10/27/2015
The clouds released their saturation through the night and left me with clear skies. Of course the lack of clouds did little to warm my bones. The wet roads shined as glare bounced off the asphalt. On the itinerary our route looked sparse. The places for lodging were slim. Luckily we still had one day to prepare for the trek through Stevens Pass.
I started my day running on a bridge that took me over the Columbia River and into a typical historic downtown area. It had many brick buildings and cute little shops. Pieces of missing asphalt even revealed brick roads. I ran defensively since some of the drivers had lead feet. In a town with a sizeable population, it was inevitable that I ran into an area with chain stores and franchises. I zoned out during that stretch.
I tuned back in when pebbles began to pierce the padding under my feet. Sharp objects changed my stride whenever they touched a nerve. It took a few light treads before I regained the confidence to run naturally, then the process would happen all over again.
On the way to Leavenworth, the apple orchards of days past transformed into pears. I ran past thousands and thousands of pieces of delicious sweet fruit. Occasionally I spotted some in the trees but mainly they were sprayed on the ground. I couldn’t help but think of all the hungry people in the world that would cherish and savor the juicy delights. I too felt like picking some fruit and sinking my teeth into it.
It seemed as though the light had retreated behind the clouds. I knew Washington was a wet and rainy state but I didn’t know just how much wetness I was to expect. I encountered some mist on my way to Leavenworth but no downpour. When I reached the Run of the River Bed and Breakfast, orange, yellow, and white pumpkins decorated the outside of the entire house. Everything was carefully placed to produce a postcard picture. Rustic trees surrounded the property and shut out all feel of the modern world. I entered the main house and introduced myself to Jan Bollinger. We talked for over an hour about all kinds of things before she took us up to our luxury room. Stones surrounded the jaccuzzi, large plush chairs for lounging called for company, and an old typewriter sat at the desk for notes. I imagined a young Ernest Hemmingway pounding away at the typewriter keys. Of course I imagined he had much more energy than I did at that moment. The sound of rustling leaves had put me into an autumn trance and my body was content to just relax.
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