Leaving the Wild West

Fueling on the way out of SLC we had our photo taken again. The guy was so excited by the Ural he kept repeating “Oh boy, you guys are living the dream”. And we only told him we were going up to Washington. Idaho was pretty in a flat, pastoral sort of way but I’d forgotten the mountains were on the other side. We made it to Twin Falls and camped next to two Bavarian bikers living in Canada. Looking at the size of their bikes I felt like a granny in my sidecar. The cows came strolling on the other side of the river bank and our neighbor’s cigar smelled sweet and exotic in the summer evening. That would be the last camp night for a long time.

Monday the 18th was our first awful day. It wasn’t that we took a wrong turn, we didn’t take the turn at all. We found ourselves in Sun Valley in freezing cold rain. No amount of glossy storefronts or towering mountains could make it pretty. Even the Lear jets at the small airport looked miserable. We were chilled to the bone. There was a 9,000 ft. pass up ahead that we didn’t want to chance so we backtracked over an hour and eventually ended up in Mountain Home. We’d driven 6 hours to get 50 miles down the road. The trunk leaked so bad everything had to be unpacked. Every nut, bolt and spanner was laid out in the hotel room drying, as was the granola, the socks, the boots……… need I go on?

Sun bloody Valley? I don’t think so.

Next day the weather continued cold and damp. When we left I was under the impression we would approach Washington from Montana. It was a bit of a surprise when a few hours later we crossed the Oregon border. (Just because I’m allowed in the cockpit doesn’t make me a navigator.) I’m not too fond of eastern Oregon, it’s flat and colorless. We stopped in La Grande for the night. It looked hopeful with a very pretty little main street. Venturing out later in the drizzle however, we found it totally deserted. What kind of college town has no students? There were bars and coffee shops, but all closed. We eventually found one open restaurant. It was occupied by a lone couple,and an echo from the second floor. We sat huddled in our coats warming our hands on the burritos. At least the salsa was hot.

Leaving Oregon and coming down from Deadman Pass the going was steep and very windy. We crossed the Columbia river into Washington and the sun finally came out. The endless grasslands were golden and it was hard to imagine a city up ahead after such emptiness. We arrived in Kennewick to a great welcome. What a relief to stand still for a while and bask in the warmth of old friends.

Pretty Plain

We took a side trip from Kennewick to visit Plain in the Cascade Mountains in the center of the state. The drive took us along roads lined with apple orchards and gardens fenced with climbing grape vines. Plain is anything but. It’s a village nestled in a deep valley reminiscent of the Black Forest. We spent 3 days cocooned in the woods except for one visit to the nearest town.

Leavenworth immediately transports you to Bavaria. It is surrounded by dark forest and a breathtaking trail on the Wenatchee river. Maybe it was the hot sun, or the beer with our Wurst at lunch, but strolling by the onion dome church and cherub-adorned buildings, I sometimes couldn’t remember if I was here or there. It was a most pleasant confusion.