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A Picture Window On The World
(This piece was written several years ago and now, because like most faithful steeds, it has rumbled off into a retirement where it is hoped it will make some other family happy. I think the time has come to commit this travelog to type. A requiem, as it were, for our motor home.)
From the driver’s seat of my Champion motor home, sitting high above most of the traffic I have a picture window on the world. I am the captain of my ship; the leader of my destiny. From my vantage point on high, every turn of the road and the steering wheel can reveal new vistas to my co-pilot and I. I also get to witness many different characters as they roll up and down the pike. Seldom do they follow preconceived ideas of how ‘types’ should respond in certain circumstances or different situations.
For instance, there was the 18-wheeler that flung itself past us on I-5, north of Vancouver, Washington. It growled ominously as it roared past as though it was warning us it the king of the road. A few minutes later, at a rest stop, we followed it into the parking lot to be greeted by the cheery wave from a fragile looking young lady who stepped down from the hurricane deck of the behemoth.
For those who can’t afford the luxury of time flying may be the only way to go, but traveling the byways of America in a motor home will give you a far better view of America as we live it. Yet, it is not an endless stream of exciting adventures. You seem to glide along reveling in the excitement of the last thrill before the next one is exposed to you. For that reason travelog type articles can sometimes get bogged in the rhetoric of attempting to assure the reader that each and every minute is an endless array of handclapping thrills.
On a recent trip to Seattle from Kennewick we elected to go via the Columbia Gorge to Vancouver and then north on I-5 to Seattle. Longer, but different, and time was not a factor. Our first night out was spent at Beacon Rock State Park, about thirty miles or so upstream from Vancouver. We traveled the northshore highway which kept us in Washington which we for two main reasons.
Interstate 84 (old I-80N) along the Oregon south shore is mostly a river level strip of four-lane concrete built for high speeds and not rubber-necking. Washington’s northside, on the other hand, is much more spectacular, as it winds and twists around and over the hills, particularly when you get into the gorge.
Besides, Oregon has an abominable habit of putting a surcharge on out-of-staters at their state parks. When we travel we usually spend a minimum of $50 per day, including gas and oil. If they still insist on getting their pound of flesh then I shall use their services only when extremely necessary and I’ll keep my money for home-state merchants,
Sounds terribly parochial, doesn’t it?
At Beacon Rock we found several trails that appeared to be interesting. The most famous, and probably most used, is the one going to the top of Beacon Rock. The rock received its name from the fact the Indians and others used it for just that, a huge beacon fire on top for guiding wayfarers down the gorge. It was mentioned in Lewis and Clark’s journals and river tales of the Columbia since then. But I am digressing.
We took one of the trails that led back up into the mountains toward several waterfalls. At one point you are quite deep in the woods and here, where the trees provide you with a quiet coolness, you find you are insulated from most of the outside noises of civilization. There is little to interrupt your revery with nature.
Suddenly, you round a bend in trail and civilization rushes in on you. In this case we saw the panorama of the great Bonneville dam spread before us. We were immediately thrust forward into the Twentieth Century again. It was a traumatic moment as the sounds of industry; the humming of an overhead jet; the raucous blare of horns from the freeway across the river, came back to us with a suddenness that was almost overwhelming.
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This cut was inherited from some of the material left behind by Tony Moitoret. It was salvaged from a bunch of metal brought over by Ralph Babcock to feed the linotype when he and I got out the supplement to NA 101-4. It was too good to throw away and it’s timely. Notice also it has some scratches and nicks. A lot of things 47 years old and older have lots of scratches and nicks.
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Our picture window also led us to something that perhaps the railroad buffs would enjoy.
A local restauranteur in Vancouver, Washington, assembled a group of railroad passenger cars, an old caboose and a retired railroad depot into one of the most unusual eating places I’ve been in.
The cars are not just any old car but each one was selected because it had a bit of history or an unusual story that placed it above the others. They furnished brochures that tell about them and it was interesting to note that even the waitresses get into the act. Their aprons are designed from a striped material reminiscent of an engineer’s striped overalls.
Remember that the next time you’re on the way through Vancouver. It’s ‘The Crossing,’ a unique restaurant with a bit of atmosphere, good food and reasonable prices.
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Is Spring really coming? As this is being set it is approaching the winter holidays. Sometimes I feel that I have spent most of my life waiting for spring – and so soon it is gone.
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The sign at the freeway rest area said: Mount St. Helens Viewpoint, Four Miles.
Even though in Kennewick we received only a token amount of ash, we were very much aware of the impact of the ash in our sister communities north of us. Never the less, it was too good to pass up. We had to take a look at the old girl, our sainted lady, as it were, so when we came to the proper exit we joined a large group of tourists who were there for the same season.
It was a disappointment, though, because it was a hazy day. The outline of the distant hills and mountains were barely visible. Not only that but the mountain wasn’t cooperating. It was silent and invisible, not a single wisp of steam was evident.
Unfortunately, the Forest Service blew it. There were no directional arrows and with three prominent humps looming through the haze, well, we did what I think nearly everyone seemed to do. We took pictures of all three humps… one of them had to be right.
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A real test of will power is to have the same ailment some person is describing to you… and not mention it.
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We left I-5 at Olympia and decided to take a detour to Seattle. We would go up through Shelton to Hoods Canal, easterly along the canal to Bremerton and then cross the Sound on one of the State Department of Transportation’s super ferries. It was a lovely day for a 55-minute ride on the ‘Yakima’. However, before got that far we went through the little community of Union.
Try that one for a moment. Here they had the Union Tavern, Union Grocery, Union Marina and, of course, a Union Post Office. It sure looked to me like the whole place is pretty well organized… or should I say ‘Unionized’?
Before we boarded the ferry in Bremerton we decided to stop a moment to visit the grand old lady of the Pacific Fleet. The USS Missouri is berthed here and is open daily for young people to try and capture the spirit of the time; some old timers to reminisce; and for some of us old ex-Army folk to say, “Oh, was this the way the anchor-clankers really lived?”
The Missouri was launched January 29, 1944, commissioned June 11, 1944, decommissioned February 26, 1955, That is the cold, hard statistics of the case but what they don’t tell is the history made in that time. There are many men alive today who walked her decks while she participated in countless battles in two major wars. She is the third ship of the Navy to bear this honorable name, the first having taken part in the war with Mexico.
Be that as it may, the ‘Mighty Mo’s’ greatest claim to fame was the fact that on September 2, 1945, General Douglas MacArthur assembled the fighting leaders of most of the Allied Forces on her foredeck and laid down the terms of surrender to the Japanese ending World War II. The rest of her story is like chaff in the wind but for that one short space of time, she will be engraved forever in our history.
Well, that got us to Seattle. Does anyone know the way back to Kennewick?
Growls From The Grouch
Wouldn’t you say this just about tells the whole sad story?
“Gotta cigarette?”
“Here, take the whole pack.”
“Thanks. Gotta match?”
“Here, you can keep the lighter, too.”
“Say, that’s all right. Thanks again. Have you got an oil well or something?
“Nope. Lung cancer.”
I was reading something the other day I thought was quite appropriate. This little squib went on to say: “If you have something unpleasant to say make $*#(*# @)#(@)#* sure you say it unpleasantly.”
Remember when the Model A was new? You do? Aw, come on, don’t kid me! I’ll bet you’re not that old!
Occasional articles have deplored letter distribution in the modern font of type. These discussions are usually based on need. So what’s the flap all about? I’ve felt for a long time that the NAPA brotherhood were ingenious rascals and with one of our mottoes being, “Waste Not, Want Not,” I took the subject to my son John for consultation. This is part of the solution:
Jack has a jack and John has a john. Now if John can borrow Jack’s jack then why can’t Jack borrow the john of John’s? But if John is using his john as well as Jack’s jack then Jack can’t use John’s john. If Jack can’t wait to use John’s then Jack should grab his jack from John and hurry home to Jack’s john and let John get his own jack.
As a student of history I have found out there are many things not reported in the every day stories you hear of great historical events. One that was reported to me recently was about the theater owner who was heard to say, “Of course, Mrs. Lincoln, but other than that, how did you enjoy the show?”
There are times when I am somewhat amused by the so-called ‘horsey set’. I don’t make any bones about it, I have very little respect for horses. After I left the stump ranch I felt I could live without them very well but I wouldn’t raise much stink with those who do like them. That was before joining the 1st Cavalry before they went overseas in 1943. We were unmounted cavalry engineers. I don’t know who started the custom but at every retreat parade it seems it was the 8th Engineer Squadron’s honor to follow three brigades of horses… on foot.
That reminds me of the recruit who, after a long day in the saddle, went to the first aid station to get a little talcum powder.
“Sure thing,” the doctor replied. “walk this way.”
“If I could walk that way,” the recruit moaned, “I wouldn’t need the talcum powder.”
Several people have asked about the Tonto Basin Review. The Tonto Basin Review is alive and well. I was over to visit friends in Higho and Daway and I stopped to see the editor of the Review. He had just come away from a night-long poker session with Carl Trotham. He was chuckling about what a poor loser Carl was.
“Matter of fact,” the editor opined, “I would rather play poker with a poor loser than a good winner.”
He also said there would be another issue out soon.
OK, so I started with black ink and switched to red. Would you please repeat the question? Yes, yes, but I’ve told you repeatedly this is a non-profit organization. Look at the date, chum, it’s getting close to IRS time and the red ink is to send them a message.
As the little boy said when he tore his pants… the end is in sight!
Jack & Rosella Hageman
Kennewick, Wash. 99336