Last Friday, I drove from Spokane, WA to Bellevue, outside of Seattle. On Saturday I made my way up to White Rock, British Columbia.

When I set out to drive across the state of Washington, I was a prepared for a densely populated forest of tall pines, with ferns and mossy rocks covering the damp ground - similar to what I’d seen in the Idaho panhandle. Instead the eastern portion was much like western Nebraska or southern Wyoming: large seas of grain and grass, with hardly a tree in sight.

I spent the night in Bellevue, and I’ve already documented my experiences purchasing a Canadian cashier’s check and crossing the border. I can only say that I hope it’s easier getting back into the U.S. than it was getting into Canada, and I hope I don’t have to go back to counter A.

When I entered White Rock that afternoon, I took the wrong turn in a roundabout and got on another divided highway with no exit to turn around for eight miles. It started to rain. I finally located 1448 Fir Street and Steve, my renter, kindly stayed a while to show me every nook and cranny of the apartment and circle local landmarks on a few dogeared maps. All I wanted to do was sleep.

I carried a small suitcase up the three stories and turned out the lights, listening to the rain hit the roof above me. I was exhausted from the past two days but couldn’t fall asleep. Every now and then I’d chuckle. I’m living in Canada for a month. For no particular reason.

^ Eastern Washington

^ A scenic pull-off in the mountains looking down on the Columbia River.

^ Further west. Trees.

^ Those Washingtonians sure like their coffee and laptops. Or is it Washingtonites? Washingtonese? Ah, Washingtizzles.

^ Border.

^ I’m gonna be super-pissed if you don’t let me back in, ‘Merica.