Saturday, August 18
Tom and I sleep in – this time as a result of the late night fire alarm and a humongous side of beef. Come to think of it, we always sleep in on road trips – and invariably hit the road at a tardy 10.00am. We jump out of bed, and grab a quick smoothie on our way out of Wenatchee, promising to make lunch a special event.
Tom suggests that we drive towards the Yakima Valley, as he has a “good feeling about it”. I personally think he just wants to burn the other side of his face. We find a great Blue Grass radio station out of Moscow, Idaho, and point Stella south.
What a beautiful drive, the scenery along the Columbia River looks like something out of a John Wayne movie. Even the names have a western feel to them, places like Rattlesnake Hills, Saddle Mountain, and Quincy. At one point we pass a very large and mysterious array, which reminds of us Nevada and leads to a lively debate. Twenty miles later we are still arguing whether it’s Area 51 or Area 61 – bets are placed.
Finally we reach the heart of Washington State’s wine country, where we decided to tour a few wineries and stop for lunch. One problem though, where are the wineries? Tom drives around aimlessly, and I resist the urge to make a snide remark about homing pigeons. As we travel through the small towns of the Yakima Valley, we can’t help but notice the huge discrepancy between the “haves” and the “have nots”. Some areas look more like Mexico than America – neighbourhoods that are made up of migrant workers who are here to harvest the apples, pears, grapes, and countless other fruits.
We finally find a winery – and as we enter the tasting room we are greeted by the owners pug. This is a great sign, our luck has turned! We high five each other and remind ourselves to buy a lottery ticket. We leave with a few bottles of vino and directions to several other good wineries. We enjoy our wine tasting, but have no luck in finding a restaurant. Even a picnic is out of the question. We have wine and grapes, but are unable to find a baguette or chunk of brie – in desperation we end up pulling into the Taco Bell just west of Gleed.
We decide to head toward Mount Rainier, as neither of us have ever seen it up close. The landscape quickly changes from high desert to rain forest, and we try to choose which mountain road to take. One road is faster but less scenic – and the other is gnarly and twisted - reaching an altitude of over 7000 feet. We aren’t even sure if it is paved. The stormy weather is closing in fast. I say we should go for it, take the winding road. Tom says he is worried about Stella. Worried about Stella??? It dawns on me that Tom hasn’t been bonding with me during this trip, he’s been bonding with my PT Cruiser. It’s always the wife who is the last to know.
Even though it is misty, Mount Rainier is spectacular - and Stella performs like a star, hugging the wet road as we twist and turn along the steep slopes of the mountain. At one point, Tom feels the urge to yell at the top of his lungs “Ride Stella, ride. Ride like the wind!”
As we leave the park we spot the perfect roadside diner, a little place called the Copper Inn, and fellow travellers are lined up out the door. They all say this place is famous for it’s wild blackberry pie, and after two helpings, we both agree that it lives up to its reputation. In fact, I would go so far as to say the pie alone made the trip worth while. We leave with a loaf of homemade bread and a jar of blackberry jam.
Tomorrow will be an easy drive. We’ll be home in time to read the pugs a bedtime story. And I catch myself already looking forward to my next road trip with Tom (and his new found friend Stella) – wherever it may lead us.
Tom and I sleep in – this time as a result of the late night fire alarm and a humongous side of beef. Come to think of it, we always sleep in on road trips – and invariably hit the road at a tardy 10.00am. We jump out of bed, and grab a quick smoothie on our way out of Wenatchee, promising to make lunch a special event.
Tom suggests that we drive towards the Yakima Valley, as he has a “good feeling about it”. I personally think he just wants to burn the other side of his face. We find a great Blue Grass radio station out of Moscow, Idaho, and point Stella south.
What a beautiful drive, the scenery along the Columbia River looks like something out of a John Wayne movie. Even the names have a western feel to them, places like Rattlesnake Hills, Saddle Mountain, and Quincy. At one point we pass a very large and mysterious array, which reminds of us Nevada and leads to a lively debate. Twenty miles later we are still arguing whether it’s Area 51 or Area 61 – bets are placed.
Finally we reach the heart of Washington State’s wine country, where we decided to tour a few wineries and stop for lunch. One problem though, where are the wineries? Tom drives around aimlessly, and I resist the urge to make a snide remark about homing pigeons. As we travel through the small towns of the Yakima Valley, we can’t help but notice the huge discrepancy between the “haves” and the “have nots”. Some areas look more like Mexico than America – neighbourhoods that are made up of migrant workers who are here to harvest the apples, pears, grapes, and countless other fruits.
We finally find a winery – and as we enter the tasting room we are greeted by the owners pug. This is a great sign, our luck has turned! We high five each other and remind ourselves to buy a lottery ticket. We leave with a few bottles of vino and directions to several other good wineries. We enjoy our wine tasting, but have no luck in finding a restaurant. Even a picnic is out of the question. We have wine and grapes, but are unable to find a baguette or chunk of brie – in desperation we end up pulling into the Taco Bell just west of Gleed.
We decide to head toward Mount Rainier, as neither of us have ever seen it up close. The landscape quickly changes from high desert to rain forest, and we try to choose which mountain road to take. One road is faster but less scenic – and the other is gnarly and twisted - reaching an altitude of over 7000 feet. We aren’t even sure if it is paved. The stormy weather is closing in fast. I say we should go for it, take the winding road. Tom says he is worried about Stella. Worried about Stella??? It dawns on me that Tom hasn’t been bonding with me during this trip, he’s been bonding with my PT Cruiser. It’s always the wife who is the last to know.
Even though it is misty, Mount Rainier is spectacular - and Stella performs like a star, hugging the wet road as we twist and turn along the steep slopes of the mountain. At one point, Tom feels the urge to yell at the top of his lungs “Ride Stella, ride. Ride like the wind!”
As we leave the park we spot the perfect roadside diner, a little place called the Copper Inn, and fellow travellers are lined up out the door. They all say this place is famous for it’s wild blackberry pie, and after two helpings, we both agree that it lives up to its reputation. In fact, I would go so far as to say the pie alone made the trip worth while. We leave with a loaf of homemade bread and a jar of blackberry jam.
Tomorrow will be an easy drive. We’ll be home in time to read the pugs a bedtime story. And I catch myself already looking forward to my next road trip with Tom (and his new found friend Stella) – wherever it may lead us.
4 comments:
You have a Stella...so which one of you is Thelma? Louise? :)
Mika, I have eaten at the Copper Inn and I did have their blackberry pie...delicious! I love that area of Washington. Keep up the writing...I'm enjoying the travel updates.
Aunt Linda
Mika and Tom - Maggy and I are jealous! Your travels bring back fond memories from not so long ago... oh well, back to the salt mines for us. Enjoy.
hahaha funny story
and by the way its area 51
Post a Comment