Ode to Chris

Already one of my readers knows how this story will go.  But not so fast, dear brother.  First, as you all know, I like to set the stage.  Today is March 24, 2020, my county is in day five of a fourteen-day mandatory shelter in place.  I know many of my readers have found themselves in the same predicament.  This not only gives me a reason to write this rather sad tale (which otherwise might go unpublished) but also you a reason to read it.  For that I am thankful.

Two weeks ago, when COVID-19 was just a bothersome buzz occasionally gathering enough of my attention to swat away, I set out on a Beagle trip.  You see, I had recently been reacquainted with the joys of a Beagle trip; a trip not designed around a holiday but just a trip because I can take a trip.  So when C-19 fears cancelled my vacation to Seattle, I decided to take off in Beagle. 

My destination?  Bass Lake, California.  I had driven Highway 41 from Morro Bay to the Eastern Sierras a few times and seen the signs heading off to Bass Lake.  Ahh!  I had forgotten the joy of being on the road and seeing a brown sign ahead!  You explorers undoubtedly recognize that feeling:  If you are tired it is hope of a campground; if you are in need of a break it is hope of a hiking trail.  Never has brown looked so good as when towing the Beagle.  As I had passed the signs before I noted that it would be a nice place to stop the next time I make my pilgrimage to Lee Vining.   Checking it out now all on its own seemed like an ideal opportunity.

I packed up Beagle, Joy!  All the necessities and my favorite camping clothes.  Hitched her up and hit the road.  It is a nice, three and half to four-hour drive from home to Bass Lake; much of it through rolling hills (green this time of year) and then, as you climb out of Fresno, rolling hills dotted with trees cradled by snow-capped mountains in the distance.

Bass Lake itself is interesting; half of it seems to be National Forest while the other half is clearly privately owned.  So as you sit in the campground and gaze across the lake, you see houses, large houses, with large docks and, I imagine in the summer, large boats attached to those large docks.  When I arrived at the Cedar/Lupine Campground (the only one open this time of year) I was the only camper.  I found a nice sunny pitch, (difficult in this delightfully tree-filled area) sunshine required for my solar as the nights were due to be near freezing, the campground devoid of electrical hook-ups.  Everything was going perfectly:  I backed Beagle into place on the first try, unhitched, set her up a bit inside and immediately took the Noses out for a walk along the lake.

But it was not a serene walk along the lake: There was one speed boat racing around and its exhaust echoed through the valley.  I cannot begin to imagine the scene in the summer with multiple boats racing around all day—definitely not an experience I would be seeking.  But eventually the boat tired and we were left with the sounds of the birds, the rustle of the pine trees, the occasional bark of the camp hosts’ dog, and, once back home, the hum of Beagle’s heater.  Oh, I love my Beagle.  It has been too long.

With a storm moving into the area in a few days, I only planned on staying for three nights.  Maybe two, I thought, then dropping down to explore another lake on the way home.  In any event, Friday dawned brisk and sunny and I dressed for a nice long hike.  Loaded the Noses into Wurzig, backed out of my parking spot.  Turned my wheels sharply left to position myself for exiting and backed the passenger tire right into a rock.  Damn!  I pulled forward and then heard, what I thought to be at the time, the worst sound you can hear from a tire, a sharp, loud hissing.  (Yep, remember that sentence.)  By the time I walked over to the side of the car the tire was completely flat but still able to exhibit a dime-sized hole in the sidewall. 

Chris, is there a spare tire in a Cayenne yet? 

Of course not.  (Go ahead and wipe the tears of laughter from your eyes.)  After discussing the situation with Gina, the delightful camp host, I remembered that I have Porsche Roadside Assistance.  These cars, as you know, are expensive and often I find it worth every penny.  Calling Porsche Assistance is one of those times:  They don’t make you feel like a stupid girl by asking, “Are you sure there isn’t a spare tire?”  They just say, “We will send out a flatbed tow truck immediately.”  They know with what they are dealing.

While waiting for the tow (after taking the Noses on a disappointing short walk), I called Porsche Fresno to see if they had my tire in stock.  They did not.  Estimated arrival Monday or Tuesday.  I had no choice but to abandon Beagle at the lake for a few days and join Gerry and the Noses in the tow truck for the hour drive down to Porsche.  I changed into my best camping clothes, wishing I had packed my favorite black jeans and sweater, anticipating the world I was about to enter. 

The drive down was dreamy.  Absolutely wonderful.  When I realized there wasn’t anything I could do about anything, I put my head back and listened to Gerry’s brand of country/blues music, his wonderful singing voice, and enjoyed being a passenger.  I realized the last time I was a passenger in a car for this duration was last summer when a friend took me piano shopping.  A song came on that I recognized and we both sang along, albeit he much more loudly than me, smiling laughingly at each other. 

Down at Porsche awaited another heaven.  I could just cut and paste this from another post, as you all know.  But it bears repeating; multiple men walking around asking if there is anything they can do for me.  One is unloading my car, one is petting the dogs, one is getting me water, one is arranging a rental car.  If you have to break-down, breaking down in a Porsche isn’t so bad.

It is now late afternoon Friday.  The tire is expected Monday, the snow returning to the area Tuesday.  It will be a tight window for the Beagle Rescue but not much I could do about it at the time.  So, four-door Kia at my control, dogs in the back, I asked Google to navigate to Morro Bay.  This time when he replied, “That drive will take you at least three hours in current traffic conditions, are you sure you want to go?”  I replied, “Hell yes.”  Nothing sounded better than my little house right then.  I backed out the Kia, looking over my right shoulder as it was a long driving area that I had to navigate, relying on (what turned out to be non-existent) sensors when I heard truly the worst sound you can hear from a tire:  That of it rubbing up against a $200,000 Taycan.

Oh yes I did.  I immediately looked to my left to see the impossibly close, beautifully gleaming, front end of a brand new Taycan; my left front tire nestled against its bumper.  I pulled forward.  Glanced down, didn’t see any damage.  Two guys came out, walked between myself and the Taycan, smiled and waved.  I drove off telling myself that they had seen it all and were waving me off. 

Being at home was no picnic, as you all know, the hysteria around C-19 is debilitating to anyone tuned in to their environment.  Three nights were plenty, I could not wait to get on the road Monday afternoon to retrieve first Wurzig then Beagle.

The Noses and I arrived at Porsche around 4 PM, Wurzig just finished—and wow, was it finished!  They detailed the car inside and out, not an Opus hair to be found nor a speck of dust in the vents.  It looked gorgeous.  Even in the pouring down rain.  You see, the storm had rolled in early.  This I knew from the camp host who had just texted me, “It is starting to snow up here.”  To which I replied, “I am coming as fast as I can.”

In the Beagle photo album you will see a picture I snapped after ninety minutes on the road.  The snow was coming down like crazy.  I kept thinking I would make it to Beagle and just spend the night but when I slid around a corner to see Gerry the Tow Guy getting ready to load a crushed car, I decided that was a sign to turn around. 

There was only one thing worse than my rental Kia and that was my motel room. 

The next morning dawned completely sunny.  Still cold but the main roads to the campground had been plowed so I knew I could get close to Beagle if not right up to her.  The camp host reported that they had eight inches of snow and that it was likely I would not be able to get Beagle out.  That was ok with me, I would head up and stay the night if I couldn’t get her out; another night at the motel was out of the question.

The drive up was gorgeous (more pictures in the photo album) and the picture above was taken as I walked the final hundred yards to Beagle. 

The sun was working its magic on the campground roads and it looked like I would be able to get out that afternoon.  But it was so lovely and peaceful and so not C-19, that I decided to stay.  I found a tall guy to remove the snow from my solar panels so I could have enough battery power to last one night. 

With everything under control, Opus and I headed out for a hike in the snow.  River, unfortunately, cannot hike uphill anymore so she was resting in the car.  But Opus and I had a wonderful romp.  That evening, when the sun went down and Beagle’s heater was on, I reflected on my wonderful life as I enjoyed a cup of tea.  I had rarely felt so at peace as I did that evening; connecting to my environment that wasn’t disintegrating, that was, in fact, made up of beings who had seen it all a million times.

That was one week ago tonight.

It feels like a lifetime.

-K