In order to help me with my orientation Tamara bravely lets me drive her to work, as we are to borrow her car for the day and I will have to remember how to get into town. I notice even in heavy traffic the drivers are very courteous. I have not witnessed one single irate confrontation on the road. Much unlike Australia. A cynic would suggest that having roughly one in twenty licensed to carry a concealed weapon is a good incentive for good manners, but I think it goes deeper than that. The level of civilisation is higher.
We visit yet more gun shops and run a few errands. Amazing how quickly the time goes after a week in a strange country. Late in the afternoon I leave half an hour early on my solo flight into town just in case I take a wrong turn on the freeway and end up heading for Vancouver. But I have no problems, even down to finding a car park. Like last Wednesday night I meet the girls and we find a Mexican restaurant. Run by real Mexicans! This is unheard of in Australia. The closest I ever got to seeing a Mexican running a Mexican restaurant was a bloke called Merv who ran a takeaway in Gympie - he had dark hair and rarely shaved. But calling us customers "gringos" with an ocker accent rather spoiled the effect.
We wander up to the Space Needle and take the monorail into town, browse about the shops and head back. A new attraction is being built, the Jimmi Hendrix Centre, which certainly looks psychadelic. I have a heap of packing to do, and it seems like Mission Impossible to fit everything into my two cases and backpack.
Morning starts with the final stuffing of suitcases. We visit the world famous Boeing Surplus Store. In my days of playing around on metal working machines I'd have sold my grandmother to get the chance to take a shopping trolley through the tooling section. Computers and peripherals are everywhere, as well as office furniture and machinery.
Until now we have had a lot of luck on the roads. Andy says there are two seasons in Seattle; Winter and Road Construction. I finally find out what he means. We are held on a three-lane freeway by three "pace vehicles" to about five miles per hour for almost half an hour while something important is taking place up ahead. We never get to see what it was, as when we are finally released there is no sign of anything. This has been something of a worry as time is ticking away and I am due to leave Seattle by train in less than two hours.
But as it turns out there has been a hold up with Amtrak, and my train will be late leaving anyway. My luggage goes overweight to the tune of $10 excess baggage, which does not surprise me. I am sorry to leave Seattle, my hosts and in fact everyone I have met there has been great. Not the rabid ratbags our Australian media would have us believe. I wonder if I should refer to them as TASS from now on...
As we finally get under way, two hours late, the man in the next seat introduces himself. Jim from Indiana. He notes I'm an Aussie and immediately makes comment on our gun laws and how the NRA is fighting to keep America free. He's mighty impressed when I flash my NRA membership card. I'm amazed that somebody could strike up a conversation with a complete stranger about gun laws. Chances are in this country you'd get some left wing nut who would beg to swap seats with anybody rather than sit next to a shooter.
The train wends its way north following Puget Sound for some miles before heading east. As the sun sinks we start to climb. We pass snow capped mountains in the Cascades, but we are out of light before we get halfway through them. The seats are much more widely spaced than on the airlines, so I am able to get some sleep, taking full advantage of the extra leg room.
Sometime in the early hours we stop in Spokane. And remain stopped. I guess there is freight traffic ahead we have to wait for. This puts us further behind schedule, we are now running three hours behind. Dawn sees us crossing Idaho, heading for the Rockies. The view from the train is often spectacular; I alternate between staying in my seat and walking down to the viewing car. This becomes more congested as the day goes on since Amtrak have overbooked the train and the overflow of passengers fill this and the lounge car.
Mid afternoon we stop for a few minutes at Havre (pronounced "have 'er"). I phone my friend in St Paul to warn him the train will be late, as I'd hate to have him waiting several hours at the station. Since we left the mountains it has been flat and largely empty throughout Montana. Wide open spaces with a few towns to break the monotony. Daylight eventually comes to an end as North Dakota beckons.