T/Blues: 08/04/2012

Well, after bopping around longer than expected along WA’s gorgeous coast, am ready to head east.

Bullwinch Memorial

Sedro Woolley turns out to be one of those towns which could be plunked down in Texas or New Mexico, and gives a sense it had been sitting in a dusty desert forever: flat, dun-colored downtown contrasting to lovely, tree-shaded residential areas. On its main streets, a bunch of bars and pawn shops… which even a nifty Heritage Museum doesn’t quite balance. In fairness, there is a lovely riverfront park: grass, trees, shade… alas, no beach. BUT, it DOES have an unusual way to commemorate a logger’s accidental death: a mounted bullwinch.

Pause going through Concrete, as all buildings are spozed to be made out of local materials. While there IS a bodacious silo, someone discovered wood makes nice frame houses.

Check out possibility of camping in Rockport’s Henry Miller Steelhead State Park, an idea many had before me. What IS wonderful is these are “vintage car” buffs, so there’s a ’53 Chevy, over there a ’51 Ford, tucked away, a ’38 Ford coupe, and back there a ’50 Roadmaster. WOW, and DOUBLE WOW!


Trail of the Cedars: falls

Newhalem is set in a narrow valley, so a pretty ugly power company takes advantage of its river. (Am a bit surprised at being attacked by an ATV driven by a towheaded pre-teener who apparently, showing off for his young girlfriend, did not expect to encounter traffic on a back alley). Fortunately, there’s also a Trail of Cedars: a Rock Garden and Ladder Falls. (Am not convinced salmon can really jump that high, but who knows). Of course, it also has an obligatory railroad engine in its highway-side City Park).


“Two horse; two horse, the British are coming?”

In almost unnoticeable Mazama, a couple horses pasturing, are so reminiscent of my daughter Siobhan’s beautiful “critters” in North Carolina, pause long enough for photos.

Finally arrive in Tracie-from-Seattle’s beloved Winthrop.

Lotsa old folks and lotsa Yuppies mill around on a Main Street which could become “cutesy”, but, for now, retains much of it’s old time charm. Old Schoolhouse Brewery has a folk/rock “3J” (Janis; Jimi; Jefferson) quartet banging out oldies, so find a distance where eyes can see, and ears aren’t overwhelmed (shades of the old SF Hippie Panhandle Sundays).

At a table before me three poised Yup predators ($80 haircuts; gym/golf physiques) scan and assess female dancers, only later, to have their “class act” falter due to a bunch of problems divvying up the bill (“Ya can dress’m up, but ya can’t take’m out”). Locals have their own dress code: rocker T-shirts & jeans or Goodwill reject dresses… there’s a kind of eroticism without it becoming salacious.

Dear Anna (whom some Hollywood agent should keep on file if they ever need a young Muriel Hemingway lookalike) sacrifices dinner to get my van settled into perfectly punned Pine Near RV Park.


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