You rarely hear folks talk about Idaho and Montana, and usually when they do, it's about potatoes and cowboys. What they don't tell you about is the expansiveness of it all. The feeling of being in a place so large it was hard to squeeze it into the confines of a photo. This was especially true in Montana. Their license plate says, "Big Sky Country" for good reason. Idaho had some eery and otherworldly terrains. I didn't even get a chance to dip into the Craters of the Moon National Preserve, but riding east of them on my way to Idaho Falls was an adventure through craggy and alien landscapes. The jagged Tetons watched over my progress all the way until my arrival at my brother's house after sunset. I was greeted by nieces and nephews I hadn't seen in years as well as my oldest brother and his wonderful wife. They fed me dinner, stayed up late to chit chat with me, and showed me to my bed in the most diverse music room I've seen outside of a school. They are a family of musical talent! Unfortunately I didn't get to stay more than one night, and had to be off toward Yakima Washington the next morning.
Northern Idaho was beautifully mountainous and the views of the lake while riding through Coeur d'Alene were stunning. I made it to the Spokane area around sunset and was rapidly losing steam. Even though some of the rest stops in Washington offer free coffee, those were closed by the time I got there. I pulled up a website that was a lifesaver all along the trip, and found some free campsites in Moses Lake. The one problem that happens sometimes is the directions can be a little terrible. I was searching for the sand dunes till about midnight, and pulled in bleary eyed and managed to set up the tent, unroll my sleeping bag and pass out. I was awoken just before dawn the next day by what sounded like a motocross rally. Turns out the dunes that were free to camp in attract tons of dirt bikes and 4-wheelers. I made a rushed breakfast and managed to lay my bike down only once in the sand as I was trying to make my way back to road.
Later that morning, I was riding along I-90 when I decided to stop for fuel and snack at a gas station/fruit store. Fruit and vegetable stands and stores seemed to be everywhere along the west coast. It was there that I received the best route advice I got the whole way. Upon passing conversation pleasantries and fielding a few questions about the loaded down bike, I told the clerk that I was headed for Yakima along I-82. I was vehemently scolded for choosing such a dreary route. He happily informed me that Route-821 ran parallel and went through Yakima Canyon the whole way there. The twists and turns alone were worth two bucks I spent on this guy's fruit.
While riding through Yakima, it was clear that agriculture dominated by orchards ran the economy around here, and there was a lot of graffiti that was in Spanish. I had heard stories of this area, as it was where my mom grew up. Many of the tales included my grandma and grandpa that I never had the pleasure of meeting. I had been discussing finding their gravesite since this trip was in its infancy, and I found it funny that my mom could give me no other pointers toward the cemetery other than it was near Tieton and it overlooked an orchard. This coming from a woman who loves doing genealogy, has plenty of records on family, and even went to the funeral. Luckily there were only 3 cemeteries in the Tieton area, as the second half of the description was of no use. I asked around at the city hall, and given my description I was told of the 3 cemeteries, one of which I was only given vague directions to on the basis that there were graves that were from pioneer days, and apparently there had been grave-robbers. This of course was my first choice to check out. After a few missteps, I found it, but it didn't have the headstone I was looking for, and neither did my second choice. The final cemetery was the golden ticket. It was a beautifully sunny afternoon, and I sat and had a rather one sided conversation with my grandparents whose name I bear, and I know only through the lens of my mother. I told them all about myself and what I was doing to make them proud of me. The farmland they overlook is very serene and beautiful.
After the treasure hunt for dead people, I had to be on my way to Seattle by way of Ranier National Park of course. Route 410 is spectacular, and nothing prepares you for the first time Ranier commands your attention with its massive presence. Halfway through the park, I found myself behind a guy on a Harley with an impressively sparkly American Flag helmet straight out of Easy Rider. We both apparently had the same problem of blazing past the views of the mountain we were presented with, and managed to stop at the same pull off with the last (and worst) view of Ranier. The conversation went something like this:
Me: "You're not an old fat white dude on a Harley!
Sparkly Stranger: "You're not an old fat white dude! And you're riding alone?"
Me: "Yup."
Sparkly Stranger: "My name's Mark. I'm also traveling alone, and have been for a while now. I'm headed for Alaska. Wanna join?"
Me: "Oh man, that sounds awesome! My name's Wilson."
We exchanged numbers, and I told him I'd consider it. He was going to be in Tacoma for a few days before he split north, and I told him I'd get back to him before he left.
Me: "You're not an old fat white dude on a Harley!
Sparkly Stranger: "You're not an old fat white dude! And you're riding alone?"
Me: "Yup."
Sparkly Stranger: "My name's Mark. I'm also traveling alone, and have been for a while now. I'm headed for Alaska. Wanna join?"
Me: "Oh man, that sounds awesome! My name's Wilson."
We exchanged numbers, and I told him I'd consider it. He was going to be in Tacoma for a few days before he split north, and I told him I'd get back to him before he left.
I arrived in Seattle around sunset and met up with my good friends there that I hadn't seen since they moved from Kansas City. They took me on a quick tour of Fremont (including the troll), and we headed back to their place for the night. I told them of my encounter with Mark the sparkly stranger, and they encouraged the deviation of plans. I called Mark back and told him I was down like a clown for this adventure, especially since I had never been to Canada before.
Seattle was my favorite city of the whole trip, and while there I was given the grandest of tours that could be had in such a short time. It included Pikes Place Market, the gum wall, Discovery Park, a Bon Odori festival, and a motorcycle tour of some of the best views and roads in the city. My friend even had time to take me to some awesome rock climbing spots and out to shoot his bow. I managed to lose all of his arrows. Mark and I met up and had exquisite sushi with my friends at Mashiko (a place I highly recommend trying if you're in the area), and the next morning they wished us not to be eaten by bears, and we bid them adieu.
Seattle was my favorite city of the whole trip, and while there I was given the grandest of tours that could be had in such a short time. It included Pikes Place Market, the gum wall, Discovery Park, a Bon Odori festival, and a motorcycle tour of some of the best views and roads in the city. My friend even had time to take me to some awesome rock climbing spots and out to shoot his bow. I managed to lose all of his arrows. Mark and I met up and had exquisite sushi with my friends at Mashiko (a place I highly recommend trying if you're in the area), and the next morning they wished us not to be eaten by bears, and we bid them adieu.