I only stayed one night at North Cascades National Park. I wanted to stay longer but the rain came in and was expected to stay for a few days. No more rain, I protest. I packed up my wet tarp and some drenched towels. I hate packing wet stuff, but I had no choice. By now, I learned to put the wet stuff in plastic bags and set it out to dry down the road on a sunny day. I had no idea if the rain would be as bad heading south, but I preferred trying for clearer weather instead of staying. My plan was to visit some of the other iconic peaks in the Cascades, like Mount St. Helens, while I made my way to Oregon. However, to do that I had to join up with I-5.

I set out around noon on July 1 with such mixed feelings. I knew that starting a new month, joining up with the Interstate, and passing through Seattle would signal the official end of the journey to and from Alaska.  I had other places to visit and would not be back to New Mexico until early Oct, but the return to people and a 4-lane Interstate would end this segment. The last Interstate I traveled: I-90 in Spokane, Mid April. The last metropolis I passed through: Salt Lake City, a week before that. 

As I flowed out of the mountains and across the farmlands, I started to feel self-conscious. Seattle is such a hip, modern, techie town. I am about to drive through an American Mecca in my dented, tiny car. On one side in the back, my laundry bag was pushed up against the window. On the other side a wet towel, pillow, and sleeping bag rested on the window glass. I had not washed the car, although all the rain kept it fairly clean. My scraggly hair hung around my face and my clothes were an atrocious combo of things I had worn for days without changing.  I felt inadequate, sheepish, out-of-touch, hopelessly uncool. I had several stern talks with myself as I drove. You may look like a rolling homeless person but you are a badass in disguise. You just drove to Alaska and back, by yourself, for two months. It is not your fault if the people of Seattle judge you by your shabby, just been camping look with gear flung everywhere and spilling from the backseat to the front. 

2:47 P.M.                    

I enter I-5, at Arlington, WA, heading right past exits to Everett and Lynden. Quickly, the Interstate widens to 4 lanes. I think back to the dirt road to Dawson City! I started scratching and rubbing Tango with my non-driving hand. I tell myself that he needs this comfort as I drive, but really, I get more out of it than he does. I turn on the radio, hoping to find a Classic Rock station, but find only hip-hop, country, jazz, and an 80s station. Soon, a commuter lane appears, and I start making comparisons with driving through Denver. 

Next up, a sign saying Seattle, WA. Now I am reminded of hilly San Francisco, but I am distracted as the traffic slows to a crawl.

3:30  P.M.

I see now the Seattle Skyline and the Space Needle. I have never driven through Seattle, and I have no ties there. In fact, I detest major cities and their endless suburbs, and I avoid them when I can. However, at the sight of the Space Needle, I start to cry. WTF. I almost never cry and I have no idea why I started at that moment. Relief to be out of the wild north? Sadness that the journey is over? As I cry, something Tango has never heard, he sits up on his haunches like a little grizzly cub and sniffs the air towards me. He finds nothing to smell in my tears and lays back down. I look at my pitiful self in the mirror and command myself to stop being a baby. Thankfully, I listen and don’t get in an accident. I zoom by the downtown highrise buildings to the west and the stacked apartment buildings to the east. 

Next, Sea-Tac Airport. I think again about driving in Denver and realize how painless this is compared to I-25. Seattle area people are good drivers, unlike the high-speed maniacs of Denver. I have not yet had one person honk at me and no one has given me the finger. Wow, I like the NW drivers. They drive slower, as well. 

4:00

I am feeling accomplished but I need to pee. I take Exit 147, S 272nd St., and pass the Starlake Park and Ride, another Denver reminder. Then, back on I-5, and within minutes the traffic crawls again. I wonder why since Seattle is behind me now. Then I see a sign that says Port of Tacoma. Oh my, another city, more traffic. Tacoma is so different from Seattle – older, rundown, at least from the freeway.

4:47

Two hours after entering I-5 and driving through Seattle, Tacoma, and assorted suburbs, I cross the Nisqually River. The congestion thins out and I start to breathe easier. Hey, Tango! We did it.  He wags his tail and sniffs around again.