I drove to Lewiston last Sunday to say goodbye to a friend. Just two days later, she was gone.
No matter how many times I’ve been down that grade on U.S. 95, I still like to stop at the viewpoint near the top. Maybe it’s nostalgia (I went to high school 30 miles away), or maybe it’s because the austere beauty of the area still has the power to take my breath away. Hard to say.
The next time I stop will be a little more poignant, I reckon.
