Wet Eucalyptus

How do you continue a day that was perfect by 9:30 AM?  I am hoping by writing a thoroughly entertaining blog post while sipping Orange Spice Tea and listening to the rain fall on Beagle.

You know you are in California when you are looking forward to a rain storm and, for me, there is nothing better than being snuggled inside an Airstream when one is occurring.  Except for once:  For those of you who read my posts while Alan and I were in Europe (sltandppr.blogspot.com—it is still up, use the archive to by-pass a year or two of chicken travels if you want Europe) you may remember this, feel free to skip ahead.

For the month of August 2012, Alan and I had parked ourselves at Camping Brunner Am See in Austria.   A delightful campground, packed full as all European campgrounds are in August, nestled on the lake shore with miles of hiking, clay court tennis, and the wonderful town of Dobriarch just a few kilometers away. 

We had been on the road for over a year and in Europe for six months by then and we were quite used to being the cool kids in town.  Hardly anyone had seen an Airstream in person and we were inundated with requests for tours and pictures of Salt’s rear with her collection of European country stickers and California license plate. 

Then the rain came.  It rained solidly for three days.  On day two Salt began to leak.  We sat inside with our two pots and one large bowl quickly gathering water. 

               “Loml, we have a tarp for this purpose, we have to go out and cover the top of Salt.  Clearly we have a leak—or three.”

               “I can’t do it, we will look ridiculous.  Everyone thinks we are so cool,” was Alan’s reply.

               “But we are flooding.”   No response from Alan so I continued, “OK, I will go out and put it on myself.”

The wind was howling, rain so thick I could hardly see as I unloaded the back of Pepper (our Cayenne back then) to locate the tarp.  By the time I found it, Alan had joined me having borrowed a ladder from the campground office.  With incredible speed and efficiency we attached the tarp and hurriedly dashed back inside.

               “We went from The Cool Kids to White Trash in five seconds”, that, of course, from Alan.  My god how that man could make me laugh.

***

It was water of two kinds that drove me away from my delightful ocean-front pitch in Ventura.  I knew a rain storm was coming and, although Beagle can support me on solar most of the time, two days of rain would be tough on the batteries, particularly if I used the heater.  And unbelievably, Beagle was out of water after only one night.  

When I left Palm Desert I intentionally filled the fresh tank only half full.  I don’t like to tow with it full and a half tank can easily last me for two nights.  Alas, when I checked after only one night in Ventura, the meter was down to 7%.  That’s not good.  That is maybe two gallons.  Here’s the only explanation that makes me look even half intelligent; that, while filling up, the water still contained a lot of air thus the higher meter mark than actual water.  It’s either that or I left the tap on while towing…you can see where I land.

My lovely Ventura beach-front campground had neither water nor electricity so my option was to hook up and drive to the next one for water, or drive to Vons and buy some water to get me through one more day.

I really didn’t want to leave so opted to purchase three gallons of water and proceeded to live like you do when backpacking:  You fill a canteen and know that’s what you have to wash your face, brush your teeth and maybe do a bit of sink bathing.  And by all means, save some to boil for coffee in the morning.

It wasn’t at all difficult but I was ready for a shower by the time I made it to Morro Bay the next day.

What a driving day it was!  I used the last bit of water to wash my hair in the sink (and discovered that it is much easier to do this with a canteen than trying to fit my head under the faucet—see?  A reason for everything) and so was feeling an extra bit of Kitness setting out.  Back on the 101, the soft rolling hills to my right, their curves defined by an occasional tree, and the immense blue ocean to my left kept my spirits soaring.

But I did have to make it through Santa Barbara.  I know most people love Santa Barbara; I have been there three times in my life and each time has been a very trying experience.  Hence I was apprehensive even though I knew all I had to do was find gas for Wurzig.

My first time in Santa Barbara, my second husband and I (OK, Alan was #3 to which Alan would always respond, “It hurts to be #3” – but three is, clearly, a charm) had stopped for the first night of a long road trip (to hell, I’d say but that’s another story.)  We checked into a small hotel and proceeded to have a huge fight.  It was so bad that I leashed up my dog, grabbed my purse, and walked out.  I walked for about an hour before checking myself into another hotel.  (This before cell phones not that I would have entertained answering it anyway.)   I was determined to return home on the bus and file for a divorce.   Unfortunately, unbeknownst to me the jerk followed me so he knew where to find me the next morning.  And so it continued.  You will have to buy my book to hear the rest of that tale.

The second time was work related, not interesting enough to relay the story but it was a time when I learned the depth of my integrity (happily, deep indeed.)  The third time I was with Alan when Pepper broke down on the 101 while towing Salt and we limped into the Porsche dealer.  We ended up spending the night in the Porsche parking lot—some people choose Walmart, this seemed the better option.

And so yesterday there I was, almond latte in hand, searching for gas.  I took an exit, and headed to a Mobil station.  Forgetting that I was towing Beagle, I turned the corner too tightly around the pump.  Thankfully I noticed before Beagle rammed into the guard post.  After a bit of maneuvering, I was able to pull forward again, missing the post by millimeters.  You know how Beagle gets stared at so, yes, that was fun.

Santa Barbara is not my place.

Back on the road, I enjoyed the interior landscape of Highway 154 through Los Olivos, watching the cows and their calves frolic on the hillsides (feeling quite proud of my bellow-less almond latte) before rejoining Highway 101 and then the delightful Highway 1 to Morro Bay.  

Along the way I sang love songs to myself (like substituting your name for God or Jesus in gospel, singing love songs to yourself is incredibly satisfying) via Serious XM’s 70’s Light Rock Channel.  My favorite was “My Eyes Adored You” followed by, I am not kidding, “You’re So Vain.”

Morro Bay is where you find me today.  The Morro Bay State Park Campground in a pitch with electricity and water and two days of stormy weather ahead; last night I fell asleep to the sound of rain on Beagle’s top—thankful that it stayed up there.  Opus didn’t much care for the storm—it was rather raucous with the wind buffeting Beagle around and the strips of eucalyptus bark flying into her sides—he asked to come under the comforter.  That has never happened before so of course I let him; those of you who know him realize that it might be another three years before he wants to cuddle again.

Today we woke to the fresh morning air and a two hour respite from the rain.  Enough time to leash up and walk two miles to town for coffee.  The trek begins on a dirt path through a eucalyptus grove with the marina on the left and a golf course on the right.  We were treated to smells of the trees and sea water and freshly mowed grass.  Heaven. 

I stopped along the way to smell some roses—something I do every morning on our walks in Seattle—before taking a coffee break at Top Dog Bistro, sitting at a sidewalk table enjoying the wet streets and the early quiet of town.

Heading back we looped through the marina where we discovered an enormous male stork of some kind (pictured in the Beagle Album) and my dream cottage nestled on the bank.  The walk ended back at Beagle with my pitch being available for two more nights and so we settled in for a bit.  That, to me, is a perfect morning.

Tomorrow I plan on playing How Wet Can You Get with the noses.  We will drive up to Cayucos, where the entire beach is dog friendly, to do some sprinting.  Rain or shine, we will all need a good, fast run.

-K