September the 10th.

The day, as indicated above, was September the 10th.  It was just like any other day, in that the sun came up, I woke up, time continued marching onward with unflinching progress.

As I said, I woke up.  Earlier than I meant to.  Man, grammar is not normally my strong point, but this stuff is awful so far.  I'd blame it on being tired, but I don't think that I am.  Or, at least, I don't feel like I should be.

Anyway, on to the events of the 10th!

I spent the morning recounting the events of the prior day to myself in my adventure journal for future (now past, but probably still future) reference.  After that, I left my friend's apartment and headed for parts mostly known. 

This included a stop at Multnomah Falls.  Though, what trip along the Columbia River Gorge can not include a stopover at the falls?  Am I right?  I'll take your enduring silence as confirmation, thank you very much.

Why am I so sarcastic right now?

I'm leaving that as is, but there will be a definite tone shift in the words and sentences to follow--though, not necessarily an improvement in the grammar.

I parked my truck, I headed under the freeway and through the little tunnel over to the falls, going straight for the first viewpoint. 

For those of you who read this that have not been to the falls, I highly recommend it--if for no other reason than the storybook bridge crossing the lower falls, backed by the majestically towering upper falls.  Okay, so really that's the reason to go, to see the falls.

Here's a close-up.

As I approached the bridge, I decided to do something that I had not done in the two, count them, two times that I had been there before.  Namely, to hike up to the upper lookout.

It was a narrow, treacherous (paved) trail, with eleven deadly switchbacks.  And a few benches to stop and rest at along the way.  Each of the switchbacks was numbered.  As I ascended the path, it was fairly easy to gauge progress by the switchbacks.  At one point there was a group ahead of me that turned back between numbers 7 and 8.  I thought they were just tired, and I felt a little bad for them--but I didn't want to seem arrogant and try to goad them on.  What did make me feel worse, though, was that momentarily I reached the 9th switchback--and the trail crested.  It was down hill from there.  The trail had reached the top of the hill, and was heading down the backside toward the lookout platform.  I really wished that I had given the other hikers some friendly encouragement.

Maybe the following can give you some perspective on how high up this was:

Shortly thereafter, I turned and headed back down the mountain.

After I rounded switchback number 9, the descent went by astonishingly quickly.

Once I had rearrived at the bottom viewing platform, a group of tourists asked me about the hike up.  I advised them that it hadn't been treacherous, but I also discouraged those in flip flops from attempting it.  It was the thought of the front part of the sole curling under on the steeper portions of the trail that caused me to discourage.  I still think it was for the best.

A few feet closer to the parking lot, and I saw the three hikers who had turned back.  Feeling affable, I decided to talk to them.  I let them know that I had seen them turn back, and offered them my camera for viewing the images taken from the top.  They explained to me that they hadn't turned back out of tiredness at all, but because one of their party was afraid of heights.  She actually swooned a little just from looking at the pictures on the 3.0" screen of the camera.  After all that, I'm pretty sure they made the right choice.

Making my way back toward the parking lot, and more specifically my truck, I headed once more through the tiled tunnel, turned around, and took this picture.

I like it.  It's neat.

Not much new or different happened between then and Portland.  Well, except for the fact that I didn't make it to Portland.  I wasn't paying enough attention and wound up on the 205 south, which was just as well.  My next goal was the Fry's Electronics.

I needed a new memory card for my camera.  I know, I know, I've got two 4 gb cards, but was worried about filling them up.  My laptop was with me, but I had sort of decided that I was willing to spend what(ever) was necessary to not have to download pictures to that as a temporary solution.  You see, that laptop is about 10 years old, and tops out at USB 1.1.  So, the prospect of downloading pictures to it, then reacquiring them at some dismal point in the future was not exactly hopeful.



So, the plan was to get a new memory card that would be able to tide me over until I got back home and could download everything.  I found the Fry's easily enough, found a 16 gb compact flash card, then got the crazy idea to look at laptops.  After all, no sales tax in Oregon, right?

You'll be happy to know that I did not make a several hundred dollar impulse buy at the thought of saving 50-100 dollars.  But the bug was firmly planted, and I decided to head over to the nearby Costco to see if they had anything more to my liking.  They didn't.  At all.  There was a Best Buy, in the neighborhood, though... and they didn't have anything, either.

I really didn't have anything on my agenda for the rest of the day, other than meeting up with my fellow Warrior Dash-ers in anticipation of the run the following day.  There were various communications sent back and forth, but our destined reunion was still hours away.

Continuing to drive around as was my wont, I decided to explore Lake Oswego, and somehow ended up in West Linn.  Specifically, I went to Mary S. Young Park.  I had the sneaking suspicion that I'd been there before, but couldn't confirm.

I wandered around the park for a bit, then went back to my truck and decided it was time to eat.  I wanted to find something local, but ended up at a link in a restaurant chain that I simply hadn't encountered before.  It was Burgerville.  The food (and shake) was pretty good, but it was nothing to write home about--so to speak.

After that, I went to the hotel to wait out my weekend roomies.  I got there well before they did, and after a brief conversation, found that it might be a while yet.  Feeling very tired, I decided to go to the nearby Starbucks, try to wake up a little bit, then write up some more of my adventure.  It was not to be.  Shortly after arriving and beginning to drink the special coffee drink, I got the call that they were almost there.

I headed once more for my truck, then back to the hotel.  I had been hoping to be there at check-in to see if I could finagle my AAA membership into a discount, but when I arrived, the crew was already in the room.  So, I did the sensible thing, and drove around to it.

It was a Residence Inn, and the room was a two storey affair.  There was a loft with a bed and bathroom, downstairs was a master bedroom with attached bathroom, and a hide-a-bed.  I got the hide-a-bed, but not for a while.  First was dinner, then... costume hunting?

The dinner is explained easily enough: we went to The Olive Garden.  It was two blocks from the hotel. 

Costume hunting... oh, costume hunting.  Let's just say it ended with a plastic chestplate and helmet, and a can or two of spray paint from the Home Depot.  An hour or so later, and a pair of shorts were being spray painted on the balcony.  Don't ask... just... don't ask.

After that, one of the guys and I talked cameras for a while, then we all went our sleepy ways.

It's Been A While

I realize it's been far too long since I've posted here.  As a matter of fact, I thought my last post had been in regards to the 10th, but it turns out it was really only the 8th!  Wow.

So without further ado, I will dive in and tell the tale of my September the 9th, of this 2010.

It begins, like so many other days, with me waking up.

Whew!  Now that the tough part of the day is out of the way, I'll just move right on to the easy stuff.

Here's a picture of the view:

 

I don't recall the mountain in the picture, but it's in Washington.  The picture is, of course, taken from the Oregon side of the river.

I didn't know quite what to do with my day, nor where to go.  In my mind, it seemed like a reasonable thing to venture forth and explore the ancient mysteries of central Oregon.  So I did.  I had nowhere to be for another two days, so I decided to just pick a direction, drive, and follow whatever little trails I deemed interesting.

As I drove my chosen southward direction, I happened to see a mountain in the distance.  A very large, looming, ominous sort of mountain.  Veiled deeply in cloud.

Drawn by its mysteriousness, I chose whatever roads looked like they would draw me nearest to it.  I had my suspicions that it was Mount Hood, and those very same suspicions were later confirmed.

Driving ever onward and toward the mountain, I spied a little road off to the side of the highway.  Since the highway I was on was leading me downhill, it seemed to me that I wasn't going to get a very good scenic view of the scenic view, so I decided to climb the logging road I had found.

Here's a picture of the mountain and the town below it--as I said, veiled in cloud:

Not at all satisfied with the view that I had come upon, I continued upward.  The trail wasn't over, so neither was I.  Here is another rewarding view (300mm):

Still not content in thinking that I had seen all that the mountain I was on had to offer, I pressed onward and upward.  I reached a few places that made turning around seem at least plausible, but since I hadn't met any other traffic, I decided I would make that 50 point turn if need be (or back down the mountain in reverse). 

My perseverance was rewarded a short distance later.  It wasn't another view of Mount Hood, but something almost... more special. 

It was a clearing that looked as though it had been recently logged, but the ground isn't what's important here (I know, I know, the ecology of the place is important as far as what I'm about to say, and the future implications... but I'm not speaking from the point of a preservationist or anything, at the moment I'm speaking from the perspective of an ignorant observer, pure and simple).  Up in the sky--it wasn't a plane, and it certainly wasn't Superman--there were many, many birds of prey.  I couldn't tell you what they were, other than awesome, but it always seems to me like you might see one or two in the same place at the same time... but up there, there had to have been about 20.  By the time I had gotten my little digital camera out and flipped it to video recording, most of them had drifted on the current away from me, but I caught a few of them still visible.

Here is probably the most interesting still shot I got with my dslr:

It was awesome, and I mean that in the most literal sense of the word.

After that, the road led me up and around the mountain I was on, and away from any views of Mount Hood.  Soon I found myself at the top.  I was not rewarded with pot of gold, or anything so amazing.  What I found at the top, quite possibly the sole purpose of the road, was a cell tower.  I bet that's a fun one to get to in the middle of winter.  Yikes.

Back down the mountain, I rejoined the highway and soon thereafter stopped near a place called Toll Bridge Park.  Something quite... bittersweet, caught my eye.  It was a ball field.  That's the sweet.  A place for kids, and presumably adults who are so inclined, to go out and play baseball, or kickball, or whatever other sports they want to adapt to the field.  Now here's the bitter:  It was completely overgrown, as if it had been long forgotten.  There was a large, weed strewn parking lot, the population of which consisted (until my arrival) of exactly one creepy, windowless van.

Here's the ballpark:

This is the view directly across the street:

And this is the aforementioned van (oh yeah, I forgot the windows were tinted, too...):

Now how do you feel about my descriptions?

After that, I got back out on the road and headed closer toward that town I had seen under the mountain.  Along the way, there were vineyards.  I pulled over, stood on the edge of the box in the back of my truck (you know, for the additional elevation), and got this next one:

That was looking almost due south from where I was.  Here is almost due west:

But really, I like this one better:

And of course, the ominousness:

Once I was finished standing on the back of my truck, my drive into the unknown continued.  I was on a nice, reasonable highway, then I took a turn for the worse.  Road.  I took a turn onto a worse road.  A little further, I saw a sign that said something like 'High Prairie Next Right,' and I absolutely could not pass something like that up, and promptly expedited the making of that next right.

That's when I found my second exclusively dirt road of the day.  There wasn't as much danger of falling off the side of a mountain as there had been earlier, but the road was certainly... less even.  For the most part I saw the ruts coming and could do what was necessary to reduce the... impact, but some of them really caught me by surprise--and by that I simply mean, by falling out of the air and landing on my seat.  Good fun.

I don't recall the mileage, but it took a while to eventually reach the High Prairie.

There was a space where I parked almost behind where I took the above image from that I thought almost made my truck look like it was in some kind of Ford commercial.  Here, you decide:

(with the exception of the fact that my front wheels were so dirty, of course)

I didn't have much farther to go up the road before it ended in the trailhead parking lot.  I considered it, but ultimately decided to keep driving.  Back down the mountain.

On the way down, I caught some views that I hadn't seen on the way up.  Here are a couple of slightly different versions of one:

And the other:

Once I got back down to the paved road, I made a right and kept going the way that I had been.  The road ended up taking me on a long loop that wound back up in The Dalles.  I caught some nifty sights along the way, though.  Many of which added to something that at that point I had only recently realized was a theme for me, which is things well lit by sunlight, but with stark contrast to the dark clouds behind.  It's almost invariably neat.

Example:

When I was more or less out of the mountains and into more agricultural territory, I happened upon this little gem:

It made me think of a few things.  One was a phrase, 'All roads lead to the top.'

Shortly thereafter, I saw some fields that, as I drove by them, almost immediately reminded me of the washed out imagery of so many 'post apocalyptic' types of movies.  I turned my truck around and found a wide spot to pull over, climbed in the back again and began taking my pictures.

A red car drove by me as I did so.

Here's a picture:

And another after changing the white balance:

Then that same red car drove by me in the other direction, stopped, and woman exited the car, ambulating in my general direction.

Lots and lots of thoughts paraded quickly through my mind about how she was going to tell me off, or call her neighborhood watch on me, or something equally dreadful.  Nope.  She wondered if I was the guy she had seen taking pictures the day before.  "That guy had a sign on his truck," she said.  "Nope, not me," I said.  "No sign."

It's always interesting to me, the reaction I get from other people when I'm taking pictures of something... let's say, a little out of the ordinary.  Like the above two images, for example.  There was something in my mind that I was immediately comparing the scene to.  Other people, I imagine--until they hear my reference, anyway--might just see a dirt field ready to be seeded.  Nothing particularly special, right?  What I usually notice, and I realize this could be entirely my own projection here, are the people looking in the general direction that the lens is pointed, giving it a few seconds to kind of settle in... and then shrugging it off when they don't see what I do.  It's a simultaneous uniquely amazing, but also slightly ridiculous feeling.

After that brief exchange she went on her merry way, once more turning around and heading in the original direction which I had seen her driving.

I jumped back into the cab and tooled on into town.  I drove around for a bit, then decided to try and find a park that I had been to in The Dalles several years before.  It's called Sorosis Park, and I'll admit, I couldn't find it on my own.  My phone helped.

Here's the park:

And here's the view (the park is on a hill):

Heading back down the hill, I went back down river and met up with my friend once more.  We had dinner at a brewery then watched a show about weird food.

It was an exceptionally good day.

South of the Border

Don't be fooled by the date.  The events described in this entry take place on 9/08/10.  The names have been changed to protect the innocent.

As the previous night had ended, so did the current day begin: lots of fitful naps.

I believe the name of the rest area that I had spent the night parked at was the Schrag Safety Rest Stop, if anyone is trying to keep track of where all I went.

It was around 7:00 in the am, I believe, when I decided to head out once more into the world. 

Eastbound and down; south on 21 was the next step that I gave myself.  For whatever reason, I decided that I was going to pass through the Tri-Cities before going to Oregon.

The road I was traveling south along was relatively uneventful  It headed just about due south with no real change in direction--until the signs pointed to Lind.

Now, I should mention that Lind holds a special place in my heart.  You see, I was running low on fuel--or rather, my truck was--and I figured a sprawling metropolis like Lind would have just the refueling ticket.  I was very nearly mistaken.  And I didn't say that special place in my heart was good, either.

The tiny town of Lind had one (obvious) gas station.  It was a Pacific Pride, and I know that those are commercial fuel stations.  So, upon seeing that one, I kept right on truckin'--thinking to myself that there would have to be another one that the regular Lind-folk could use.  After all, if Lind had an industrial district, the Pacific Pride station was situated right in the heart of such a district.  The downtown was at least a half block eastward.

Suddenly (and without warning), I found myself outside of Lind.  And worse, the space was growing.  The gas light had been on for several miles, and I believe it indicates a range of about 10 miles at the time it lights up. 

It was a moment of truth.  I was a mile outside of Lind at the turn to head south.  Would I risk another town in the next 5 or so miles south, or would I head back to town and see how the Lind-folk do it?

In my mind, the decision had already been made, and that was to head back.  It wasn't long at all before I was right back in the thick of Lind, early enough in the morning that nothing was open yet.  They had a coffee shop that advertised 'now with Wi-Fi!' that wouldn't open until 9:00 am.

I continued on, back toward the Pacific Pride.  My heart was lifted greatly when the station came back into view.  There were average, unmarked sedans next to the pumps.

Rolling up and shutting the engine off, I eagerly got out, thinking that there must have been some kind of exception for small towns like that.  I was wrong.

One of the cars drove hurriedly away.  I assume there had been a driver.

There was a woman who had just finished fueling her own vehicle.  She looked at me curiously as I tried to figure out what needed to be done to get the gas from the ground and into my truck.  I did learn something that I found interesting, though.  At least, with that particular Pacific Pride, there was a tiny sign indicating that membership was free, you just had to mail an address to have them send you a card.  Ah, modern convenience.

As the curious woman was about to enter her own auto-vehicular transport, she gave me the most helpful advice I received that day.  She told me there was an unmanned Ranch Petroleum station another block west.  She asked me if I could see the cargo trailers by the train.  I affirmed.  She then told me that the Ranch Petroleum was north of there.  I thanked her heartily as she got into her car and drove out of my life.

It was up to me to find this Ranch Petroleum.  And find it I would.  Did.  Tenses in story-telling can be confusing.

Except for the fact that the station was unattended, I was actually surprised that it accepted credit.  Now, I know that some who read this may not be so shocked, but I was really amazed by this incredibly unassuming little refueling station.  It makes our gas stations seem all metropolitan and ostentatious by comparison.

That.  That right there.  That was the gas station.  And half of it was for 'farm grade' diesel.

My mistake, there was a pop machine propped up against the western wall of a nearby building.

Here's what this place looked like from about halfway to the road (I decided a somewhat contextual picture might be nice--and since I have it, I figured I might as well share...):

The next hour or so was really uneventful.  There were some neat clouds that were about as the sun climbed higher and higher, mustering the strength to push those clouds aside.

Then I saw a sign, and it opened up my eyes.  Sonic Drive-In.  Pasco.  Finally, I had a reason to go to the Tri-Cities.  Well, one of them, anyway.

I've always heard that the drinks and ice cream are the real draw for the Sonics.  Unfortunately, I was there at about 9:30, and settled for some kind of fancy, can't-get-this-in-my-town kind of breakfast burrito.  And I've got to say, it was fairly delicious.

After that, it was time to move on.  Head south and west.  That was the plan.

I didn't really notice it when it happened, but I found myself in Oregon.  The main difference there?  Their wind farms were actually operational.  In Washington, I had seen a couple of wind farms, but maybe only one or two turbines in each were actually turning.  Oregon demonstrated almost the opposite: I think I saw two wind farms (maybe two parts of one larger one?), and in each, only one or two turbines weren't turning.

Next up, I stopped at a rest area.  The previous night's series of unfortunate naps caught up with me, and I needed to rest for another short while.  So, I did.

Nothing major transpired between that point and The Dalles.  I did realize that I hadn't taken any pictures with my regular camera, yet, and thought that odd.  So, I stopped at a scenic view point and took a few.

It was at that scenic viewpoint (before The Dalles) that I took this:

I arrived in The Dalles a short while later and drove around for a bit.  I was supposed to meet up with a friend whom I'd met in college but only seen once since, but there were still a few hours before that.  It had been 6 years since the one time that I'd been in that city, and I was trying to remember my way around.  Personally, I think I did a fairly good job.

Anyway, I got a message a little while later from my friend who said they were in Hood River and to meet up there a little later.  What that meant for me, however, was taking the scenic route.  And also stopping to take pictures of the wind surfers.

When I saw this conflagration, I thought how great it would be to have this image captioned with something like this: "See how the rare wind-surfer fish returns to its hallowed spawning grounds, doing its twisted dance and displaying its bright colors in an effort to attract a suitable mate."

As I continued heading westward, a few messages were exchanged in an effort to plan out the evening.  I had been considering camping that night, but when my friend offered me the couch, I couldn't resist.

After I got there, we went for pizza at a place across the river in Washington.  There, I was introduced to pear and goat-cheese pizza.  It was strangely awesome.  Then we went for a drive to the various hot springs along the river to the west of there, then back to the apartment where we watched an episode of some show where a guy eats (what we think of as) weird foods.

My friend went to bed, so I set my rechargeables to charging, took a shower, then went to sleep my own self.

A Very Eastern Washington Kind of Day

The events here described take place on Tuesday, 09/07/10.

The Fred Meyer parking lot seemed a reasonable place to try and sleep, barring the discovery of some unknown rest area along Highway 2.  It was well-lit, there were quite a few cars.  All seemed well.  So, I went to sleep.

And then I woke up.  Again.  And again.  It wasn't noise or anything like that.  There was just that creeping sense of the unfamiliar.  No help at all was the fact that at about 1:00 am (after having awakened for perhaps the third time) all the parking lot lights had been turned off--in an effort to go green, I suspect, but also to save money.

So, creepy as it had become, I chose to stay.  After all, I had nowhere else to go in the pitch black of the Wenatchee night.

Dawn came earlier than I would have thought, and I began my day at approximately 6:30.  I started by taking some pictures of the surrounding area.  The main interesting things was the bridge spanning the river.

I headed north from there on 97, the thought being to go up and around and make for Bridgeport.  There was actually a lot of interesting and neat scenery along 97. 

Prepare for examples:

and:

Once I had rounded through Brewster and begun heading south and east toward Bridgeport, I noticed a couple of really fascinating things.  The first is something that without a video camera and an extra pair of hands, I'm pretty hopeless to show.  But I can describe it.  I can describe the heck out of it.  Well, maybe not.  But here goes anyway.

You may have noticed in the above pictures that the sky is mostly cloudy.  When I was just outside of Bridgeport, the sky had begun to clear up a bit, and that's when I noticed the grooves in the center.  I think they're the kind of grooves that are meant to keep the sleepy drivers from being sleeping drivers, but I didn't test them.  In any event, due to some kind of recent precipitation, the grooves were each filled with still water.  So, as I cruised past at roughly 60 miles per hour, the lines in the pavement blurred, but the reflection of the sky above remained almost unchanged, other than my perspective on it.  Sure, occasionally the water levels wouldn't match causing a bit of blurriness, but overall, the effect was (nearly) mesmerizing.

The second thing I saw that I thought was neat was an old run down building.

This would have been their view, once upon a time:

In town, I stopped at a park along the river.  The home neighboring had the kind of garden that I've liked for a long time.  It's the kind of garden that at first looks kind of overgrown, but upon closer inspection, you realize that it probably takes a lot of effort to achieve that look.

 Also, they had a couch in their yard.  It didn't have any cushions, but they did have a yard couch.

Shortly thereafter, I stopped at a viewpoint over the Chief Joseph Dam, and here is my somewhat unconventional dam picture:

It could probably stand some cropping, but I like it well enough as-is.

It's weird, a lot of the pictures that I really like from (at least these first few days of) my trip have a really washed out look.  That being said, here's another one that I think is pretty great:

A little farther east toward the Grand Coulee Dam, I had to stop again.  I came across an area of the landscape that looked as though it had experienced a grass fire or something in the last few years.  I pulled off to the side of the road onto sort of a steep drop-off.  On a whim, I decided to see if I'd be able to drive out of it and get back to the road.  The wheels were willing, but the traction just wasn't there.  It suddenly became time to (off) road test the four wheel drive.  The good news is: it worked.  The bad news is that I didn't find any more hospitable looking places to pull off the road until I was out of that area.

Shortly thereafter, however, I did happen upon something else that was (perhaps) a bit better.  Usually when you can see far into the distance, the weather is pretty clear.  I had the unique opportunity to see far into the distance, but this time into the clouds.  Looking across a flat landscape and being able to see the tops of clouds in the distance can be a bit disconcerting.  At least, it was for me.  Here, for your viewing enjoyment, is a 2 dimensional light-capture representation of what it was that I saw.

I passed through the town above the big dam, and I decided to stop for a meal at a restaurant called Pepper Jack's.  I believe I had the Cowboy Chicken.  It was quite good.  The place's decor had a very (at least this is how I imagine it to have been) genuine 1960s feel.  I liked it.

After that, I stopped at a viewpoint over the Grand Coulee Dam and found it largely uninteresting.  I'd been there before, twice.  I didn't feel any kind of need to stop and take the tour, or wait for nightfall and see the dam lightshow.  The reflection of the bridge spanning the river below the dam, however, was of interest.  In particular, the broken reflection it cast upon the waters' surface.

 The next place I had in mind to stop at was the Dry Falls.  On the way south I passed through Electric City (which I sincerely believe they should change the name to Electri City, but don't hold much hope of that ever happening).

Once on the road and a ways farther south, I encountered yet another one of those things that so fascinates me of late.  The abandoned.  This time it was an old store/restaurant/gas station/motel.

The following isn't my favorite picture of the scene, and I don't want to inundate you with too many of the same thing, but this one really sets the stage for the tale of how I felt about the whole place.

In the background to the left, you can see the edge of the building in the first picture.  In the mid-ground, you can see the first and second (and a tiny bit of the third) motel cabins that have been boarded up.  In the foreground... in the foreground is a blank sign of no particular importance.  Or so it would seem.

The whole place was more or less heartbreaking to me.  I knew that this was situated at the intersection of two fairly major (given the area) highways.  Times are tough, I know, have been for a while.  Something about seeing things like this just makes me miss the days I was never a part of.  Makes me want to not partake of restaurants and hotels/motels that are part of chains longer than about three links.  Something a long the road later on made me realize what it is about nationwide chains that keeps their position.  Of course there was something about them in the beginning that helped them rise above their local competition and expand, but once they reach a certain point, the quality of their goods or services is no longer as important as proximity.

We are creatures of habit, for the most part, and we seek the familiar.  I've recently taken up coffee as a casual habit, I think of it as renting space while I write in (mostly) peace, away from the distractions of home and work.  That being said, Starbucks is hands down the winner in terms of proximity for me.  And by virtue of that, I find them gaining my business most frequently.  And such is the case on this last little journey around eastern Washington and Oregon.  I'd want to stop and do some writing, or feel that I could use the caffeine to stay awake, and I'd find myself searching out Starbucks on my phone because I knew what they had that I wanted.  Something in me thought, 'well, it's just coffee.  how different can it be?'  This would become one of the previously mentioned caveats to my 'no chains' rule.

I hadn't stopped for coffee that day at that point.  This little aside is just to illustrate my point about how heartbreaking it felt to see a place like this, that could have been great in its heyday.  And the irony of the above mentioned sign.  The road facing side was blank, sure.  But the backside, which presumably used to face the road, told a different story.

Now, maybe I'm reading far too much into this (which I'm no stranger to), but this says a lot about the character that the establishment must have had--the character that I could sense ghostly remnants of as I traversed the desolate grounds.

There was a certain irony in the following picture (last of the deserted motel series, I promise):

On my way back to the truck, I noticed that at least one of the deserted buildings, in this place that probably no one cares enough about any more to even want to tear down and build something new, had a tongue on it.  It was a mobile.  This place that cars could visit, where there were no longer any customers, where at least part of the structure was designed to move--would probably never move again.

And then I stopped at Dry Falls (huzzah!):

I thought this one was also good:

Farther down the road, I saw a sign for some caves.  I still had my headlamp with me, so I figured what the heck? Why not?  I grabbed the light and my camera and headed up the trail.  The next thing of significance I found was this apparent stairway to nowhere:

Once I found the caves though, man, was I disappointed.  The Ape Cave spoiled me.  These were more like shallow spots hollowed out in rocky cliff-sides.  Underwhelmed.

While it's true that there may have been other, actual caves up there, I only took the one trail and this is what I found.  I decided against further investigation for the time being.  Maybe another visit later, perhaps?  These little adventures really bring home just how far away I can get in a day.

That being said, I decided to pretty much call it a day at that point.  I hit up the Starbucks in Moses Lake (see what I'm talking about?), wrote for a while, used their internets and whatnot, then headed east on 90, on my ever decreasing fuel supply (more on that topic in the next day's entry).  

Still not of a mind to pay for lodgings, I found the nearest rest area, and took many, many short naps in my truck for the rest of the evening and night.  And morning.

A Good Start

My day, being Monday the 6th, began like so many others.  The majority of others, barring a few minor differences, in fact--at least since as far as the last 4 months go, anyway.  I woke up at 4:45ish, a.m.  Dark and early.  The milk had run dry, and I had decided not to replenish the day before, as I was going out of town for the next week or so, and figured I didn't need to come home to that particular olfactory bouquet.

With cereal essentially out of the picture, I opted for some whole grain toaster waffles I picked up a while back.  They did the trick.  They were food.  I had taken a shower the night before just to be on the safe side--I didn't need that eating into my precious little time and mental faculties at such an hour. 

And then I went to work. 

That was an interesting experience.  Since I've had this job, I haven't taken more than 2 days off in a row, so I was really excited at the prospect of a whole week away.  Then I got really tired.  Someone had brought in a cardboard container of Starbucks coffee, so I decided to have a cup, figuring that would do just the trick in waking me up.  Then, a coworker mentioned that he was going to Starbucks himself, and was taking money and requests.  I figured if I'm going to drink coffee, I might as well drink it in a flavor that I like, so I put my order in with him, too.  Then I finished the cup I'd already taken.

Once I began drinking the specifically ordered drink, I was pretty wired in a way that I don't ever really recall having been before.  At least one of my coworkers took note of my... change in behavior.  Hopefully he was more entertained than annoyed.  Plus, he knew how excited I was about my vacation. 

The remainder of the day came and went uneventfully, except for the fact that at a mere suggestion, I changed the plan from heading directly south on I-5 to heading east, and exploring Eastern Washington.  And I'm extremely glad that I did things that way.

This is another terrible tease, I know, but there are a few things that I realized that I have particular interest in--as far as photographical subjects--and Eastern Washington had them aplenty.

Aged or abandoned buildings, barns in particular, have always been of special interest to me.  Driving around over there though, I just kept seeing fascinating image after amazing scene.  I stopped.  A lot.  I think in my first 3 days out I took over a thousand pictures.

So, I left work, heading south on 405, then turned east on 90.  On the way up to Snoqualmie Pass, I saw a sign for something that I'd wanted to investigate for a long time.  This is exactly the sort of thing that this journey is supposed to address.  So I took my leave of the freeway and made for the location of the signs' suggestion: Iron Horse State Park.

The park was a lie.

When I think Iron Horse, I think old locomotives.  You know, trains.  Nope, not there.  At that state park, they're referring to the other Iron Horse: the bicycle.

I got up to the park, and I was looking all around for an old locomotive near a parking lot so that I could get out, inspect it, and take pictures.  I did find it curious, all the mountain bikers weaving in and out of the forest, but figured it was a state park, so it wasn't really a big deal.  Yep, I'm a quick one.  It was probably five more minutes of me driving around the park before I finally realized my error.  Liars.

Anyway, there was a really neat lake up there, I believe it was called Rattlesnake Lake.  I've got pictures which I'll have to check to verify (and add, of course), as well as maps, and whatnot.  There was also a cute brother and sister that were playing on a tree that was growing out of the water.  It had branches that dipped beneath the water line.  The little girl had been adventurous enough to try and see how far she could get toward the water, when her brother decided to follow suit.  This produced... unexpected effects for the girl and her position with regard to the water level... well, the brother did have a bit of a mischievous grin and a glint in his eye, so the effects may not have been so unexpected to him.

Shortly thereafter, I summited the pass and began my descent.  The next stop I made was at the Indian John Hill Rest Area.  It was an interesting place.  Lots of people coming and going.  Obviously the restrooms were in demand, but there was also a staffed donation based coffee/snack building that demonstrated quite a draw.

I left there continuing on my eastward journey, thinking that I wanted to get to Wenatchee or a rest area to sleep. 

However, I did decided to stop at the historic mill in Thorp.  Afterall, it was Labor Day.  The mill was closed for the day.  I still wandered around the grounds taking pictures, though.

On the way back out to the highway, I saw a few old barns that were interesting.   So, I decided to stop and take pictures of them, as well.  While doing so, the farmers brought out some large piece of farm equipment that I am hopeless to know the name of, and hauled a load of hay from one side of the road to the other.  The older farmer drove a small ATV and as he passed by, his dog--a blue heeler, I think--climbed out of the passenger seat and onto the back to look at me skeptically as they passed.  The man smiled as I took my pictures.

Another reason the barns held my interest was the fact that there's a wind-farm under construction on the hill directly behind them from where I was positioned.  That presented some kind of juxtaposed, anachronistic irony to me, and was just another reason as to why I couldn't bring myself to pass it up.

After I finished, I continued on my way, and then turned north for Highway 2 to be able to get to Wenatchee.

I stopped a few more times for pictures of barns and various other things, but by and large the light was fading fast and there wasn't much that I could do about that, especially considering I was still in the mountains.

I did make one more stop before Wenatchee, and that was in the town of Cashmere.  One of the loose rules that I made for myself (which I have amended and added caveats to a few times already, you'll see) was that I didn't want to eat at any chain restaurants (at least of the sort that we had in my home area).  So, as I drove through the town, I was looking for a restaurant that fit my criteria.  You know, something with a little local flavor (those of you who know me won't believe this, but no pun intended).

It came to my attention that the fair was going on, and there were signs pointing out the direction of the fairgrounds, and I thought I followed said signs, but no fairgrounds revealed themselves to me.  Hungry as I was, I headed back for the town and noticed an older building in need of renovation or, at the very least, repainting.  At the top of the building read the words "Modern Apartments."  This demanded attention from my camera, and I was happy to oblige.  See below (eventually):

Bringing the truck around to the main street, I parked and looked at my three main options.  There was a pizza place, something about a block to the east, and another restaurant which at a glance I couldn't tell the name of, nor what they served.  I'm fairly familiar with pizza at this point (though not as familiar as I had suspected, as you'll hopefully read in the entry that deals with the 8th), so I decided to risk it at the place across the street.

It was a Mexican restaurant and I ordered Huevos Rancheros.  I was thinking of the road trip I did in 2006, and the stop I made in Albuquerque, NM, at the suggestion of my brother-in-law.  Not quite as tasty now as then, the meal was still pretty good and to be recommended.  Alas, no green chile this time.

I paid up and headed out.

My next destination was the Wenatchee Fred Meyer.  I figured with the amount of time I'd been using my phone, I'd need a car charger, but then decided on one better, and was on the hunt for a power inverter.  One was found at the Wenatchee Fred Meyer (and only one--I feel a bit fortunate to have been the one to claim it).  It was 29.99, and when I told the young man in the Electronics section that I had other things to look at in other parts of the store, he said it was fine, and gave me a coupon for 20% off.  Sweet deal.

The other stuff I needed was a tarp and a mallet.  I have a tent, but forgot the other stuff before I left, so I figured the Fred Meyer in Wenatchee was as good a place as any to amend that mistake.

Soon thereafter, I was tired and sleepy.  That's right, both of them.  At the same time.  Too late to find a campground, and not quite ready to spend money on a motel, I decided that the parking lot of that very same Fred Meyer would be as good a place as any to try and catch some of those elusive Zs.

I might have been mistaken.