The last deposition ends around 4 and I run out the door.  Down the road across the bridge.  On one side of the river (where we've been) is Lewiston Idaho.  The other side is Clarkston Washington.   I'm thinking that I will be running along the river, and I am.  But I'm on an elevated path, perched on top of a berm created for years when the river runs high.  It's  a low year so I'm tottering about 20 feet above the river bed.  Aside from one garter snake, two peter rabbits, some birdies, 3 bikers and 1 other jogger, the trail is deserted.  Where is everyone!

I go past the stinky pulp plant (Lewiston side), turn around and go past the "Port of Clarkston" complete with a river barge positioned under a ramp coming out from a big silo.  There are a few boats with people fishing but they ignore me as I pass by.  I know nothing about the flora of the area but it looks like bramble bushes, dried up long grass, and the type of yellow weedy flowers that I used to be allergic to when I was a kid.  Sorry, but it is not exactly spectacular.   What I like best are the hills that the towns are built into.  They stretch for as far as I can see, lining the edges of the river like a giant ruffle.