My Grand COVID Cross-Country Adventure (GC3A) Part III
Waylaid in Washington and onto Idaho
When your only option is your best option
The first few stops of the GC3A were supposed to be: 1) distanced birthday weekend camping near Mt. Shasta, 2) a day trip to Crater Lake with Dorit, and then 3) a few days in Bend with Lesley before we went to Idaho. Shasta had been canceled. Crater Lake had to be traded for Ashland. And the path of the smoke plume made it clear that Bend was not safe either. I was zero for three but going with the flow.
I searched AirBNB for something north of Bend and on the way to Idaho that had two beds and wasn’t a million dollars. The pickings were slim — two spots in the Tri-Cities, three closely linked cities in the Columbia Basin of Eastern Washington. The region is Washington’s famous wine country you have never heard of. A perfect place for a person who doesn’t drink! The first AirBNB turned out to not actually be available, so we were headed to Benton City.
There is little to report from our eight-hour drive. The moment we got out of Ashland the Trump 2020 signage began. Around Crater Lake the air quality was so terrible, we broke out our N95 masks in the car to calm our sore throats. Eventually the smoke let up and the pines lining the road gave way to rolling hills dotted with cows. We caught a gorgeous fire-enhanced sunset as we made our way toward the Washington state line.
We turned off the highway toward the Tri-Cities around 9PM. In the moonlit sky we could make out nothing but fields for miles. I was confused. I had done approximately zero research on where we were going, but the AirBNB map had showed some sort of grid suggesting it was somewhere vaguely urban. With just a few minutes left, we dipped into a valley and caught a small sea of streetlights. We had arrived … somewhere.
The AirBNB was aggressively happy with yellow walls, yellow chairs, yellow frilly pillows, oversized fake sunflowers, and a white pleather couch with blue sequin pillows. There wasn’t much to see in Benton City, but I did take a few walks around the neighborhood, which mostly consisted of platformed trailers with an astonishing number of cars in each driveway. I even met a friendly neighbor who had a free food stand set up. At her insistence, I snagged a giant zucchini and a few pears. Less welcoming were the men we saw walking with sheathed knives and one jarring sign warning us to beware of Muslims. I wondered how they felt about Jews.
The highlight of Benton City, however, was a short and steep sunset hike up McBee Hill. From the top you could see the wine country we had heard about.
Getting back on track
On Wednesday, Lesley and I drove three hours to the northern panhandle of Idaho to meet up with Ariel. Until this point, we had experienced pretty uniform mask decorum. We stopped at a gas station a little ways into Idaho and my Bay Area brain exploded when I walked into the convenience store to find I was the only person with any sort of face covering in the surprisingly crowded shop. I tried to play it cool while I scanned the aisles for floss, but I was being glared at like my N95 was a giant middle finger. I gave up, B-lined out past the full aisle of Trump 2020 gear, and took deep breaths in the car.
We had booked four nights at a campsite in Farragut State Park on Lake Pend Oreille (which in case you can’t speak French either is pronounced “pond oh-RAY”) and spent three glorious days around the lake paddle boarding, swimming, and hiking. The days were warm with almost no humidity, and the water was crystal clear and surprisingly not too cold. Nights were chilly, but perfect for a campfire and fending off any mosquitoes we would have encountered earlier in the season. It was a perfect place to round out the summer.
We briefly stopped in the nearby town of Sandpoint for paddle board rentals and coffee. The town is quaint but with a much fresher vibe than I expected. In non-pandemic times, I would have loved to explore the vintage and outdoor shops, the bustling farmers market, and the trendy looking restaurants. This area is definitely an undiscovered jewel. (I would worry about letting the word out if more than 50 people read this blog.)
On Sunday, Ariel and I said goodbye to Lesley, and continued East to Montana for the next leg of the GC3A.
This story is Part III in My Grand COVID Cross Country Adventure, for Part II click here. For Part IV click here.
