Yakima

So tomorrow I have to drive into the deepest redness of the red state wasteland. Except that this most red of red places is right in the center of a blue state. This will involve getting on that floating bridge, driving over that wide body of water, though that ephemeral little island with the spiders, up into the mountains, over the mountains, and then down into the desert.

Actually Washington isn’t really a blue state. Seattle is just a very blue city with moderately bluish suburbs. The 4 million people in Puget Sound kind of cancel out the 2 million ultra-conservative, ultra-religious, uneducated, inbred freaks that inhabit the rest of the state. Not that I have an opinion about this or anything.

This weekend it’s Father’s Day and my Mother’s birthday so I am Yakima bound.

Yakima.

“Yakima, Warshington”

“Yaki-Vegas”

“Fruit Bowl to the Nation”

Oh joy.

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Cats are licking my head. It’s time to get up. I shower, throw on a t-shirt and some shorts, grab my i-Pod and get in the car. Hmmm, Dad is cooking a big pork roast for the barbeque tonight. I should bring some wine. I go to the Metropolitan Market in West Seattle and by some pink wine. If I am stopped by fascist gangs of white vigilantes on the way over there, I will throw bottles of pink wine at them. They will be afraid of the pink wine and leave me alone.


Soon I am on I-90 heading into the mountains. I am listening to the audio book of Assassination Vacation by Sarah Vowell. She is talking about visiting a museum to see the bullet that was removed from President Lincoln’s head. I am thinking about assassination and death when suddenly a deer jumps out in front of my car. I swerve the car and miss the deer. Wow. That was scary. Damn wildlife. I hate this side of the lake.


It’s actually kind of pretty up here in the mountains. The trees kind of remind me of Hawaii. After a while the fir trees start to get replaced by pine trees. There is sunshine off in the distance. Then the pine trees are gone and there are no trees. Just brown sage brush as far as I can see.

I turn on the radio to 91.9, KDNA and hear that familiar Mexican polka beat. Close to home now.


I-90 turns into I-82 and I go up a big brown hill. I am now driving through a huge brown moonscape. The moonscape is slowly replaced by orchards, vineyards, and hop fields as I drive down into the Yakima Valley. 12,000 foot tall Mount Adams hovers over the valley like some kind of ominous snow cone. Well, kind of an upside down snow cone, but certainly ominous.


As I drive into town I note that Yakima has better freeways than Vancouver, but that is not saying a whole lot.



80,000 people live here with another 150,000 or so living in cardboard boxes and trailers nearby. This is a very weird little town. It has terrible crime and high unemployment. It’s very conservative, very republican, and very evangelical Christian. But it’s also home to the Feminist Women’s Health Center, a brave outpost of reproductive rights for women. It has two Spanish language TV stations, 5 Spanish language FM radio stations, and dozens of good tamale stands. It had one of the very first public broadcasting television stations in the early 1960’s. The downtown is dead. Nordstrom and JC Penney’s left a couple years ago and Macy’s just moved to a mall in the suburbs. There actually is a small skyline with one super cool art deco high-rise from the 1930’s. But they painted some satellite dishes brown and stuck them on top thinking no one would notice.


As I near the exit on the freeway I am bombarded by road signs. These are just perfect. They sum up the place completely.


Stairway to Heaven by Led Zeppelin is playing on KATS-FM, The Valley’s Best Rock! just like when I left in 1981.
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It’s good to see my parents, my sisters, their families. We have a nice dinner, drink pink wine, and play poker until it’s time to go to bed. Everyone is well behaved. It’s good to see your family for less than 24 hours.
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I have to leave early on Sunday so I can bring care packages to all the people I have working on the San Antonio Hear Music store over the weekend. I’ll buy all of them a bottle of wine, a Red Bull, some roasted Almonds, and chocolate. The four major food groups: alcohol, caffeine, salt, sugar. Maybe they will give good feedback on my review in the fall if I keep bribing them. Maybe they just won't quit.


Driving back to Seattle I climb the big brown hill on I-82 and go back into the brown moonscape of sage brush. There is a secret government spy facility out here. It’s part of some secret listening thing called Project Echelon. There is one spot on the freeway where you can see the spy station for just a second off in the distance. There are a lot of white satellite dishes out there.
As I drive by Echelon, the NPR radio station is suddenly blocked on my radio. It’s overridden by some strange sound – like a chain being dragged on the ground or a bell being rung over and over. It’s a really creepy and disturbing noise. I imagine that it’s part of the brainwashing process that the government used to get “W” re-elected. Suddenly some sort of government “security” vehicle passes me on the freeway. I am convinced they can hear into my car. I turn back on Sarah Vowell and let her talk about assassinations some more.


Type Yakima Echelon Station into Google and see what you get. Very interesting.

The rest of my trip is uneventful. As I near Seattle I hit scan on the radio and it lands on Stairway to Heaven by Led Zeppelin.

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Last night as I typed this up 4 scary black helicopters with big radar dishes on them dive bombed my house. I am so not kidding.


So do not go to Google and type in Yakima Echelon Station. Do not listen to the audio book of Assassination Vacation by Sarah Vowell. And do not try to listen to 90.7 FM on I-82 between Yakima and Ellensburg. You are warned.