Day 5

Waking this morning, I feel a level of pain throughout my body that I haven't experienced since working in Alaska in the commercial fishing industry. I don't get out of bed as much as I kind of slide out and hit the ground. I remember being in similar circumstances on the Bering Sea and that the only way of dealing with mussel pain this intense is to go on doing whatever it was that caused it in the first place. So, I head down Washington, which turns into 15th and then becomes Oregon Way. Excitedly I spot a Dutch Brother's coffee house there somewhere abouts and take advantage of the gift card in my wallet. Thanks pap. The next task is to cross the Columbia, a part of the journey I hadn't been eager for. You see, the shoulder on the Lewis and Clark bridge isn't that wide, and there's a constant influx of double trailer logging trucks going across. Sufficed to say, it's a thrill walking it. Oh, and the view from the apex, incredible.

I get to the town of Rainier (on the other side) and stop for a breather. I'd been going double time, hearing my life flash with every truck that came from behind and passed and was now grateful to have made it. Fifteen minutes is all it takes and I head off down highway 30. The first place I see is Prescot, which reportedly has a beach of some historical value. I don't stay long since the park host adamantly insists there's no place for my tent. I'm slightly perturbed. I'd had to go about a mile out of the way to find this place, brought to at least some repute by the pioneering explorers of old, and my feet aren't feeling any better. The thought crosses my mind to follow the railroad tracks to see if anything other than swap exists near the road, but then the fellow, whom I'd initially taken to be quite curt adds, 'There's a place a mile down the highway called Goble's landing. You can probably hold up there for the night.' I chide myself on making a presumptuous judgement of the host.

When I arrive back at the highway, I stop a pickup to confirm the direction, and the driver, an amiable guy named Jim, tells me to hop in the back. Now, I've been offered rides by several people so far, and turned them all down, but I justify this one time cause of the close proximity, and cause I reckon that I made up for it in my detour. At Goble junction I see a Sheriff and wave. He returns the gesture, and we subsequently start up a brief talk. He tells me that he'd heard about Angel Tree charity earlier on the radio and takes one of my cards to check in on my progress from time to time. Presently, I'm holding a cup of coffee that I've just heated--actually, I've heated it several times on my little burner--and looking up at the stars. The the incandescent lights of the factory on the other side of the river cast a golden glow in the waters, and I am filled with a sense of wonder at the prospect of another day tomorrow.