Thursday, July 1, 1993...
Another long day -- didn't get settled into my room until after 11:30 PM! I fell behind schedule early, sleeping late and not getting on the road until almost 9:30; since I was starting from near Portland, I didn't reach US 97 until 11:30.
First stop: the Stonehenge replica built by Sam Hill as a World War I memorial. It can be reached either from the top of the hill climbed by US 97, or by making a sharp right after crossing the bridge, passing several small fruit stands, and climbing a very steep hill. While this Stonehenge offers a much better scenic view, Druids, New Agers and other pagans might still prefer the original, since Sam Hill's Stonehenge isn't properly oriented for summer solstice worship.
From there north, US 97 rarely remains level for more than a few miles unless it's paralleling the Columbia or another river. Next stop was the town of Teanaway, which calls itself the "town of murals" -- there must be over a dozen of 'em, none with any discernible artistic merit but all presenting some variation of Old West imagery, painted on the fronts and sides of downtown buildings. On the west edge of town the Yakima Indian Nation has a cultural center and museum...connected to an RV park which includes 14 decorated tepees rentable by campers.
From here north through Yakima and Ellensburg and along the Columbia River further north, US 97 bisects fruit country. Stands selling apples and cherries line the roadside (except for the stretch of Interstate 82); the towns exist largely to service the growers. Finally US 97 leaves the fruit belt behind and continues north to the Canadian border through the grain belt, crossing into Canada a few miles north of Oroville. Rather than retrace 50 miles and drive through North Cascades National Park, I elected to continue into Canada and drive west on British Columbia Route 3 -- it wound up being longer than I'd anticipated, taking 4-1/2 hours for me to traverse southern Canada.
And I got hassled by the border patrols at both ends: the Canadians forced me to get out of the car and speak to an obnoxious agent, while on my way back the Americans made me enter the station to fill out a declaration attesting that I didn't bring anything back. By this time I just wanted to crash for the night -- wound up in Bellingham, just a few miles south of the border. Tomorrow I head east again...
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