Whisper Words of Wisdom

 

Good morning!  A rare posting from outside of Beagle.  Let’s see, I think I left you after bleeding all over the Eastern Sierra’s.  (By the way, if you attempted that link but found it “missing”, it is back; Blogspot had removed the posting for review—apparently my references to bleeding caught the attention of a certain algorithm.  But it is back now for your reading pleasure.)

On what turned out to be my last day in the Eastern Sierra’s, I received a message from Wurzig that said, “Chassis System Failure, Please Park Car Carefully.”  Oddly polite for a German vehicle, but stressful none the less.  Alas, as had happened at home a month or so ago, once I stopped and restarted the car, the message went away.  (This has all the markings of another post in which I do not come off well in the car-intelligence department, particularly regarding Wurzig.)

But the next time I hitched up Beagle, as Wurzig was automatically adjusting the height of its rear end, I heard a low growl come from underneath the left rear tire area.  Time for a Porsche dealer.  Luckily, there was one in Reno, less than three hours’ drive away.  I contacted a friend who lives there for a recommendation of where to park Beagle.  He recommended the Grand Sierra Casino RV Park, located, you guessed it, just behind the Grand Sierra Casino.  They had a full hook up spot available so I jumped on it.

This actually turned out to be a nice break; the full hook-up spot allowed me to run the A/C for the dogs while I took advantage of the $30 “resort fee” and hung out at the resort pool, trying my best to swim laps around all the drunk people in the infinity pool.

Bright and early Monday morning I showed up at the Porsche dealer and explained my issue. 

              “Is the light still on?” the sub-par Porsche service agent asked.

              “No.”

              “Well, there is nothing we can do unless the light is on.”

              “Are you kidding me?”

              “No.  I checked with my lead technician and he suggested you come back in when the light comes back on—don’t turn off the car, just come directly here.”

              “What happens if it comes on at 10 PM?”, snarky.  I was not used to such poor service and clear lack of concern about my well-being from a Porsche dealer.  But sometimes in life you just know there is no point in going forward; I decided to cut my losses and call my favorite dealer in Santa Barbara.

Sure enough, Todd said, “Kit, if you can hitch up one more time without an error, just drive down here and we will figure it out.  It sounds like there might be a leak in your hydraulics and if so, you don’t want to be towing a trailer any more than you have to.”  That’s why they are my favorite.

Despite it being 11 by the time I cleaned out Beagle’s tank and hitched her up (without error), I decided to leave for home, assuming I would stop along the way.  But the quick way, down Interstate 5 for the most part, did not offer any viable stopping places so we just kept on going.  Thankfully, the last hour, when you get on Highway 46 out of Paso Robles and head west, the scenery is breathtaking.  While I was gone the vast open spaces had sprouted bright yellow flowers to highlight the rise of the green hills and I looked over all of that beauty as I caught my first glimpse of Morro Rock.

I prepared myself to be disappointed in having to come home early but, in truth, I was relieved.  Life on the road is more difficult for me right now as the blood thinners tire me so quickly and it is very difficult on River.  She has come to the point of waiting for me to lift her into and out of the car (and Beagle) but neither of us enjoy it very much.

We pulled in, the Noses hopped out and River did her circles in the grass while Opus flew from bush to bush, ears back, tail tucked, thrilled to be off leash.

-K

Excuse me, do you know you are bleeding?

 

Really dear Readers, how often do you want to hear that question in 24 hours?

Turns out life above 7,000’ (and attempting to hike in the 8-10,000’ range) does not work so well when you are taking blood thinners; it is a double-down on a lack of oxygen to your brain.  As Dr. Z told me, “Take it easy, you are trying to run a Ferrari on low-octane fuel.” 

Last summer, when I was unaware of my condition and trying to enjoy my No Expectations Tour, I had a difficult time wanting to hike, and that is not like me.  But every cell in my body just didn’t want to move, whether at altitude or not.  Now I know it was because my brain was trying to function on 30% of its blood flow and my body was trying to protect itself.  When I returned home, odd things were happening to me; experiences I was afraid were the onset of early dementia.  Like leaving the stove burners on, being unable to analyze financial data, play the piano, or tripping over a small rise in the concrete.

So now I know what to look for; you see, until my artery has attached itself to the pipeline stents, blood is still able to move around the stents and into the aneurysms.   A little is ok, too much causes me not to think straight and to witness the odd things happening again.  (In time, the artery will form a seal with the stents and no more blood will flow into the aneurysm causing the aneurysm to shrivel up and die.  At which point I can move off the blood thinners causing me to drink gin until I shrivel up and die.)  So, three nights ago, when I went to bed without washing my face or applying my delightful Yon-Ka cremes, and woke the next morning with a slight headache, I knew it was time to spend the day at lower elevations.  Kit without Yon-Ka is a very odd occurrence; I clearly needed more oxygen.

That morning I packed up the Noses and, leaving Beagle behind for the day, drove down to the Owen’s River Valley and just spent the day moseying from here to there checking things out.  As is usual in life, letting experiences come to me paid off immensely.

The Noses and I enjoyed lunch by Owen’s River (pictured above) watching the fly-fishermen.  There was not a sound in the air, the river, often without exposed rocks, soundlessly flowed through the valley; the fishermen intent on their peaceful task.  I knelt down to take the picture above, dropping Opus’ leash for a second when Splash!  Opus jumped into the water, chasing a bird.  He waded over to an island, climbed up and continued hunting.  I mouthed, “I’m so sorry” to the fisherman nearby who returned a good-natured shrug.  I whispered “Opus!”, “Come Bug!”  But, of course, nothing was getting him off the island until he was darn ready.

I sat on the grassy edge as the quiet fell around us again until Opus splashed his way back across. 

On the drive out from the valley I came across a community pool, closed at the moment, but open at odd hours for lap swimming.  The water looked clean and inviting, I made note of the hours.

Within a few miles of the lunch spot is Convict Lake and since I didn’t have to worry about parking Beagle, I decided to drive up and check it out.  It is a gorgeous lake with a lovely three-mile path around the shore.  Unfortunately, it was too hot to leave River in the car so we couldn’t walk it but I did notice the Trailer/RV Day Use Parking Area and decided, when I bring Beagle south, to stop in for a few hours and enjoy the lake hike.

I felt better down a few thousand feet but I had two nights left in Lee Vining so we drove back up to Beagle.

This being unable to spend my entire day hiking has actually been good for me; good for my healing brain and good for me to slow down, to focus on the moment, recognizing experiences that have surrounded me in this area for many years but that I have not noticed because I was so intent on hiking to That Lake.

Like the beautiful flowering sage brush.  A scraggly bush, scratchy and fierce, but blooms with the sweetest light pink flowers; the valleys are filled with it, the blossoms slowly blowing off in the wind.

And the deli at the Mobil station on Highway 120.  A famous spot that Alan and I stopped at a decade ago but were unimpressed.  I decided, since I had time yesterday, to give it another try.  The counter-person suggested the buffalo meatloaf.  Oh my, yes, that is totally worth it!  They served it with mashed potatoes, grilled broccoli and some au jus; I saved most of the meatloaf for a sandwich, carefully storing it in the back of Wurzig underneath my backpack, hopefully away from prying Noses.

Back at Beagle, it was laundry time so I set about getting that going as I headed to the campground shower.  It was shave day (have you been wondering when I was going to talk about shaving my legs again?) and this is much easier accomplished in a regular size shower.  While in there, it dawned on me that I left the Noses, together with the meatloaf, in Wurzig.  I began imagining them fighting to the death over something for which I would kill them both.  I rushed through my shower, cutting my legs multiple times.

And back to the blood thinners:  I bleed like no one’s business.  The tiniest scrape takes days and days to heal.  I hopped out of the shower with three bleeding cuts and no time to stop and apply paper to them—I had to save my meatloaf!  I dressed quickly, smearing blood as I pulled up my shorts, and hurried across the campground.

“Excuse me, do you know you are bleeding?”, asked a fellow camper, noticing the trails of blood running down my legs; two on one side, one on the other.

“Yes, yes I do.”

The Noses were sound asleep, my meatloaf safe.

This morning, my last morning at Mono Vista, I took the Noses on our normal morning walk through the sage brush, across the road and over to the Mono Lake Visitor’s Center.  I enjoy sitting on their benches overlooking the lake in the early morning, alone.  But I was not alone this morning:  I was greeted by a fellow walker.

              “Good morning”, he said.

              “And good morning to you”, I replied.

              “Excuse me, but do you know your nose is bleeding?”

Sure enough!  I thought it was just runny as I seem to be allergic to the aforementioned gorgeous pink blossoms, but wiping it with a Kleenex I realized he was right.  A slow, constant trickle as I walked back to Beagle and prepared her for drive day.  Between my nose and my legs, I looked like a human sieve.

As planned, I stopped off at Convict Lake on my way south, this time with Beagle, parking in the Trailer Day Use Area.  It was cool enough to leave River in the car as Opus and I walked the lake loop trail and marveled at the snow-speckled mountains and crystal-clear blue water.  (None of my pictures do justice to this lake.)  What a beautiful (and easy) hike.   As I walked, I thought how lovely it would be to have this be my morning walk so, back at Beagle, I drove through the campground and found a spot. 

I walked over to pay for the night and filling out the registration form for the camp host I heard,

              “Excuse me, do you know your finger is bleeding?”

Sure enough, I must have cut my hand while unhitching Beagle, blood was dripping down my finger.  Again, as Dr. Z has said, “You have one hell of a high pain threshold.”  I never felt a thing.

It is almost 7:00 PM, I have just returned from swimming laps at the community pool, the Noses and I are tucked into Beagle, the wind is fierce and likely blowing in a rain storm.  There is absolutely no cell service here, I started to play some downloaded music but realized I would rather stare at the mountains and listen to the wind.

-K

Fried Eggs with Mustard

 

This morning I pulled my house keys out of my pack to lock away into my suitcase; I would not need them for a while.  As I held them, a feeling of disbelief washed over me:  I can’t possibly own a house, can I?  It seemed so foreign!  Living in Beagle seems so right.  I had to take a minute and remind myself of all I left behind.  But I don’t miss a thing.  Well, I briefly missed Stella yesterday.

I left Bass Lake and traveled Highways 41 and 49 to Tuttletown Recreation Area, planning to spend two nights there.  The drive along Highway 49 was gorgeous:  It winds through the high mountains on the western edge of Yosemite; a well-built road with delightfully engineered curves and I thought about how much fun it would be in Stella.  I never had anyone in front of me and rarely anyone behind, perfect for a leisurely, scenic drive.  My side of the highway was quiet but there were plenty of cars coming towards me; I seemed to be heading in a different direction than most people.  I take this as a compliment.

It was 85 degrees when I arrived at the Tuttletown Recreation Area, I could not wait to jump into the water!  A giant reservoir with fingers and islands much like Lake Powell up in Utah and, like Lake Powell, a destination much more suited for boating than camping and swimming.  Sadly, as is true of most bodies of water in California, it is drying rapidly and it was a long, long, long walk down to the rocky shoreline.  But swim I did!  And a good long float on my back too before hurrying back to the Noses who were sacked out inside the shade of Beagle.  (With her windows open and the fan on, she stays very cool—thankfully nothing like a car.)

The Noses and I do not handle hot weather well; poor River especially could hardly move, so I knew I would rather not stay both nights.  If I had been unsure of my next location, I would have persevered but since I knew I was headed to one of my favorite places, I wrote ahead to see if I could arrive a day early.  The Kitness prevailed; they had a spot for me.

Following my disorientating experience with my keys this morning, I took advantage of the relatively cool morning and took Opus on the poorly marked but otherwise well-maintained hiking trails that weave and crisscross through the pines around the reservoir.  I was hoping to do at least three miles but managed to get lost so ended up doing four and a half.  It sure felt good!

Arriving back at Beagle, hungry for breakfast, I began to fry an egg.  Having just finished Hemingway’s The Garden of Eden, (for the fourth time, I believe), his character David popped into my mind; he was always putting mustard on his eggs.  I had and love Dijon, I love Hemingway in general and that book in particular, so I gave it a try.

And where has this taste been all my life?!?  This is going to be how I eat eggs from now on.  It was so delicious I wished I had cooked two.

We packed up and hit the road by 10:30, as the thermometer was climbing past 75.  This time of year, you cannot pass through Yosemite from west to east as Tioga Pass is closed so I headed up Highway 108 over Sonora Pass (picture above.)

Such a gorgeous drive!  I have done it before but not sure I have ever done it this early in the year; the snow etched into the mountain sides and fast flowing rivers dazzled me.  And, of course, my beloved pine trees with almost no underbrush so you can easily make out the giant granite boulders patiently waiting for attention.  Ahh, lovely, lovely drive.  I highly recommend it even if Tioga Pass is open; there are far fewer people and plenty of places to pull over and enjoy nature.  I pulled into an empty campground and the Noses and I enjoyed a picnic lunch.  River, being the only Nose off leash, raced around the shore of the river like she was six months old.  Opus glanced over with disdain.

And so here you find me for four nights, at the Mono VistaRV Park, a rare RV park experience for me but I have been coming here for years.  I have raved about it before so will just leave you with me sitting inside Beagle as the sun shines through the trees and into her windows, a strong, sharp wind is blowing, it is due to drop below freezing tonight (yes!) and I can hardly wait to fry another egg.

-K

PS:  Blogspot has alerted me to the fact that the email notification is not going to be supported after July.  Assuming I am still on the road you will have to add “check the Beagle blog” to your to-do list if you want more updates.  Or follow me on Twitter, I will tweet out a link.  @kitrinabryant

Let's Try This Again, Shall We?

 

My dear readers, I am so happy to be writing to you from Bass Lake, CA, sitting in the dappled sunshine of pitch #10, Forks Campground, having just finished my earliest in the season ever mountain lake swim.  Which makes it sound like I have been keeping track but really, I haven’t.  I just know that since I have owned Beagle, I have not swum in a mountain lake before May 7.  (Yes, it was cold but completely do-able if you swam parallel to the shore in the shallower water.  I even floated on my back for a while before the goosebumps took over.)

I have started out again for a long Beagle trip, the previous attempt last fall named the “No Expectations Tour”, lived up to its name as I never would have expected to end up in an ER and then spend the next six months in and out of brain surgery; that kind of accuracy is going to be hard to beat. 

So what shall we call this one?  I thought about the “Whenever Whatever Tour” as I don’t have a real plan other than to get out of the gloomy Morro Bay spring and into the fabulous Pacific Northwest, but Covid has made it difficult to just cruise into a campground and find an open pitch. 

It seems half the country has discovered what the other half already knew:  Camping is heaven.  And cheap.  So I left home with many more reservations than I normal hold; which actually aids me in keeping my blood pressure low; I don’t have to worry about finding a place to stop.  Life always knows best.

*

It’s fun to be out with people again.  Today, while filling up Wurzig, one of the three young men opposite me said, “That’s one hell of a car.”

              “Thank you”, I replied.

              “And that’s one hell of a trailer.”

              “Thank you again”, I said, then added, “And I am one hell of a girl.” 

Laughter abounded!  Laughter where you can see teeth!  All masks were down.  It was delightful.

              “I bet you are!”, he responded, and then more slowly with a slight hint of regret, “I bet you are.”

*

Ahh, it is six o’clock and the sun just moved between two branches to warm my face.  I smell the warm dirt and pine needles and taste the freedom.  This is my life!  Give me a second, I have to pinch myself.

I have not been cleared for full activity yet so my days will be speckled with walks and swimming which suits River just fine; she loves nothing more than a short walk and a long nap whereas Opus and I prefer long walks and short naps.  It will be a couple of months full of changing expectations and making adjustments to be sure.

*

Once the sun went down the temperature dropped quickly and I happily snuggled under my down comforter, thinking as I have often thought when going to sleep in an Airstream, I could be anywhere in the world, I have all I need, I couldn’t be happier.

I woke around 4 AM to the near freezing temperature, covered my head with the comforter, making a small tunnel for the cold air to reach my nose, and thought of a good trip title:  The Simply Let It Be Tour.  Part of it actually came to me last week in Maui, floating on my back over the gentle swells, I thought, “Maybe this is all I was saved for; this relishing the experience of living life on Earth.  Just let this be enough."

So I will endeavor to let it be.  Sam Harris might win after all; two and a half years ago I set out in Beagle determined to study the difference between free will and fate.  Let It Be seems to fall more on the fate side.

-K

PS:  After a lovely morning hike up Goat Mountain (yes, brother, a short lovely hike), a leisurely breakfast of left-over potatoes from Luciano’s fried up with an egg, we are headed to a new spot.  (Some things are the same, I do have an order of Luciano’s Duck a l’Orange in the fridge.   How I wish I had some lemon tart. :-))