Traffic Jam

I used to think it was hilarious that my dad lived in a town with only one traffic light. I marveled at the fact that I could take a trip to the store and encounter less than ten people on the journey to and fro and I couldn't understand how anyone could stand living in a small town with so little activity. Little did I know that one day I'd move to a zero traffic light town and that my perspective would change so drastically. Westport, Washington is not nearly as tiny as I once supposed, and Wenatchee is practically a booming metropolis. Adam and I have grown so accustomed to the lack of traffic in this town that when we have to wait at a stop sign for two or three cars to pass we joke that we've just experienced a traffic jam. Now, the feeling I experience when driving in Wenatchee is not dissimilar to the feelings I have when I cross over the Cascades into Seattle.

Here in Waterville people tend to go out of their way to be courteous, allowing others to go first, even if it causes a two or three-way standstill. Drivers will stop for a single pedestrian even if they're the only vehicle within miles and even if it would be more time-efficient to proceed and allow the pedestrian to cross after. In Wenatchee, sometimes it feels like pedestrian is a four-letter word. People take their lives in their hands when they grab that little orange flag and step off the curb. On the Sellar bridge, it's every man for himself; don't you dare get in the way, and good luck getting out of a parking lot on North Wenatchee Avenue during rush hour! I realize I'm beginning to sound a little like an old codger musing about the "old days." I guess living up here is a little like a time-warp, but that's another article altogether.

Home Cookin' at the Gas Station?

The last thing I imagined, when a friend offered to take Adam and me to lunch at the Shell station, was that It would become one of my favorite places to eat. I accepted the offer reluctantly; quite unenthusiastic about the prospect of eating gas station burritos or vacuume packed sandwiches. As we entered the store, we were guided past the chip aisles and past the heat lamped burritos to a small set of tables next to a kitchen in the back. To my surprise, there were several people back there, chatting at the tables, enjoying lunch. Adam quickly stepped up to the counter and ordered a burger and fries, but I, feeling snobbishly leery of the quality of food (specifically beef) one could get in the back of a Waterville gas station, opted for a tuna melt. I don't know what she did, but the lady in the kitchen worked some serious tuna melting magic. It was good! So good, in fact, that I bravely decided to try a bite of Adam's burger, which also turned out to be quite excellent.

I was on a tuna a melt kick for a long time after that first visit. I wouldn't order anything else because I knew I liked it and I didn't want to risk ordering something I might enjoy less. Then one day, we discovered the soup.

I had always ignored the little crock pot sitting on the counter, figuring it was probably just warm canned soup. Adam decided to try it first, and as soon as he dipped the ladle we realized that we had been missing out. It was not just chicken noodle soup. It was obviously made from scratch, with hand-made noodles and it tasted just like my grandma's chicken and dumplin's! I should have ordered my own cup because after several "just one more" bites, Adam's portion had been reduced by half! We discovered later that the clam chowder is even more amazing than the chicken noodle soup! Next on the "need to try list..." biscuits and gravy!

"Poop Trucks"

That's what Adam and I call them anyway. The smelly double-trailer trucks travel slowly up and down Pine Canyon every day. I think they average about 20mph on a good day during their uphill journey, creating quite an annoyance for the locals, many of whom are accustomed to flying around the curves at 55+. The truck drivers are always nice enough to pull off the road when the shoulder is wide enough, but some people don't bother waiting. As soon as they have more than 20 ft of visibility, ZOOM! they pass, whether they're in a legal passing zone or not!

We've heard that the trucks haul waste sewage from the Seattle area and dump it in a field somewhere on the Plateau, but we're not sure where. For some reason, this has been an intriguing mystery to Adam and me. Where exactly do to they drop their load? Is the waste they're hauling wet; solid; dried; gelatinized? One of these days, we're going to follow one. We're hoping the driver will be willing to fill us in on the ins and out of hauling Seattle pooh. We get quite a kick out of what we imagine his reaction will be when we ask if we can watch. I seriously wonder if anyone else ever thinks of things like this.