We got rained out from Glacier, so we came to Seattle instead. Last time I posted, I wrote about shower day in Yellowstone - little did I know of the downpour we were headed into. At that point I was sitting in an internet cafe in Butte, MT, on the way up to Glacier, and I probably should have written a little post then so that this one wouldn't be quite so long, but alas, I did not. Butte really appealed to me as a town. In fact, as much as I liked Wyoming, I think I liked Montana even more. Butte is full of great brick Victorian buildings and we thoroughly enjoyed seeing the mansions and the bordellos and eating our fried pork sandwiches.
From Butte we headed up 89 through some 7 or 8 wilderness areas in the space of two hours, which made for a very scenic drive. We stayed at a campground called Lake Alva, which we practically had to ourselves, and I finished my book down at the lakeside. It looked just like some of the most lovely lakes in Maine, and that familiarity made me feel very much at home despite the fact that I was nowhere near home. The next morning we were again on our way, through Kalispell, where we got the biggest ever cinnamon roll and I got fancy new sunglasses with exchangeable lenses, and into Glacier itself, the supposed pinnacle of the trip.
Right outside the park we stopped to get some Bison jerky from this roadside huckster with a handlebar mustache. He was also selling nudie pinup girl lighters, rattlesnake eggs, and hand-rolled cigars, but we stuck to the jerky, which is amazingly tasty and filling.
Once we made it to the park, we registered for an overnight back-country hike up to Cracker Lake. The woman told us that very close to the lake, at the end of the hike, there were a few snowfields to cross, but they shouldn't be too bad. She said if we lodgepoled, it was only one to three feet of snow to climb out of. She also told us that there were reports of salt-craving marmots at the camp, marmots that had eaten the armpits out of shirts that were left to dry outside of camper's tents. Sounded like fun!
Up the Going to the Sun Road, I walked along the Trail of the Cedars, which is a small patch of old growth cedars, bisected by a roaring little river. Jake and I agreed partway into the mile-long trail that it could be alone time. So I walked by myself amongst the huge old trees, which was important, since I couldn't imagine saying anything in their presence. I thought of Stephan and wished that he could see the trees, some of which had huge dbh's (I think one of the signs said 4-7 ft, which is really impressive for a softwood, although nothing close to a redwood from what I understand). I loved the cottonwood trees, too, which had bark the size of my forearm, a comparison the implications of which I couldn't really comprehend.
Back we went along the lake, all the while oohing and ahhing at the scenic peaks, and we drove around to the east side of the park to the Cut Bank primitive camping site. We made dinner early, and then got in our tents early as it started to rain.
It rained all night long, and in the morning, it was clear that raining was the single-minded persuit of the weather. The ranger came by our tent, told us that the local radio station was out, that the creek was the highest he'd ever seen, and that there was snow in the forcast for Cracker lake. Jake and I looked at each other, and at the soggy tent, which was starting to leak a bit, and at the mountains, which we couldn't actually see for all the clouds, and we got out the atlas. It was a tough decision, since we'd been looking forward to being at Glacier since before we got on the road, and since we'd modified some of our plans in order to spend more time there, but we both agreed it would be better to come back at some point when we could fully appreciate the place and to head somewhere that we wouldn't have to stay in a waterlogged tent overnight.
So we came to Seattle instead, shooting across the remaining milage until we were in view of the coast. Arriving, it felt like we had come to the future. This place has trees on the highway overpasses; the lights in the tunnel zoomed past; we relized that there were more people in the buildings that we could see than we had seen in the last couple of thousands of miles.
Since we've been here, we've seen four of the world cup games, which is an unforseen benefit of missing out on the whole wildlife/mountain scene. Seattle is surrounded by mountains, though, and last night we went out for an evening walk that was about four miles and had pretty decent elevation change. We went to the REI store yesterday and didn't even make it all the way through the first floor because we were poking around at all the exciting things to see. I'll definately have to come up and visit here. There seem to be more small, independent businesses in this town than in any other town I've ever been in. It makes me excited to be living in the Pacific Northwest.
So, now that I've yammered on for a good long time, I'll try to bring this post to a close. We're heading to Portland tomorrow, where I'll stay with my cousins and say goodbye to Jake. He's going on to San Fran, and he's worked out his ride, a housesitting gig, and some sort of work to be doing for a while. From there, I'll go down to Eugene, and the trip will officially be finished. It seems a little unreal to be heading back into a "stable" lifestyle, one where we don't have to get up and drive seven hundred miles every other day.
I have a hopeful lead on a house in Eugene, a team to play with for the tournament this weekend, and a lot of plans on where to look for a job. It'll be good to settle down, but I'll miss the road.