Sunday 16^th May, Comfort Inn, Clarkston, Washington

22.00

We had a really pleasant time in Orofino yesterday. A hazy warm afternoon and the view along the fast moving river was wonderful. Last night we had probably our best meal so far - clam chowder, steak, potatoes and asparagus and a bottle of Greg Norman wine. (He should stick to the golf). Several more glasses of wine in the bar afterwards and we ended up helping the barmaid with her algebra homework (that is not a euphemism for anything). She is doing some sort of OU type course and her exam is next week. If successful she wants to open a toy museum ( so obviously algebra is essential). Not sure how much help we were but she seemed to find it very amusing. To bed at ten, a very late night for us, happily sozzled,

Another easy run today. 40 miles of very flat road, still alongside the Clearwater River. Lots of salmon fishermen about and I saw one of them land a big one. We had intended to stop at Lewiston but actually crossed into Clarkston, just across the river. They’re named after the explorers Lewis and Clark, part of whose epic journey we have been more or less following for the last couple of weeks. We didn't realise the two towns were so close and so by entering Clarkston, have entered Washington, our final state. Only 375 miles to go! Weather is now very humid and thundery. You get tired more easily but at least we are out of the winter gear (for now).

Clarkston is an ugly place with an odd cabbage-like odour. probably coming from a large industrial complex on the riverside. When we checked in to the motel, we asked for somewhere decent to eat. The manager told us about the Merryweather micro brewery just down the street. "Great food, great beer and with his voucher you get 20% off" . Off we happily skipped, only to find that it was closed on Sundays. We ended up in a local Chinese restaurant. The only non fast food place around, and not too bad at all. Clarkston doesn’t look up to much. Any place whose only real claim to fame is having the highest zip code in the USA is going to struggle to get tourists.

We spent the afternoon dozing and reading and then wandered down t o a hotel next to the closed microbrewery as we thought they might have a restaurant. It turned out that they owned the place next door and served the microbrewery beers. A pint of Rattlenake and a Stoutburger for me and a wheat beer and fish and chips for Mike. Neither brilliant but better than we had been expecting. One last pint for me in a really depressing bar opposite the motel. Two old boys hunched silently over their drinks. A drunk, who looked remarkably like Gordon Brown , singing along quietly to Janis Joplin on the juke box. And me drinking Fat tire, which seemed quite apt.