I arrived at Maryhill State Park in Washington after a stint on I-84 and a harrowing ride across a humped and shoulder-less bridge at Biggs Junction. It felt good to ride past the familiar-looking state park signs and see the sedate site loops filled with kids on bikes. Best of all, more hiker/biker sites meant a cheap night’s stay after a few days of motel indulgence.

My site was next to a young family in an RV. Their tiny yappy dog provided a welcome opportunity for introductions when she decided I was too close to her turf. We introduced ourselves over some vicious hand-licking, then went our separate ways.

I spent the afternoon down on the Columbia, grateful for a chance to swim and lounge by the river I’d been following for days. The water was chilly but the stony beach was warm, and some inventive soul had molded an easy chair into the rocks, giving me the perfect spot for reading.

Mostly cooled off, I set about making dinner— an elegant affair of quinoa, tuna, and freeze-dried veggies. I must have looked pretty glum about it, because I looked up to find my neighbor Stacy and her son walking over to extend a dinner invitation. I’m not one to waste food, so I declined the dinner offer but said I would love to come over and eat with them. Finally, some company!

I met Stacy’s husband Luke, his parents, and their young daughter Bryn, who spent the evening mashing banana bread into the cup holder of her camp chair. We chatted about my trip, and where they were from, and Luke’s parents brought out the history buff in me talking about blacksmithing (Stacy and the kids took off for another swim at that point).

It was relaxing to get some family time, even if it wasn’t my family. I went to bed feeling calmer than I had in days, and slept well (despite the sprinklers going on at 5am).