Dick Young was another one of those silent contributors to the world of craft beer. This past Sunday we learned Dick left us, and with it, a large hole in the hearts. He remains in the thoughts of those that knew him and his labors.
Dick Young was another one of those silent contributors to the world of craft beer. This past Sunday we learned Dick left us, and with it, a large hole in the hearts. He remains in the thoughts of those that knew him and his labors.
A future firefighter, of course. Or rather, someone who had hoped to become a firefighter, because this guy can pretty much kiss his firefighting and law enforcement career goodbye. An 18-year-old trainee with the Bucoda Fire Department stole and totaled the small town's only ambulance early Saturday morning.
It was nearly 11 a.m. when we arrived in Centralia for the half-way point on the STP, to have lunch with David, our friend who was taking the whole course in one day. We parked in a free public lot and hurried into a little cafe called "Centralia Perk," in homage to , which was also an ice cream parlor and antique store. The temperature was already in the eighties at least, and we left a few minutes later with ice cream cones firmly in hand, to walk the half-dozen or so blocks to Centralia College, where the STP riders were coming in.
At the intersection of Sussex Avenue and Sheridan Street in Tenino, a small stone stands erect on the edge of a vacant lot, with the words "Old Oregon Trail 1845–53" etched in it. Many Oregon Trail markers exist, of course, many laid at the time the trail was blazed, others—like this one—laid later to commemorate the pioneers. But this one in Tenino happens to be special: This was the first one laid by Ezra Meeker.
At 4:45 a.m. Saturday morning, July 12th, 2,427 bicyclists set out from the Husky Stadium parking lot to make the 204.5-mile Group Health Seattle to Portland Classic in one day. Fifteen minutes before that, we were drowsily slumped over the steering wheel of our car, stuck in the traffic jam on NE 45th St. headed towards University Village. Around us, cyclists with enough foresight to their bikes to the event were zooming downhill, past the poor suckers who drove.
As an alumnus of Centralia Community College (out of boredom, we took a Latin class there one fall) and former southwest Washington resident, we've been following the flooding thataway with interest. A friend of ours just passed along two emails from K. in Centralia, and they can't be beat for a you-are-there feel that balances some of the apocalyptic news coverage -- let's face it, if nothing terrible happened to you, you aren't news. On...