So we took a short break before we entered, what I affectionately refer to as "The Great Brown". It's that vast area of Eastern Washington beyond the Cascade mountains stretching almost to the city limits of Spokane. Semi-arid. Basically flat, empty, rocky, and save for a brief period in spring - brown. Brown as an environmentalist's lawn in July. Brown as a eco-friendly naturally-died macrame hanger. Brown as a Charlie. Here the freeway is straight, and flat, and goes on forever and ever and ever and a bit further than that. The traffic was light and everyone was behaving themselves.
That is to say that the next 100 miles was, no other way to put it, dead-on boring. Bang your head against the handlebars boring. Nothing to do but set the cruise control on the Vision and practice my mad skills of riding without hands. It's an amazing sight and one that never fails to get a reaction from the people on the road. I'm not sure your Mom appreciates this particular talent. She doesn't say anything, but I can infer much from the screaming and the pounding of fists and the raking of the nails on my exposed neck as I stretch my arms out to the side like wings and make airplane noises.
"Rrrrrrooooooooommmmmmmm!!!! Zzzzrooooooooooommmmm!!!!"
"Eeeeeeeiiiiiieeeeeee!!!!", your Mother would respond. Bam. Bam. Bambambambambambambambam!
"Whhooooooosssssshhhhhhhh!!!" "VvvvvvvrrrrrrrooooooooommMMMMM!!!"
"Aaaiiieeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!" Bambambambambambambam.
So as you can see, we found a way to entertain ourselves. Remember Amber, the secret to life is making your own joy no matter what the situation.
We finally reach the town of Ritzville, where we will leave our eastern heading and turn north towards Canada. Here we will pull off the "slab", as the freeway is referred to in the biking community, to give ourselves a much needed break and a bite to eat. For some reason, my upper back and neck was a little sore and Mom said her arms and fists were killing her. You just never know what muscles you use when you ride. We saw a sign that proclaimed - and quite succiently I thought - "EATS!" This was the place for us. I appreciate advertising that doesn't beat around the bush. There was no mystery here. No 'TJ McDoolde Hackers'. No 'Peach Tree', which, contrary to its name offers neither peaches NOR trees on its menu. Or 'Cannibal Jacks' which I won't even get into here but take my word was quite a disappointment. And despite what my lawyer said, I still think is open to a lawsuit for false advertising. Plus, the staff is quite testy and uncooperative.
*** the journey continues tomorrow ***
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