I did it. I hate being a dense, thoughtless tourist, but I actually stopped in the middle of the road, got out with as much composure as I could muster and took a few shots. Now there certainly wasn’t much traffic, but you never know when the next car will come racing up from behind. I kept looking, but no, nothing. A couple cars in front, nothing behind. Just the seemingly unending expanse of central Washington and its wheat crop. Everywhere I looked was planted in wheat and the road was somehow planted right in the middle of it.
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