The Husky dog in the next room was yowling since 4 am. Three 18-wheelers were in the parking lot and 20 odd pickups some with 4 wheel rear axles, some with trailers – containing several quad bikes and other clutter. Many of them left the motel at 6, roaring their diesels.
I stayed awake for 2 hours then collapsed back into an exhausted sleep to be woken by a text from Mrs jtreg.
Complimentary breakfast is offered at most Motels that do not charge by the hour: you get a do-it yourself ‘Belgian Waffle’ which means you pour liquid Polyfilla into a griddle, close it, turn clockwise 180 degrees and wait for your spongy waffle which is designed to be drowned in syrup. Coffee is ok and squirted from a plunger vacuum flask. Other motel guests wander around sipping coffee in the cramped reception under the tv tuned to the benzocaine Fox news.
Husky appears drooling after breakfast with owner, its sapphire blue eyes pierce me as I bend over, oiling the primary chain. “what year is yer bike then?” the owner asks pleasantly, struggling to contain the white wolf, straining on its lead. “Er 1997” I wanted to ask him why the fuck did he let his dog scream in the small hours… “are dogs allowed in this motel chain?” Silly question. (I tried to ask politely) “Hmm – ye don’t see many of tham police bikes d’yer” he asked – I said “no,” … best leave yowling dogs lie.
At that point the white dog focused attention on a Chihuahua crapping a wormy worm-like turd on the grass outside reception. “Ha, he wants to play but am not gonna let him!”
The receptionist a burly man with his fat neck drooping over his collar explained to me how to get on the 503 to Mt St. Helens. And I spent a lovely morning, lost in the most beautiful woodlands and mountains you could imagine, more than made up for the yowler McCanine next door. Needless to say, many pics taken. I went right up to 6 miles from the volcano, nearest I could get to it. The landscape was still littered with white felled trees from 1980 like so many matchsticks. The blast was heard 700 miles away, I learned at a café at the end of the trai,l .. and the cloud from the eruption 16 miles high, seen from space. At that time Mrs and Mr jtreg were settling into their little house in Willesden. The bike cruised up and down the steep hills without fuss, mind you, it was at a very sedate pace. Lunch at the cabin at the end of the trail was hot dogs and chips. The toilets, water less, cess pits, impressive stuff. The ride around the mountain was truly exceptional, the smell of the pine, the silence – the Polish family who stopped just after I did at one vista point to look at Mt St Helens and took my photo…
None of them spoke a word of English except the 15 year old daughter who took my photo – they had moved to Washington to settle down but had never seen the mountain close up. They were surprised to meet an Englishman as I was a Polish family
Onward up the highway 7 then I 5 into Seattle. I found the Crocodile Café, a great music venue however it was shut on Sundays so I made for a bar nearby with ‘lively’ clientele… very friendly too, mixture of ages, types straight but liberal some tattoos here and there… the sort of audience that might be at the Crocodile Café I would imagine. A very large man who volunteered his age as 3 years younger than me – 19 stone at least – with his Pomeranian dog who would slap your hand with his paw when you commanded “GIMME FIVE!”
Sarah a girl with a pasty face and pale death-like lips she coated with lip salve every few minutes helpfully suggested the best place for a motel was on 99 northbound but sternly advised me not to do in if there were ‘too many’ hookers or crack addicts hanging around the parking lot outside. If it looked ok, go in, don’t pay more than $40 and check the room first… if the rates are hourly only, walk away. I thanked her and made a mental note to stick to AAA (Triple A) approved establishments. I found a Travel Lodge which cost more that $40! Hey, small price to pay not to have hookers and pimps banging on your door all night. I stayed in a hotel in New York (The Pickwick on 55th St.) in 1983 and that was the exact scenario. I was very cheap, though. I wont be doing that, for sure.
Tomorrow – Vancouver, or at least somewhere in between. I do not have to be in Vancouver until Wednesday when the parts for the bike arrive. I will explore the islands in between. The chain must be replaced if I am to do some more serious miles, it is snatching noticeably now.