10-11-09

My plan was to get to San Antonio, see The Alamo and head south to McAllen, my final destination. The Alamo opened at 10:00 on Sunday and I was about an hour away.
I’d been at the rest stop for a long time, so I decided to just make coffee and eat breakfast later, perhaps at the Alamo parking lot before I went in.
It was raining heavily as I got ready to roll. It continued to rain as I drove. It wasn’t difficult rain, just a thick mist of small drops.
I was glad to be going through San Antonio on a Sunday morning rather than on a busy weekday.
I was surprised at how big of a city San Antonio is and that The Alamo is tucked in right down town. I found the Alamo, but there was no place to park. The don’t have parking, not even for cars much less a motorhome with a trailer. It reminded me of Metrodome parking in Minneapolis where small businesses have signs, “Parking $8”. Most of them had signs specifically saying, “No Bus, or RV Parking”. Not that they were jerks, or anything, the lots really were too small.
I drove round and round up and down the old, narrow one-way streets in vain, unable to find anything even closely big enough for me to park in. I was about to give up and head south when I found a hotel parking lot that had some wide open areas. There were signs all over telling me that I couldn’t park there. One of the great side-effects of breaking down in South Dakota and getting towed was that I know how long it took to get my motorhome ready to tow and how big of a machine it took to do it. Bob, the tow truck driver worked quickly and efficiently and it took him an hour and a half to two hours to get it all ready. I know I can leave my bus for an hour and it will still bet there when I get back. I parked, snuck out the side door and hoofed it to The Alamo. Again I was glad it was Sunday morning, or it never would have worked.
The Alamo’s architecture, gardens and history are a sight to behold. It is hallowed ground. I walked the 4 acre complex and then went inside. I took a picture and was immediately, yet politely told, “I’m sorry sir, no pictures”. I apologized and put my camera away. The Alamo is a shrine and I learned of its importance. After quickly soaking it in I was eager to get back to the bus before they found an industrial size boot for one of my wheels. It was safe and sound. No one had cared, or even noticed. I fired her up and headed south on 218 for the border.
I stopped at a picnic area for the long over due breakfast that I had intended to cook in the Alamo‘s parking area. When I fired up the generator it was slow to start and made a clanking sound. The display on the microwave was so faint I could barely read it. I’m older than I look, but still from the computer age. All I know is to re-boot. I turned the generator off and on. This time it made a loud bang as it came to life, but was running smoothly. Again the microwave display was faint. I went outside and opened up front of the bus where the generator is. It was very wet inside from driving through the rain all morning, “Maybe it‘s just wet” I thought. One of the battery connections was loose too, so I tightened it. When I went inside it was now working okay.
After breakfast I headed south and drove all afternoon. When I got to McAllen I found a Wal-Mart parking lot and pulled in to check it out. I’ve found all extremes of RV friendly Wal-Mart’s. The best sign is when there is a group of RVs set up for the night. There are literal signs too. Everything from signs welcoming you to signs telling you to leave. I wasn’t sure of this parking lot. There were no RVs, but no signs telling me I couldn‘t stay either. I parked and flagged down the security guard’s car that was headed in my direction anyway. I asked him, “Do you let RVs park here overnight?” He said three sentences to me in Spanish and shrugged his shoulders. I wasn’t sure if he meant yes, or no, so I asked again. He replied and again I couldn’t understand his words, but somehow this time I read his body language. My interpretation was that he said, “Yeah, sure, who cares, there’s plenty of room”. Relieved I went back to the bus and called it home.
I walked to Chilies near by and felt so relieved that I had made it to McAllen. I had the giggles for over an hour. I hadn’t realized that I was stressed on the road until I had actually made it. As I walked back from eating the birds in the trees and on the wires were so loud it almost hurt. I remembered reading that this was the bird watching capital of the US. It felt very welcoming.

10-06-09

The Grand Canyon was fairly busy even in October. People from all over the world were excited to be there and see firsthand what makes the canyon grand. It is indeed incomprehensibly large. Even standing there looking at it in person it’s hard to fathom just how vast of a distance it is.
A woman from Asia joked to me while watching here husband and sons lingering close to the edge, “Get grown men here and they run around like children, I thought I had two boys, I have three”.
I spent all morning and part of the afternoon hiking and simply gazing at Earth and all her splendor. I felt truly blessed just to be alive and to live and breathe.
I drove to Wupatki National Monument. Honestly I wasn’t sure at all what it was, but it was on my way and my National Park Pass would cover the entry fee.
It was a quiet desert prairie. There were a few travelers there, but it had a much more natural feel than the touristy Grand Canyon.
I pulled into the first sight, the Box Canyon Dwellings and read the information. Wupatki National Monument protects 800 year old dwellings of puebloan people. I walked the trail to the remains of two pueblos. I was amazed that these structures were still somewhat in tact after 800 years. There were information signs that told of the people’s lifestyle and what the area was like when they lived there. Much of it remains a mystery.
It would have been a difficult environment to survive in. Water is very scarce and so are a lot of things that rely on water, such as food and fire wood. The scenery is stunningly gorgeous. I imagined what it would have been like to grow up there. I think it would have been wonderful to grow and play and gather food, not knowing what lied over the horizon. What animals, what places and people were out there? I can see why people of the past so easily believed in eccentric Gods, spirits and magic. It was such a wonderful place. I stayed until the sun began to set. I’m so glad I stopped.
I got back in the bus and headed for Interstate 40 to take east. I slept at a really nice rest area west of Flagstaff.

10-05-09

I still wasn’t sure if I was allowed to drive the bus over Hoover Dam, but I headed there anyway. Even if I couldn’t drive over it I still wanted to check it out.
On the way signs said, “No Trucks, or Busses on Hoover Dam”. The internet said RVs were okay, but there is a big construction project going on, they’re building a bridge next to the dam. The internet information could be out dated.
When I got to the dam I found that I indeed would be able to drive across. I had to go through a security check point. They are looking for explosives. If someone were to detonate something on the dam it could be catastrophic. Busses with luggage are not allowed to cross, busses without luggage are. I enjoyed the inspection as I had nothing to hide. The officer did ask me, “What’s up with the toenails”. I gave him the standard, “a girl made me do it” response which seems to get me out of trouble. In Yosemite, Rattle Snake Jack told of when he had woken up with painted nails and make-up on from his granddaughters. Apparently my excuse was acceptable and my toenails posed no threat to national security.
The dam was packed with tourists, but everyone was excited and happy to be there. I drove across, then parked and walked back across to check it out on foot.
After Hoover Dam I hauled ass across Arizona. After several thousand miles of curves and hills, the long straight flat road was relaxing. I had the bus rolling at 80mph most of the time.
I got to the Grand Canyon as the sun was setting. I was very tired and opted to pay and stay at a commercial campground for the first time. It was $37, but I got electrical and water hook-ups and didn’t have to worry about being woken up in the middle of the night and asked to leave.
I hoped out of the bus, barefoot in shorts and a t-shirt. It was surprisingly cold. I checked my thermometer and it said 40. I was at about 6000’ elevation. The campground host said, “it’ll be getting’ down in the 20s tonight“. I plugged in the bus, turned on the furnace and walked to a touristy, western themed restaurant to get a pizza.
Eating alone can be depressing, especially when you’re surrounded by groups of people and couples laughing and sharing their travels. I had a faint cell signal, so I text some friends back home while I waited for my food. No one was returning my texts. Then my sister did. She was at a football party. I knew the Vikings were playing the Packers on Monday Night Football tomorrow…right? It was then that I realized that it was Monday, not Sunday like I had thought. No wonder no one from Minnesota was texting me back.

10-04-09

The desert windstorm rocked the bus all night. I slept like a baby being rocked in a crib.
I got up early to go see the sights before it got very hot. There was a light dusting of sand on the hard surfaces inside the bus from blowing through the windows.
I drove my Jeep to Zabriskie Point to watch the sunrise. When I got there there were already about 30 people with their cameras ready, travelers from all over the world. I didn’t hear one word of English for at least 15 minutes. When the sun rose the wind stopped. The valley and mountains were spectacular. People hustled about to get good shots. I crawled out on a ledge and sat for awhile. When I crawled back up a man in a green sweatshirt said, “I took a few photos of you out there”. I said, “Thanks, now I’m a star”. He told me how he liked to get people in his shots for perspective. I’d been doing my best to photograph nature without people in my shots, so I was intrigued by his idea.
I drove to Twenty Mule Team Canyon, a short one-way gravel road through a canyon. It was a little rough, but not too difficult. The only problem I had was when I climbed up a hill on foot to get a picture of my Jeep down below. I started to slip. The sand gave way and I almost couldn’t stop. It took awhile to brace myself. Before I got to Death Valley I would worry sometimes when making slightly risky maneuvers that I would be hurt without health insurance. In Death Valley I caught myself worrying that if I got hurt I’d be dead, because I’m alone and exposure would probably do me in before I was stumbled across.
I drove toward Dante’s View, about a 20 minute drive. There was a sign that read, “15% Grade Last ¼ Mile”. The steepest grade I’d been on was 10% crossing the Tetons from Wyoming to Idaho. That was in the bus, this was in the Jeep, so I wasn’t worried.
As I got close to Dante’s View my temperature gauge was climbing, even though it was still cool outside. Just before the last ¼ mile and 15% grade I overheated and had to stop. I lost some antifreeze, but stopped before I had a major malfunction. I waited. It cooled. I still had plenty of antifreeze so I continued up.
The view was awe inspiring, definitely worth the trip. I stood looking down at Badwater Basin 5000’ below. The valley was vast and hazy. The highway I planned to take later through Death Valley was barely visible, just a thin black stripe on the desert sand.
I walked down a short trail to a lookout point and saw the man in the green sweatshirt. I joked, “Do you want me to climb down there to give you some perspective?” I was surprised when he very seriously said, “Yes, that would be great”. He just wanted my out on a ledge again, not 5000‘ below. I climbed out and shot some pictures of my own. He was from Pittsburg, originally from the Netherlands. He was writing about California for a travel magazine. I never asked which one, but was excited to get a picture of my cowboy hat into real circulation.
When I drove back from Dante’s View I realized why my Jeep had overheated. The whole 20 minute drive was an ascent, even the parts that appeared flat were a climb. I didn’t touch my gas pedal for at least 5 miles.
I went back to the campsite. In the time I was gone almost everyone had left. No one wanted to stay during the day, it was too hot. I hitched my Jeep to the bus, dumped and filled my water tanks and headed south.
I stopped at Badwater, the lowest point in the USA, 282’ below sea level. I walked out onto the basin. It was white, flat and went for miles. There is a small pool of water. A long time ago a man couldn’t get his horse to drink there, so he called it “Badwater” and the name stuck. The water isn’t poisonous, but it is very salty. If you dig down less than a foot in the basin you’ll hit water. Ironic that such a dry place has water underneath.
A tour bus of Italians showed up. I talked to the bus driver for a few minutes. They were doing a loop San Francisco. Next he’d be bringing them up the Tioga Pass into Yosemite. I looked at his massive bus and chuckled, “good luck”.
The drive through the rest of Death Valley was long, quiet, and serene. Although it was flat, the road rolled up and down, left and right over the desert sand. There were a few other travels, but not many. I passed a few bicyclists and their support vans. I stopped to talk to one crew. They were from British Columbia on a 500 mile ride.
I safely made it through Death Valley and headed to Las Vegas to find a good parking lot, internet signal and food. Vegas traffic was pleasant on a Sunday afternoon. I stopped at a small casino, ate at the buffet and slept in the parking lot.
I was about 12 miles from Hoover Dam. Signs said, “No Trucks, or Busses on Hoover Dam”. I’d wanted to drive over it, so I needed to do a bit of research to see if motorhomes were allowed. Either way I would check it out the next day.

10-03-09

I awoke at 9,500’ to what sounded like light rain on the roof of the bus. When I opened the windshield curtains I saw a dusting of snow on the hood of my Jeep. I packed up and left early.
The sun was just coming up as I drove down the Tioga Pass, another beautiful, yet tedious mountain road. We descended in elevation quickly. By “we” I mean me and the bus. I’ve noticed myself talking to myself lately in the absence of companionship. I even caught myself talking to myself about how much I’m talking to myself recently. I don’t think I’m going mad, I’m just sharing my thoughts with whomever is available; me, the bus, trees, whatever. The Tioga Pass is treacherous, but not very long. Soon I was on Highway 395, a major highway headed south.
I stopped in Big Pine and took on a bunch of diesel fuel and dumped and filled my water tanks in preparation for Death Valley, plus I got breakfast at a local restaurant. While pulling into the lot I rocked the bus hard and heard glass fall and shatter in my cupboard. I had lost water glass 2 of 4. I’ve now lost all 4 of my wine glasses and 2 water glasses. Plastic is so tacky, but I’m starting to consider it’s benefits.
I continued south on 395 next to Kings Canyon and Sequoia National Parks. I stopped at a scenic vista, hopped out of the bus onto the ground and yelped out a shout. I’d landed on some nasty cockle burrs. I sat on my step and picked them out of my feet. I grabbed my flip flops and did a bit of exploring. The burrs were so nasty that they even stuck deep into the hard rubber soles of my flip flops.
Eventually I turned east on 136 which my map classifies as an “Other Road”. Other Roads are not hit or miss. They’re both; a hit with the scenery, a miss for easy driving. 136 is no exception. The views were unexpectedly spectacular as it wound up and down the mountains with steep cliffs and drop offs just feet from my wheels.
As I got close to Death Valley I was descending rapidly. Unlike the steep descents I was used to where I was forced to go slow due to the curves, this one was a straight shot and my speed easily would get out of control. With the engine brake off and my foot off of the brake peddle I’d watch my speedometer climb 5 mph in 3 seconds. I needed both the engine brake and air brakes to stay under control. “8% Grade, Next 8 Miles” the sign said.
I was almost down to sea level and it was blazing hot as I approached Death Valley. I heard a warning alarm come on that I was only used to hearing when I was improvising in the kitchen. It was one of my smoke detectors. “Are my brakes that hot?” I thought. There was a short place to pull off, so I pulled into it going too fast. I had to brake hard to stop before I ran out of room. I jumped out of the bus and my right rear wheels were bellowing smoke. I wasn’t sure if my brakes were on fire, or if they were just extremely hot. I wanted to call Nolan or Terry from truck driving school for emergency guidance, but I was far from any cell towers. I thought about pouring water on my brake shoes, but was worried they’d warp, or shatter. I made a mental note of where my four fire extinguishers were just in case. I waited and the smoke kept rolling. Eventually it slowed. I waited a long time to be safe, and then continued my decent at about 35 mph with the engine brake on the whole way. Soon I leveled off at sea level.
When I entered Death Valley National Park I officially got my moneys worth out of the $80 Annual Park Pass that I had purchased at the Badlands in South Dakota. I had now gotten $98 dollars worth of national parks out of it.
I stopped near some dunes where tourists from all over the globe were taking pictures. I hiked around for awhile in the sweltering heat. A vague trail lead to sand dunes in the distance. It was only about a 10 or 15 minute walk, but I understood now the name Death Valley. I considered that if I were to fall walking down a steep dune, injure myself and couldn’t walk, I’d be dead. I looked at the mountain horizon way off in the distance in all directions. Even in the best of shape I could never make it that far in the heat. Even if I could there was nothing on the other side except miles and miles of sand and heat. I went to my home, parked on the side of the road and had a glass of water in glass 3 of 4.
I drove to Furnace Creek Campground to settle in for the night. There were two campgrounds in the area that were still closed, but would be opening in a few days to start the season. Funny that I just left Yosemite where the campgrounds were closing in a few days to end the season.
I’d started the day at 9,500’ in snow and ended it at negative 196’ in the heat of a desert sand storm. Flying sand stung my eyes. I squinted hard to see Death Valley’s sunset, like fire burning in the sky above the mountains.

10-01-09

I got up early to leave before the businesses opened in the industrial park and to get out of Sacramento before rush hour. Traffic was bustling already by 7:00. I got through Sacramento, headed south for awhile then left Interstate 5 and headed east on highway 4 toward Yosemite National Park.
Immediately the scenery went from busy urban traffic to quiet orchards, then long flat ranch cattle country. Excellent for driving, but I had hoped to find a big breakfast somewhere.
As I continued east the sun rose in the sky. The flat landscape began to roll. I was climbing in elevation into the Sierra Nevada Mountain Range. The road grew curvy and hilly with narrow switchbacks and one-lane road construction like I had been on so many times in the past. It was a pleasant drive. Traffic was light, the bus felt great with clean oil and filters…and I could see.
Eventually I stumbled upon a little restaurant serving breakfast in Big Oak Flat. As I waited for my food I overheard two women talking about horses. Other than an old lady sitting in the corner we were the only customers. The whole time I was there their topic stayed on horses. For awhile they talked about mules, “A mule is a mule” one woman said as if it were well known common sense. My breakfast was excellent. They didn’t take credit cards, so I went out to the bus to get some cash.
As I drove I continued to climb. The trees thickened and it grew more mountainous. I used my annual National Parks Pass at the Yosemite gate. I drove into the park awhile, found a place to park and checked out the Yosemite Travel Guide that the park ranger gave me at the gate.
Much of the park would be closing for winter in a few days. Some things were shut down, or shutting down already. I plotted a scenic course through the park and started to drive. There were still a lot of park goers, but it was by no means crowded. While waiting in a lineup of cars stopped for one lane road work an emergency vehicle went by with it’s lights and sirens on. There had been an accident up ahead and we proceeded to wait for quite awhile. It was a beautiful spot to be stuck. People got out of their cars and chatted. The couple behind me was from Italy. Behind them were two bikers from California headed to Los Vegas. One unpacked his folding chair and teased his friend for deciding to leave his chair at home. They were fun and we joked around for a long time. After about an hour, traffic started moving. I knew there had been injuries because several ambulances had gone by and I had overheard on a ranger’s radio, “A girl was coming down the mountain to get a phone signal to call the parents of her friends that were hurt.” I saw the girl standing on the side of the road talking on the phone. She looked to be about college age. It put a face to the situation and I felt a sinking feeling in my gut and sad for them. The crash was impressive. The car had gone off of the road and directly into a tree. At first I thought, “What bad luck, they went directly into a tree”. Then I realized that no matter where you left the road you would hit a tree, there would be no way to avoid it.
I spent some time at Olmsted Point, a scenic overlook of a vast valley with tall mountains towering above it. In the distance people could be seen with strong binoculars climbing on Half Dome. There are cables to hang onto. It’s a treacherous climb. People have fallen to their death. Many trailhead signs throughout the park warn that people are killed each year. I opted for the .2 mile trail and headed out. My bare feet stuck to the granite like a surefooted mountain goat. I spent some time mingling with two young women who I had shared binoculars with at the scenic overlook. We wandered around taking pictures and looking for a lake that was supposed to be somewhere down below. None of us had taken the time to read all of the information on the plaques at the beginning of the trail.
Time flew by and soon it was late afternoon. I needed to figure out where I was staying before dark. I still had headlight problems. The campground that I planned on staying at had closed 2 days before. I found one campground that was open. Except for the host it was empty, but the spaces were all too small for my rig. Close by was another camp site that I could easily fit into. There were only two other campers there and the host. Jim was a nice older man from Washington. He had been there since May and would be leaving in 3 days when the campground closed. He checked me in and went to go take his sun shower. The sun had warmed his water well that day. It was a sunny and about 70 degrees. He told me, “Once the sun goes down it’ll get cold really fast. Last night it got down to 22 degrees. Tonight it’ll be that cold again if not in the teens. I’d never been in the bus when the temperature was below freezing, but I was confidant in my heater, besides, the real campers were sleeping in tents.
The park was at over 9,500 feet elevation. I dealt with swelling food packages and hissing shampoo bottles. The Tupperware lid on my taco meat had completely blown off in the refrigerator and was lying next to it.
Jim was right, it was already getting cold. I bundled up and headed for the historic Tioga Pass Resort
That I had seen back out on the main road. I could see it from my campsite and opted to try to cut through the brush by foot and find a way over the small stream to get there. It took a few minutes, but I finally wandered in from the back side of the camp.
There was a small lodge, restaurant and a cozy lobby, warm and smoky from a wood burning stove. A pretty young woman sat behind a desk smiling with not much to do. The resort was shutting down in 3 days and it was fairly empty. I was hoping to get a bottle of wine to enjoy my evening back at my beautiful campsite. I had two choices; a cheap bottle of chardonnay, or a $20 bottle of pinot noir. I’m a red wine guy and love pinot, so the choice was easy. I asked about the menu. They’d be serving dinner later in the evening, so I said I’d probably be back. As I bushwhacked my way back to the bus with my bottle of wine I considered it funny that I’d paid $14 for a place to stay and $20 for a bottle of wine. “If not now, when?” I thought, which has become a motto of mine of late. This was the first time I’d paid for a place to stay since I left Minnesota months ago and it was worth it. I hadn’t had any alcohol for several weeks and figured it was okay tonight to celebrate the beauty I was surrounded by.
Later I walked back to the Tioga Pass Resort and had the TPR burger. The resort was a bit busier and the conversation was great. Half of the patrons were from other countries as I’m finding to be the norm in national parks. The couple behind me was from the area and was celebrating. They like to “come up here the pie“. They teased me when I turned down my desert offer. I didn’t explain to them that sometimes unemployed guys have to forego pie. I talked with them for awhile, and then went home.
I was completely off of the grid, no phone, no internet, no connection with the outside world. It was good. I still need practice being detached and not lonely. I enjoyed my wine, read my Yosemite Guide news paper cover to cover, turned on my furnace, bundled up and went to bed.

09-29-09

I accepted the position with Americorp Vista in the southern tip of Texas on the Rio Grand, the Mexican border. I want to see Yosemite, Death Valley and the Grand Canyon on my way so I’m headed out with more than two weeks to get to McAllen, Texas.
I left Port Orford on a cold, rainy morning. It had been a great stay. I’d been there for almost 2 months. It was an amazing summer. Corey was very nice to let me stay. Not many people would have gone out of their way like he did for me. I’ll miss him and all of the wonderful people and sights on the southern Oregon coast.
I drove south on the 101 into California. My fruit and fire wood was inspected at the border. The apples that Jutta picked in Port Orford passed even though they were not store bought and my firewood passed too. Apparently Montana is not on the list.
I looked for a place to stay in the Redwood Forest. One state park campground was closed and another was full so I just kept traveling. My lack of trip planning seems to get me further down the road as I’m never quite sure where to stop.
I had fish and chips in Klamath California and kept rolling. I turned east on highway 299. It looked as though it would be a straight shot to Redding California and Interstate 5 which I could take south to Sacramento.
Ever since Red Lodge, Montana I had been on curvy, hilly, treacherous roads. I was looking forward to driving flat and straight for awhile, not to mention averaging over 50 mph.
Highway 299 is not straight, nor is it flat. It does confirm my theory that the more difficult the journey the more spectacular the view. Highway 299 is beautiful. It goes up and over the Salmon Mountains, through Shasta-Trinity National Forest. Trinity Forest, Trinity Lake, Trinity River, everywhere I looked I was reminded of my good friend.
Miles ticked by slowly as the road switched-back through the mountains. Road construction slowed things down too. I felt far from anywhere, so I listened to my Lake Wobegon pod casts to feel close to Minnesota. I was a bit frustrated until I saw the best rainbow I’d ever seen. I stopped on a pull-out to get a picture. A young couple also stopped. I talked to Bradley while his girlfriend took pictures. They were from Boston and too were wandering. We agreed that without wandering we never would have stumbled across such an amazing rainbow. After we left we wound up leapfrogging down the highway honking as we’d pass each other. Thanks to Garrison Keillor, Bradley and the rainbow I now felt great and thoroughly enjoyed the drive.
As it got dark I turned on my headlights. I was a bit worried because when I was bringing the bus home from Florida the summer before, the headlights cut out a few times. I’d traveled during the day and hadn’t needed them at all since leaving Minnesota and wondered if they would work. They were very dim. So dim that several people flashed their lights at me. As is grew darker it was harder to see, then the lights went out completely. I was sandwiched between a rocky cliff and a drop-off with nowhere to pull off and unable to see the road. I turned the lights off and on and flipped them from low to high beam frantically in vein to try to get something to happen. The lights flickered on and off randomly. They didn’t seem to be doing it because of my actions. I came to a safe place to stop and eventually the lights stayed on so I proceeded. This scenario repeated itself over and over. I looked for a place to stay, but the best option was to try to push through to Redding.
It was very dark between the tall pine trees. I was afraid to go too fast in case the lights went out again. I know to not “over drive your headlights”, but now I was trying to not “over drive my NO lights”. Traffic would stack up behind me and I’d find a place to pull off and let them around. Even when the lights were on they were very dim. I tried driving with my high beams on, which were almost as bright as regular low beams. This seemed to make the lights shut off more often so I opted to keep the lights on low.
I can’t be certain, but it seemed like these were the tightest mountain curves I’d been on yet. It may have just been due to the circumstance, but there is no doubt that this was the most difficult driving I’d been through in the bus. I often wondered if I would seriously be plummeting to my death that day.
Patiently, cautiously I kept plugging along. Redding, just 60 more miles, 48 miles, 35 miles, 27 miles, 16 miles, 10 miles, it took forever. At the 3 mile sign I saw the bright lights of Redding. The road flattened and straightened and soon I was on lighted streets. I still had a mechanical problem, but figured I was no longer in a potential life threatening scenario.
I got on Interstate 5 heading south. I stopped to let my sweat dry and my nerves settle. I looked up the Redding Wal-Mart on my laptop and found that it didn’t allow overnight parking. The interstate was flat, straight, lit and had no on-coming traffic, so I headed south looking for a place to stay for the night. I pulled into a rest stop. The sign said, “No Overnight Parking”, but there were many trucks and a few motorhomes. I investigated a bit more. The official rules said that you can stay there for 8 out of 24 hours, so I decided to stay.
Rest stops are not supposed to be very safe places to sleep, but I felt safe tucked inbetween the semis. I was thankful to have had my trucker training and felt right at home. The diesel engines that kept me up previously on my journey now comforted me. Their gentle rumbling was like a lullaby which quickly sang me to sleep.

09-25-09

I started using my Rosetta Stone Spanish computer program. I’d had it for awhile but hadn’t gotten around to using it. With the possibility of moving to the Mexican border I’m eager to start learning the language. I also have a Spanish pod-cast to use.
After Spanish Class I went for a bike ride down the coast. My plan; go 10 miles and turn around to make a 20 mile round trip ride. I cranked out 10 miles. It was hot and I was sweaty, but I felt like I had just started, so I upped the trip to 30 miles by going another 5 before turning around.
I passed two long-distance riders. Not that I’m faster, they’re laden down with a load and have to ride a lot farther than me. I passed a hitch hiker and another bike rider. The Pacific Coast Highway is a long distance bicyclist Mecca and there is a constant stream of hitchhikers too.
I stopped for a break at the Prehistoric Gardens, a place I remember being at as a child and a young man. The two riders I’d passed caught up to me. I took advantage of the opportunity to ask them all sorts of logistical curiosities. They were riding from Washington to San Diego, not sure when they’ll get there, riding about 50 miles a day and sleeping in state parks for $4.
At the 13 mile mark I came across the entrance to the trail that Corey and I had driven my Jeep down on Wednesday. I rode over to it and kept riding up until I couldn’t pedal. I was halfway up. It only made sense to me to keep going. I would be able to ride my bike down an old detached part of the original Pacific Coast Highway, but I would be committed to riding even further.
The curvy mountain grade was not only worth it, it was one of the best bike rides I’d had.
I was at 17 miles when I got back on the main 101 and headed back north.
It was a long hall. There are two different hills that are each a mile long and a bunch of smaller hills in-between. As I got closer I knew the hills and was able to manage my energy better. I had to ration out my water. I didn’t plan on going that far, nor did I plan on the heat.
I live right on mile marker 301. It makes it easy to know exactly how far home is. Sometimes I call out, “5 more miles!” It was a 33.5 mile trip. I make sure to count the half mile…that was the hardest part.

09-18-09

I was at the RV park, scraping dried dog crap out of the tread of my shoe when a man with a clip board and name tag came out of nowhere. “I’m the health inspector” he said. I was freaked out by the idea of a health inspection of the park having spent time cleaning and working on the trailers. They were a lot better now, but still probably not totally up to speed. “Do you know where the manager is?” he asked. I knew Corey was home, we we’re going on a bike ride. I pointed him in the right direction. As he walked away I felt like I had made a horrible mistake. I could have said the manager was gone or something to buy time. I threw my shitty shoe on the ground, ran inside, dove for my phone and called Corey. “Pick up, pick up!” I shouted. It only takes seconds to walk to his place. He picked up. I frantically warned him. He was very calm and not worried at all. I guess I was freaking out for no reason. Corey came out and talked to the inspector for awhile. I rode around the neighborhood waiting to go for our ride while they talked. I rode close up to the mural on the wall of the Savoy Theatre. I rode to the other side of the block and ate black berries.
When Corey was done we went for a ride. The inspector only had two small concerns; the sewer hoses and that lime be put on every sewer spill. He noticed that the place looked better since Corey took over.
We rode to Paradise Point Beach and hung out for awhile. Corey jumped off of a cliff.

08-29-09

I had been in Port Orford for 3 weeks and was feeling right at home.
Corey and I up-graded Sharron’s sewer pipes and built a couch in trailer # 10.
Corey, Trinity, Sebastian and I went to the west beach. The geode that Corey had been anxiously awaiting to dig up with a screw driver turned out to be a tree root. We climbed on the rocks. The waves put on a show that rivaled the pyrotechnics at the 3rd Kiss Retirement Tour finally.
Andrew hadn’t been going with us lately. He’s been spending a great deal of time with Jutta, an odd, yet oddly fascinating relationship.
I managed to put down the binoculars and shave my face. I hadn’t shaved since I got to Port Orford. Once in a life a guy has to grow a beard. It was horrible, like claustrophobic fur on your face that you can’t get a break from. It did work well for deflecting sand off my face in the wind on the beach and it seemed to feel right while eating cold baked beans from a can, but I was glad to shave it off.
I didn’t recognize myself with it, but it had been long enough that I didn’t recognize myself when I shaved it off.

08-23-09

I’ve been in Port Orford long enough now that I’m starting to settle in. I’ve checked out the obvious, “must see” locations. The daily urgency to go see something new has been replaced with contentment and a longing to simply enjoy the time and space here.
I have nothing to do, but I still never seem to find the time to get everything done. The days go by fast. I’m making good progress stripping away years of clutter in my head revealing the basic elements of being; sun, sand, wind, water, music, food. Eventually I’ll move on from here and rebuild on my new, simplified, reprogrammed foundation. It’s hard to do nothing and not feel guilty of being unproductive and falling behind. I have to remind myself that it’s okay; I’m supposed to be doing nothing right now. The uneasy feeling is actually comforting. I’m starting to feel urges to work and work hard. When I’m ready, I’ll come out swinging.
I rode my bike south on the 101. Before I made it out of town I noticed that a fishing boat was approaching the Port of Port Orford. It’s a unique port. All boats are lifted out of the water by crane. I hadn’t witnessed this yet, so I road my bike toward the beach next to the port for a better look. The commercial fishing boat was towing a smaller speed boat. The speed boat was lifted out by crane and set on a trailer, followed by the fishing boat.
The port faces south and is sheltered from the north wind by the Port Orford Heads. In my location the wind was blowing strongly off of the beach into the water. I sat with my back to the wind watching the sand swirl around me and fly into the breaking waves.
I continued south on the 101 with the wind at my back. I’d been riding north lately so I could push into the wind first, then ride home with the wind. The 101 goes inland north of Port Orford. It’s right along the coast line south of town. The view is much better south, but I knew I’d have to face the wind once I turned around. Endurance was the big question on my mind, “how far can I go and still have enough energy to make it back…happy?” I always make it, but sometimes I’m not happy about it. I rode to Humbug Mountain, then turned around and made it home happy.
I walked to the Circle K and bought a 6 pack of beer, India Pale Ale from Washington. I didn’t realize the significance of the moment until I was walking home. I had just bought beer in a gas station…on a Sunday. No big deal for a lot of people, but very special for a Minnesota boy.
As I sat in the bus and it rocked in the wind I realized that I’m not only used to my home swaying in the wind, it now seems normal. It’s comforting…mostly.

08-20-09

Thick fog in the morning gave way to a sunny sky. Corey and I rode our bikes to Paradise Point. I had seen “Paradise Point Road” heading toward the ocean and wanted to check it out. They got the “paradise” part right. It’s a long, soft sandy beach with big waves. There’s no “point”, but that’s not nearly as important as the “paradise“ part. We hung out there for awhile, digging in the sand and checking out rocks, agates, shells and driftwood. The sand was soft, like walking on a moist sponge cake.
Back at home a got a lot of small chores done, watered my plants, did my dishes, clipped my toe nails, etc.
I finally washed my Jeep. It was the dirtiest it had ever been after pulling it half way across the country, over the mountains and through the woods. One set of road construction over a mountain chipped my windshield twenty times with hundreds of pock marks and chipped both head lights. I’d been wanting to wash it since I got to Port Orford, but hadn’t been able to find a car wash in the small town. Corey said I could wash it at the park with a hose. It was good to get it clean and I did a few other odds and ends. I pumped up the basketball that holds up my busted driver seat and keeps it from reclining. It had gone unusually flat. I think it’s from the air pressure changes from driving over the mountains. Either it just lost it’s air, or it popped. Time will tell.
I put a small piece of scotch tape over each headlight hole. They still worked, but had holes clean through the glass. I figured this will at least keep moister out. That evening Corey and I drove south on the 101 to watch the sunset. When we were stopped at a pull-off I notice the headlights were fogged up. The scotch tape had trapped moister IN the light. I took off the tape and drove home with the lights on to try to dry them out. Once they’re dry I’ll reapply the tape.
I grilled salmon, shrimp skewers and potatoes with black beans. It’s a drought here so I have to be careful not to light the grass on fire with my metal charcoal lighter. The gopher mound in my yard is the perfect shape, size and location. Thanks gopher!

08-18-09

When I opened the windshield curtains there were four turkeys running around the RV park. They were wild turkeys. I learned later from Corey that they are, “domestic, wild turkeys“, an oxi-moron, but it makes since. They live just down the block.
After getting some house work done I was able to focus on my bike camera mount. I was hoping to simply put a bolt through a bracket that I had for a handlebar light. I needed the right size bolt to fit the hole in the camera for the tripod mount, so when Corey wanted to go to the hardware store I was more than willing. I got a couple of different length bolts and a few nuts and wing nuts. I wanted not only to make the planned mount, but also to have some spare parts to improvise with in the future. When I saw how easily various bolts fit into the camera I got excited about all the possibilities. “I could bolt my camera to almost anything with a hole” I thought. I splurged on parts and my bill was still only $1.17.
Much like my bus dash cam, the bike cam mount virtually built itself. When I took apart the bracket for the light it had a pocket in it that perfectly fit the head of the bolt I wanted to use. I drilled one hole in the soft plastic and the bolt slipped right in. The camera mounts tightly to the bracket and the bracket mounts tightly to the handlebar. The wrist lanyard makes a good safety rope. I can even adjust the pan and tilt.
I headed up the steep hill to the Port Orford Heads, the fairy tail ride that inspired the bike cam.
Please watch my video.

08-17-09

We were expecting to do a lot of work quickly to trailer #9 before Jutta, the new tenant arrived. We weren’t sure when she would show up and the trailer was still a mess. The toilet had overflowed a few days earlier. We were trying to air it out.
Jutta showed up before I even got outside for the day. Corey managed to talk her into moving into #2 instead. It was a brilliant move that was better for Jutta and bought us time with stinky #9.
Jutta is a wonderful woman. She’s here from North Carolina, her son works near here. She has a thick European accent and laughs a lot. She smudged her place by burning sage and conducting some sort of ritualistic procedure to cleanse it from negative energy. I’m going to have her over for coffee and to smudge my place and me. I guess I need to be smudged first.
Jutta really brightens up the neighborhood. When I got here there were four open trailers, right now they are all full. A man showed up and happily rented stinky #9 as is. He’s going to clean it up, so now we don’t have to. My neighbors are moving out in a few days then we’ll have to clean their trailer. I’ll be glad when they’re gone. I hear this mysterious pumping sound late at night. I thought I was over hearing their trailer literally rocking in a moment of trailer park bliss, but then I heard the mundane conversation of several adults. What are they pumping!
I watered the plants and Jutta came out and pointed out; sage, rosemary, thyme, strawberries and other plants. She loves to garden and is going to grow some things.
I weed whacked in the windy dustbowl then went for a bike ride. I rode back up to the heads to go down the other trail. It’s only a mile, but it’s straight up for half a mile. At the park it’s a narrow concrete block path through thick trees, moss and ferns. Then it opens up to spectacular views of the Pacific. I rode down the hill and viewed from the south head. There’s a bench there. It’s location probably makes it one of the best benches in the world. I sat for awhile, then traded it with two gentlemen who came down the path. I rode back down the other trail that I had ridden before. It was such a beautiful ride again that I decided I must figure out how to mount my camera on my bike and tape it.
I coasted home, fast down the hill, excited to get to work on my bike camera mount.

08-16-09

I wanted to ride back to and explore Cape Blanco. It was a sunny morning and the wind sounded like it had died down. The internet said that the wind was only 3mph in Port Orford. I got on my bike and headed north. Right away I knew the wind was way over 3mph and remembered that the web site I looked at gets it’s readings from Gold Beach. “Damn you internet!“ The wind was strong and it was back up hill to the “Cape Blanco 3 Miles” sign. I figured once I made that turn it would be a “ride in the park”. When I took the left the wind was much stronger as I turned into it and it blasted off of the ocean. The sign said, “Light House 6 Miles”. “6 miles, I thought it was only 3!” It got harder too. It was a long flat prairie, then a long steep climb to the top of the cape. Cape Blanco State Park STARTS 3 miles from the turn, it’s 3 more to the coast.
I made it to the light house, almost exactly 10 miles from my front door. The cape is surrounded by the ocean on three sides. The view is exquisite. The harder the place is to get to the more beautiful the view. I took some pictures. It was hard to hold steady in the wind. I found a place with a great view, in the grass close to a drop off, that if you sat down was protected slightly from the wind. I stayed there for awhile. When I stood up a woman was taking a picture out of her car window. I made a big X with my body to block her shot, but then laughed and sat back down. She got the shot, they honked their horn and I stood back up and waved good-bye.
When I rode back out to the highway I saw a deer standing right on the side of the road. I stopped to get a picture, but a car scared it away. The ride into town was much easier again with the wind and hill on my side. It was a good 20 mile ride by the time I was done and I felt content to relax the rest of the day.
Corey and I went for a drive along the coast south of town. He’d been wanting to build a fire pit at home. There was some ideal stone at a parking spot by the beach. You’re probably not supposed to take it, but we did anyway. We tried to be discrete as cars drove by. It was like something we would have found ourselves doing together 20 years ago. We didn’t talk about it, we just did it. I guess steeling things off of the side of the road with Corey is automatic, like riding a bike.

08-07-09

I needed an oil change pretty bad. I found two places on the internet near by, but got shot down at both of them. One was busy and the other…well I gave up looking for the other one.
I headed through Portland and toward the coast. The drive is beautiful. Tall trees line both sides of the road, so thick at times that they overhang and make it seem like a tunnel. You are encouraged to turn on your headlights. The narrow, two lane highway winds it’s way through the woods, up and down mountains, over bridges and through tunnels.
After heading west for ever I changed direction and started south on Highway 101, the famous Pacific Coast Highway. As beautiful as the road I was just on, but now also hanging on the edge of a cliff above the ocean.
I drove it all day. I stopped for lunch in Lincoln City. I had crab cakes and fish tacos overlooking the ocean, then walked down to the beach.
I kept rolling south. After a few “bad” Wal Marts and exploring some Fred Meyers’ lots (I hear you can park at Fred Meyers) I stumbled upon the Mil Casino in Coos Bay. I’ve heard you can usually park in casino lots. There were hundreds of RVs scattered on a big gravel field. I pulled into the RV parking area and asked a couple, “Can we park for free here?” They said that they checked in at the official RV park and were told “You can park for free, just stay on the gravel“. So I did.
Please check out my PCH video.

08-06-09

No LP, no coffee. Not with the stove, not with the microwave. First thing; find LP.
I pulled out and took a right, away from the interstate into Mountain Home. I got lucky and immediately saw a sign on the left for an RV park that said, “Propane”, so I pulled in and filled up.
Next; diesel and coffee at the gas station. I was itching to get rolling.
It was a rainy day in Idaho. I watched many storms roll over the mountains and across the prairie. I made it to Oregon and entered into the Pacific Time Zone. Soon I hit the Columbia River and followed it west on the north boarder of Oregon. It was tricky driving. It is mountainous with deep drop-offs an high cliffs. When the rain stopped the wind started. The wind coming off of the river was intense. Permanent ‘High Wind” signs lined the road and they were correct. It hit me from both directions, off of the river on the right and bouncing back off of the rock face on the left. The decent out of Pendleton drops down thousands of feet. I think my altimeter went from nearly 6000’ to sea level. Gorgeous white knuckle scenery.
I was pushing for a Wal Mart in Hood River, Oregon. It took awhile, but I made it. I was exhausted and again low on diesel. “No Overnight Parking” signs were plastered all over the lot. There were a couple of RVs that looked like they were staying. Not sure and not wanting to be woken up in the night I decided to keep going. I checked the internet and found a Wal Mart without a red X over it less than an hour away in Troutdale.
I hit the interstate planning on getting diesel right away, but the interstate went right into the woods. No towns, no gas stations and not much hope. I didn’t want to pull off on small exits looking, for fear of wasting what precious fuel I had.
Eventually I was saved when a town popped out of the trees.
When I made it to the “good” Wal Mart, it too had “No Overnight Parking” signs. It was a “bad” Wal Mart. This one had five, or six RVs in it. So I wondered if they just look the other way, or something. I looked for a fellow RVer to inquire, but found no one.
I had seen a TA truck stop one exit back and found a cozy place between a school bus and semi tractor. It was tight side to side. I was at eye level with the school bus windows about a foot away. I had to unhook the Jeep and park it in it’s own spot to fit lengthwise. It wasn’t the nicest place. There was a lot of trash and people living in their cars.
I closed all the curtains, set my booby-traps and went to sleep.

08-05-09

At 4:00am the idling engine of the semi truck parked near me drove me mad. Windows up, headphones on it was still too loud. I had to move. I was ready to roll because I wasn’t sure if overnight parking was allowed at that Wal Mart. When I pulled in there were no Rvs. There were no “No Overnight Parking” signs and the one truck, so I thought I’d give it a shot.
When I decided I had to move, all I had to do was start the engine and open the curtains. The parking lot was quiet as I circled in my underwear looking for a better spot. I parked on the other end of the lot from the truck. It was still loud. I restarted the bus, drove all the way to the other side of the store and crawled back into bed.
After some quiet sleep I drove to the Crates of the Moon National Park, in Idaho. I thought it was close, but it took a long time to get there, farther and farther out into the baron prairie. It was fitting that the “Moon” was so far away. The park is from out of this world. I felt sometimes like I was on a cheesy Star Trek set, waiting to get killed as the forth man on the away team.
The volcano that is now under Yellowstone was at this spot millions of years ago. The volcano didn’t move. The tectonic plate has been sliding over it for eons. Crates of the Moon is miles and miles of hardened lava. You can see the way the lava was flowing, frozen in time. As I scanned the horizon I imagined the entire area as bubbling red hot lava.
I liked the size of the park. Some are frustratingly large to take in. There were about seven stops on a 7 mile drive. Each stop had an easy half mile walk, or so. There was one huge volcanic mound that took 10 minutes to hike up. The whole mound was made up of black lava rocks, like coal. The view, as usual was worth the hike.
Many of the paths wander through the lava field. There is actually a lot of plant and animal life if you look close.
By the time I explored the caves and was ready to leave I was surprised to find out I had been there for 5 hours.
I headed back to the interstate towards a Wal Mart in Mountain Home, Idaho. I thought it was about 30 miles, but the sign said “110”. It was a long drive with rain and road construction. My Jeep got pummeled by gravel. The windshield had about 20 chips in it as well as one chip on each headlight. Now I understand the construction sign, “Slow Down Save Windshield”.
I was low on Diesel and virtually out of LP, so I didn’t run the generator, water heater, or stove, but kept what LP I had left for the refrigerator.
I ran the batteries down on my laptop and MP3 player by candlelight and went to bed.

08-04-09

Before leaving Cody I stopped at an RV park to dump and fill my water tanks. The office door was locked, so I figured I‘d get started and pay when done. Usually they’ll let you dump and fill for $5, or $10.
The road leaned toward the dump station, so I tried a reverse dump and fill. I pulled in with my hook-ups on the wrong side, then ran the hoses underneath the bus. I was surprised to find the sewer hose reached. By filling leaning away from the station I’m able to fill the tank completely and take on more water, as I learned in Red Lodge. When I was done I left. Oops, I forgot to pay. I miss Trinity, but there are some perks, she never would have let me “forget” to pay.
I love to drink coffee and drive. The problem is that the more coffee I drink, the more bathroom breaks I need. Driving when you have to go can be torture, so I generally don’t get to enjoy too much coffee. One thing nice about traveling in a motorhome is that I can drink coffee and when I need a break I just pull over and use my bathroom.
The drive to Yellowstone was beautiful. It still blew my mind that I was on the same US Highway 14 that I knew so well in Minnesota.
I drove from Cody to Yellowstone, then south through Yellowstone to the Grand Teton National Park, then to Jackson, then west into Idaho. I saw a fox right on the side of the road in Yellowstone. The roads were steep, narrow, windy, busy and had a lot of road construction. I went up and down 10% grade between Jackson and Idaho. I averaged 30mph. I find I’m steering the motorhome by where my Jeep is in the rear view monitor. If it’s centered in the lane I’m good. It was a tedious drive, but fun. Definitely worth the stunning scenery.
Please watch my video.

08-03-09

Trinity and her brother made a wonderful new connection while we were in Bozeman Montana. She is going there to spend more time with him.
After she left in the middle of the day the bus was quiet, especially without Sebastian. He’s a great watchdog and is usually curious about anything that’s going on. I had grown quickly accustom to the both of them being around. Getting used to being with them was easier than getting used to being without them. As quickly as they came into my life, they were gone…for now. I went from being totally alone, to with someone 99% of the time, back to totally alone.
Living in tight quarters can start to drive you mad. We had been cooped up together, secluded in the mountains for a couple of weeks. I think we both needed some time apart. It was good to get some alone time to regroup. I cleaned the bus, took a long shower, went to the laundry mat and got everything stowed and ready to roll. I was planning on putting some distance behind me the next day.
Several thunderstorms rolled through that afternoon which kept it cool. They came over the mountain and straight over me.
I spent some time on my laptop. My air card worked in Cody, but I could also pick up a free wifi internet signal, so I tried to use that to save my data usage. It worked okay, but was slow. I think It’s from a nearby campground. Sometimes I can see on my computer specifically where a signal is coming from. It will be called, “Holiday Inn”, or “Flying J”. If the signal is faint and I have some big downloading to do, I can drive to their parking lot and take care of business.
I messed around with my altimeters. I had set them both to 10,000’ on top of the Beartooth Pass where a sign said “Elevation 10,400‘. The old one of my grandfathers only went up to 10,000’. The other one was so small to read that 10,000’ was as close as I could manage to set it while driving the switchbacks in the bus. The old one now read 6000’ in Cody which is close, but not right on. The other one still said 10,000’, so I threw it away.
Living in Wal Mart parking lots is interesting. It is it’s own culture and community. Most people are very friendly and go out of there way to help each other. Mechanical tips and advice are a given. Destination, location and different routes are frequently shared too. I gave a couple from Minnesota the hand drawn map of the spot on the mountain by Red Lodge that I was given. It felt good sharing it and passing it along. The community is good. We watch out for each other. I’ve learned that you can keep an eye on things with your rear view side mirrors. I can see down both sides of the bus while sitting on the couch.