Coeur d'Alene, ID to Marrowstone Island, WA

Jan 9, 2007

Current mood:content

Coeur d'Alene

We left our little little town of Coeur d'Alene just as dusk began to cover the valley. It's funny, I've only been gone a short time and yet I've noticed the little differences that I didn't notice living here. Like how it gets dark two hours earlier.  And how the snow is as light as angel dust. How the sun sets across the plateaus west of Spokane bathing it in deep orange and pink dimensional hues as it sets behind the Columbia River.

The Gorge in George

The boys and I used to travel this route along I-90 once a month since 2003 to meet their dad in Ellensburg, half way between his house and my house. There is no radio reception out here, unless you sing in Spanish (which for entertainment purposes only the boys and I would try periodically). We have our favorite gas and corn dog spots along the way; the first one is in Moses Lake, exit 189 on the north side of the highway. Everything from here on out is measured not in real time but in landmarks. Ten miles away, on the other side of Moses Lake, is the dinosaur park that we stop to play at when the temperature outside will let you stick your tongue to the swing set without sticking. Forty miles after the park is the exit for the Gorge at George. The George is an outdoor amphitheatre that rises above the deep canyons along the east side of the Columbia. It's like being on top of the world. The last concert I saw here was Fleetwood Mac way back when.



The lead stallion at the Wild Horse Monument in Vantage



There were eight of us and we had pitched our tents in some remote beach just below and woke up to a State Trooper knocking on our tent to ask us if we killed the dead cow that was twenty feet behind our campsite. I hear Jack Johnson plays here every year now. I'd like to come see him. Ten miles past George, up on top of the hill to the southwest, silhouetted against the sky, is a stampede of horses. But, when you watch them, they don't move. They are a monument that represents a story from pioneer folklore of the area, looking regal and free as they watch us descend down to the river. Only thrity miles to go to reach the Flying J!


The boys in their Flying J bomber jackets!



This is a special Flying J. Well, personally, I think all  Flying J's are pretty special. But this one is more special because we have history with it. The little bomber jackets that Roman and Jordan are wearing in the pictures that we had taken before we left CDA , were bought here. This has been their father's and I meeting place for years. It's where my nephew's go to college at Central Washington University. Forty miles south is where my niece, Megan lives and where my surrogate brother, Blaine, lived when he became Sgt. for the State Patrol. I stopped at this gas station in May of 2000 after Blaine gently woke me up at his house to let me know that my Field Training Officer back home in Port Townsend had died. It's this gas station that I sat in my blue Expedition as I cried for the father figure that I had hugged for the last time only days before not knowing that I'd never see him again. It's here that we like to linger in the diner that is hooked on to the Southside, watching the truckers, the ranchers, the college kids, the retired motor home tourists come through and wonder what everyone's story is while we are eating our corn dogs and crinkle fries. It's the last stop until we reach the ferry in the Port of Seattle that will carry us over to the Olympic Peninsula. Only this time we have one more stop. It will be a new tradition. Jake, my oldest son, is attending his first year of college at Seattle University and we haven't seen his dorm room yet. J

Driving through Snoqualmie Pass in the Cascades is a bear at night!! There are four lanes but you can't see any of them because the road graters have grated off all the reflector lines and turtles!! It is 11 degrees at the top and a full blown blizzard, only a glimpse of what we were in for the next five days.

We stopped by Jake's girfriends little apartment in the heart of Seattle and met his dorm mate, Shea, and his friend, Cody, who doubled for our en route, on call Volvo mechanic while we were on the road. It was a nice break and my heart aches everytime I have to say goodbye. It's weird to see a child all grown up. Mostly because I know that I'll never be, so how can they be, lol!!  We hit the 12:45am ferry to Bainbridge Island and arrived on the peninsula at 1:30. 



The Olympics

 Reaching the Hood Canal Bridge that floats on top of the Puget Sound I had forgotten my deep-seeded fear of ocean water and bridges OVER ocean water!! I though that my fears had been quenched from years of crossing over this and the Narrows bridge, but, boy, they sure came back full force as soon as the tires hit the wire grates leading down to the middle of the bridge. Since there was no one behind us, I slowed to 15 mph in a 40. I know, and I don't want to hear it! :) If you wait an hour or so, you will see the bridge draw up to let the Trident submarines go under on their way to their docking in Bangor. On the otherside of the bridge to the West, the Olympic Mountain range is outlined against the night sky and full moon. I forget how beautiful and mystical this place can be.



Mystery Bar on Marrowstone Island



We drove down highway 101 until we met up with Hwy 20, Beaver Valley Road, that takes us east through the Chimacum Valley to the end of the plateau where Port Townsend sits. We are actually headed to the island across the harbor from PT , Marrowstone. And that means that we have only one more bridge to cross, a single lane, that sits really high above the fast moving channel of deep water.

There is a lot of history in this valley, but I'll tell you about it on the way home, right now, the kids bunkbed at my ex-husband's house is looking really, really good!!!