The Final Zig

 

I landed at my condo in Queen Creek, Arizona, a week ago and still no good story of the final zig has emerged.  And yet, I don’t feel like I can just leave off without a last update.

So a quick one. During the final portion (from the beaches of California out here to Arizona) I made three really good decisions:  A little hotel vacation; avoiding a night with twenty-four men; and, knowing when it was time to call an end to a driving day.  But first, another gorgeous picture of the Laguna Beach Area:

Tired of the 90+ degree temperatures while camping at Crystal Cove State Park, Opus and I checked into The (heavenly) Montage for two nights so we could stare at the ocean and sit in A/C.  Well, I sat and stared, Opus had a different idea:

As you know, Beagle has A/C, and my pitch included electricity but there is only so much sitting in an aluminum tube I can take.  The hotel room (gorgeous) gave us room to be further than six feet from each other for the first time in seven weeks.  There was a high surf warning so swimming in the ocean was out for me, but we woke before dawn each day and I let Opus run free on the beach before the crowds and burning sun appeared.

We left for Arizona a day early; after that gorgeous hotel not even Beagle felt that good (it was still over 90) and headed East. This was our pitch at Crystal Cove--always a delightful stop:

I pulled into Joshua Tree National Park for my stopover night and pulled right out again.  Across from my pitch were about two dozen men sitting around shooting the shit and it just didn’t feel right.  I have camped there before with no issue, but with no cell service and the thought of listening to men crack open the silence of the desert all night, I just kept driving.  It was early afternoon.

Unfortunately, back on I-10, there was an accident and both lanes were at a dead stop for over an hour.  (It appeared to be a single vehicle accident, a moving van had flipped over and busted open, who knows why, and someone’s precious belongings were spewed across the lanes and median.  Quite a sad sight.)

So now it wasn’t so early.  Right at the border I looked to my right and saw an RV park with lots of green grass nestled next to the Colorado River.  My third good decision.  The old Kit would have just pressed right on through to the condo, arriving past dark, needing to unload everything from Beagle in order to shower or sleep, and been miserable.  (Although she would have enjoyed some Taco Bell along the way.)

But the more careful Kit, mindful of my head issues, pulled off the freeway and into the Cove RV Park, walked Opus by the river, opened a can of Amy’s, took a shower and curled up into bed.

I do like to know when I am on my last night in Beagle; there is something special about that time, knowing it’s going to be over the next day (at least for a few months.)

And so we are here for the winter with a few little camping trips here and there (maybe.)  I jumped right into tennis, lap swimming, fitness classes, and pickleball and, true to my desire to try new things, water volleyball which, although a total blast, did take a little adjustment time:  When you are a tennis player playing doubles and the ball goes over your head, you don’t watch the ball, you know your partner is going to get it and you focus on your opponents to see who will hit it next.  If you do this in water volleyball, as I (very slowly) learned, the ball passes over your head but gets returned to you so you can put it away at the net.  Not watching the ball causes it to smack you in the back of the head.

This happened twice in the first ten minutes, after that my teammates said, “Kit watch the ball!” every time it came to our side.

-K

Sleeping to the Sound of the Sea

 

My alternate title was, “After the Invasion” but who wants to relive that episode?  Certainly not me. 

Greetings from Crystal Cove State Park, an absolute gem in the (hit and miss) California State Park Campgrounds.   My first time camping here was in Salt, with Alan, Rosco and River, on the night we moved out of our “Movie Star” house in Laguna Beach and into our 19’ Airstream (2011).  The park had just opened and we were too exhausted from that incredibly busy day (weeks, really) to appreciate the view.  Having stayed here numerous times since, I have made up for it with countless hours of staring.

But let’s talk about my hasty leave-taking from Morro Bay State Park:  I had planned to stay there a full week but my last three nights were to be in the middle of that tent-filled encampment so there was no way that was going to happen.  Despite the exorbitant cost, I booked three nights at Flying Flags Avila Beach, a place I have stayed at many times to varying degrees of enjoyment—but I was desperate.

I found myself thinking, on the very short drive between the two, that I do recall times when camping at Morro Bay State Beach was not fun—for the same reasons as this time.  So why was I so unhappy and desperate to leave?  And this is the problem with living alone (might be the only one as far as I can see):  You lose the ability to adapt.  Because you never have to compromise or do something that you might not want to do, you forget how to adjust your mind, how to look for the good in something even if it is driving you crazy.

So it was attitude adjustment time.  

The weather continued to be warm and the beaches filled, so I knew that it was likely to be crowded at Flying Flags as well; I was just hoping that the pricing would keep a little class around and maybe I wouldn’t be treated to a parade of people in their flannel pajamas and slippers heading to the bathrooms each morning.  But above that, I concentrated on the fact that families were out having fun and kids were outside and not attached to an electronic device.  These are important things.  Valuable things.  I pledged to make the most of it.

And what did I get?  Two nights of absolute heaven:  Parked in the dry camping area with no one next to me, Beagle’s back door open to the sea, Opus and I sitting outside Beagle in the warm breeze just staring at the boats in the harbor, the porpoise, seals and otters.

Those few days were filled with long morning walks (of course), a quick stop at Kracken Coffee for a bacon date scone (holy lord almighty), pickleball or paddling, reading, swimming in the ocean, and falling asleep to the sound of waves crashing on the shore.  (A particular benefit of this RV park is that you can walk to Mersea’s at the end of the fishing pier and grab a Crab Louie Salad (twice) or grilled fish over steamed vegetables and rice (once).)  Ya, I haven’t opened a can of soup for days.

Trying to force myself into new experiences (to help me become more adaptable), I decided to launch my paddle board from the beach.  Usually I launch my board from a marina or dock where there are no waves breaking.  But I challenged myself and launched from the beach, pushing my board over the breaking waves and hopping on—I felt like a surfer! 

And what a treat it was to paddle in the ocean!  After the calm of Puget Sound and Morro Bay, to be on a board with the energy of the waves beneath you, out beyond the break, floating over the large swells—it was delightful!  Fortunately, it was cool enough to leave Opus in the Beagle—I didn’t want him out there in the waves and with the many, rowdy and loud seals.

Riding the waves back into shore I managed to hop off without a problem, dragging my board up to the dry sand and returning for a nice swim.   I lived in the area for three years and never swam in the ocean; it was always too cold.  But with El Nino, the water is warm enough for a good long swim.  (It helps to come out and lay on your hot paddleboard which has been soaking up the sun.)

My third night there a giant A-Class Bus Like Thing parked next to me—his slide outs actually touched my picnic table—so I was happy to leave.

I stopped for two nights in Santa Barbara but not at the Ant Farm.  I landed a spot at El Capitan State Park, another of my oldies but goodies, and it did not disappoint.  With my new attitude toward the (is that screaming or just laughter?) loud children and packed campground, I was happy.  My first spot was nestled in the eucalyptus trees with no one next to me, and the second night I moved up to #124; a spot I found years ago, way at the end of the campground.  There are only four spots back there and they are parallel to the ocean.  I parked so Beagle's front door opened to the sea.

And so here I am on the first night of my last week in California, happily ensconced in an end unit where Beagle’s door opens to a lovely view of the canyon and her back door opens to the ocean.  Seven more nights of sleeping to the sound of the sea.

-K

 

The Day I Didn't Love Camping

 

Greetings from Morro Bay State Park which, like my previous spot at Sun Outdoors Santa Barbara (which is actually in Goleta), used to be one of my favorite camping stops. 

Let’s go back a couple of nights:  I had a restless sleep, waking often thinking that something was crawling on me.  Finally, at 5 AM, I decided to just get up.  I turned on the light to make some coffee and there were ants everywhere.  And I mean EVERYWHERE:  Crawling up the walls, in my sink, inside my tea kettle, it was like a horror movie. 

I immediately began wetting paper towels and wreaking havoc on their lines.  Then I realized Lysol wipes would be better so began pulling them out and swiping as fast as I could.  Soon I was overtaking them and, after about an hour, I was down to seeing only a couple here and there.

That’s when I aired out my bed and discovered ten dead ants in my bed.  Turns out I was right about things crawling on me.  I was so disgusted I almost gagged.

Already disappointed with this stop which has gone from a quiet, elegant (rare in an RV park) stop to a zoo in the last year, I figured out where I could buy some ant bait and packed up Beagle as fast as I could.  That’s when I saw the trail:  From under a bush up my stabilizer and into Beagle; an ant superhighway.  I hosed it down and drove out of there as fast as I could.

Thirty minutes later I was placing the ant traps at strategic locations in Beagle; I had still only seen a couple here and there and figured the ant traps would gather them all in while I drove north.

At this point I decided I needed something fast to eat so I walked into a McDonalds where everyone was speaking Spanish, from the plentiful customers to the people taking the orders. 

This is my love/hate relationship with California.  For one, you can never get away from the sound of another human voice (although, I have to admit, blissfully, right now sitting in Beagle in the cool early morning I cannot hear another voice, ahh) and it is quickly turning into a Spanish speaking mini-country.  I remember living in Laguna Beach when a landscaper knocked on my door and, when I answered, began speaking in Spanish:

I replied, “I do not speak Spanish.”

With pity in his voice he said, “You do not speak Spanish but you live in California?”

I replied, “Parlez-vois Francais?”

That closed the conversation and my door.

But I digress…Having left Goleta so early, I was hours early for my check-in at Morro Bay State Park.  This is where having lived somewhere before comes in handy:  I knew just where to park Beagle so I could walk around the bay, enjoy the many otters, let Opus sniff out the squirrels and retire to Tognazini’s on the Dock for two delicious grilled shrimp tacos.

A delightful respite.

Time came to check in.  I drove through the campground to fill my fresh water tank and looked with growing dismay at the campsites:  It looked, and I’m not kidding, like a refugee camp.  Many pitches had multiple cars in them and every speck of dirt (and now it is all dirt owing to the drying out of California) was taken up with tents.  Laundry was strung between tent poles, Costco sized packages of paper towels were on every picnic table, I thought, “If my pitch is in the middle of this, I am leaving and driving directly to the nearest Four Seasons.”

And you know I would.

Fortunately, my good planning had paid off and I am in a pitch far at the end; I even have a couple of bushes around.

OK, it’s hot in California right now, unusually hot.  And I was hot unhitching Beagle, and disgusted with the state of the campground and all around just in a bad mood.  Then I opened Beagle’s door.

The bait traps were inundated with ants!  They were frantically racing around and coming out of every possible seam in Beagle’s floor and ceiling.

Back into the car, back to the hardware store, this time returning with a giant spray can of Terro Ant Killer. 

But I couldn’t just start spraying everything:  I didn’t want it on my clothes or dishes so first I emptied out Beagle:  Onto the dusty picnic table went all my bedding, my duffel of clothes, my towels and few food items.

Then I sprayed every inch of Beagle.  Inside the cupboards, under the bed, and along the ceiling.  Leashing up Opus, we went for a nice long walk as they all came out to die.

It took a few hours for Beagle to air out, then I washed everything down, lightly respraying along the seams because it says it lasts up to six weeks and washed and loaded everything back in.  All I can say is Ugh.

Thankfully that evening I got to spend a little time with my brother and family which did, in fact, make it all worthwhile.

I still have about two weeks left in California; I am ending it at one of my all-time favorite campgrounds of anywhere I have camped, Crystal Cove State Park, in Laguna Beach; I hope it remains an all-time favorite.

-K

PS:  The lead-in picture was taken in Goleta; yes, the waves are coming from both directions!  Opus and I discovered this delightful spot at the end of our wonderful beach tour day of Santa Barbara.  We walked onto the sandbar and enjoyed the water washing over our feet.  Well, one of us did.

PPS:  I haven’t seen an ant in two days!