George, being the considerate host that he is had programmed the coffee maker for 6:15am this morning. I, being the consummate devotee of accurate timekeeping awoke at 5:15am and wandering around in my usual fog failed to understand why the hell the coffee wasn’t ready. I poked all the available buttons on the coffee maker without success and giving up spent the next hour trying to figure out how his TV remote worked. The end result of all this was the coffee came on and perked as scheduled while I suffered through an hour of independent TV programming, aka the religious nuts channel.
Sensing that the coffee was ready my next venture involved pouring from the mystery carafe. Eventually I figured out the right combination on how it works and had my coffee in hand. George arrived on the scene a few minutes later and asked why there was a totally wet dish towel hanging on the counter edge and why I’d gotten up so early. I think my response was something on the order of “That’s really none of your ##!@%$# business!” to which he responded with a polite stare. Sometimes early morning conversation goes like that.
After breakfast at Tom’s hotcake emporium we headed north to the Washington side of the Columbia River and turned eastward. Neither of us had been on that side of the river for years and George wanted to run his Mini Cooper S through some twisty roads and scare the Jesus out of me so that’s what we did. Running at breakneck speed and occasionally stopping to watch wind surfers on the gorge and prowling through antique shops along the way filled in the balance of the run.
At one point, a gas stop in the middle of nowhere we honed our command of Slavic languages by attempting to answer questions posed to us by a family from God knows where. Bulgaria? Both of us failed miserably and they left, no doubt wondering why I kept pointing at my chest and saying “Tourista” over and over. Hey, I don’t do directions OK? That’s why I have a GPS.
The terminus of our ride eastward was the town of Goldendale which we reached via Klickitat and the twisty road from hell. At that point we drove south over the bridge connecting Washington to Bigg’s Junction and hooked up with I-84 west. A late afternoon stop at The Bridge of the Gods and lunch at the Charbroiler burger joint recharged our batteries and we headed home with a million other tourists. The Mini Cooper drew as much attention as the Aprilia/Sputnik sidecar rig had in CA and lots of photos were taken.
We arrived home in late afternoon and I spent a few minutes programming the GPS for the run to Halifax while George washed the bugs off the Mini and ran a load of laundry for me. We finished just in time for happy hour and re-heated pizza left over from last night’s festivities. Beer too. Manly food.
What more is there?