Early winter snows frosting the Polouse hills in eastern Washington state.
The big broadcast
There was, apparently, a Drunk Dads component to the Father’s weekend at college. ‘hard to imagine parents behaving worse than their offspring, but for some, the pull to relive their glory days was pretty strong.
My days of undergraduate glory were mostly spent behind the microphone rather than beneath a table, afternoon drive DJ at the legendary WRVU, 91.1, the Music Station.
So, when offered the chance to co-host the midday KUGR Rock-Sport radio show High Times in the Polouse with my daughter, I jumped at the chance.
We did a solid two-hour show, conversational and fun: she worked the board while I did colour. 
The control console has some familiar elements, channel selectors and volume sliders where they should be, but so much more is computerized now. No records, no carts, no tapes.
We got the Dutch on-line to listen to the streaming version: it was fun being across the campus and around the world. Problem was, we couldn’t find any of their requests. The music library, a digitized collection, was filled with amazing gaps in classics and hits (No Jefferson Starship? No ABBA?).
Okay, now I am showing my age…it was embarrassing enough to have to do the show with reading glasses on.
A visual voyage over the mountains
This was the day to make the 5 1/2 hour drive from Seattle to Pullman for my daughter’s Dads Day weekend. I got up early to find that the 6:00 am road / pass reports were of unexpectedly heavy snow that closed the pass completely. And, hopefully, temporarily.
I tossed the snow tires and chains into the van and headed to the garage to get the wheels swapped. On the road, finally, at 9, there was ominous cloud to the east and the signage wasn’t encouraging.
I pulled over a few miles shy of the pass to chain up. The traffic was really sticky, trucks everywhere, but I got everything mounted.
A fellow next to me commented that it was bad weather for this time of year: I agreed and said that I’d come all the way from Holland only to find this. He grinned broadly: “Welcome to America!” It must be my accent. “They do get snow in Holland, don’t they?” Oh, yes, only the mountains are missing.
The snow was pelting down as the temperatures dropped to the mid-20’s F crossing the summit.
Fortunately, the roads never got beyond wet and a bit icy: the advisory for chains was probably unnecessary. I swooped through Ellensburg at noon and was off across the cold scrublands beyond. 250 miles still to cover, but the snow held off until the last 75 as I pulled off onto country road past Ritzville.
Pullman was a mess, the snow was finally starting to stick, and cars were spinning and flipping, snarling traffic. 8 hours total, but I arrived in good shape for the big date.
‘feeling warmer already….
