Leavenworth

The folks at the Renaissance are nice enough, but we barely deserved that breakfast yesterday and this morning we're on our own. We head back up to Broadway by car this time and stop in at Caffe Minnie's, with its painted wood and open space. Lots of gore-tex and windswept long hair in the crowd; there's soul music on the stereo and the kitchen crew is awful cheery for a Sunday morning, flipping spatulas and cracking jokes. We dig into the best breakfast ever - lox & caper egg action and a ham omelette. Brilliant. We stop in at the Safeway with the retro sign. Must load up on Pop-Tarts for the next phase of the adventure - the drive to Leavenworth. Not the prison, knave.

Paul & Serena Swegle are native Seattllll...ians who worked with Melanie in DC for a few years. Paul's a great drummer and studio wizard who whipped the boys in Anne Summers into shape during his time on the East Coast. These days he's cooking up tunes in his basement studio while he's not directing the legal operations of his online trading firm. The Swegles have a house just north of downtown with a splendid view of Puget Sound.

Paul's folks have a country place in Leavenworth, which is about two hours east of Seattle in the Cascade mountains. We pile into the car with provisions and Paul's acoustic guitar. About halfway there we stop in Rosslyn, famous for being the town where they filmed Northern Exposure. The Brick claims to be the oldest operating saloon in Washington State, and we don't argue. We drink our pitcher of amber peacefully. We bypass the main highway and drive through the little town of Cle Elum. Logging trucks rumble through the wide streets. We stop at one of several coffee shops along the main street, amazed that the espresso wars are still fought this far out from Seattle. It doesn't even rain much this side of the mountains.

Leavenworth is a Bavarian village in the heart of the Cascade mountains. I am not making this up. Seems that about 40 years ago the city's founders looked at the Alpine goodness all around and saw tourism as a way to resurrect a town in decline. Building codes enforce the Bavarian look and feel of the little hamlet, right down to the clock with the people and things that come out and spin around every hour... you know what I'm talking about. German brewhouse, men wearing leiderhosen in broad daylight, that kind of thing. Plus an Australian store. In this little Bavarian village in central Washington State I finally get that Australian hat I didn't pick up down under.

Paul's folks have a cozy Alpine chalet just over the Wenatchee River. We unload the car and crank up the stereo. It's dry this side of the mountains. We're very careful not to light any fires.

The next morning gets off to a slow start, due in part to the wall of waffles we decide to plow through in an effort to build up our strength. Paul's handling some late-breaking business over his cellphone, but then it is a Monday morning. Today's activity is an endurance hike to Lake Colchuck - about five miles into the mountains and 3000 feet up from the trailhead. The air is cool and dry, chilling the sweat on my back when I remove my pack. The trail is dusty with sweet-smelling ground-up pine needles. The trail is unrelenting. The tranquil alpine lake is worth the effort.

74th Street Ale House Okay so the trail took so much out of me I can't recall much of the rest of the day. I do know that we plow through another mountain of waffles the next morning. On the drive back to Seattle we listen to a cd Paul recorded; the singer's name is Dave Kite and he's got a number of catchy guitar tunes. Back in the Ballard section of Seattle we stop at the 74th Street Ale House for veggie burgers and maybe a little beer. Great stuff. Before we bid Paul & Serena adieu we take a walk through their neighborhood down to the beach. The houses in their area are built among a number of creeks and spillways, many cutting right through yards on their way to Puget Sound. The private beach walkway leads right across train tracks. An approaching Santa Fe freighter honks at me as I emerge from the trees.

As the first train passes I spot another winding along the shore, coming at us from the other direction. This is a lawsuit waiting to happen. It's a bit gray and chilly for swimming, so we head back to the house to load up the car. Before we go, Paul gives us a Dave Kite cd. We will listen to it fifteen times in the FM-starved expanse of the Olympic Peninsula.