Alpowa summit, 2785

Wow! An amazing about-face in the face of a well-policed day. Rolled into the tiny town of Pomeroy, WA, and just about out of town before sighting an open service station. Duke had been blowing smoke bad back at the last climb, and I thought it best to buy another quart of oil. Bought the oil, paid an extended visit to the rest room, and surfaced to find Duke and IFSM once again ensconced by cops. Now comes the wow part.

Out steps sheriff Richard Dreyfuss-lookalike with a huge smile on his face and saying "Fantastic!" and in the space of five minutes we're backtracking a few blocks to the town park where we've been invited to sleep for the night. Amazing.

Corey, Tawny and Storm

What was an hour ago disgust
and a desire to run home in defeat
is now a love again
a trust again
in the power of an idea
in the beauty and kindness
however deeply buried
in some men's hearts
in others overt and all
embracing

"Lewis and Clark met Chief Big Horn of the Nez Perce Torbe at or near this point on May 3, 1806." placard at park

What a fine morning! What a dandy way to wake up. Welcome and not feeling robbed of a few coins for the favor of parking for the night. In Pomeroy, we awoke to little disturbance, to very few spectators and no slamming, grinding garbage trucks sounds or street sweepers and such.

Now we're at Donna's Drive Inn just off the Main drag in Pomeroy. I was sitting with the boys but have removed myself to the non-smoking section and now sit by myself. I'm finding that I am more and more sensitive to cigarette smoke. Actually, it has nothing to do with sensitivity. I just hate it. Especially in the morning before I've had coffee or more importantly, breakfast. So it would be more accurate to say then that as I continue this climb out of years of depression and back into a firm conception of self, I become more adamant about holding my boundaries. And a big one is: no more fucking cig smoke in my face.

Seven has finished his cigarette and has now invited me back to the table. I have declined thanking him while pointing to the guy behind him with a smoke.

The waitress greets old Roy by name and leans in close to interpret his moans (post-stroke?) and take his order. It is a tender moment, the kind of thing that always touches me and always has. It is the reason I have done several stints of work with the disabled. The summer of west coast travel with developmentally disabled adults; the job at the Cerebral Palsy house; being Glenn Smith's seeing-eye human.

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Last update April 1, 2004