Pasco, Washington

I’m not sure that there is any state that is so different from one end to another (except adjacent Oregon or huge Texas/California) as is Washington. Pasco is not even in the same universe as Seattle. Out here in Central Washington (usually called Eastern Washington since that would be anything east of the Cascades, a mountain range in the western side of the state.) I feel like I am nowhere, or in a whole new place that no one has ever been before. (That being said I am at a Flying J and therefore someone has been here before.) Allow me to describe…
After driving across the basin and range of Idaho, beautifully frosted with snow (snow really brings out the best of the west, it takes the drab taupe hills and adds shine, depth and contrast, fucking gorgeous) I entered into Oregon, another state with a split personality. Up toward Baker City I climbed into the Blue Mountains where a thick and gauzy fog settled and, indeed, froze on surfaces, an exceptionally fine glazing of ice, turning everything into crystal. Horrible, treacherous, crystal. Fortunately that ended and I shimmied down what is called Cabbage Hill toward Pendleton. This is one hell of a down grade for an interstate. Switchbacks! Full on switchbacks on an interstate. Across the Columbia and into Washington or possibly the surface of Neptune. The hills swell in impossibly huge gestures, like being at sea, the waves, unbraking, rising in all directions, making one feel quite little indeed.
There are no trees.
(traveling west on I-84 looking at where I will be momentarily, i.e. an interstate switchback)



There are vineyards. All the big Washington state wines are grown here. Columbia Crest, Snoqualmie, Chateau Ste. Michelle, Hogue, etc. The long summer days (we are pretty far north here) combined with the warmth and then drastic cool at night along with well draining (i.e. shitty) soil and easy irrigation make it pretty ideal for viticulture, especially white wine grapes.
The Columbia Crest Vineyards south of Prosser, Washington










Up and over a huge swell of a hill (I only call it a hill because it is so gentle) and you are out of the Columbia River Valley and into the Yakima River Valley and their respective AVAs (American Viticultural Areas, the US equivalent of the French Appelation d’Origine Contrôlée such as Côtes du Rhône or Beaujolais.) Once over the hill one thing becomes very obvious, Mount Adams, The second highest point in Washington. A 12,000 foot stratovolcano in the Cascades. Then another thing becomes obvious. Mount Rainier, the highest volcano at over 14,000 feet. It doesn’t look as impressive from here because Adams is closer. These are easily the most astonishing mountains in the lower 48. From the Yakima Valley (at around 1000 feet) they rise over 11,000 feet. From Seattle you are looking at them from nearly sea level (when you can see them through the rain and fog). Nowhere else will you find this sort of differential.
After delivering my load of Fruity Pebbles et.al. to the Wal-Mart Grocery Warehouse I headed back east. I have a load to pick up in Lewiston, Idaho, just across the river from Clarkston, Washington, cute. I believe it is paper, uggh. (heavy). Tomorrow’s drive across the Palouse should be delightful. The load is headed to Laredo, Texas although I won’t be able to take it all the way there since I have to be in California by Friday in order to catch the bus to Tulsa for orientation for my new job driving flatbeds. We’ll have to split it somewhere.
Mount Adams from the Wal-Mart grocery warehouse, Grandview, Washington