RAIN, RAIN, GO AWAY

After finishing with the Museum of Glass, it was getting late in the afternoon and the rain was beginning to come down in earnest.  The forecast was for two days of heavy downpour, and hopefully a one day respite after that.  Since our next goal was Mt. St. Helens, there wasn’t any reason to go far until things cleared up.  Can’t see the mountain in the soup.  We decided to sit tight for the weekend, watch football, and generally veg.  The best option seemed to be the Majestic RV Park in Puyallup, just SE of Tacoma.  It sounded great in the park guides.  NOT.  First, they charged top dollar ($34 a night).  However, the advertised WiFi turned out not to be included in the price, which I found out when I tried to log on.  It was provided by an independent service at the princely sum of $5.00 per day.  The advertised “full” cable had only networks and junk.  I asked about that, and she said (with a note of smarmy incredulity that I wanted to slap off her face), “You want more stations?”  Well, yeah, like ESPN for some sports.  “You’ll need a cable box for that.”  I was about to pop, but she said, “You’re in luck, someone checked out and returned one.”  At least she didn’t try to charge extra for that.  What if the previous guy hadn’t checked out?  Too bad, sorry about the false advertising? 

So, where do the non-class-A-behemoth RV’s get assigned?  Why, to the swamp, naturally. 

See that nice concrete pad out our back window?  Those are so you can step out of your rig without donning wellies.  Sorry, only at the 50 amp sites.  We little 30 ampers (who pay the same price) get the lake, which you can see forming.  Those puddles got a LOT bigger over the course of our stay.  The Majestic Moat, without a drawbridge.  I was not a happy camper.  Loni to the rescue.

Loni is a cook.  Loni is a chef.  Loni knows how to make it all right and soothe the savage breast.  From scratch.  That’s a block of real Parmesan cheese she’s holding.  Oh, yes.

 

I know how to open a bottle.  Together we made it good.  Ahhhhhh.

We got through the weekend without much cabin fever, courtesy of nonstop football and good eats, but were more than ready to get out of Dodge on Monday morning.  Ah, but first we had to dump tanks.  In the rain.  In the moat.  There’s nothing I can say about this experience that would survive the spousal censor, so just use your imagination.

We headed south for Mt. St. Helens, hoping that the promised respite from the rain would allow us to view the blown-out cone.  The road conditions did not augur well.

Noooooooooo.  Not into the semi!

It did stop as we neared the St. Helens turnoff.  We stopped at the earnest, but ho-hum visitor center, and went about halfway up the access road to the peak.  Alas, our viewing was not to be.  It’s up there somewhere.

We didn’t bother trying to get any closer, as the cloud cover was unlikely to lift.  It was impressive looking out onto the path the major debris flow took after the thing blew.  The peak is above the center snowy face in this pic.

Farewell, St. Helens, we hardly knew ye.