Today was Half as Hot as Tuesday

 

Hi Dear Readers!  I am writing from Dutch John, Utah, my first visit to the Flaming Gorge Recreation Area.  Much like Idaho, I have driven through this area many times and read the signs as Alan and I zoomed past—always too intent on getting to either Colorado or back to the San Juan Islands.  We never had more than a one-night stop in Idaho, nor did we take the time to duck into this canyon.  It’s delightful.  And cool.  And, get this, raining!  Not just a trickle either; on the drive today we were treated to lightening and thunder and drops larger than quarters pounding on Wurzig’s windshield.

Yep, today on my drive down from Blackfoot Reservoir, the lowest temperature was 50 degrees—half of what it was when I pulled out of the Porsche dealership in Boise on Tuesday.  You read that right, but I will not go into details other than to say the people there were wonderful and Beagle, who never is short of admirers, was a hit parked in front of the showroom.  I spent two hours giving tours to visitors and staff; two people came in to the showroom to see if she was for sale. 

As if.

While in Boise, the Noses and I enjoyed five nights in a VRBO; a delightful house with an Opus-escape-proof backyard for them and A/C for all of us.  

Wurzig is fixed for now (same message as before, they replaced the second most likely culprit, all being done under warranty--sorry I did go into details) but there are no guarantees since the light does not come on regularly.  Having spent some time discussing the issue with a friend as well as the mechanic, I am confident that, even if the light returns, I do not need to alter my plans.

Whatever those are.

During one of the hot days in Boise, I took a drive up to Cascade Lake to look at some properties.  I was discouraged:  The prices were atrocious for what you were getting.   Nothing was feeling right:  Canada was still closed, the heat was oppressive, and I was considering ending not only that day trip, but my entire trip as well.   I decided to rest a minute near the lake and called a friend who encouraged me to continue north to McCall; he has a cabin there and knowing for what I have been searching, was quite sure I would love it.

And I did.

Sitting at the Shore Lodge eating lunch in the sunshine (it was a mere 75 degrees up there) looking over the marina and up the long, dark, gorgeous lake, I thought, “Beagle who?”  I could have stayed there the entire summer. 

So why am I in Utah?  Meeting up with family for four days but then I am returning to Idaho.  I’ll swing through Sun Valley and up into Stanley (highly recommended by the camping-crazy locals in Boise) before returning to McCall.

And how about the trip down here?  You ask such good questions!   Well, the first night, as I said, it was 100 degrees and 1:00 when I left Boise with the intention of getting in a hundred miles or so before stopping at an RV park along the route.  I needed electricity:  We all needed A/C.

But all the RV parks were full, so I used Campendium and found the Rock Creek RV Park, a county park in Twin Falls that had electric hook-ups.  Yes!  They were first come first serve only, I was counting on a lot of Kitness.

I pulled in and the first loop was completely taken.  As I started my right turn into the second loop, I noticed an open spot at the end of the loop on the left.  So I did what any desperate woman would do, I turned the wrong way up the one-way drive, drove just far enough to be able to back Beagle into position, jumped out, plugged in Beagle and then sat in the car until the A/C had cooled her down.  I nabbed one of only three spots left—the other two filled up within thirty minutes.  And the Kitness was working—most people had another RV right in their face but, being on the end, we had a large tree and acres of green across the way.

Just after sunset I felt a huge wind hit Beagle and then my phone alerted me to a weather advisory; the area was due for wind gusts up to 60 MPH with blowing sand and dirt, warning people off the highway due to lack of visibility.

I’ll say.

I hopped out of Beagle to safely stow my chair and couldn’t see more than twenty feet!  The dirt was everywhere!  It smacked you in the face, blew up your nose and into your eyes.  Between the wind, dirt and heat, I felt like I was camping on Mars. 

The second night we stopped at Blackfoot Reservoir, where we were welcomed with 75 degrees and this as our view:  (The picture at the top of this post was taken this morning from inside Beagle as the sun was rising—didn’t even open the door.) 

And the drive today was fantastic:  Rolling hills, lush, green farmland with happy cows, two lane highways (one lane each direction) the entire time and then, along Highway 414 in south-western Wyoming, some of the most beautiful hillsides I have ever seen:  They looked like they were made with layers of sand and the thickest layer was, I am not kidding you, a light greenish blue.  Being on the aforementioned two-lane highway with no pull outs, I was unable to stop and take a picture.  But it was stunning. 

This is what I have missed.

I’m back.  The rain stopped so I walked Opus down to the marina where they rent stand-up paddleboards as well as boats.  Tomorrow another storm is due to roll through but Saturday and Sunday look as delightful as the clear, deep water.  I cannot wait to swim!

-K

Deja Vroom!

Greetings from Jordan Valley, Oregon!  Yes, I am back in Beagle—this time with no tour name, clearly, that is bad luck.  I decided, since I am a few weeks off my original plan, to bee-line it to Idaho.  Well, as much of a bee-line of which I am capable; I am on my fourth night and my daily mileage has been 188, 266 and 339, which leaves a paltry 82 to get me to Boise tomorrow—giving me plenty of time in the morning to explore the area.

I started a day early to have two nights at Bass Lake which had me arriving there on Sunday.  Never arrive there on a Sunday.  Or Saturday.  Or Friday for that matter; it was crowded with day-trippers, the Day Use Areas packed and cars overflowing onto the already too narrow road winding around the lake.  My double-spaced campsite (the only one I could reserve) felt enormous after squeezing by the cars on the road.

OK, I’m back:  Today is clearly my day to deal with bizarre insects; one just flew in, created a string of web from the ceiling and was spinning itself around in circles in front of my face.  And this, dear reader, is not even the worst bug story you will read tonight.

Back to Bass Lake:  It was so hot!  Thankfully I was able to park Beagle in the shade which helped enormously.  I used my portable solar panels (since her normal ones were now shaded) to keep the battery charging although between my use of the interior fan and the refrigerator’s use of its cooling fan, it was a losing battle.  I alternated between the two the best I could.  I am not a happy camper when it is over 80 degrees.  To keep myself sane, I walked down and swam four times in two days, the cold water was delightful; I was dry again by the time I made it back to camp.

I thought my second day at Bass Lake would be my vacation day before all the driving and, although it was nice with an early morning hike, swimming and lots of staring at the bright blue sky through the cedars, day three felt more like a vacation.  I had planned on driving through Yosemite but noticed a sign on Highway 46 saying that driving passes were required (a Covid holdover which, apparently, they are going to keep through the season—don’t get me started.)  I did not have a pass and, after talking to a fellow camper who purchased his three months ago, figured I didn’t have much chance.  I was right.

So Day 3, I tried to get a pass through Yosemite, failed, assumed I would cut over the Sierra’s via Highway 4 which I don’t think I have done before but, when push came to shove, I could not make myself take that turn just outside of Sonora.  The Sonora Pass was calling me yet again!  It is one of my favorite places on this planet, what if Highway 4 doesn’t even come close? 

We stopped for a riverside lunch at Brightman Camp, the spot we discovered on the last crossing, before continuing over the pass.  It was nearly as beautiful, and I felt just as much at home amongst my boulders and trees, but it was not breath-taking like it had been a month ago with all the snow.  Still, well worth the drive.

And guess where we stopped for the night?  The Grand Sierra Casino RV Park!  It was near ninety degrees in Reno and I needed to plug in and get the A/C on for the dogs and my bathing suit on for me.  I tried, once again, to swim around all the drunk people in the resort pool but gave up and just floated on my back, thankful to be cooling off.  

So a nice early start for today, which is my longest drive day so far at over three hundred miles.  And not a pretty drive either:  Interstate 80 to Highway 95, all flat, hot, dry, desert accompanied by the navigation system announcing the soul-crushing news of, “Please follow Highway 95 for 190 miles.”  Ugg.

After a few hours, I knew I should rest, so pulled into a rest area not hoping for much other than a flushable toilet and space to walk the dogs.  Pulling in to the truck parking, I looked over and saw…wait for it…grass!  And trees!  And shade!  I was beside myself with joy, planning to make a sandwich, grab my beach towel and sit for at least thirty minutes with the dogs on that shady grass.

But first things first, I had to use the restroom.  So I hopped out and, as I was walking across the parking lot, almost jumped out of my skin at the giant bug which I just missed crushing.  I am not kidding you, its body was the size of my palm.  Look at your palm!  Its BODY was that size and then it had legs and an antenna or six—things were moving all over this beast—it’s a miracle that I didn’t scream. 

I did manage to give the UPS guy sitting on the wall near the walkway a good laugh.

              “Easy to freak out over these things”, he said after he stopped laughing.

              “These? There are more?”

And then I saw them; they were everywhere.  Hundreds and hundreds of them (again, not kidding), they were walking down the grassy slope across the pathway and to the asphalt—who knows why.  It was like a horror film.

              “My god, are they in the bathroom?” I asked.

              “Not the men’s.” 

              “What in the hell are they?”

              “Mormon Crickets.”

Which explained the tiny bibles.

But I still had to get to the bathroom which meant walking up the path.  I reminded myself that I was at least a million times bigger than them, “But they are a million and you are one!” shouted my brain.  I decided to run.  This was not the best idea as it caused them to jump up, thumping against my legs.  I was horrified.  Horrified!  I dashed into the women’s room where a young girl was crying and I knew just how she felt.  We still had to get back.

I did eventually get back to the car; clearly my picnic was out of the question so I quickly walked the dogs (of note, Opus, who I have never known to be afraid of anything, would not go near the crickets), put the Noses in the car, and hoped a cricket didn’t make its way in there while I made my sandwich.  Standing guard while I ate, I will admit to watching as a couple pulled in and began their walk to the restroom, the UPS guy was right; it was damn funny.

About an hour later, driving on the endlessly straight, Highway 95, I noticed what appeared to be blood on the asphalt, you know, like when something gets hit by a car and you see the dry, smeared blood, a dark reddish-brown color.  But it was just under the track of the right wheels, not anywhere else.  And it went on for about a quarter of a mile then would stop for a bit then another quarter of a mile.  It was intriguing (admittedly, it doesn’t take much on this drive.)  Then I noticed a brown patch ahead and it had those hideous crickets walking on it—they were trying to cross the highway!  In masses!  And squish, squish, they would get smashed and the brown I had been driving over was their remains.  I happily added a layer.

This was freaking me out!  All I could do was hope that the brown stains stopped some time before Jordan Valley because I was not going to camp anywhere those creatures might turn up.

Sure enough, the stains stopped.  But I still asked the camp host about the cricket situation and he admitted that sometimes they march in by the thousands but he hadn’t seen them yet.

I figure I have about twelve hours.

-K

PS:  Just a friendly reminder that the notification via email will stop working soon; I am tweeting out a link, you can find me @kitrinabryant

Musing: On Non-Reflected Love

 

To SC, time is the only useful tool right now

but maybe this will take the edge off for a minute.

 

I was going to title this “Musings on Unrequited Love” but that is just way too dramatic for what I am going to propose.  Plus, it would have caused the men to stop reading; perhaps this title aroused enough curiosity for a few of them to stick it out. 

(I am actually back in Beagle…another post on my travels coming soon.)

This idea first came to me last March; I was in Seattle, and had spent the day visiting Alan’s plaque, enjoying the city and dining with the kids.  I was laying in my delightfully high-thread-count bed at the Fairmont and feeling, well, just so right.  Easy.  Comfortable.  Content.  Bourbon.  (See guys, something for giving it a try.)  All those words that describe the delightful bubble of being where nothing seems difficult and everything seems connected.  It felt like a love bubble—for everything—from people to trees to mountains to the tall concrete buildings outside my window.  It was serene.

That is one of the greatest lessons Alan’s death has taught me:  You don’t need to have love reflected back in order to enjoy the benefits of “being in love”.  That person doesn’t have to physically be in your life.   I still love Alan and that feeling makes me happy—it doesn’t matter that he cannot reflect it back to me.  Laying there I thought, “Is this why humans fall in love?  To ensure the energy of love continues to flow out into the world?  Is the purpose of love simply to Love not necessarily to Be Loved?” 

Whatever the reason, it is a delightful place from which to experience life on this planet. 

I was sharing this with a dear friend the next morning as we dried off over coffee in a typically cozy Seattle coffee house (it was raining like hell that weekend.)  She, being way ahead of me on the evolutionary ladder, listened patiently as I explained my theory; as anticipated, very little explanation was actually needed.  I quickly concluded:

              “So then I just hung out in this love bubble, it was amazing!”

              “Yes! I know just what you are talking about. It’s heavenly; it is almost orgasmic”, she replied.

              “Well, you were always quicker to the trigger on that than me”, we laughed for a minute before I continued, “I don’t know about orgasmic but it sure was dreamy.”

Now, it’s not like I float around in this bubble all day every day; like all experiences in life, it comes and goes.  But now that I know it is there, I often let it cover me as I fall asleep.

-K

PS:  Just a reminder that the automatic email notification from the blog will not be working soon.  I will Tweet out the link, @kitrinabryant, or you can always find the latest posting on the site itself.  :-)