Day 25

I have completed what I set out to accomplish. And as one final testimony, I'd like to share about Jim. Upon reaching Lewiston, I feel pretty hungry. Already a guy named Lance had offered me a slice of his pizza, but I'm thinkin' to run over to the store to grab a couple burritoes. At the register, I inquire about where I need to go to catch the bus the next day and how far it is away. Jim, a local taxi owner from Sitka, turns around and says,

'Ah heck, I ain't got nothin' to do. Jump in the back of my cab and I'll show you right where it's at.'

He not only drives me to the place but also takes me back to my room at no charge. Why am I saying this? Well, if you've been following along closely these past 25 days, you've probably noticed a thread of continuity underpinning just about every day. I suppose if I were to write a thesis for my experiences this month it would read something like this:

The world we live in is often rendered (either through the media or the conversations we engage) in a dismal and threatening way. One might be inclined to remain "safe" within in the confines of a self-created, sheltered sphere of existence. But to do so will absolutely discredit the marvellously generous, kind-hearted, and genuinely friendly people that are everywhere around us. It's a fabulous life we've been given full of amazing individuals and brilliant opportunities, and if we could just get away from our TVs and cellular phones a bit more often, undoubtedly, we would discover how truly blessed we are to be alive.

Day 24

My morning cup of coffee is most welcome and helps to thaw my hands out a bit. While hangin' out in the Last Resort KOA store, me and a local lady get to talkin' and she suggests a different route through the hills: Blind Grade to Linville Ridge, north on Mountain Road and then a shortcut across on Bosley Grade. That comes out at Columbia Center which goes straight up to Sweeny Gulch. ( I understand all of this probably seems a mite redundant if you haven't had the privilege of being there.) They say a picture's worth a thousand... So I highly recommend checking out the photos from today.

I make the junction at Sweeny Gulch and Highway 12 by 17:00, and man am I knackered. My tent is erected on top of a bunch of old deer droppings and as I get inside I wonder if they'll be coming 'round at some point. The wind picks up and makes strange noises as it blows through the thorny tree beside me.

Day 23

After a remarkably pleasant sleep I go down to the lobby and dish up two omlettes, three sausages, and two yogurt cups. The calories don't concern me at the moment since they'll be used up in four hours or so. Almost immediately after getting onto the main street I see my turn. I've decided to take the back roads for a couple days. Patit winds through some beautiful country and continues (quite precisely) along the trail Lewis and Clark followed on their return to St Louis. For about 13 miles it's up one ridge then down into a gulch. However, each depression and every gully presents a unique impression, painted with an elaborate range of colours and textures which display the amazing imagination of a wondrous creator.

Once on Hartsock the scene changes again. This gravel road has a 8 or 9 % downgrade and it takes me right into a ravine where deer are numerous and the steams flow cool and clear. I arrive at the campsite (on the corner of Tucannon and Blind Grade) and proceed to set up. Two gentlemen, Ron and his son Tony, keep me company for a while. They share how they're camping up the road in a leanto with horses and hope to bag some good size bull elk in the coming days. Once the sun's gone, it doesn't take but a moment 'for the cold sets in, so I scurry off to my bag by 19:00.

Day 22

There's some kind of strange bird screaming in a shrill voice just behind my tent. Even though the sun's not up, I'm certainly not getting any more sleep with this unusually loud noise. Packing everything up, I wander into town to locate something hot and caffinated. There in Waitsburg's general store, I bump into Dan, owner and local business guy. We exchange pleasantries and he asks me a few questions about the journey. Then, he buys my coffee, something I'm grateful for and sends me on my way to Dayton with a reference for the Best Western motel.

Well, it's only about a ten mile walk 'till I get to BW. I figure ten miles is justifiable seeing as how I'd made 31 the day before. I check in, take a shower, send a few messages to mom, and then flip on the TV to a show called Pawn Stars... 2:37 am, I wake for a moment and realize the television is still on.

Day 21

The numbing chill in my hands takes a little while longer to wear off this morning. Even so, most things seem to be on the up and up. Everything out here is farmland. Some of it goes on for what feels like an eternity. After breaking camp I walk 5 miles and then polish off the remainder of the Poweraid. Not a big problem though cause a couple more miles and some lovely women at an agricultural company permit me to fill my bottle from their dispenser. Apart from that, nothing much happens. I mean, I walk... a lot.
Twenty-three good but exhausting miles into Prescott and I find that there's no place for a tent. A brief conversation with Tom--I believe he works for the county--gets me hopeful, but the place he recommends has barb wire, so I figure it's probably off limits. Going another 8 miles, I enter the town of Waitsburg, but a inquiry from some locals reveals that there's no place here either, though they do suspect that I can get away with staying near the bridge in the park. It's already dark, so I go into the bar and order a chili dog and some coffee. One of the locals, Tim I think his name is, buys me a Budweiser saying: 'A little antifreeze to keep off the cold.' I thank him and finish up. Once the bill's been settled, I go over to the park and pitch my tent behind the children's play area. With any luck, I'll be out of here tomorrow before anyone cares to complain about the transient in their backyard.

Day 20

Isolated. That's the word that comes to mind when I look around. Not much but fields and farm land far as the eye can see. I'm glad to have found this place. I'm sure the tent isn't visible from the road. Oh, but back up. I've left out what happened before I got here.

Well, I wake at about 7:00 and have one more quick shower. Then, heading east on Lewis Street, I make my way out of Pasco. There's some big hullabaloo going on near the highway, and I can see old campers & caravans lining a giant lot where on a sign in big letters the words 'Flea Market' are written. There are Mexican folks everywhere preparing stalls to sell food, clothes, tires, you name it. It's really quite interesting, and I almost go in for a look, but then the pragmatist in me takes a hold and I move away toward Burbank.

Before you can get into this little town on the edge of Tri-cities, you must cross the Snake River. As I walk across the bridge I wonder where it begins. Next, I get lost for almost an hour, looking for a place to by water before getting on the 124. While I'm at a roundabout looking a bit perplexed, no doubt, a gentleman pulls over and offers 10 dollars cash to buy me some breakfast. Whether a matter of pride or simply an aversion to the thought of food at the time, I decline the offer but thank the man all the same. I think he looks slightly more perplexed than I possibly had as he pulls away.

After searching a little while longer, I find a Shell station and stock up on Poweraid (not because I particularly like the stuff, but because it's cheaper than water) and soon I'm trodding along highway 124, through McNary Wildlife Refuge first, and then past some extensive orchards and vast vineyards. The sweet smell of grapes carried on the wind is a welcome companion for several miles. But then it all sort of tapers off and I'm back to grazing land. And that, I suppose, is where this day ends. It's 19:00 now, but already the temperature has gone down substantially, so this is where I mummy up; the muffled calls of coyotes are my lullaby.

Day 19

After indulging in waffles covered in strawberries and cottage cheese, I leave the posh atmosphere of the Baymont and head across the Columbia for the last time. On the other side, in Pasco, the difference is like night and day. My first impression is that  everything and everybody here is hispanic. I genuinely feel as though I'm a foreigner lost somewhere in Mexico.

Well, it doesn't take very long before I meet a couple non-latino guys, Robert and Doug, and we get to talkin' and they advise me about where I can do my laundry the cheapest and how to find the Union Gospel Mission if I want a warm place to stay for the night. Helpful men, these two. So, I find a place to wash my clothes (they needed it badly) and by the time I finish and have a burrito, it's 16:30. A bit too late to start off down highway 124, so I get an inexpensive room in a motel called The Thunderbird. This place captivated my imagination as I could almost envision how it was in the late 50s, early 60s when it would have been in its prime. Quite sad what it's been reduced to now, but I'm sure that in its day, there was nothing finer.

I attend the chapel service at the mission in the evening and have some really great conversations with a couple of the guys before returning to the spinach coloured shag carpet of room 201. One more hot shower and I'm ready for the final stretch tomorrow.