Thursday morning has us driving along the Columbia River, with Washington trees and a railroad around us and Oregon across the water. Caleb points out that we will be hiking over the Bridge of the Gods on foot in a few months while on the PCT. Men-packed boats are on our left before Tunnel 1, while their trucks and trailers line the roadside on the right.

It appears to be a parade at the sight of so many watercraft, but the men are probably sharing a dry spot while they catch a meal or a paycheck. It’s a beautiful morning, one that’s great for spending time with friends or sharing pictures with them from across the country. It’s nice to have people check in with us and send dog photos that are always welcome.

I can see Mount Rainier in the distance, and from the lookout point for the B-Reactor, I feel just as close. At the visitor center for this third of the Manhattan Project trifecta (the other two locations being in New Mexico and Tennessee), we learn that the museum is on a tour-only basis, which is currently not available due to the remodeling process. There are some artifacts and photos on the wall in the theater.

I underestimated the size of this operation in every manner possible. The camp of Hanford was the largest voting precinct in the US, with the world’s largest trailer court among other housing options of residents who consumed 8,000 pounds of coffee and 30,000 donuts daily, along with meals that were planned out two months in advance so enough ingredients could be supplied to feed 50,000 workers.

The first plutonium reactor was built in just over a year on a plot half the size of Rhode Island. Now, after decades of use, Hanford is dealing with the safe dumping of radioactive waste into a new landfill and using the 12 billion dollar glassification factory to contain leaking underground containers, or at least half of them. The government and its military have a way of getting people to go where they want, especially during wartime.

Following the pictures down the hall, I noticed some large arrowhead plaques on the wall in an office, parting gifts from White Sands, Chamizal, and the Grand Tetons for the woman working behind the desk. I hope the park system is better at name spelling than the Navy, but we hear from another ranger that they can get the dates wrong. I feel these are the little important details that make someone want to display their memorabilia proudly.

This park is currently borrowing space at Xenophile Books, just two streets back, for their gift shop. We won’t find stickers to add to our growing collection, but after looking at a room dedicated to the science, engineering, and politics that went into this war project, we find sci-fi collectibles. One of the guys wearing an “I read banned books” shirt will give us a tour.

He starts with the pricy collection in the back, meaning first edition or signed copies, so there’s a range of old and new on the shelves. Next is the clarification between porn – what young women read and sleeze – what guys who live in their mom’s basement would read if they didn’t prefer video. There are books that would just look good on display and the updated childhood favorites (because not every kid born after the year 2000 knows what a telegram or negro is).

It’s at this point that Caleb and I split up. We’ve been in here for almost an hour, and though I would love to take the free player piano (to make more room for books in here), we don’t have the time or space. I told the guy I’d come back for it, whether it was painted bright pink or not. Whitman Mission is entertaining two tour buses of kids and their parents, dressed for the early 1800s time period, for lunch when we arrive.

Their young and high-pitched voices will fill the Walla Walla Valley and Monument Hill during our visit. We were last here 13 years ago, and preserved places are worth visiting at least twice. Caleb is able to use that post to find the brewery where we got the yellow hot sauce and pickled veggies last time, too, Riverport Brewing. It’s recently under new ownership and had its soft opening the day before.

Neil only comes on Friday, usually after 2 pm. until closing, so we won’t see him, but I can talk to a table of his friends, one of whom looks like Danny Devito, for almost an hour while Caleb makes a friend amongst the four cyclists sitting outside. I joined Caleb and Bob in time for a dinner recommendation and an invitation to stay the night.

We accepted both. Dinner was at Hogan’s, where we met another guy who moved here from Kalispell, MT, to escape the cold weather. I accidentally did part of an old regular’s crossword puzzle, thinking it had been left at the bar. I tried a Cold Smoke from Kettle House with my falafel burger, which was delicious. I called Bob after our meal, as agreed, and drove into Idaho. We get to meet Gary, the cat named after her brother.

Bob is full of stories, recommendations, and kindness. He leads an active and inspiring life. I wish we could meet more people like him and surround ourselves with big hearts, open minds, and grateful souls. We surprise him when we’re ready for bed, a few hours later, as he thinks we’ll sleep until after he leaves in the morning.

It’s almost as if Bob was expecting us. He told me he wants to start offering his place on Warm Showers, a service for fellow cyclists. There are plenty of blankets and towels, and his impressive home is clean and comes with a fireplace, a large backyard, and a comfy bed. We joined him in the morning for coffee and an English muffin before going to Nez Perce.