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.
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