Spokane was a trip
Going home was the best part of it...
Getting There
Last summer my nephew got married in Spokane, Washington. His bride and her family are from Post Falls, Idaho. My Nephew lives in Calgary, Alberta. My siblings who live in Calgary have friend and family connections to Post Falls and Spokane going back more than 50 years. But I’ve never been there. Not one to miss a big family wedding, I decided to make the trip. My youngest (adult) daughter agreed to go with me. Spokane is an 8 hour drive from our home in Vancouver, British Columbia. No problem. I could see that the weather was going to be a scorching 34-37 degrees celcius in Spokane and so I prepared with the heat in mind. I do not thrive in the heat like I did when I was younger. I bought a new Linen dress and hoped for the best.
The wedding ceremony was at the Immaculate Conception Church in Post Falls Idaho. Post Falls is a small town (population 44,000) just over the Washington border. The reception venue was in Spokane, Washington. Spokane is about 30 kilometres from Post Falls. I couldn’t find any motels or hotels in Post falls and so I chose one in Spokane. I prefer motels to hotels on road trips, mainly for the convenience of access to my vehicle. I chose one that was priced in the mid-range and was located about half-way between the Church and the reception venue. I found the motel on Trip Advisor and it had mediocre reviews, but the photos looked fine. I guess I was dazzled by the swimming pool photos. For us, the out door pool was essential. The wedding was on a Saturday so booked us in for Friday and Saturday night.
It takes about 45 minutes to reach the USA border from our home. I always feel a sense of foreboding when I leave the familiarity and security of Canada for what feels like the wild west. Crossing the US border is intimidating. The checkpoints are massive, complex structures. The US guards are armed to the teeth and look more stern and well equipped than the Canadian guards. The place is teeming with officials and bristling with surveillance cameras. Weeding out and blocking Canadians with nefarious intentions is apparently serious business. Collecting money from Canadian shoppers returning from the USA seems to be the priority on our side.
Going through the Peace Arch border was no problem. There was no line up. No wait time. A friendly border guard asked the usual questions. “Where are you going?” “What’s the purpose of your visit?” “How long will you be staying in the USA?” I answered all the questions, got quickly logged into the system and sent on my way.
The first noticeable change upon entering Washington State is that the main roads are made of concrete rather than asphalt. The concrete feels rougher and there’s more road noise. Then there are the flags. American flags everywhere. The speed limits are all in miles per hour instead of kilometres. And of course the gas stations sell gallons of gas, not litres. The landscape and vegetation doesn’t change, but the architectural style is slightly different. There’s more of those solid, brick and concrete buildings that look dated from the 1950’s. American fast food places and gas stations line the highways instead of Canadian ones. No more Tim Horton’s.
We stopped at a rest area off the highway before we reached Spokane. The parking lot was huge. There was an expanse of scorched, dry lawn adjacent to a brick and concrete building. There were outdoor taps and a water bottle filling/drinking fountain on the outside wall. The flat roof had wide overhangs, supported with steel pillars, shading the sidewalks leading to the washroom doors.
Exiting out of the air conditioned car into the heat felt like stepping into an oven. I noticed a nice Harley motorcycle parked on the grass, near the building. Sunlight flashed off the polished chrome. We headed across the grass and down the sidewalk toward the building. A woman approached in the opposite direction as she was leaving the building. She was about 40 with expensive looking black leather motor cycle chaps over tight jeans and a matching leather vest over her tank top. She had buff, tanned, tattooed arms and a confident stride.
A sleek holster strapped to her hip containing what looked like 9mm glock pistol caught my eye. I couldn’t help myself and so I approached her and said, “Hello.” She paused before me and I remarked, “I see you’re carrying a firearm.” Quickly, before she got the wrong idea, I explained, “It’s so cool that you carry a gun!” “We’re from Canada.” “Only policemen and armoured vehicle guards are allowed to carry guns there.” She looked me in the eye and explained, “When you’re travelling by motorcycle, you absolutely must carry a weapon.” “It’s not safe to be out here without one.” I paused to digest that information, glanced over at her motorcycle and then replied, “Oh, I see.” “That makes sense.” I then said, “Well…have a great trip!” Patting her pistol affectionately she said, “Thanks, you have a great trip too!”
Spokane
We reached Spokane early Friday evening. I had to get gas on the way to the Motel and we couldn’t believe the almost apocalyptic scenes as we drove through Spokane. Suburbia abruptly disappeared. Pumping gas felt treacherous. I wasn’t used to gas stations that doubled as liquor stores. All around and on every corner there were people who appeared homeless, like the people who inhabit the Vancouver East side. There were rough looking characters wandering about or gathered in small groups, at every corner. Some were pushing shopping carts or carrying bags, backpacks or luggage. Traffic seemed sparse, but people on foot or waiting at bus stops were numerous. There were a couple of sleepers in vandalized parks and in doorways, but most were going about their business, roaming here and there. I didn’t see any “normal” pedestrians at all. There was a scenic river running through the city, but the only people strolling across the bridge to enjoy it looked like apocalypse survivors.
The number of closed, boarded up businesses was astonishing. We were definitely in the “inner” city or the “motel district” of Spokane. Everywhere we looked, there were shuttered businesses, empty lots and broken down fences. Graffiti peppered everything. Most of the lower windows were shielded behind steel bars. The only normal people to be seen were the employees at the few open businesses. We drove around looking for a grocery store and ended up buying coffee cream and a couple other things at a small corner store adjacent to a gas station. I had seen enough and couldn’t wait to retreat to the safety of our motel. The thought of going for a swim and relaxing after our long drive was enticing.
The Motel
Reaching the motel was a bit of a let down. It looked okay, but gave off a bad vibe. There were several old vehicles parked in the parking lot that looked like they had been sitting there for a long time. Some of them had low tires and that “lived in” look. You know the look. Sheets or foil covering the windows, and loaded up with household items. The truck we parked beside looked sort of like an old boat that hadn’t sailed in a long time. It’s rusted sides and dirty windows were peppered with old stickers. We entered the office to check in and got a good look at the pool. The pool was in a courtyard with a black steel fence. There was a gate at one end which led to another wing with more rooms behind it. There were several families crowded into the small pool, splashing and swimming. They were loud, rambunctious and speaking Spanish. Our hopes of going for a nice, refreshing swim evaporated in the heat. It looked like our evening would be spent holed up in our air-conditioned room.
We hauled our stuff out of the car to bring it inside. There was a small outdoor foyer with floor to ceiling windows and a glass door leading from the parking lot into our hallway. This door had a card lock but the lock was broken. So anyone could walk through and into the building. Not a good omen.
I did head out to the pool later on, after sunset. It was deserted. The evening air was warm and still. The water looked clean and clear. There were a few old lounge chairs, beneath a mess of scattered pool toys and used towels. The evening air was still and warm. The only deterrent was an old man with a wispy grey beard and battered baseball cap. He was perched upon a chair, smoking a cigarette and staring intently through the metal bars of the pool gate. I strolled around the pool, sat down on the edge and dipped my toes in. The old man didn’t budge. He sucked on his cigarette and stared. He looked comfortable and prepared to sit there indefinitely. I gave up and retreated back to my room.
It became apparent that most of the residents of that motel were living there permanently. I don’t know if it was the way they peered out at us as if we were intruders, or the volume of household stuff piled up behind their windows and outside each door, but you just know. The open doors revealed lots of household items and piles of clothes. There were children everywhere, running, playing, chattering in Spanish, staring at us suspiciously, slamming doors and walking little dogs. I love children and I love dogs but for $199. USD per night, I had hoped for more peaceful surroundings for our two night stay in Spokane.
I looked out across the motel parking lot before I closed the blinds. I watched a couple of shady looking characters enter the parking lot from the street. They walked over to one of the cars in the lot. A man stepped out of the car. They exchanged a few words and something else. I closed the blinds and thought about how vulnerable my car was as it sat out there.
We hunkered down behind our double locked door and tried to get a good nights sleep. Things settled down after midnight. Except for a little dog yapping, there were not a lot of sounds. We did not feel safe. My anxiety was through the roof. I wondered if the owner of the old truck just outside our window was sleeping in the truck or in the motel tonight. I wondered if having homeless people’s vehicles and stranded vehicles in the parking lot was good for business. I wondered how and why families were living in motels. I wondered if Washington State was just a blue State or if it’s one of those “sanctuary’ States as well. I wondered if I’d feel safer with a gun in my holster. I hoped my daughter was sleeping and tried to relax. Every little noise spiked my adrenaline. It was a long night.
The morning drive across the border into Idaho took us about 20 minutes. There’s no real “border” to cross. It’s a matter of leaving Spokane behind and entering Idaho. The transition was surreal. It reminded me of that part in “The Wizard of OZ” when the black and white of Kansas mysteriously changes to technicolor. The entire mood and energy shifted. We immediately felt safe, relieved and lighter. Everything transformed from oppressive, to clear, clean and wholesome. Post Falls is a lively, organized collection of family homes with neat gardens and decorative fences. There’s a business area and a small shopping zone near the church. It felt as if we’d left a war zone and got safely home. The contrast as soon as you leave Washington and roll into Idaho is incredible.
We met some of our family members at a nice, family restaurant for breakfast and compared notes. Those of us who were staying in Spokane at hotels or motels all had the same experience. One of my nephew’s children told me that their hotel was similar to mine. She called it “sketchy.” Some of my people were staying at homes of friends or relatives or camping out at family acreages in either Washington or Idaho. They weren’t exposed to the Spokane underworld as we were. They did agree that they always avoid the downtown area when they visit Spokane.
The Church was quaint and lovely. The wedding was wonderful. The reception was held at a nice golf and country club across the border just outside of Spokane. We had a great time and were some of the last guests to leave. I dreaded going back to our hotel that night. I stayed out as late as I possibly could. But eventually we had to get back to the motel and get some sleep. The second night wasn’t as dreadful as the first. I had gotten used to the place. One more night couldn’t kill me.
As I entered the office to check out in the morning, there was a middle aged woman with a small boy at the counter. I waited there and observed them. The woman looked like she’d had a rough life. She had the hoarse voice of a heavy smoker. She was demanding that the clerk try another one of her credit cards. Apparently there was a problem with her payment. The boy was about 7 years old with short, dark blonde hair. He had the distinctive features of a child with fetal alcohol syndrome. He was fussing and fretting and pulling on his mother’s arm. She kept shrugging him off, hushing him and waving her credit card at the clerk. I felt sorry for him and when he glanced at me I smiled. He froze, glared fiercely at me and arranged his face in a bizarre grimace. Pale blue eyes locked on mine, he artfully bared a mouthful of wide spaced, tiny yellow teeth and hissed. It was a long, distinct hiss that came from the back of his little throat. A bit stunned, I instantly wiped that smile off my face and waited my turn. The boy turned back to his mother and continued whining and tugging on her arm.
I was so happy to exit that motel but it wasn’t quite time to leave Spokane behind. I had to stop and get my brakes checked. I found a quaint old brake and muffler place on the way to the highway. I was concerned about a grinding noise coming from one of the wheels. I knew it was either a problem or it was a noise caused by the heat and those corrugated, concrete roads. The service was excellent. They checked the wheels and said everything was fine. They didn’t charge me anything. I was thrilled to find the normalcy of the brake and muffler shop.
I’m glad the motel wasn’t my last stop before leaving Spokane. Surely there must be normal neighbourhoods and normal people in Spokane. It looks so nice in the photos. I hate to give it a bad rap but right now I have to say: “I am glad I will never, ever have to visit Spokane again.” If I never have to go to there again, it will be too soon.
