer denseness, and we lie in our tents as the spinning and hurtling Earth, in its place within the Milky Way,  revolves around our Sun, one of 300 billion or so within this galaxy.  For some, there is insignificance in that consideration, but I am ever-appreciative to have the capacity to wonder at those things around us – close and far, far away – and consider such musing as one of the privileges of life as we know it.