The Arizona Republic reports on the new home and housewarming!
A photo slideshow accompanies the article!
USA Today also picked up the story!
If you’re unfamiliar with my blog, you can read about the house-warming given by the generous readers of this blog. Simply open the page “Housewarming for Rusty and Timber” accessed from the header above or through the link in the sidebar. Feel free to participate in the house-warming!
Okay . . . Now for a regular blog post . . .
Tuesday, August 13
Goodbye Bumblebee Meadows, Idaho! The crew and I get back on I-90 West. The PTV, with the BLT tagging behind, glides like a big, white bird past Lake Coeur d’Alene and across Spokane, Washington, landing at a rest stop.
I go online to blog.
Off we go again, across the vast prairie or desert or whatever the heck it is that stretches for a gazillion monotonous miles in all directions. It’s hot, we’ve no air conditioning, and no clear destination.
Enormous fields of tan grass reach to the horizon all around us. The barbed wire fencing along the interstate is the most intriguing sight along the way, until somewhere beyond hell and Ritzville, dust devils catch my eye.
(I apologize for poor quality photos today. Several were taken through a dirty windshield and/or while driving.)
We stop at every rest stop.
We stop because a rest stop is Shangri-la compared to thousands of acres of tan grass. I go online and try to find a place to stay for the night. I even consider private RV parks. Nothing seems right. We push on. Tan grass is replaced by alfalfa, peas, wheat, timothy and corn. Fields of green provide the hope needed to carry us the last, long miles of our journey.
There’s the Columbia River!
Bridget and Spike are angels the entire trip. They enjoy the routine of nap, rest stop, nap, rest stop, but eventually all the highway miles wear out even the best crew.
Flying J appears like a flying nun to the rescue. We exit the interstate and circle the parking lot. The parking spaces at the front by the store are filled. I drive to the back lot and park where the truckers park.
Soon trucks grumble, beep, and fart their way into the spaces on both sides of the BLT.
Let me tell you . . . It’s very weird to stand naked with a soapy washcloth and a basin of water when strange truckers are only yards away. However, I need to freshen up. The crew consumes a kibble supper and I finish a Subway sandwich bought earlier at a gas stop. We walk out of the Flying J lot and stroll down a side road. The sun has dropped behind the hills and the air is mercifully cool. Black cattle look up, stare at us briefly as we walk by, and resume grazing.
When we return, I see a place to park near the front.
Trucks are coming in, one right after another, and the back lot is filling up quickly. I throw the crew in the PTV, secure the inside of the BLT, and relocate our home to the front.
Later I lie in bed chuckling.
The cacophony of noise in this truck stop is unbelievable! As I marvel at the bombardment of sounds, a train goes by about 50 feet from my head, whistle wailing! Well, maybe more than 50 feet, but, man, is it ever loud as it roars on down the line with hardly more than the width of a road between its thunder and our bed.
I burst out laughing.
I’m driven bonkers by a generator in Bumblebee Meadows, but I’m okay with this. Well, no one is being rude or inconsiderate. What I hear are the vibrant sounds of healthy commerce, that’s all. Without any difficulty I fall asleep, happy knowing the crew and I accomplished what we set out to do — journey across The Great Land of Dry Grass, otherwise known as eastern Washington.
I awake to the sounds of trucks idling and pulling out. Another sound, a rustling and scratching close by, grabs my attention.
What IS that?
I sit up, pull down a slat in the blinds, and peek out. I’m face-to-face with a . . . horse?
And so another day begins, Wednesday, August 14.
I make breakfast, give the crew a walk-around, and get us back on the interstate. We backtrack to the next exit, turn south onto Highway 82. We go up a 5-mile long, winding grade and down the other side only to go up another long grade and down again.
Another drive-by, through-the-dirty-windshield photo . . . pretty dreary landscape . . .
It’s beginning to look like Washington!
Apple trees, pear trees, cherry trees . . .
Further down the road, without letting Spike know, I stop along the Tieton River.
It’s lively, wide river. Such a welcome sight after the parched fields of yesterday!
THANK YOU, RVSUE SHOPPERS, FOR REMEMBERING TO ENTER AMAZON THROUGH MY LINKS!