After a few nights in the Portland trailer park I headed north again, to Seattle. No sooner had I left the island and crossed the Columbia river bridge into Washington state, than it started bucketing down with rain. Stephanie Meyer wasn't lying about the Washington weather.
Seattle is only a few hours drive from Portland. An hours detour en route is enough to get to Mount St. Helens, an active volcano in southern Washington. In 1980, Mt St. Helens was the talk of the world, its' eruption projecting laterally and flattening forests for as much as seventeen miles around. Then, between 2004 and 2008, the volcano experienced one continuous eruption, with a gradual extrusion of lava creating a new lava dome in the crater left after 1980. A number of steam and ash plume releases occurred over the course of this eruption, occasionally dusting the surrounding area with ash.
On my approach, the clouds funnelled down from the sky like the forming of a tornado, swallowing and shrouding the mountain. Retribution for its' repeated outpourings. The drive took me along the Toutle valley, the road lined with freshly-planted forests, and the valley floor showing clear evidence of the eruption thirty years before. The new forests were Midwich in their uniformity, each fir seemingly identical to the next.
My destination was the Johnston Ridge Observatory, on the last day of its' 2011 season. It is named after David Johnston, a volcanologist who convinced authorities in 1980 to the keep the area around the volcano closed to the public, despite great pressure to re-open. He predicted a lateral blast as the north side of the volcano developed a large bulge in the month leading to the eruption. He was positioned on the ridge - 5 miles to the north - monitoring the volcano, when it eventually decided to release its' contents. His final words - to the research station in Vancouver, Washington: "Vancouver, Vancouver, this is it". Johnston's body was never recovered, but remnants of his truck were unearthed, in 1993, fully thirteen years later. Thanks to his influence, only 50 people lost their lives that day.
Driving away from Mt St. Helens, a thick fog came down and covered the road, such that I couldn't see more than a few feet in front of the van. Stephanie Meyer plainly thoroughly researched them books of hers. Ain't no-one gonna sparkle in that.
So to Seattle (ipod: Audi to Ball). It has struck me there's an American 'thing' for jogging topless. At first it didn't register, alongside the beaches of greater LA. But witness it in Seattle, when it's on the very cusp of November - All Hallows' Eve, to be precise - you sit up and take notice. Men only so far, of course. I live in hope.
I visited the EMP (Experience Music Project) museum, a collection of music, sci-fi and pop culture items. I saw an exhibit about the greats of horror films, a chunk of the guitar that Jimi Hendrix famously torched at Monterey and, predictably, a collection of Nirvana memorabilia, this featuring items donated by Krist Novoselic including some intimate polaroids from back in the day.
I succumbed to a Subway one afternoon (never been averse to a foot-long and can polish one off in under ten minutes). The Subway lady took quite a shine to my eight-week growth beard. I say 'took a shine'...she was mainly interested in how far my hirsutism extended, her eyes never left me as she prepared my sandwich, and there was something in her gentle caress, as she gave me my change, that screamed 'rape'. Still, the sub was satisfying, and I don't remember it tasting of rohypnol.
A couple of nights in Seattle and it was time to turn right. For the next few weeks the sun will be setting in my rear-view mirror as I head east. A couple of days on the road, then. The first (ipod: Ball to Bear), the mountains and prairies of Washington state. Driving across plains at 5000ft, higher than Ben Nevis. Great wind farms alongside the freeway. I crossed the Columbia river again. It is vast, and those nice American authorities have seen fit to put a viewpoint right above the crossing - a great place for a spot of lunch!
That night I stayed in an RV park in northern Idaho, where I met Mike, the friendly RV park guy. We spoke about Yellowstone (which he doesn't like), Yosemite (which he does) and guns (which he does). He was formerly a member of the LAPD, riding in the helicopters, and was keen to tell me a thing or two about concealed weapons (he has three). He said the way I can legally join the concealed weapon club is to buy a Jiffy lemon. I'm not even lying. Easily hidden in the palm of your hand such that, when squirted into the eyes of your assailant, you render them impotent for long enough to exact your escape. Can't wait to be held up at gunpoint so I can pull out my Jiffy lemon.
The next day was a purely driving day (ipod: Bear to Bent). Seven hours from Idaho to Gardiner, Montana, on the border with Wyoming. And the northern gateway to Yellowstone...
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