The Gift of Knowing It Is the Last Time

 

Greetings, Dear Reader, from Beagle’s northern base, Boise, Idaho.  Yes, it’s been a long time and I have been remiss in that I have, in fact, had the Beagle out at least twice without so much as a hint to you.  I would apologize but the truth is there was very little to say so you should really thank me for not boring you to death.

However, this topic, the gift of knowing it is the last time to experience something, has been rolling around my head for many months. 

Have you noticed that in life there are moments when you can feel the last time coming for years, or maybe just hours or, on occasion, with startling immediacy?  The shorter the time of realization, the more difficult it is to appreciate the gift of knowing it is, indeed, the last time.

In the course of the last couple of Beagle trips, I have covered all three and, am happy to report, that I took notice that it was the last time and appreciated it for everything a last time should be:  The gift of having that time with someone or something knowing you will not have it again, maybe forever, maybe for some period of time you cannot measure, and maybe just for the season.  It makes you utilize all your senses in an attempt to gather as much information as possible so you can carry that love despite the lack of its physical presence.

For the last few years, I have known River was getting close to the end of her time on Earth.  I know I have blogged about her death before, but it is worth repeating with the emphasis on the fact that I knew the last time with her was coming for over a year.  And so I took the time to give her extra huggers and to tell her what a good dog she was and try to love her as much as she needed (which, for those of you who knew River, was never enough.)  I knew the end was coming and when it came, I was glad that I had appreciated the last times with her; it made it easier to accept that it was the last time forever. 

Then there was the day when the last time struck me one bright, sunny morning camping on the shores of a lake in Utah; I didn’t see it coming but when it did, it felt right and I knew I had only a few hours.  A few hours to be able to tell someone how much I appreciated having them in my life; how they made me a better person; and how, suddenly, now, it is time to walk away.  The last hug for time immeasurable.

A few weeks after that, camping on Antelope Island, again in Utah, waking up to a toasty Beagle but everything outside frozen solid (it was 10 degrees when I woke up), I realized it was the last time for Beagle winter camping.  This was a sad realization for me as I had planned on taking Beagle up to McCall skiing at least once a month for a week each time through the winter.  But I found, like when it is over 100 degrees, camping in extremes is not my thing.  So my last night heading back home, I laid in Beagle and savored her smells, the hard bed, the puffy, warm comforter, the encapsulating and safe feeling of having everything you need all around you all the time.  The last night in Beagle for the season.

And so Beagle is parked in her indoor garage, taking a break.  I was just out to see her yesterday and, after opening her back door, I leaned over and hugged her cushions.  I miss her so!  But have no fear, if this cold, grey Boise weather sticks around, she’ll be packed up soon enough and heading south.

-K

PS:  The photo above was taken on the last Beagle trip at a lovely reservoir in southern Utah.  

For the Love of River and Shade

 

Yes, the Beagle is back out!  A short trip to test a few items:  Leaving from the new northern home base (Boise), how badly I will miss River, will I be able to get a first-come site mid-week, and will I ever get back that joy of the open road?

Moving (aptly named but may I suggest “displacement”?) is moving and I am sure all of you have done it; after a week of unpacking boxes, setting up gadgets (like Ethel my robotic lawnmower, who, it turns out is smarter than Lucy my decade-old robotic vacuum, but not quite as smart as The Countess, my upstairs robotic vacuum) and cowering in the afternoon heat of Boise (hovering at 100), I decided I better get up to the mountains and remind myself what this relocation was all about.

Despite my love of Beagle, it was difficult to make myself hit the road—even for just a couple of nights.  That last trip, the ten-week and over 3,700 miles of snow, rain, concussion, flat tire and leaking Wurzig really zapped my adventuresome spirit.  But set out we did:  Opus and I hit the road toward the Sawtooth Mountains, that vast area of wide-open meadows backed by towering, jagged peaks, which made me fall in love with Idaho last summer.

But sadly, no River.  She died a few weeks ago.  As some of you know, she had a wonderful life.  As I wrote in my journal, “River was born in California, she died in California and in between she visited eleven countries…and peed on a castle.”  Here she is with Alan in Switzerland, maybe they are together again.

***

It’s still hot up here at Stanley Lake Campground, mid-eighties and four-thousand feet closer to the sun than Boise.  But the lake cools me during the day and the nights drop to forty which is delightful.  The minute I pulled in to my first-come site with a view of the jagged mountains, I knew I had made the right decision.  Here was my idea of paradise, no reservation needed, and only three Beagle hours from home!

As nice as it is to just have Opus for hiking and hanging around Beagle (he does not bark at other dogs passing by whereas River would go ballistic), I do miss River.  Some of you have heard her “Roo-roo-roo!” and seen her circles, experiences I doubt I will ever hear or see again, but only one other human has ever seen her clever use of shade.  

A decade ago, when Alan and I were hiking with her and Rosco in the hot California Sierra’s, she would stop underneath the shade of a tree and wait there until she lost sight of us then run forward to the next shady spot and wait again.  Probably the smartest thing she ever did—she was not known for being clever.  (To be fair, she had tough competition with Rosco ahead of her and Opus bringing up the rear.)

Today I feel like River:  It was even too hot to sit by the lake after swimming so Opus and I walked from shady spot to shady spot until we were back underneath Beagle’s Moonshade.  Here we await the cooling afternoon breeze, of which I feel the slightest hint at the outer edge of the hot, puffy gusts.

***

And that adventuresome spirit?  I eventually did feel it, albeit not until I was headed home.  Leaving the campground, I turned south on Highway 21, checked out Beagle in the rear-view mirror, looked ahead at the open, curvy road and felt that tinge of excitement, that thrill of the open road, that security of knowing you are carrying everything you need and the smack of freedom when you realize that you could just keep on driving.

-K

A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To Canada

 

Greetings from Cascade Lake State Park, the Crown Point Campground location where I have happily exchanged pants for shorts, wool-lined slippers for flip-flops and hot herbal tea for beer.  I should be drinking the beer right now to recover from Opus and I being attacked by two pit bulls but then this tale would wander more than usual.

As this is likely my last post for this trip, I feel like I need to sum some things up.  So here we go:  I spent a good four weeks wondering if I would even be warm again, three weeks wondering if I would ever be dry again and one week warmly embracing my new home.  This is Day 63 out of 71, my Miles Per Night is at 52 (close, as you may recall, to my goal of 50) and I have discovered that there is something as too much Kit Alone in the Woods.

I am ending the camping on a high note, perched in Site #10 (pictured above), gazing down at the clear, blue lake and up at the puffy white clouds floating across the vast blue sky.  There is still snow on the peaks across the lake—quite a difference from last year at this time when campers were flocking to RV parks in order to run their A/C during a record heat wave.  Beagle is surrounded by tall pines and placed so that I have good privacy from other campers.  Yes, the Kitness is alive and well despite me using an abundance of it lately (attacks from pit bulls notwithstanding—although we did survive.)

Some of you know that I have always known (and said) that I would not stay in Morro Bay for long.  As I was making my way up to Canada a few weeks ago, I realized that the housing boom was likely to end soon and, if I wanted to get top dollar for my house, now was the time to sell.  So I placed a call and got it listed.

It sold within a week for an exorbitant amount of money.  I can still hardly believe it, I keep thinking something is going to go wrong, but here we are closing escrow in two weeks like it was the easiest thing in the world. 

Last Spring’s trip to Idaho sparked my interest; discovering the Sawtooth Wilderness, the friendly camping-crazy people and, of course, the fact that there is a Porsche dealer in Boise, made it very inviting.  And this year’s five-night VRBO stay out in the Harris Ranch neighborhood sealed the deal.  If I could sell my house in California, I would try Boise next.  And so it goes.

When it was obvious that the house deal was really going to happen, I cut Beagle’s Canadian Tour short and decided to head back to Boise for some serious house-hunting.  Not quite ready to give up camping, I decided to take a week to drive the eight-hundred and fifty or so miles giving me ample time to discover new favorite places and embrace the idea of living so close to them.

First stop was Riley Creek Recreation Area outside of Sandpoint.  A new campground for me but a familiar town which felt great after a few weeks of everything being new.  I took advantage of my previous visit and did a favorite hike.

Next stop was a return visit to Farragut State Park which, due to my tire issues of last month, I barely had time to enjoy, having to reduce my original four night stay down to one.  So my treat to myself was three nights there—and in the same pitch!  Because it was perfect and I couldn’t imagine anything better.  Still can’t.

Then I had a long-ish drive day down to Riggins, Idaho where I was planning on stopping for the night at Shorts Bar Recreation Area, an open camping area with no delineated pitches just people making room for each other along the sandy shoreline of the Salmon River. 

It had been about 250 miles to that point, I was tired and the dogs were hot. 

We pulled into the area, almost passed out due to the smell coming from the vault toilets and drove past a wall of Class A’s and Fifth-Wheels lined up closer than in any RV park I have ever seen.  And this was a Thursday afternoon.  It was dusty and hot and all you could hear were the generators running outside almost every rig—I assume they were running their A/C’s.  I didn’t know.  I didn’t care.  All I knew was that if I was going to have to be crammed next to other campers in a row, I was going to do it in an actual RV park so at least I didn’t have to hear their generators (for you non-camping people, at RV parks people will plug into electricity to run their A/C.)

Plan B time and I actually had one!  I had made note of a highly rated RV park another ten miles down the highway in Pollack.  Google, take me to Canyon Pines RV Resort.

It was still hot when I arrived and suffocatingly muggy inside the office where the husband-and-wife owners were already busy helping people. 

              “Will I be able to park extra cars nearby?”, asked The Customer.  (By the sound of his condescending voice, I should refer to him as The King but it will suffice to Capitalize.)

              “Yes, you have reserved all of these sites”, returned the owner, drawing his finger in a large oval over the campground map, “so if not everyone shows, you can park anywhere along there.”

My hopes of getting a last-minute spot were, like the droplets of sweat on my temples, racing downward.

The wife became available.

              “May I help you?”

              “Hi, I was hoping to grab a spot just for the night.”

              “We have a huge party here that has reserved a lot of the park.”

              “Yes, I see.  I don’t need much, I just need a wide spot in the road, no need to hook up or anything.”

The wife looked over at the husband who was still talking to The Customer.  The Customer is now explaining the ins and outs of cooking a “trash can turkey”, trying to get the owner to agree to let him do it.  They settle on it being ok if the “oven” can fit in the firepit.

The wife and husband exchanged a look.  The wife looked at The Customer and said,

              “Since not everyone is showing up in your party, would you consider releasing a site on the end for an overnight road warrior?”

It took me a minute to realize she was referring to me, then I turned to The Customer and gave him my best smile,

“It would be greatly appreciated.”

He actually hesitated before saying,

              “I suppose we can do that.”

So the wife booked me into Site 30, a pull-through, right on the river, Beagle’s doors open to the river, no one next to me, gorgeous, grassy, wonderful site.  I pulled in, the husband came out to make sure I was ok and I said, “I feel like it is my birthday or something!”  I put in a laundry, opened a beer and munched potato chips as I watched the water, and one dare-devil of a kayaker, race by.

Now that is Kitness.

Today was a short drive day so I decided to stop at Ponderosa State Park in the lovely town of McCall.  Another discovery from last year, I remembered that the Visitor’s Center had RV parking and access to trails around the lake.  It feels great to be familiar with an area, particularly when it allows you to enjoy it like this—often on towing days I don’t stop along the route being unsure of where I would fit.

I parked, Opus and I took a long walk along the lake, then we returned for River, made a picnic and took it to the grassy area where we all lolled around enjoying the warm, muggy day. 

A quick thirty-minute drive brought us to this lovely spot where we’ll enjoy two nights before heading to a VRBO house in Boise.  As Beagle is always my first thought, I have found her an indoor, heated (for winter) storage spot.  I decided not to bring her all the way back to Morro Bay just to turn around and drive her back up.  It will be the furthest apart we have ever been.  I am not 100% sure I’ll be able to leave her behind.

I don’t want to relate the pit bull story; I don’t want to relive it.  Suffice it to say that I will report the incident to the Idaho State Parks—the owners were the camp hosts.  Five times Opus has been attacked by pit bulls and twice I have landed kicks into their beefy sides.  The first time I ended up with blood dripping down my calf, this time all I have is a bruise.  And bewilderment that people continue to say these dogs are not aggressive.

-K

Look Mom, I'm Camping!

 

Well it took forty days but I am finally living the way I thought the entire trip would be:  Camped in a forested campground adjacent to a lake, with miles and miles of hiking surrounding me.  It is my second idyllic spot in a week, so naturally I am in Naturally Beautiful British Columbia.  The moment I pulled away from the border patrol I felt like the country reached up from deep underground and enveloped me in a giant hug.  The one place, other than inside Beagle, where I have always felt at home.

Some of you know that I was born here (Kelowna) but not many know that I spent every summer for eight years (my formative years I like to call them) at my Grandparent’s cabin on Shuswap Lake.  That’s where I grew into my love of being outside, the smell of a lake after rain, the enveloping quiet of tall trees and the mesmerizing motion of a river filled with bright red salmon.  As well as my love for being alone:  After mandatory morning chores with Granny which ended by making lunch for my brothers and Grandpa (who had been out building cabins), I was free for the day.  I would walk down to the lake and swim and sun and repeat until I became old enough to work at the local café.  And that’s where I learned how to make a martini.  At fifteen.  But I digress…

This morning I woke to the wonderful sound of rain on Beagle’s roof in Gladstone Provincial Park on the shores of Christina Lake.  It was moving day so I waited for a break in the downpour to hitch up Beagle and grabbed it at ten o’clock.  Gladstone, being my first Provincial Park in BC, set the bar quite high:  The pitches were well placed for privacy, with packed gravel (convenient for draining away all the rain) with a dog beach area along the lakeshore and access to miles of hiking trails.  (Pictured above.)

It was a much-needed break after my trials to get up here.  When the camp host remarked that I was “totally bad-ass” for doing this all on my own, I replied, “Sometimes it’s just bad.”   You all know what it took and know how grateful I am to have courage, but on this trip I learned that I also have perseverance.  (Who knew?)  I simply refused to give up.

And now you find me at Champion Lakes, the nearest Provincial Park to my dear cousin in Trail.  (The BC Parks website was so easy to use I decided to do the Canadian portion of this trip completely in Provincial Parks.)  The rain has been off and on since we arrived but I managed to get out for a few miles’ worth of walking, appreciating the smell of wet pine needles while keeping an eye out for the resident moose and her calf.  After the walks, the Noses and I huddled back inside Beagle enjoying the sound of rain on the roof, the taste of chamomile and honey tea, the feel of warm fleece slippers, and the sight of absolutely nothing but tall pine trees out every one of Beagle’s windows.

And there are a lot of windows, eh?

-K

Twenty-two Hours of Bliss

 

At what point do you stop trying to make it work?  Dear reader, you have been privy to most of my traveling issues but not all of them.  Buckle up because here comes the entire saga.

Greetings from the Seubert RV Park in Cottonwood, Idaho.  Yes, another RV park, and yes, I am thrilled to be here despite the fact that Wurzig and Beagle arrived here separately.  Go ahead and think about that for a minute.

Once again, my plans have been tossed aside by the winds of fate.

When planning the Boise to Priest River phase of my trip, I had decided to camp only where I would have cell service.  Between car issues, trailer issues and health issues, I figured it was time to be more conservative. 

My research led me to stop for two nights at the Pine Bar Recreation Area in Cottonwood, Idaho.  I used the Verizon coverage map to determine that I should have cell service and the place looked delightful; an asphalt road winding along the Lower Salmon River to the camping area. 

Leaving Boise, I made a rookie mistake and passed by an Albertson’s grocery with a nice, large parking lot.  It was early on in the drive and I wasn’t ready to stop yet despite needing a few groceries.  I figured I would find another store in one of the smaller towns further north.

Due to construction, I had to travel along Highway 95 rather than my original route, Highway 55, but it proved just as beautiful; the highway travels along the Snake River and I noted the many attractive camping areas and RV parks along the way.  All with strong Verizon service according to my phone.

About half way to my destination, the audio went out in Wurzig.  Again.  This had started on my drive down from Ketchum and I thought I had it repaired while in Boise.  But apparently not.  In addition, Wurzig had begun sending off meaningless alerts like “rear brake light out” or “too close to car in front” (and no, Mom, I was not too close.)  There are two things you don’t want to experience when towing your home:  An unreliable tow vehicle and “Dead End” signs.  I had one and was about to have both.

I had an upcoming appointment with Porsche in Spokane so tried to put the messages aside (the warning lights would often disappear after turning off the engine but, alas, the sound never returned on that drive.)

At five miles off of Highway 95, along the gorgeous Graves Creek Road, Google announced that I “had arrived” at the campground just before I lost Verizon service.  I was no where near a campground.  I was on a (barely) two-lane road traveling between farms and cattle, alongside a creek, with stunning bright green hills surrounding me.  I had no choice but to keep going forward, there was no place to turn around.

Then there came a “V” in the road, to the left a sign indicated, “Pine Bar Recreation Area” (note, no mention of the campground) along with “Dead End” and to the right was unknown.  Not brave enough to force the issue with the “Dead End” sign, I turned right.  The road became even more narrow with still no place to turn around.  Thankfully, a cowboy on his modern 4-wheeled horse came toward me, I waved him down.

              “Hi, thanks for stopping, do you know if I can turn around anywhere up here?”

              “Yes, just around a couple more corners there is a spot which should be wide enough for you.”

              “Great.  I’m looking for the camping area, is it down the dead-end road?”

              “Oh yes, there is a lot of camping down there.”

Now a note about Idahoans and their idea of camping:  They are use to a lot of BLM land, land where you can just pull over, put down your stabilizers and call it a night.  I prefer a real campground so wasn’t completely confident that the cowboy’s response would work for me. 

I managed to turn around where he suggested and headed down the dead-end road.  An absolutely beautiful, gorgeous drive.  I cannot say enough about it; the Lower Salmon River flowing at the bottom, the dark rock cliffs leading up to horizontal meadows of bright green grass spotted with black cows and the occasional tree.  I was in heaven.  But still no cell service.

After about four miles of this I decided I better take the next pull off area and head out on foot to determine if there really was a campground further along.  Beagle and Wurzig safely off the road, I hooked up the Noses and we set off. 

Almost a mile later we came to the “Pine Bar Recreation Area” sign (again no mention of the campground) and, due to the winding nature of the road, I could not see very far.  But I could see that River had had enough walking and we needed to get back to the car.  Noting that I could drive down to the sign and be able to turn around, I decided that was a good next step.

On the (very slow due to River) walk back to the car, a couple pulling a travel trailer came down the road toward me.  I waved them over. 

              “Hi, thanks for stopping, is there really a campground down there?”

              “Oh yes, it’s lovely.  There are only six sites so you are arriving at a good time.  Is that your rig parked up above?”

              “Yes, I was nervous about the ‘dead-end’ sign and thought to walk to the campground but my older dog cannot go any further.”

              “Well, you’ll love it down there when you get there.”

              “Wonderful, I’ll see you there!”

Are you wondering about my promise to myself regarding cell service?  I sure was.  But I was holding out hope that it would magically appear at the campground.

Pulling into the camping area, I noticed D&K’s rig parked up to the left; I continued down to the turn-around.  I assumed I would loop around and park up there with them.  But Site #6 sat all alone at the end of the road and it was vacant.  I looked at it a long time trying to figure out what was wrong since surely D&K would have taken it—it’s hard to imagine a better camping spot. 

But it was evidently available so I spent the next twenty minutes backing Beagle into the exact right spot and making her level.   It was Thursday, 3:00 PM.  Start the twenty-two hour clock.

Still no cell service, but I could not pass up the opportunity to stay there for two nights.  After coming close to turning back home at least twice, this was a reminder of why I do this.  Peaceful, beautiful, and I felt very comfortable.

D&K sought me out a bit later and we chatted for awhile during which I let slip that I passed up a grocery store when I should not have.

              “What do you need?”, D immediately asked.

              “Oh, nothing, I was just stocking up.”

              “But you had stuff on your list, what do you need?  We have tons of supplies.”

              “Well, honestly, what I needed most was bread.”

              “Do you like Dave’s Killer Bread?”

              “Love it!”

              “How many slices?”

              “Two would be fantastic, that way I can have my peanut butter toast both mornings.”

Such a nice couple, I was thrilled to hear the next morning (which dawned clear and warm and with clarity and color like something out of a Pixar movie) that they decided to stay two nights as well.

Friday morning I took Opus on a long walk and just soaked up the atmosphere.  I had on shorts!  The sun was shining, the scenery was breath-taking (pictures do not do it justice), and then just sat in the sun until I felt like moving again.

Which was around 1:00 PM, when I decided to make my next day's travel a bit easier by heading into town and getting groceries and gas.  I started Wurzig, was surprised to hear sound come out of the speakers, and barely noticed the ding of an alert bell (having heard so many by now.)  But when I put it in gear, I heard the unmistakable and heartbreaking sound of a completely flat tire attempting to roll on gravel.  This time the warning was true, there really was no air pressure in that tire.

I walked up to D&K’s site intending to ask for a ride up to cell service so I could call AAA (incidentally, they passed up site #6 because they had parked there before and had a terrible time getting level, or so they say, I think they left it open for me—they are those kind of people) but they were all closed up so I thought they were out hiking.  Walking back, I passed another set of campers, introduced myself and told them of my issue.

              “We could certainly give you a ride, but do you have a spare tire?”

              “Yes, but it’s nothing I can get on.”

              “Well, we can put the spare on for you.”

And so grandfather and grandson came over and spent a good hour changing my tire.  I’m not sure they knew what they were getting into—a German car and its funky tools and jack “like they’ve never seen before” but they got the job done.  I did offer twice to do the AAA thing but the grandson just said, “No, this is a challenge now.”

I like these Idaho people.

Spare on and the flat tire loaded in the back, the Noses and I made our way, very slowly, the twenty miles into Cottonwood.

Naturally, the hole was in the sidewall (unrepairable), naturally they do not stock high performance 21” tires, naturally I would need to replace all four in order to not mess up the all-wheel drive.  (We have been here before, haven’t we dear reader?)

I sat down while the young man worked at the computer locating the appropriate tires and providing me an estimated installation date.

              “Looks like they will be here Tuesday, we could get them on Tuesday afternoon for you.”

              “Ok.”

He looks over at me for a minute.

              “Are you ok, ma’am?”

And that’s all it took, one more nice person to make me crumble.  To my horror, tears began to fall down my face.  The big fat ones that come when words just aren't enough.

I look to all the world like someone who cries because they have a flat tire.

              “I’m so sorry, it’s just been one hell of trip.”

              “It’s ok ma’am, we’ve all had trips like that.”

“But… but… but…” I wanted to lay it all out:  The trailer brakes, the flat tire in Reno, the food poisoning that led to a concussion that led to an ER visit, the weird electronic issues with Wurzig.  And most of all, how, just when I was feeling like I was about to enjoy The Trip as Planned, I got another Friday Night Smack-Down.

Instead, I walked quickly to my car and cried into a Taco Bell napkin.

Looking up I noticed two women watching me from inside the grocery store across the street.  They quickly turned away.  I dried my tears, finalized things with the tire guy and decided to pick up some groceries while I figured out the best way to handle the next five nights.

              “Can I help you?” the lady asked as I was making my way stoically through the aisles.

              “You could point me toward the bread.”

              “Right side toward the cashier.”

              “Thank you.”

              “Excuse me, I don’t mean to pry, but we noticed you might be having a rough day, is there anything I can do for you?”

And the tears started again.  Good lord!  This entire town thinks that I am such wuss!  The Lady from California Who Cries Because She Has a Flat Tire.

              “Thank you, but it’s just been one of those days.  Well, months really.”

              “It could always be worse.”

Which is a statement that I cannot stand.  But I stopped, took a breath and thought, yes, I could be attempting to live in the Ukraine right now.  Gain some perspective.

Exactly what I needed to kick myself into gear.  I was in town, I had cell service, I needed a plan because I was not going to spend five nights out at Pine Bar with no cell service and no way to freshen Beagle’s tanks (impossible to tow with a spare tire on.)

I tried AAA but was on hold for too long.  I walked to a car repair shop and arranged for someone to come out Saturday morning and tow Beagle to the local RV park.  They offered to do it that night but I had had enough.  I just wanted to get back to Beagle, put everything back that was tossed and thrown around while digging out tools and an air compressor, deliver beer to the grandfather and grandson, and drink one myself.

Back at camp, D&K sought me out having heard of the flat from the grandfather.  They were aghast that I had to wait until Tuesday and suggested that we get back to cell range and try some tire stores in Lewiston.  I tried to tell them that no one ever stocks these tires but they would not hear of it.  Isn’t it worth a try?  They kept asking.  They had a point.  By then I had downed half a beer so I was up for just about anything.

And so we loaded into their truck and drove back into town.  No one in Lewiston could get the tires any faster than the local shop.  But D&K were not going to be thwarted from helping me.  They made me go back to the car shop and cancel the Beagle retrieval, stating that there was no way they would allow that to happen when they can easily hitch Beagle to their truck and tow me out.  Honestly, I argued and argued with them but I think D was getting mad.  So I let people help me once again. 

Actually, the laughter they provided along the drive with their sharp wit and funny stories helped me more than anything.

D arrived bright and early at 7:00 AM and we hitched Beagle to his Ram truck and drove the twenty-three miles to the RV park where just getting me level wasn’t enough for D; despite the freezing rain, he swapped out a piece of hardware on my rigging to make my life easier and put some bright tape on the nose of my hitch saying, “You won’t believe how much easier lining up will be with this marker.”

Finally, I convinced him to get back; I knew they wanted to head home this morning and he still had to go all the way back to camp and pick up K and their trailer.  He offered a hug which I readily accepted, tears welling up in my eyes again.

And so what now?  It has crossed my mind to just give up but if I start limiting my experience of Earth now, at age 56, imagine how narrow my life will be in ten years?  I’ve got at least four nights in mostly rain to think it through.  But I don’t see me giving up.  Even this spot has its charms:  The pitches are angled up a hillside with views across farmland into the mountains (when it’s not socked in with rain), a shower where they provide towels (!!!), individual soaps (!!!) and shampoos and a gracious hostess who, upon greeting me this morning (and knowing of my situation since yesterday), asked, “You are going through a rough patch, is there anything I can do for you?”

-K

Ida-Know

 

Wow, I really haven’t written since heading to the Oregon coast?  The truth of it is that there isn’t much of a story; after my delightful visit with friends in Oregon and a surprise treat of coffee and Danish the next morning with T&D, I high-tailed it back to the mountains.

And so you find me in Eagle, Idaho, at the Hi Valley RV Park, yes another RV park, but that seems to be the only way I have enough internet connection to actually post anything.  This is also an unexpected second stop in the Boise area and, wanting to be close to the city, there isn’t a lot from which to choose.

I took a leisurely drive from the Oregon coast to Boise, stopping in the delightful town of Sisters for one night and another night at Idlewild Campground in Burns, Oregon, where we woke to snow.  The forecast called for a "40% chance of rain" at 8:00 AM and, since it was snowing at 7:30, I decided to make a hasty retreat before the "100% chance of rain" hit at noon.  And so we were snowed out of the mountains yet again.

I was beginning to wonder if I would ever feel warm outside; I was quite sure that my Spring Fling started an entire month too early.

My first stop in Boise was a planned stay for five nights at a VRBO in the Harris Ranch neighborhood.   After three solid weeks in Beagle without even a hotel, it was a welcome treat.  Even more so with the fenced backyard so that when my bout of food poisoning hit me all I had to do was crawl to the sliding glass doors and let out the dogs.  Yes, it was bad.  I was extremely grateful to be in a house (and a delightful one at that!) rather than in the Beagle.

Having lost a few days to sickness, I extended my stay two nights so had an entire week to get to know the neighborhood (fell in love) and more of Boise (still think it’s the best next stop for me.)

Despite the snowy weather still approaching the mountains, I was looking forward to being back in the Ketchum/Sawtooth National Recreation Area part of the world.  So we set off on a Thursday morning in the freezing weather, thinking I was well covered with both a Plan A (a campground just outside of Ketchum) and a Plan B (a disbursed camping area on the other side of Ketchum.)

This brings us to lesson # Whatever:  Shoulder season camping requires a lot of research into what is open and, even if your research reveals that it is, you cannot count on it, so best to leave yourself lots of time because maybe, just maybe, neither Plan A nor Plan B will work.

And so it was.  The charming looking Boundary Campground, despite the Forest Service website listing it as “open” was in fact closed until the Friday before Memorial Day.  Plan B’s disbursed sites flat out gave me the creeps:  They were deep up a canyon along a small river, with lots of trees, no cell service, and muddy snow everywhere.  I turned around.

Time for Plan C:  I remembered the Sawtooth National Recreation Area, a place I had camped at last year, and figured it would be open year-round for snowmobiling and snow-shoeing, and, if it wasn’t, I planned on camping in the Ranger Station parking lot for the night.

But it was open and I nailed a gorgeous site alone in a field with the creek about twenty yards away and a view of snow-capped mountains out the front and back window of Beagle.  Add in the fact that it is the only spot in the NRA with some amount of Verizon service (as verified by the Ranger) and that camping is free this time of year, it was a camper’s heaven.

(Yep, that's Beagle & Wurzig in the distance!)

I had hoped the weather would hold out long enough for me to stay four nights but, alas, the snow she did come again.  And I was just darn tired of being outside in the cold.  On Day 2, when the altitude began to make me nauseous, and the weather reports in all the mountain towns I had hoped to visit showed well-below freezing nights and snow/rain during the day, I did a hasty retreat back to Boise.

Having been thrown off my schedule innumerable times now, I just need the world to hold still for a few days so I have five nights here.  It’s a lovely park in the Eagle area of Boise, lots of walking trails, a dog run for the noses and I have a nice, wide spot with very quiet neighbors.  Plus a pool and jacuzzi; if it ever gets above 50, I might take the plunge.

So now when people ask me where the next stop is, I just reply, “I dunno.”  I can tell you this, my next reservation is May 17^th at Farragut State Park in northern Idaho and after that every night is booked until June 26^th at which point I need to high-tail it back home.

Hopefully there will be some good stories between now and then because this one was a real snooze-fest!  But thanks for reading anyway.  :-)

-K

Where the Warm Wind Blows

 

Greetings from Casey’s Riverside RV Park in stunningly gorgeous Westfir, Oregon.  A planned one-night stop for laundry turned into a two night stop for fun. 

Lessons learned so far:

1)  You probably aren’t going to be able to hike above the tree line if people are still skiing in the resorts.  (Hello?  Why is this a lesson?  What was I thinking?)

2)  Partial shade and partial sun and nights below freezing are the trifecta of conditions leading to your batteries only lasting three nights in one place.  (And yes, I could have just plugged Beagle into Wurzig and run the engine but that would be dangerously close to using a generator—something I cannot stand to hear in a campground.)

3)  Cell service matters greatly in the shoulder season:  Between road conditions and needing to find alternate places to stay, having access to the internet is vital.

Now back to the regular program.

Here’s the thing about me and Wind:  I can’t stand it.  Well, most of it; I do enjoy a warm, caressing island breeze particularly at night, nothing better than that, but for the most part the rest of Earth’s breath I would rather not feel.  So, despite being all alone next to Eagle Lake in Northern California, 

where I should have been living the camper’s dream, the wind had me trying to scamper away as quickly as possible.  But not without leaving a lasting impression.

I have rituals while camping that keep me sane and, more importantly, breathing easily which is hard to do when you are allergic to dust and your little white dog who sheds like nobody’s business:  Every morning I shake out the bedding and hang it on the door while I vacuum out Beagle and the dog beds. 

My morning at Eagle Lake was no different; I had the back door open on Beagle and upon the front door hung my down comforter.  But not for long:  The wind, which had been a constant cold companion for twelve hours, burst into hyper mode and Swoosh!  Away flew my comforter!  And Swoosh!  The wind whipped right through Beagle’s two doors, pulling River’s bed out the back. 

Yep, all into the dirt.

This was the first time I thought that I might need a spa appointment.  

The second time was when I had learned from the Ranger’s office that I would not be able to reach my campground in the Three Sisters Wilderness due to snow closures.

The third was the morning I made the appointment.

I found the lady via the Yonka website, a brand of cleansers and lotions that I have been using for over twenty years, she was practicing in Bend—where I was headed instead of Cougar Crossing.  I thought if nothing else, I could stock up on supplies but booked an appointment for a full facial.  It was raining and cold and I needed a treat.

And here’s the thing about me and Facials:  I rarely let anyone give me one except for Ollga in Seattle.  I have tried other places and have been disappointed.  But I knew I was in for a treat when I was led into the warm, inviting therapy room, asked to put on a terry cloth wrap (engineered to leave your shoulders and chest bare so they can massage them while the masks are working their magic on your face) and climb into the heated bed.

Ahh. 

A little small talk ensued to get us both comfortable, I quickly discovered that, despite looking like a city lady, she was as much of a camper as myself.

              “Where have you camped so far?” she asked.

              “Bass Lake, Lopez Lake, Reno for laundry and repairs, Eagle Lake.  I was supposed to camp at Scott Creek but when my navigation system suggested a turn onto a dirt road for six miles with a snow storm moving it, I headed down to La Pine State Park instead—which I found wonderful.”

              “La Pine is great but you have to watch out for cougars.”

This actually made me laugh out loud—not an easy thing when someone is massaging your face.

     “Opus and I enjoyed a six-mile hike there during which I actually said to myself, ‘It’s so nice not to have to worry about cougars.’”

After that not much was said.  I enjoyed the feeling of potions being applied to my skin, listening to the expensive jars of face cream being opened and closed and then…then…could it be?  The boiling hiss of the warm mist machine!  First introduced to me by Ollga, it is a device that heats up water (scented with Yonka’s spray lotion, of course) and then puffs it across your face much like a warm, caressing island breeze.  I was a million miles away walking along a beach, my feet in the sand and nothing but warmth surrounding me.

Then all too soon, it was over.  My skin was radiant; I felt like a new person.

The weather continued to be a challenge with only partially sunny skies and below freezing nights but Opus and I managed to get in one great hike, almost seven miles up Tumalo Creek.  The day was mostly sunny and we were both feeling so great that I let Opus run free--until I saw the cougar prints in the snow.

And here’s the thing about me and Fate:  If you believe in Fate life becomes very simple.  You see a cougar print and you think, “Well, if it is my fate to be mauled to death by a cougar, I can’t imagine a more scenic spot than this.”  It was indeed gorgeous.

With no electric sites available at Tumalo State Park, the partial sun and partial shade of my pitch not allowing for much solar generation, and Beagle’s batteries at 32%, it was time to hitch her up.  And if I was going to hitch her up, I was going to see something new.  So we left Bend a day early and headed south.

What?

Yes, it felt very odd on my Northwest Tour to be heading south, but I still wanted to visit Westfir, the town just below my original camping spot of Cougar Crossing (the name of which, by now, was taking on a whole new meaning.)  So 97 South to 58 West and what a gorgeous drive that is!  Definitely an area that will need further exploration.  Odell Lake, Waldo Lake, high mountain passes, rushing rivers below and plenty of Snow Parks to pull into and take some time to enjoy it all.  I cannot wait to return in the Fall.

Today Opus and hiked up into the snow again, it’s our last mountain adventure until we reach either the Sawtooth Range in Idaho or the Wind River Range in Wyoming.  So we soaked it all in.

Hard to believe tomorrow we will be at sea level--and enjoying some of the most beautiful coastline imaginable.  Oregon is one magical place.

-K

Why You Should Always Put on Sunscreen

 

There was no use in putting on sunscreen this morning, I was packing up in the rain and heading toward more.  Normally I wear it every day but given my travel plans I figured I’d let my skin breathe a bit.

Five minutes later, with Beagle in tow, I was at the Valero station on the corner putting air in Wurzig’s left rear tire.  We had driven about one-hundred yards when the tire pressure monitoring system warned me, in no uncertain terms, that the tire was at 15 PSI.  That is so far from 44 PSI I thought the system was failing. 

But it wasn’t. 

While filling the tire I saw the culprit:  A nice shiny nail embedded in the tread.  The tire seemed to be holding air so my first thought was to get Beagle somewhere safe.  We drove the one-hundred yards back to the River West RV Park, asked for another night and were given that plus directions to a “nice guy at the 76 station” who repairs tires.

With Beagle unhitched and the tire still holding enough air, I cancelled my previous navigation to Starbucks and replaced it with directions to the 76 station.  A young fellow gave Wurzig a long look and me a short one before looking at the tire, and said,

“Sorry, but this is one we cannot fix.  You will need a new tire.  Would you like me to print out an estimate?” 

“Sure”, I said, and “My god”, I thought, “Here we go again with Porsche tires, you need one you need four.”

He provided three estimates, two in a brand that Porsche would never recommend, the third coming in at over $2,000, I'm going to give him the benefit of the doubt and say that was for four tires.  But still, it was time for a second opinion.

I called The Reno Tire Pros, a name that inspired confidence, and they asked me to come on down so they could see it.  By now I was really missing my second cup of coffee so I took a minute for myself and drove through Starbucks.  Sitting in the line, I looked at the person behind me and thought, “She might be having an even more difficult morning than me”, so when I reached the window, I bought her order too.  Random acts of kindness.

Over at The Reno Tire Pros, they were quite sure they could fix the tire but mentioned it might take an hour or two as they had other appointments ahead of me.  Completely understandable, I was just thrilled they could see me the same day.  They welcomed me into the waiting room, Noses and all, and we settled in.

Fifteen minutes later, Wurzig was back out front all fixed and ready to go.  Random acts of kindness.

Now, technically, I could have still hitched up Beagle and easily made it to Eagle Lake as planned.  But I had really had enough—too much stress and not enough exercise so I decided to hit a local trail.  What a great decision that was!  Six miles of crunching dirt, open valleys, wet pine trees, and the best trail dog ever:  At one point, we had to walk along a fallen tree to cross a river so I unleashed Opus and climbed up.  He struggled to find a way up but eventually made it, passed right by me, crossed the river like an Olympic gymnast on the balance beam, hopped down on the other side, turned around and waited for me.

It was a fantastic hike, a mere fifteen minutes away from downtown Reno.  During the hike we had sunshine, rain, sleet, snow flurries and more sunshine.  And, of course, me without sunscreen.

-K