We both had stress dreams in Big Timber, but I was sad to leave. At sunrise, we drove down the dusty main drag and Peter took pictures of the hotel and saloon, backdropped by twinkly mountain peaks.
The road got curvy through the central Montana summits and into Idaho. Somewhere in Wisconsin, Peter took to drinking Dr. Pepper and eating bags of Spitz, which he skillfully cracked in his mouth by the handful, shooting shells into his empty coffee cup. A country song with the lyrics "bag of Spitz" incorporated his habit into the culture of the trip. We didn't stop much on account of our excitement to be home, so we stuck mostly to car groceries.
Until McDonalds. At 10:45am, we exited the interstate at the infamous arches, and I vowed not to put it in the blog. Breakfast had ended early. Tragedy. We pouted and sulked. Filet-O-Fish would have to do. Molly ran through some mud, seemingly protesting the truck. Nobody wanted to get back in the truck. It was brimming with our things and dirty and covered in fur. We still had to get through Idaho and into Washington and we were tired.
Spokane is uglier than Fargo. Peter noted that at least Fargo evokes industrial efficiency. Spokane reminded me of the stretch of Lougheed Highway in West Maple Ridge, as it traversed endless sprawl of miscellaneous commercial outlets and fast-food chains, enforcing rampant, quick consumption. We stopped for gas and pointed north toward the Canadian border.
I took over the driving in Colville to steer us to my home-away-from-home family cabin. I was excited to introduce Peter and Molly to the best part of my childhood. The border couldn't come soon enough. We wound through the beautiful mountainside of Kettle Falls, across the border with thorough questioning but no hitch, and pulled into the land of kilometers and Christina Lake.
To our happy surprise, we were met by my cousin, Katie, and her friend Bryn at the end of our gravel driveway. Molly lept out of the truck. We headed inside for hugs and stories. I called my mom and told her our plan to come home tomorrow, Friday, and she let me know that tomorrow was Thursday. What? We cut a day? I called downstairs to Peter. He was baffled. How had we trimmed a day off of the trip without noticing? Hooray! It's only Wednesday! More cabin time.
For Katie and me, this cabin has been our steady home as our houses in the city and university towns have changed. Not quite the West Coast, this cozy cabin will more than suffice for the Panda Express to rest for a few days before closing our journey at the Pacific.
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