After all the personal emotions associated with my visit to Seattle, it was kinda nice to deal with somebody else’s drama.

I came into Spokane at around 10 PM on Saturday night. I was staying with my late mother’s friend Lydia (we always called her “Auntie”) who lives there, except we couldn’t stay at her house the first night. You see Lydia lives with her mother, who just celebrated her 94^th birthday, which meant that some of Lydia’s siblings were in town. But Lydia does not get along with her brother, they have some longstanding beef which means they can’t be around each other. I can’t pretend to understand this conflict even though Lydia spent quite a while explaining it.

(By the way, I don’t judge any of this shit either. God knows I’ve had my own share of sibling strife, as have many of you I bet. Let he who is without family drama cast the first stone.)

Thus we spent the first night in a motel. I thought it was pretty fucked up that Lydia had to be exiled from her own house and over several beers we commiserated over that (we also spent long hours reminiscing over my mother, which did bring home the feels I’ll admit). But of course staying at a motel was no problem; I’ve become a bit of a connoisseur at this point. This place had a particularly nice continental breakfast, which I ate next to a family that had an adorable 1-year-old baby with a stump for an arm.

The next day Lydia’s brother was gone so she went back to the house to entertain her cousins from Alberta, who were still there. This left me free to explore Spokane. I found easy parking downtown and walked up to Riverfront Park; a gorgeous, expansive space that offers a splendid view of Spokane Falls, as well as a number of cute little sculptures and monuments.

Later that day I went for a hike at Dishman Hills Natural Area, which also offered some spectacular views. The natural beauty in this part of Washington state never fails to impress me. Just walking around Lydia’s suburban neighborhood I kept gawking at the incredible height of the evergreen trees, which are about twice as big as anything I’d ever see back home.

Later that night something incredible happened which unfortunately I didn’t have a chance to capture on camera. I was out on Lydia’s back porch talking with one of her cousins when I saw a massive oblong object in the sky. I got up and realized it was a hot air balloon, albeit of a non-traditional design. This balloon was shaped like a rocket ship and it seemed to be descending straight into our neighborhood. We all ran to the front lawn (as had most other families on the street) and watched as this massive object was guided by rope onto a front lawn just a few houses down from us (this was especially impressive considering the balloon had to navigate its way around the aforementioned tall trees). It was quite a sight, but apparently the town had seen this kind of thing before.

Much of my time in Spokane was spent hanging with Lydia and her relatives. I didn’t mind this at all since they’re all kind people and her cousins regaled me with tales of growing up on a farm in Alberta. They told one striking tale of their grandfather who lost his right arm on the train tracks as a baby (how the hell did that come up twice?) but nonetheless was a fully functional farmer who could perform just about any task you could imagine, from driving a tractor to digging with a shovel to putting on his watch in the morning. People were just tougher back in the day, man.

What was unique about this experience was that where previously I’d been hanging mostly with friends my own age in Spokane I was in the company of several boomer women. I listened to their nuanced perspectives on social issues and tried to minimize my own commentary. I relished the opportunity to explain why texting is often preferable to talking and why “lol” has a more complex linguistic function than the literal translation “laughing out loud”. At one point we all went out to eat at Olive Garden (their choice, obviously) and Lydia’s cousin suggested I ask for the number of the waitress, who could not have been a day over 20 (I’m 35, for fuck’s sake). When I pointed out the incongruity of this they basically shrugged it off. I guess #MeToo hasn’t fully gelled with that generation yet.

Of all the new cities I’ve visited so far, Spokane has got to be my favorite. It’s an odd nexus of hipster, logger, hiker and cowboy cultures. For me it’s a Goldilocks town; just right in all the right ways. An urban center but extremely close to nature. Big enough to be interesting but not too sprawling or overwhelming. Hip enough to matter but not yet over-gentrified a la Bend. I’ll definitely be back.

For now, however, the Northwest leg of the Tour is complete. Next up I head through Western Montana into Wyoming, after which I’ll be making my way back East toward my homeland. As fun and liberating as it’s been, this adventure has to wrap itself up at some point. I’m starting to feel a bit burned out, and I have shit to take care of at home.

Yet part of me still can’t let this thing go. It’s like a drug; I crave more and more even if it’s not the best thing for me.

Fuck it. Anyone want to wire me $10,000 so I can keep this going all year?