Story and photos by PETE CASTER
printed on Dec. 22, 2019
A lot of people may assume my job consists of going out and taking photos of people and things, and people doing things. But a majority of my job is problem-solving.
I spend a portion of time figuring out logistics, schedules or how to make a cantankerous 100-year-old smile just for a moment.
A few weeks ago, I was presented with a pair of problems:
For the first time in my life I would not be spending Christmas with my dad. My mom passed away a few years ago, and now spending time with him during the holidays is important to both of us.
And I was confronted with a lesser life problem, but a larger work problem: The Washington State University women’s soccer team qualified for the Women’s College Cup in San Jose, Calif.
For the Cougars, it probably wasn’t a surprise that they made it to the final four, but to the decision makers at the Tribune, it was a travel expense for which they hadn’t budgeted.
Since it was such a historic run — no Washington State team has ever made it to a final four — the accomplishment was well deserving of the local newspaper’s coverage.
As a kid, many (if not most) of our family vacations involved road trips. When I was 13, we flew to Boston, then drove down to Orlando. My dad (who just turned 70) is a man whose driving stamina can only be matched by long-haul truckers addicted to energy drinks.
The Monday before the Cougars took on North Carolina in the national semifinals, I explained the situation to him. He paused and then, as if he knew exactly what was going to come out of my mouth next, asked, “Why don’t we drive down there?”
He learned to love soccer after I fell in love with the game when I was 4 years old. He coached my teams for a number of years, still watches games and calls to ask me “Why didn’t the ref call that?”
So we left Lewiston at 6 a.m. Dec. 5 and drove south on U.S. Highway 95. We rolled through Riggins, then New Meadows, then Parma. We took a hard right at Jordan Valley, Ore., and kept on the Idaho-Oregon-Nevada Highway all the way to Winnemucca, Nev.
The roads were straight and the conversation was light, mostly what fathers and sons talk about: “Remember that time that ... ? Or why the Chicago Cubs didn’t fire Joe Maddon before the All-Star Break.
After dusk, Reno had come and gone. Then we muscled through the heavy truck traffic across the 7,000-foot-high Donner Pass — by this time we were starving — and by 10 p.m. PST we were officially in California, where we made our first stop: In-N-Out Burger.
I don’t know why he loves the place so much, but to say my dad loves In-N-Out Burger is like saying the Pope loves God or politicians love to stretch the truth. It’s unexplainable. It just is what it is.
I think because it’s simple, pretty inexpensive and fresh. Up until this trip, I, too, had loved In-N-Out Burger for no good reason.
The next day we awoke in Sacramento after 17 hours in the car. After an underwhelming continental breakfast, we headed to Avaya Stadium in San Jose. We left early and got there early, with little trouble maneuvering through the Bay Area freeway system with its Tesla-driving maniacs.
Lo and behold, there was an In-N-Out Burger right next to the stadium. For lunch, I had a double and he had a single.
The Cougars left their hearts on the pitch, but the bounces or the breaks — or whatever you want to call them — didn’t fall in their favor. North Carolina advanced to the finals with a 2-1 win.
It was long past dinnertime when we left the stadium. Luckily, there was an In-N-Out Burger in Fairfield, Calif., that was still open, thank goodness.
My mother’s brother lives outside Sacramento. We made it to his house after midnight, and my dad and I shared a room with two twin beds decorated for their tweenage granddaughters.
After a nice breakfast and some time catching up, we hit the road. Side note: They had a rock garden equipped with a rake as a backyard.
As we headed north, the last In-N-Out Burger was quickly approaching and, of course, we stopped and ordered the same thing for the fourth straight time.
I no longer share the same penchant for the California burger chain as I once did, but it was a small sacrifice for the time I spent with my dad.
We veered off Interstate 5 at Weed, Calif., and hopped on Highway 97. As we drove northeast through southern Oregon, I began to notice my driving tics were similar to my dad’s. For instance, right before a curve we both check the temperature outside; but maybe that’s something everyone does. Neither of us likes to speed. The hassle of a speeding ticket isn’t worth the extra 15 minutes you save driving 10 mph over the speed limit rather than 6 (or his preferred 4 mph over the limit). We stayed the night at Klamath Falls, Ore., and ate at Sizzler (the Tribune allotted us one “fine dining” experience).
Icy roads greeted us on the morning of Dec. 8, but by the time we were through Bend, Ore., it was clear skies until we made it to the Columbia River Gorge east of The Dalles.
He had driven this road before with my late mother, and many of the things they saw together brought back fond, but sad, memories; in some cases, for both of us.
From there, it was a familiar route back to the Lewiston-Clarkston Valley. General fatigue led to silence, which led to our own thoughts swirling in our heads as we traded off driving every couple of hours until we got home that night.
According to Google Maps, the trip was a hair under 1,900 miles.
But for four days I spent quality time trapped in a 2016 Subaru with my dad. It was the best, most unorthodox way to spend the holidays with family.
I’d do it again in a heartbeat — or maybe next year when the Washington State women make it to the final four in Cary, N.C.
Caster is photo editor of the Tribune. He may be contacted at pcaster@lmtribune.com or (208) 848-2210.