A benefit of hiking and camping without a car will be not having to wonder if it will continue to function as needed, though I suppose we will be thinking about the abilities of our bodies more often. We broke down camp and thought we were ready, but our vehicle had other plans. Luckily for us, we didn’t have to wait a minimum of two hours for insurance to show up since I was able to find a man with jumper cables and a battery in the park.

He was the only other person awake besides the couple who had already headed to the lake with their boat. He’s been coming here for years and tells me how his daughters used to play on the amphitheater stage. I’m guessing that as teenagers now, they don’t want to spend as much time with dad in the great outdoors. I’m grateful he’s here, and the car starts immediately.

I get in the driver’s seat, and the emergency parking brake light is flashing. The dash screen tells me to turn the brake on and off, and Caleb, the mechanic, tells me to restart the car, but our morning hero is already back through the trees so I suggest we find a garage before getting stuck. We get checked in, and they’ll install for free, so we wait the fifteen minutes and get replacement wiper blades, too.

We had our windshield replaced in mid-March and bought new wipers then, but one started to skip, and recently, the other leaves a large streak. We had the windshield replaced via warranty a few days ago, so I guess we should get new wipers… again. Not only this, Caleb notices our mail getting delivered to Florida after we “changed” our address a week ago.

It turns out the postal clerk didn’t do his job, and since we already updated our address everywhere else, Caleb isn’t able to verify his identity online (still need to go in-person now either way), so we find an open office where we’re told we should receive a confirmation email, and we do. It’s just now the mail we were expecting before the hike will have to join us on trail or wait until the winter holidays.

We’ve got breakfast in the car but need a moment to take in the shitty start to our morning (even though we know it could be worse), and we want to reset our moods. We settle on Jim Bob’s Chuck Wagon, a place that gives me a concession stand vibe, but that honors its regulars with painted chairs in their memory. We get a quick breakfast, and I already feel better.

Six miles before Mount Rainier National Park, there are signs asking drivers not to block driveways and intersections while they wait to enter the park. There is no line today, and the weather has allowed part of the park roads to open with a warning of ice possible, which I find acceptable. We stopped at Kautz Trail to take in the rich and wet environment. This is what I expected at Olympic, but the park must be in its dry season… just after snow melt.

It’s a good thing we spend so much time on one of these lower elevation trails, as we are in for a treat. We have a look around the Lingmore Museum, which is going through a renovation, and make our way towards Paradise Inn. The temperature drops 20°F and is actively snowing when we reach the two-story building. Yes, we stopped along the way to see the mountains and many waterfalls.

We see three black-tailed deer and have to tell a guy to stop feeding the beautiful blue birds and their female companions because it’s illegal to do so in the park. I should have told him that if he doesn’t think the animals have enough to eat, he can donate money or speak to his representative to reserve more land for them to have available. There’s pricey (given the delivery route) food inside, and we decide on peach cobbler in a bag.

It’s trail food, but something we haven’t tried yet, and it’s delicious while looking at this glacier-swept park covered in clouds and gusts of wind. I’m able to cruise all but a half mile down and out of the park, but no more deer shall we see. Fort Vancouver is southwest of here and close to the big city limits. I was hoping for an hour and a half of discovery, but I would take the 17 minutes left to see inside any buildings as the grounds stay open.

We park outside the gate and power lunge ourselves over the grassy expanse. The fort has a lovely view and some interesting details. The post surgeon also worked as the medicine dispenser for two dozen other forts, managed the Indian Trade Shop, issued provisions to the kitchen, and rations to the 200 employees. He recorded the weather, sent specimens to Great Britain, and managed the library.

Inside the Bastion, we learn that the fort was built in 1829, and the Hudson’s Bay Company was less concerned with the local Native Americans population that they had drastically reduced with malaria than they were Oregon Trail settlers. This still wasn’t enough to motivate them to build a defense mechanism greater than the fort walls until 1844, when they were unable to return a gun salute from a British ship.

Also, inside the three-floored structure are just two of the many state park representatives who meet annually at different parks to discuss the state of things and make plans for the future. I let them know that it will have to do to sacrifice part of the parks to raise awareness, like a whale in a zoo, so that people will care at least a little bit. The guy from Alaska likes my analogy.

We are able to slip into another building, but as we admire the modern bright blue walls, a ranger has arrived to inform us that closing time is now. We thank him and see our way to the gate, just as the blacksmith and another fort worker are leaving for the day. Through the garden with pansies and radishes and across the field with the bush-like tree-home in the middle, complete with two bags of food and a pair of shoes.

We stopped early today at Beacon Rock so I could make dinner while Caleb set up the bedroom. Last night, the ramen was too spicy. Tonight’s version came with cheese powder, and only some of the spicy and oily sauce that coats our pots, spoons, and lips with a red-orange tinge of tastiness. With the evidence rinsed away, we are free to entertain ourselves. A spider attempts to invite himself, and we make haste into the tent.

My pillow was found to have a hole in it last night. We patched it, but it still slowly drained under my head, so Caleb filled it with clothes and traded me for the night. The gesture is sweet, but his cover could’ve had the drool washed off first, though that would leave it wet and cold, things we don’t invite into our sleeping chamber.