The E.WA Retraction

First and Foremost: A Retraction, of sorts...

It has been politely brought to my attention that I spent a lot of time and energy diggin' and rippin' on the old E.WA in my last post.

Allow me to clear the air: I've never been treated so well and respectfully as a stranger in a strange land. In chronological order: Carl and the cute waitress at the biker bar in Bridgeport; the truckers 'long the gravel path who durn near bent backwards to see that I had some fresh water for my empty bottles (and offered to use their nifty trucking software to print me up a "delivery route" of sorts, an offer which I declined, so as not to interrupt the game of Warcraft that the operations manager seemed fully engaged in- hospitable, nerdy, responsibility- and paper-work-shirking, but hospitable none the less); The Woman at the Gas Stop near Dry Falls who directed me, kindly, to the camp host in Coulee City park, and when I couldn't find her, the shirtless, mulleted, beer-drinking man in an RV who told me to "go ahead and pick a spot and pitch yer tent- she'll never check on ya," (and then, when she did, in fact, check on me, waived the fee when she learned of my limited budget and long road ahead); Rick, who, at the FREE DNR campground at Long Lake satisfied my curiousity about Alaska, commercial fishing, being a grandparent, opening a floating, fast-food pontoon restaurant/RV with government grant money, spousal abuse, drug abuse, and living on "a bit of a, well, a kind of a limited income..."; and then, of course my Spokanian brethren and sisterthen, Mandy's MFA mates who are nothing if not hospitable (Michelle and Nick generously opened their homes to us, and entertained us with smooth LP favorites, homespun YouTube videos, an endless string of snapshots, a giant bunny, a hookah, and a breakneck game of Backgammon); all of the aforementioned, honestly, my hosts and heroes.

In fact, the only person- the ONLY person who gave me any guff was a cordial Park Ranger, who stamped out our riverside BBQ when he sauntered on up, saying: "Now, the reason for the contact is, of course, your campfire... perhaps you didn't see the giant "NO CAMPFIRES" signs on the way in, but we are under a burn ban, and I'd hate to have you be responsible for a forest fire here..." We honestly hadn't noticed the giant signs. And he gave us a good half hour to finish cooking our burgers, brats, mushrooms and corn, wolf them, and head out.

So, Eastern Washington, your streets may have maneating potholes, and your buildings may sag grumpily with age, heat, and neglect. You may not be the shining star you once were, but you are, as Spokane's slogan surlily states: "Near Nature, Near Perfect."

Still not convinced? I'll try to post some photos that'll do it justice.