Dreams of Coeur d’Alene. Ski Bashinsky was one of my mentors during my first year as a lobbyist at the Georgia state capitol. He was in the association management business, serving as executive director of the Georgia Funeral Directors Association and the Georgia Land Surveyors Association. He attended a meeting in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho and told me about the golf course. This course has a green that is floating in Lake Coeur d’Alene. Cables are attached to the green by which the superintendent adjusts the length of the hole each day. Once you hit your ball to the green, you are transported to the green in a boat. I’ve had this golf course on my bucket list for over 30 years. Back in April, we made reservations at the Coeur d’Alene Resort on the lake and I booked a tee time for the long-anticipated golf round. I even had a parking spot for the RV picked out in town via satellite maps while we stayed two days at the resort.
Adieu Coeur d’Alene. We don’t even stop. This is the smoke-obstructed view of Coeur d’Alene Lake as we drove by on I-80. I don’t think I need to describe the disappointment. Oh, well, saved some money.
We drove through the skinny part of northern Idaho and landed in Spokane at the end of the day, just over the Washington state border. It’s very smoky. There is a Camping World at the exit. We look in vain for an air purifier. An employee inside the store is wearing a mask.
Back in the RV in the parking lot of the store, we try to settle where we will stay the next night. Since we are now ahead of schedule by a few days, we need to change our reservation in Issaquah, just south of Seattle. Our last campsite in the U.S. was intended to put us in easy striking distance of the Canadian border so that we would arrive at the border in the early afternoon. We wanted our biggest challenge of the day to be the Canadian Border Patrol and Customs, and not dealing with that at the end of a long day of driving. We’ve never crossed a country border carrying a house, refrigerator, bar, food, etc.
Issaquah is full; there are no spots available for tomorrow night. We call eight campgrounds along our route through Seattle to the border, with no luck. The air is good in the coastal area; maybe everyone has already headed that way. One of us wanted to overnight at a Walmart lot in the Seattle area. One of us did not agree to that plan. We get a recommendation from the woman behind the counter in Camping World. She tells us that her favorite campground is near Leavenworth. “And it’s on the highway you should take anyway.” That would turn out to be inaccurate. But getting a little desperate, we call and book it.
Now we drive the short distance to the Spokane KOA. Parking for a few moments in front of the campground office to check in, I was concerned about arriving vehicles not being able to see the back of our dark gray truck in the late afternoon smoky air. I turn on the parking lights in the RV and find that the lights on the back of our Chevy Colorado towed vehicle are not on. I’m concerned, but since I do not plan to drive the rig after dark, it’s not critical right now.
The next day becomes one of our longest and most difficult driving days. The helpful lady at Camping World who traced the straight line on the map with her finger must have forgotten that her favorite camping resort was in the middle of the Cascades over steep, curvy, two-lane mountain roads. After leaving Interstate 90, we see apples being harvested, packing plants, and lots of huge double trailer trucks loaded with apples. U.S. Highway 2 starts climbing into the mountains. We go through Leavenworth, then turn off onto a state route. The road becomes narrower and steeper. They are working on it; we were stopped several times. And, out here, they don’t just lay down another layer of asphalt. They dig up all the pavement and start over. We are on dirt and gravel several miles before reaching the camp. This was the day I was planning on all interstate driving! We finally found the place at what seemed to be the end of the earth, just before dark, of course (much better than after dark). There are no pull-through sites. We don’t see a good place to unhook. The lady tells us to drive through the gate, then turn left and there is plenty of room. I guess she hasn’t ever unhooked a tow vehicle. The gravel lot is unlevel and it not long enough to even straighten the rig. The RV’ers out there know this is not a good position for unfastening tow bars. We have the most trouble unhooking we have ever had. That delicate tool, the hammer, is called into service.
This would actually be a nice place to vacation. For an overnight stopping place? No. We locate a large, private, back-in site surrounded by large trees. It’s a very nice site. The huge trees are covered with dust and ash. In the clubhouse the next day, we view maps of downhill, cross country, and snowshoe trails for winter recreation. The place includes attractive cabins and the Chiwawa River is nearby. There is also a swimming pool, but it is closed due to falling ash. That night, the name of our Chevy truck reveals itself to us: Smoky!
We had to stay two nights. It was just too difficult to get into and out of the place.
In the common area, there are exhibits on the history of the area. The campground is 18 miles into the hills from the town, but Leavenworth and all of the towns along U.S. 2 were created by the Great Northern Railroad. A man in Minneapolis dreamed of laying a railroad from that city to the Pacific ocean. Audacious. He hired a surveyor who located the mountain passes, tunnel sites, and level spots along the Skykomish River for the trains to take on water and wood. These clearings along the way became towns. Restless wanderers and fortune seekers moved in by the hundreds. Wood for railroad trestles needed to be cut and lumber for houses, stores, bars and brothels. One adventurous man traveled up the river in a canoe with his Indian wife, founded a new town, and became the very successful town patriarch.
Interestingly, Leavenworth, Washington is another Helen, Georgia. I don’t know who had the idea first, but Leavenworth has been converted into a Bavarian village.
The trip out was not too bad, once we got out of the campsite, anyway. That road work we dealt with two days before had just reached the entrance to the campground at the same moment that we were trying to get out. We were blocked from entering the roadway for 20 minutes.
We headed through the mountains on the highway that followed the path of the river and the Great Northern Railway (one of the predecessors of the present day Burlington Northern Santa Fe), and toward the coast. The road through mountain passes, occasional views of the Skykomish River and railroad trestles, was pretty. We were slowed, of course, by more road work.
Ahh … finally over the last pass. Out of the woods, northbound on Interstate 5, and fresher air. Next stop: the border!
Since we are sleeping inside a volcano, we realize the limitations of the protection.
