All Contrails Lead To Seatac

15 Aug 2017– Tuesday, I continued my trek up through the backroads of wheat country, most paved, some not.  My goal was to avoid the interstate or interstate-esque (395) highways.  I rode through little farming towns, some dead, some clinging onto life with a agricultural supply store or grocery market grasping for breath among the dead corpses of businesses left behind, like tombstones of brick lining main streets.  Towns like Hatton, Cunningham, Lind, Harrington, prosperous no longer.  I stopped in Harrington for a break (cigar) and watched truck after truck loaded with wheat, heading to the train terminal in town.  Whose left must shop online, or make the pilgrimage to the big warehouse stores in the cities.  Can’t grow the wheat online, yet.

I noticed something in the sky, quite obvious if one thought about it, but like most I didn’t until today.  The contrails in the sky converging toward that international hub, SEATAC.

I rode up along Lake Roosevelt, and then to the border.  The customs officer must’ve thought I looked suspicious, because he grilled me with a hundred questions, e.g.,

“What do you do in Bend, Oregon?”

“Why aren’t you on a BMW if you’re going to a BMW Rally?”

“Do you have any firearms?  Back home?  Do you own any firearms?  Do you every carry them?  When you ride?  Why not?”

“Are you going to smoke the cigars?”

“What’s the banner say on it?”

Finally he acquiesced and let me in.

It was a short hop to Christina Lake where I made reservations, nice little motel with two room suites.  I didn’t make a delicious dinner in the cozy kitchen in the room, instead walked across the street to Lisa’s Bistro.  I highly recommend this joint–as did the motel owner–found in the Art Center building.  I enjoyed a Spicy Chicken Wrap with a glass of iced tea.  Now, I’ll finish this missive and go find something enjoyable to do, until tomorrow.