Earthship Le Van Gogh diary
Days 8, 9, & 10 - Bozeman, Montana
I’m tired so I took a rest for a couple of days. My body dictates how far I can go at a time so I respect its request. I rest. I think the kitties appreciate the break from driving as much as I do. Fluffbutt is up front nodding off in the sun with a smile on her face and Chopper is purring because she gets more cuddling when I’m lying down with her. So here I am, 11:04 a.m. and I’m still in p.j.’s, sipping my horrible Folder’s coffee-bag coffee, my hair uncombed and pulled up and out of my way, the heating pad under my back and warm and a nice piano concerto weaving out of NPR. I’m too lazy to brew some proper coffee in my French Press so this will do for now. Later, perhaps, but now? Nah. I’m too comfortable.
You know, I’ve noticed that I’ve really stepped out of time. I know that today is the 10th of September because I asked a friend this morning with whom I was chatting by phone what the day was. I write where I am each day on my calendar because if I don’t I have no idea where I was even two days ago. I can see the time on any number of clocks around the van (the radio clock matches up with Mountain Standard Time and is actually accurate for a bit) so I’m clued in to that, if I so desire. But mostly I don’t.
I get up when I feel like I’ve had enough sleep and hit the road (or not) some time before 11:00 a.m., checkout time for most campgrounds. I have a general guideline of driving about 100 miles each day (or not) and generally aim for a KOA camp… (Excuse me. Kampground) …ground just because they’re good at what they do and provide all the necessary requirements of civilized living. If no KOA’s are available than I aim for the next one on the list that has similar offerings and set up camp.
While on the road I have found that driving with no music, no radio or cassette tapes playing has been surprisingly soothing. It’s peaceful, and I like it. I’ve discovered that this means that I’m at ease in my own mind. Gone, or at least mostly, are the insecurities and terrors that followed me out of childhood and what’s left are only concerns that something with the van will go wrong that I can’t fix myself. Of course, that’s what repair shops are for and why I’ve subscribed to RV Coachnet, the RV version of AAA that hops to it when you call them and cry HAAAAAYYYUUUUULLP! But knowing that I’ve made provisions for getting such services eases even that concern. So my biggest worry now is that I get to my friend, Sharon’s, place in Georgia by October 1st and yet even if I’m a couple of days late that will be ok, too. The gathering of friends will be there until the 5th and as long as I get to see them all together, be it only for one day, I will be happy. They won’t, but I will (grin). I’ll be seeing them individually in my travels, of course, but as a group we are special and produce a gestalt energy that is undeniably strong.
I hear no news, except for what I hear on NPR. No TV, though at first I thought I’d miss the Travel Channel, National Geographic, Discovery, etc., until I realized that I was living those channels and that all around me was beauty and discovery and, of course, travel. And though I’ve been a news hound for most of my life and especially since I turned journalist in the Navy, I’m finding that it’s just fine knowing only what NPR decides is worth mentioning. I realize that even that is expendable because, after all, I love this country and everything within it, the good, the bad and the ridiculous, and the small, piddly stuff in the news never really seems to change. I’m aware, however, that we’re entering a new time of multititudinous changes from within as a country and as a people, but those I keep track of within my dreams. Being precognitive and clairvoyant has its advantages sometimes, ya know?
I think perhaps detaching myself from the usual distractions of every day life was necessary for this trip. It’s not only a travelogue kind of trip, it’s a journey within, and a freeing of most of the restrictions I’ve placed on myself in the past. I pay my bills, oh, yes, but these are all automatically withdrawn online with only one check going out each month to the Humane Society back in Port Angeles, WA. So I’m still attached to reality, of course, and I keep track of my expenses so I can set up a budget for how much I can spend each day and still save money for repairs, etc. The “J-ness” of my Myers-Briggs personality type (INFJ) is still functioning fully and indeed I believe is a necessity for keeping this journey manageable and do-able. I’m an artist and a psychic and a flake in the eyes of some, but hey, I still know how to manage my affairs. LOL!
All in all, it’s a journey within as much as a journey without across America to meet and visit old and new friends and see the wonders of this nation in all its glory. Such a marvelous place, our country is, and for those who have never traveled outside of our borders and don’t know, a place where the general lifestyle is far and above better than just about any other nation on earth. I’m speaking of middle-class America here, but as my friend pointed out this morning in our talk, that even our poor enjoy a standard of living better than the poor of other nations. Sad, but true. I remember that even in Puerto Rico, where I was stationed for 3 years while in the Navy, the poor had poverty levels unheard of here in the states. Oh, San Juan and other touristy places showed happy, smiling ‘natives’ and all the amenities of home, but live off of the Roosevelt Roads Naval Base and up in the rain forest as I did and you saw that few in that area had electricity and that living conditions were more like what you’d see in Bombay, India. And Puerto Rico is a part of our country! Hopefully that has changed and it is more developed in those areas but who knows? Perhaps they liked it that way.
I’m not blind to the defects of our country, but I love it just the same. And I’m proud of the 14 years I gave in service and know that this is a special sacrifice for all who wear our uniform, even if only for a short time. Until you have served yourself you have no idea of what the life is like and how much of yourself you have to give. Oh, our families do, of course, but even they cannot fully comprehend the tremendous amount of energy that goes into giving yourself to your country. So my heart goes out for those who die or have died or have been injured while giving their service, especially in a time of war and even in a time of peace. And to their families I can only offer the strength and faith I’ve developed over the years. Until Melissa and Brian joined the service (my niece and nephew) I’ve never been the one who has had to stay behind and wait for them to come home safely and hopefully in one piece, both physically and mentally. I think I like being the one gone better. But again I rely on my ability to sense what is going on far away from me and that keeps me from excessive anxiety until Brian returns. Melissa has been back for awhile and is in college now and enjoying a happy relationship and all that so I have less to be concerned about there. Brian, on the other hand, is still in harms way and until he gets back in December I’ll stay in touch and make sure I know he’s safe. And that Mary, his wife, doesn’t get too sad and lonely without him.
Ok. Enough of the waxing philosophical. The downtime has been helpful and has given me space to sort out what I’m experiencing and share that with you. If you’ve been bored with this monologue, sorry ‘bout that. This blog records the boring as well as the funny and interesting. Philosophical won’t happen all the time, just at times when I can reflect.
Lessons Learned:
That the headphone extension cord I bought is just beautiful and works fine…if only it were about 8” longer.
That I see another Wal-Mart visit in my future where I can go get yet another extension.
That I don’t have to be psychic to see that.
Oh, well.
Good thing I’ve enjoyed the quiet, ya?
That I need to get screens for the van.
That little midges of some kind enjoy flying in and out when I leave the door open at sundown and tippety-type on the computer while sitting at a nearby picnic table.
That they’re cute and don’t bite but can be distracting when I’m trying to type.
Fluffbutt likes them too because they’re fun to chase.
But they really need to be outside where they will be happier.
I think.
Observations:
Two elderly, grizzled old ranch wranglers sitting across from each other in a café and downing a hearty breakfast with a baby in a high chair perched at the table between them.
A long chat with the owner of a fine art gallery. She confessed to still feeling guilty after 18 years of suffering after once telling an artist her work wasn’t quite good enough when presented for showing in her gallery. She knew that she hurt the artist‘s feelings and had felt bad about it ever since. I absolved her of her sin and told her that artists won’t grow without this kind of feedback, though it could always be given in a kindly way. She felt better about it and was glad to have chatted with me. Hooray!
A button seen in a funky music store: “This just in - Elvis is still dead.”
T-shirt in the same store: “Green Coalition of Gay Loggers for Jesus.” I’d say that this pretty much about covers it.
Sculpture seen in gallery window of a rodeo girl perched on her horse’s back in full shiny regalia and a tiara and wings and titled, “The Good Queen.”
On NPR this morning, a segment I haven’t heard since I left Maine - Guess this song! A perfectly ordinary song from either a Broadway show or general pop music or even a child’s nursery rhyme is translated into a particular composer’s style of music and at a much slower beat. The challenge: Guess the style, the composer who might have crafted such a style and the actual piece that has been translated. I confess that though I picked up on the style (some kind of nocturne, possibly) I couldn’t quite nail the composer (Beethoven) and the melody was beyond me. It turned out to be “Summertime,” from Porgy and Bess. The melody had been slowed down so much that all I could pick up on was the left-handed-piano bass chords and the present composer had confused that by adding harmony after harmony to the melody. The guy who called in got it all correct, the jerk, but then he was a music teacher at some university so it would have been embarrassing if he hadn’t. I felt better since I’m no music history person though I can still read music. I just like to listen to the sounds of the old composers.
That it takes about 1,000 years for each photo to upload to Blogger.com. At least it feels that way. I do the dishes between each one, or tidy the van or what have you. Annoying but only mildly so and I get alot done at the same time. Oh, well.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Day 7 - Butte, Montana
Earthship Le Van Gogh Diary
Day 7 - Butte, Montana
I’m in Butte today, where the slogan is “a mile high, a mile deep and everyone’s on the level.” Interesting. A collection of local pronunciations includes the following:
Howshegoin? A term used as a salutation.
Jeetyet? A term used to ask the question, “Did you eat yet?”
Jou? In answer to jeetyet?,“Did you?”
Gweet. To “go eat” if you haven’t.
Howzyermomandthem? Exactly what you think it says.
Ya’s Plural of ya. Most likely a contraction of “all of you” as in “How youse guys doin’?”
All good to know information, I’m sure. There is another tradition with a long history here of everyone having a nickname. This supposedly came from the early miners who were immigrants from all over the place and nicknames were easier to pronounce then their actual names. In face most folks didn’t usually know a person’s real name until his/her obituary was published. Examples include:
Dutch McCrea, Ears Holland, Hula Kalafatich, Moose Pavlovich, Nichel Annie, Chicken Liz, Blonde Patrick and Booba Powers. Some of these obviously give a hint as to their ethnic background and how they got their nickname, but some just make you wonder where the heck that came from. Like Booba Powers. Wha…?
Anyway, mining is the game around here and there’s a huge, and I mean HUGE population of Irish in Butte. I haven’t seen so many Irish bars since I last visited Boston. And there’s an annual festival here which I will unfortunately miss called An Ri Ra with international Irish music performers and other Irish cultural activities celebrated for the next two days. I’m not happy that I will miss it but I will be back to this area in the future and will definitely stay for the festival. Being part Irish and all that I love to hear the music and traditions of the Old Home.
I wandered through a shop filled with more Irish stuff than I’ve seen in a long time. I spoke with the owner, who, like me, was a mutt of Gaelic extraction. She was Welsh, Irish and Scotch and I’m all that and a wee bit of English and French, to boot. She had black hair and fair skin and I have red hair with fair skin and freckles and we laughed about family histories with such a United Kingdom mishmash. Not unusual, of course, though combining English with anything Scottish and Irish must have been an interesting get-together.
You know, whether I use the last name of Cox (Irish), Tenn (Welsh), Clunie (Scotch), or Welborn (likewise Welsh), I’d be covered in this town. These are all last names I’ve had before for those who don’t know. I’m still using Cox, obviously.
Another local phenomenon was a colossal 90 ft statue of Mary, Jesus’ mum, high above Butte on the mountain marking the Continental Divide. Named “Our Lady of the Rockies,” the project to build it began in 1979 and both men and women of all walks of life and almost every religion worked to pave the way for the statue. It was dedicated to women everywhere, especially to mothers. (I’m relating this from a pamphlet in case you didn’t pick up on that.) Volunteers worked every day to blast a path for a road to the top of the Rockies. Must have seemed like it would take forever to get up there because sometimes they only got 10 feet in a day. Lordy!
The information I had didn’t name the person or persons who actually designed and forged the statue, amazingly, but it was the Nevada Air National Guard who lifted the four sections to the site with a Ch-54 Sikorsky Sky Crane. The Montana National Guard, the U.S. Army Reserve from Butte and lots and lots of civilians helped placed the final head-section atop the statue on December 20, 1985. Man, I sure would liked to have seen that! And I’ll bet they cleared the area below the mountain for miles while they were lifting these sections. Woe be unto the poor helicopter pilot who dropped that puppy!
The statue is lit at night and was beautiful to see in the twilight. It was visible from my little campground and I took a picture of it but again, without a zoom lens all I could get was this tiny white and glowing thing off in the distance. I took another picture at night but it just looked like a large star very close to the ground. Very pretty, actually, but it doesn’t give you the scale of this monolith.
I leave Butte with regret because there is so much to see here but I’ll be back - oh, yes, I’ll be back…
Lessons Learned:
That I can’t use my heating pad and Chopper’s heating pad at the same time on a 12V system.
That Chopper is much older than me, at least in kitty years.
That I respect my elders so her needs trump mine.
Which is why I like campgrounds with electrical hook-ups.
That I finally figured out how to join the sewage hose on the van and the extension I bought so it will extend to the sewer hook-up.
That I did this all by myself without the help of, indeed, in spite of the advice from several folks from the RV stores.
That it’s good to know that I can figure out these little problems.
As long as I don’t have to do this too often.
Observations:
A friend of mine kindly reminded me that Debussy did not write "Pavane for a Dead Princess." Ravel did. Dang. I knew that and brain cramped, but I sure sounded impressive there for a bit, huh?
A sign at a local restaurant advertising the future “Testicle Festival.” Not too unhappy I’ll miss that.
I’ve found my ‘tiger balm’ and have been rubbing it on my cracked thumb cuticles with tremendous relief. How am I going to get used to a different weather when I’m traveling so often between different kinds? I guess I’ll lay in lots of lotion, sun screen, light clothes, heavy clothes (both of which I already have), drink lots of water and hope for the best.
Since I entered Idaho and throughout Montana I’ve seen Clark Fords, Clark Rivers, Clark Forks, Clark Streams, Clark Lakes - Clark! Clark! Clark! Just who is this Clark guy, anyway?
Oh, wait. This is Lewis and Clark territory.
Duh.
So what does that make Lewis?
Chopped liver?
Fluffbutt was doing her squirm of joy on the passenger seat up front when I got up this morning, her signal that she’s happy and wants a belly rub. I was delighted to see that she was getting used to her new environment so I rubbed and played with her for a bit. She was feeling rambunctious and I had to pull out a cloth for her to snag and chew and kick instead of my hand and arm. I’ve been hit before with her “let’s see how many scars I can leave on you" mood and have learned to substitute something other than me.
I’ve seen three mountain silhouettes that look like Camelback Mountain in Phoenix, Arizona. Is this some kind of basic template for a range design?
T-shirt on motorcycle rider passing me on the left: “Fighting Solves Everything.” (???)
A Sinclair gas station with bright, colorful and obviously fake and how-did-they-get-here palms surrounding it. Besides buying gas you can apparently play at a casino inside. In fact, just about every local town has its own casino and liquor store. I forget I’m no longer in Washington where only the state sells anything beyond wine and beer. Now you can get anything anywhere. Weird.
Day 7 - Butte, Montana
I’m in Butte today, where the slogan is “a mile high, a mile deep and everyone’s on the level.” Interesting. A collection of local pronunciations includes the following:
Howshegoin? A term used as a salutation.
Jeetyet? A term used to ask the question, “Did you eat yet?”
Jou? In answer to jeetyet?,“Did you?”
Gweet. To “go eat” if you haven’t.
Howzyermomandthem? Exactly what you think it says.
Ya’s Plural of ya. Most likely a contraction of “all of you” as in “How youse guys doin’?”
All good to know information, I’m sure. There is another tradition with a long history here of everyone having a nickname. This supposedly came from the early miners who were immigrants from all over the place and nicknames were easier to pronounce then their actual names. In face most folks didn’t usually know a person’s real name until his/her obituary was published. Examples include:
Dutch McCrea, Ears Holland, Hula Kalafatich, Moose Pavlovich, Nichel Annie, Chicken Liz, Blonde Patrick and Booba Powers. Some of these obviously give a hint as to their ethnic background and how they got their nickname, but some just make you wonder where the heck that came from. Like Booba Powers. Wha…?
Anyway, mining is the game around here and there’s a huge, and I mean HUGE population of Irish in Butte. I haven’t seen so many Irish bars since I last visited Boston. And there’s an annual festival here which I will unfortunately miss called An Ri Ra with international Irish music performers and other Irish cultural activities celebrated for the next two days. I’m not happy that I will miss it but I will be back to this area in the future and will definitely stay for the festival. Being part Irish and all that I love to hear the music and traditions of the Old Home.
I wandered through a shop filled with more Irish stuff than I’ve seen in a long time. I spoke with the owner, who, like me, was a mutt of Gaelic extraction. She was Welsh, Irish and Scotch and I’m all that and a wee bit of English and French, to boot. She had black hair and fair skin and I have red hair with fair skin and freckles and we laughed about family histories with such a United Kingdom mishmash. Not unusual, of course, though combining English with anything Scottish and Irish must have been an interesting get-together.
You know, whether I use the last name of Cox (Irish), Tenn (Welsh), Clunie (Scotch), or Welborn (likewise Welsh), I’d be covered in this town. These are all last names I’ve had before for those who don’t know. I’m still using Cox, obviously.
Another local phenomenon was a colossal 90 ft statue of Mary, Jesus’ mum, high above Butte on the mountain marking the Continental Divide. Named “Our Lady of the Rockies,” the project to build it began in 1979 and both men and women of all walks of life and almost every religion worked to pave the way for the statue. It was dedicated to women everywhere, especially to mothers. (I’m relating this from a pamphlet in case you didn’t pick up on that.) Volunteers worked every day to blast a path for a road to the top of the Rockies. Must have seemed like it would take forever to get up there because sometimes they only got 10 feet in a day. Lordy!
The information I had didn’t name the person or persons who actually designed and forged the statue, amazingly, but it was the Nevada Air National Guard who lifted the four sections to the site with a Ch-54 Sikorsky Sky Crane. The Montana National Guard, the U.S. Army Reserve from Butte and lots and lots of civilians helped placed the final head-section atop the statue on December 20, 1985. Man, I sure would liked to have seen that! And I’ll bet they cleared the area below the mountain for miles while they were lifting these sections. Woe be unto the poor helicopter pilot who dropped that puppy!
The statue is lit at night and was beautiful to see in the twilight. It was visible from my little campground and I took a picture of it but again, without a zoom lens all I could get was this tiny white and glowing thing off in the distance. I took another picture at night but it just looked like a large star very close to the ground. Very pretty, actually, but it doesn’t give you the scale of this monolith.
I leave Butte with regret because there is so much to see here but I’ll be back - oh, yes, I’ll be back…
Lessons Learned:
That I can’t use my heating pad and Chopper’s heating pad at the same time on a 12V system.
That Chopper is much older than me, at least in kitty years.
That I respect my elders so her needs trump mine.
Which is why I like campgrounds with electrical hook-ups.
That I finally figured out how to join the sewage hose on the van and the extension I bought so it will extend to the sewer hook-up.
That I did this all by myself without the help of, indeed, in spite of the advice from several folks from the RV stores.
That it’s good to know that I can figure out these little problems.
As long as I don’t have to do this too often.
Observations:
A friend of mine kindly reminded me that Debussy did not write "Pavane for a Dead Princess." Ravel did. Dang. I knew that and brain cramped, but I sure sounded impressive there for a bit, huh?
A sign at a local restaurant advertising the future “Testicle Festival.” Not too unhappy I’ll miss that.
I’ve found my ‘tiger balm’ and have been rubbing it on my cracked thumb cuticles with tremendous relief. How am I going to get used to a different weather when I’m traveling so often between different kinds? I guess I’ll lay in lots of lotion, sun screen, light clothes, heavy clothes (both of which I already have), drink lots of water and hope for the best.
Since I entered Idaho and throughout Montana I’ve seen Clark Fords, Clark Rivers, Clark Forks, Clark Streams, Clark Lakes - Clark! Clark! Clark! Just who is this Clark guy, anyway?
Oh, wait. This is Lewis and Clark territory.
Duh.
So what does that make Lewis?
Chopped liver?
Fluffbutt was doing her squirm of joy on the passenger seat up front when I got up this morning, her signal that she’s happy and wants a belly rub. I was delighted to see that she was getting used to her new environment so I rubbed and played with her for a bit. She was feeling rambunctious and I had to pull out a cloth for her to snag and chew and kick instead of my hand and arm. I’ve been hit before with her “let’s see how many scars I can leave on you" mood and have learned to substitute something other than me.
I’ve seen three mountain silhouettes that look like Camelback Mountain in Phoenix, Arizona. Is this some kind of basic template for a range design?
T-shirt on motorcycle rider passing me on the left: “Fighting Solves Everything.” (???)
A Sinclair gas station with bright, colorful and obviously fake and how-did-they-get-here palms surrounding it. Besides buying gas you can apparently play at a casino inside. In fact, just about every local town has its own casino and liquor store. I forget I’m no longer in Washington where only the state sells anything beyond wine and beer. Now you can get anything anywhere. Weird.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Day 6 - Missoula, Montana
Earthship Le Van Gogh Diary
Day 6 - Missoula, Montana
Aaaahhhh. One of my favorite works by Debussy is playing on the local NPR, “Pavane For a Dead Princess.” Macabre title aside, it’s simply a lovely and dreamy piece of music.
I’m parked in a super Wal-Mart parking lot between two pickup trucks with campers on their backs. There are a couple of other trailer-pulled campers nearby and several cars, but I know now that by tomorrow morning there will be more. Many more. Boon docking is very popular in the RV set.
Missoula is either a large town or a small city - I haven’t checked the stats but it’s pretty cool, however big it is. Still having problems catching a roaming signal, drat it. Tell me again why I paid for my own wireless device and a monthly fee to boot when there aren’t enough towers to support this? Bleh.
I parked and took a walk in the downtown area and it was quaint and charming and picturesque and all that. Most shops were closed but there were plenty of folks just out and about to see and get exercise and feel the sun whenever it made a brief appearance. It was good to stretch my legs and see what was popular in this neck of the woods.
After I was tired from walking I returned to my car and asked Charmagne to find the local Wal-Mart. This she could do! And she didn’t dump me in the middle of the road, either! Yay, Charmagne!!
I parked near the gathering cluster of RV’s, set up shop for a 12V night and walked over to the store. I wanted to find a voice activated recorder I could use while I’m driving that was close at hand and that didn’t require me to look away from the road to grasp it. Trying to write down what I see as I drive along is a very bad idea; hence, a tiny recording device that holds about 200 hours of my lovely voice should I choose to not delete as I go. Since I have no intention of saving all of my little notes after I’m done transcribing them into the blog I found the smallest recorder for sale and got it. Now I won’t be such a driving hazard to myself and others.
Tomorrow I drive to Butte, about 125 miles from Missoula. I’m just setting Charmagne to get me to the city center and I’ll take over once I see a good campground for the night. I didn’t bother showering tonight and I’ll need (and want) one a lot tomorrow, for sure, so a full-service campground is required. I’ve become a KOA member and I know they have one close to Butte so I’ll probably stop at that one. I like KOA - it’s clean, has all services including a laundry (important!), the aforementioned showers, a dumping station (I sure hope so because my tanks are getting full again. So quickly! Off I go to beddy by with the kitties tucked in to their nightly areas and me tucked into my little bed. Night all!
Lessons Learned:
That my attempts to figure out how to use the recording device on my own have failed.
That I might have to read the instructions because I can’t figure out how to do it myself.
I hate it when that happens.
That Le Van Gogh doesn’t drive any better with the wind at my back than it did when I was driving into the wind.
That the van is still broad and high (relatively speaking, of course) no matter which way the wind is blowing.
That the van just doesn’t drive easily at any speed above 45 mph.
Which should keep me alert.
And should develop really strong muscles in my hands and arms.
I would think.
That parking in Wal-Mart is cost effective but noisy.
That some moron pulled up close by our little RV area with windows down and bass cranked as high as it can go.
At 12:30 a.m.
That I might have to dig out my hammer and go bash in his windows and side panels.
But that might hurt my hammer.
So never mind.
Observations:
A fenced in area with ‘High Voltage’ signs every five feet and a blackened scorched-earth area where some fool clearly tried to find out if the owners were telling the truth.
Strolling around downtown Missoula I see a mannequin in a store with a truly demented expression on its face. Scary.
A car in front of me with a faded red tattered towel spread across the back area just below the rear window and pink plastic roses scattered all about.
A young couple taking a walk in the downtown area with a large black lab carrying a thick, short branch in his mouth.
Three street kids holding signs saying “Traveling but broke, too ugly to get work.” I spoke to them about the kind of jobs they had applied for and one boy, who was quite nice looking, said that he was too ugly and no one would hire him. Uh huh. The other kid, who was kind of ugly, actually, had tried to find a job, any job no matter how humble, but no one would hire him. The two boys and the girl, all appearing to be anywhere from 15-19 years of age, were dirty and their clothes somewhat tattered which might have been the reason no one would hire them. That and they looked like runaways. Then again, the amusing sign was working and folks were giving them spare change so it could be just an easy scam. No obvious signs of drug use and no bruises or abrasions from being beat up. I wondered, though, how long it would be before some pimp rounded them up and forced them into prostitution. May the gods look favorable upon them! I gave them the two dollars I had in my pocket, wished them well and moved on.
I think I left humidity far behind me. My thumbs have started to crack at the corners of the nails and I’m constantly thirsty (hence, full holding tanks…) so I’m getting the hint that I’m now in dry country. Time to find some bag balm.
I passed a Cracker Barrel restaurant on my way to Missoula. Amazing! This extremely popular chain with delicious, artery-clogging southern cooking is usually found in the South. Or so I thought. It sure looked popular up here as well when I drove past it.
A highway sign saying, “9 Mile Road 1 Mile.”
Day 6 - Missoula, Montana
Aaaahhhh. One of my favorite works by Debussy is playing on the local NPR, “Pavane For a Dead Princess.” Macabre title aside, it’s simply a lovely and dreamy piece of music.
I’m parked in a super Wal-Mart parking lot between two pickup trucks with campers on their backs. There are a couple of other trailer-pulled campers nearby and several cars, but I know now that by tomorrow morning there will be more. Many more. Boon docking is very popular in the RV set.
Missoula is either a large town or a small city - I haven’t checked the stats but it’s pretty cool, however big it is. Still having problems catching a roaming signal, drat it. Tell me again why I paid for my own wireless device and a monthly fee to boot when there aren’t enough towers to support this? Bleh.
I parked and took a walk in the downtown area and it was quaint and charming and picturesque and all that. Most shops were closed but there were plenty of folks just out and about to see and get exercise and feel the sun whenever it made a brief appearance. It was good to stretch my legs and see what was popular in this neck of the woods.
After I was tired from walking I returned to my car and asked Charmagne to find the local Wal-Mart. This she could do! And she didn’t dump me in the middle of the road, either! Yay, Charmagne!!
I parked near the gathering cluster of RV’s, set up shop for a 12V night and walked over to the store. I wanted to find a voice activated recorder I could use while I’m driving that was close at hand and that didn’t require me to look away from the road to grasp it. Trying to write down what I see as I drive along is a very bad idea; hence, a tiny recording device that holds about 200 hours of my lovely voice should I choose to not delete as I go. Since I have no intention of saving all of my little notes after I’m done transcribing them into the blog I found the smallest recorder for sale and got it. Now I won’t be such a driving hazard to myself and others.
Tomorrow I drive to Butte, about 125 miles from Missoula. I’m just setting Charmagne to get me to the city center and I’ll take over once I see a good campground for the night. I didn’t bother showering tonight and I’ll need (and want) one a lot tomorrow, for sure, so a full-service campground is required. I’ve become a KOA member and I know they have one close to Butte so I’ll probably stop at that one. I like KOA - it’s clean, has all services including a laundry (important!), the aforementioned showers, a dumping station (I sure hope so because my tanks are getting full again. So quickly! Off I go to beddy by with the kitties tucked in to their nightly areas and me tucked into my little bed. Night all!
Lessons Learned:
That my attempts to figure out how to use the recording device on my own have failed.
That I might have to read the instructions because I can’t figure out how to do it myself.
I hate it when that happens.
That Le Van Gogh doesn’t drive any better with the wind at my back than it did when I was driving into the wind.
That the van is still broad and high (relatively speaking, of course) no matter which way the wind is blowing.
That the van just doesn’t drive easily at any speed above 45 mph.
Which should keep me alert.
And should develop really strong muscles in my hands and arms.
I would think.
That parking in Wal-Mart is cost effective but noisy.
That some moron pulled up close by our little RV area with windows down and bass cranked as high as it can go.
At 12:30 a.m.
That I might have to dig out my hammer and go bash in his windows and side panels.
But that might hurt my hammer.
So never mind.
Observations:
A fenced in area with ‘High Voltage’ signs every five feet and a blackened scorched-earth area where some fool clearly tried to find out if the owners were telling the truth.
Strolling around downtown Missoula I see a mannequin in a store with a truly demented expression on its face. Scary.
A car in front of me with a faded red tattered towel spread across the back area just below the rear window and pink plastic roses scattered all about.
A young couple taking a walk in the downtown area with a large black lab carrying a thick, short branch in his mouth.
Three street kids holding signs saying “Traveling but broke, too ugly to get work.” I spoke to them about the kind of jobs they had applied for and one boy, who was quite nice looking, said that he was too ugly and no one would hire him. Uh huh. The other kid, who was kind of ugly, actually, had tried to find a job, any job no matter how humble, but no one would hire him. The two boys and the girl, all appearing to be anywhere from 15-19 years of age, were dirty and their clothes somewhat tattered which might have been the reason no one would hire them. That and they looked like runaways. Then again, the amusing sign was working and folks were giving them spare change so it could be just an easy scam. No obvious signs of drug use and no bruises or abrasions from being beat up. I wondered, though, how long it would be before some pimp rounded them up and forced them into prostitution. May the gods look favorable upon them! I gave them the two dollars I had in my pocket, wished them well and moved on.
I think I left humidity far behind me. My thumbs have started to crack at the corners of the nails and I’m constantly thirsty (hence, full holding tanks…) so I’m getting the hint that I’m now in dry country. Time to find some bag balm.
I passed a Cracker Barrel restaurant on my way to Missoula. Amazing! This extremely popular chain with delicious, artery-clogging southern cooking is usually found in the South. Or so I thought. It sure looked popular up here as well when I drove past it.
A highway sign saying, “9 Mile Road 1 Mile.”
Day 5 - St. Regis, Montana
Earthship Le Van Gogh Diary
Day 5 - St. Regis, Montana
I’m sitting at Rose’s Restaurant, a nice little home-cooking-just-folks kind of stop right off of I-90 not far from the border of Idaho and Montana. I’m enjoying my excellent breakfast as I tippity tap on my laptop and sip heart-stopping coffee. Espresso has nothing on this! I decided to take myself out to a restaurant this morning since I haven’t eaten in one since I left. That and I’ve run out of yogurt and need to restock. Ok, that’s a really lame excuse - I just wanted to eat out but I do need to get more yogurt. Fluffbutt likes to lick the edge of the cup when I’m finished and appears to prefer Black Cherry, as I do, so that’s what I’ll get.
A group of age-enhanced motorcycle riders are at a table near me. No long, gray hair pulled back in a tail with tattoos and Harley Davidson leather jackets - just regular guys and their wives, most older than I am, or at least so it appears, all riding cycles big enough to lie down on. In fact, the rear seat riders look like they are lying down. Amazing! And they have heaters and gloves thick enough to pick up dry ice with. Since it was cold enough to get goose pimples in the morning chill, I can only imagine what it must feel like to ride in the open. My tender little body would not tolerate that for long!
I heard them discussing 40° below weather in the area, which reminded me of a couple of winters I experienced in Maine. I wonder if Montana gets that every winter? Having your nose hairs freeze is an interesting experience but not something I’d want every time the snow fell. It got cold in Maine during the January/February months, but it didn’t always get so cold you couldn’t start your car without an engine block warmer. Here, I think that’s the norm.
After finishing my breakfast I hit the road and made my way back on to I-90 with Charmagne giving me approving nods every so often. I swear her accent is becoming British even though I didn’t change it. I do wonder where she’ll dump me out today. As usual I inputted (sp?) the exact address of my next campground but I reckon I’ll just wait and see. (Microsoft Works didn’t tell me to correct “inputted” so I guess it thinks that’s a word. Huh.) Inputting the exact address hasn’t worked before but since I don’t mind getting lost when I see such beautiful scenery as I wander around, it’s not really a problem. I only have a Rand McNally Atlas to guide me but it doesn’t have specifics for these small towns. And I haven’t been able to get a wireless connection here in the mountains so I’m left with asking for help. Fortunately I don’t have a problem doing that…
As usual I stayed in the far right lane tucked in between much larger rigs forced to go slowly down some pretty steep grades. There was no runaway truck lane and I prayed fervently that none of these huge trucks would lose their brakes as we careened madly down the hills going a terrifying 45 mph. Ok, laugh, but it was damned scary to me when my van was doing its usual lumbering back and forth across the lane and the truck behind me was getting waaaayyyy too close for comfort going into some of the sharper turns. I was hugely relieved when we finally reached a gentler grade and I could relax my hands which had been bolted to the steering wheel. The mountains are gorgeous but driving them in Le Van Gogh is just a wee too bit interesting for my heart.
About 15 miles before I knew I would see signs for St. Regis Charmagne piped up and announced that I had reached my destination. Oh, for cryin’ out loud! I could buy the dump-in-the-middle-of-the-road scene since at least up to now she had been within 200 yards of our goal. Fifteen miles seemed really over the top. Either Charmagne is just mentally defective or they haven’t updated the GPS coordinates in quite awhile. Sheesh.
I ignored her, indeed I turned her off since what good was she to me now? I continued driving until I saw the turn-off for St. Regis. I pulled into the Visitor’s Center which had a sign outside that said “Visitor Friendly.” Well, that’s good, considering that’s what it’s there for. Inside I found all kinds of information on Montana but nothing on St. Regis. I asked the lovely lady on duty and she looked a bit embarrassed as she searched for a pamphlet amongst the hundreds on display. She finally found a tattered map of the area which showed a town of very small proportions, most of which was centered around the turnoff right here by I-90. She did find a brochure for the St. Regis Campground I was staying in tonight and I thanked her heartily, making her feel a little better for not being able to give me any useful information about the immediate area. Perhaps there wasn't any to give.
I left with a friendly wave and stopped at a nearby grocery store (everything here is “nearby“) intending to stock up on yogurt and fresh veggies. After seeing the prices I restarted my heart and left hastily to go find a veggie stand. The prices were enormous! I guess the store manager had to raise them to make up for the costs of paying for the health care of the truck drivers who made it this far down the mountain. I did find a lovely little stand, however, and bought peaches and cherries and headed out to the campground which came with a 5-star rating and a Good Sam discount. There was also a discount for military, retired, active or veteran, so I was covered both ways (I joined Good Sam quickly when I saw how many sites discount for membership).
I checked in and was given a nice spot in the ‘quiet’ area, whatever that means. Perhaps they don’t put families with more than one child nearby. Whatever, I had it all to myself when I closed up everything and went to bed. Of course I took advantage of the showers and scrubbed and washed my hair, etc, before I went to bed because I planned on a Wal-Mart stay in Missoula. And although it is convenient to have my own shower, it is definitely not convenient to use it. You have to really want a shower to get this one ready and rinse your hair, turn off the water, add shampoo and lather your hair and scrub the rest of you, turn on the water, rinse everything very quickly, turn off the water, etc. And then towel dry your hair and your body, and make sure the drain area gets dried and then hang your towel on the miniature clothes line that can be strung across the van on this side of the lavoratory and kitchen. And check to see how much water you have left and if it will last you until you reach your next campground where you can refill your fresh water tank. And check your holding tanks to make sure you haven’t filled the gray water up yet. And don't forget to duck beneath the clothesline or you will strangle yourself in the night. All in all, if I’m desperate I’m glad it’s there. If I have a choice, however, I’ll take a full shower that doesn’t require so much work.
It was deliciously quiet after I returned to my little camper, for which I was doubly grateful that I had been placed here. The children section had been placed at the other side of the campground where there was a pool and other playground attractions, but over here was nothing but beautiful pines and grass and quiet. Just quiet. Camp fires were springing up all around me in the twilight and campers and tents alike were softly lit from within by lamps or overhead lighting. No stars shone above because it was overcast, but that was OK. I actually heard a rumble of thunder as a few drops of rain fell with a passing storm. I was delighted to hear it since Port Angeles rarely gets any thunder storms and I had only heard one once since I had arrived there. There had been more than that but I had always been asleep when they occurred, dang it. This was lovely to hear, like an old friend calling to me from the skies.
And now it is 7:00 p.m. and I’m tucked into my little baby trailer across from two monster motor homes. My rig would look like a golf cart between two hummers if I was in their middle. I’ve plugged in the electricity and water so I’m not using mine and I can turn on the microwave and air conditioning. Inside I’m laying on my back, laptop propped up on my knees, Jesse Cook strumming a Moroccan theme on his guitar with fantastic percussionists thumping a complicated beat to his melody and I’m loving this experience! Off to sleep I go and a good night to all.
So much for quiet. When I woke up this morning, my quiet spot had morphed into a more-than-one child spot overnight. Next door to me was a large tent with a young couple, two very small children and grandparents just climbing out with two very sweet doggies already happily sniffing around. The older dog was a shepherd/something mix but the younger was a black lab puppy with big feet and clearly not yet trained. Both ran over to me to say hi and I rubbed, petted and was licked thoroughly by them before the parents noticed and called them back, apologizing for their dogs’ behavior. Not at all, I replied, I love dogs and these are obviously very good dogs. They smiled and began setting up breakfast for their kids, putting the youngest, who appeared to be less than a year in age, in his(?) high chair. The little boy picked up his rattle and proceeded to pound his tray and screech loudly, doing what babies do naturally, which is make noise. His older brother, who looked to be about three, shyly came over to say hi and I smiled at him and waved but his father ordered him back and told him to stay put and go nowhere. I had a feeling that order wasn’t going to stick.
But a high chair? Camping??? Two babies??? The mind boggles! I confess that the thought of my niece, Melissa, camping with me when she was five years old, brings visions of total premature gray to my mind. Brian, who would have been three years old to Melissa’s five, would have been just fine sitting on a blanket and looking around raptly, but Melissa when she was a wee thing was curiosity and energy personified. The horror of it, oh, the horror! (Sorry if I’m embarrassing you, sweetie, but you know darned well that it’s true. LOL!)
Before I ate breakfast I went for a walk with my camera tucked in my pocket. I needed the exercise and planned to walk a minimum of 30 min a day whenever I could. Might as well take some photos while I was doing so.
I had seen some lovely fields with farm houses scattered about on my way in to the campground and I headed in that direction to see what lighting there was to be had and if I could see something I could reproduce without screwing it up too much. I saw much to be admired and shot several photos of fields, mountains and cows (leas) in an area that was so peaceful and quiet that I could hear nothing but the wind blowing in the pines. That’s one of my most favorite sounds in the world, second only to the sound of snow falling in the woods. Subtle but oh, so lovely.
And just as I was turning to walk back, I saw an owl sitting on top of a telephone pole. I thought it was a fake owl meant to scare away some kind of bird or rodent, or what have you, but it turned it’s head to look at me and that was enough to pull my camera out again. The picture of course didn’t turn out as well as I wanted since it was overcast and early but you can at least see the silhouette. Pretty cool, huh?
Anyway, I performed my morning ablutions, tidied up, stowed everything tightly and took off. All in all, St. Regis, what I got to see of it at least, is tiny and smack in the middle of some gorgeous country. And I was not able to pick up a wireless connection, so this blog is going to be late in uploading as well as yesterday’s. Oh, well.
Lessons Learned:
That I need to get a new fitting for the end of the sewer hose that fits older dumping stations.
That today was much better than the last time I dumped.
But still a weensy bit of spillage.
Which will get better.
That when I hose down the van I need to make sure all windows are shut, not just the driver’s side.
Oops.
That the gloves I bought for working with the sewer hose aren’t as waterproof as they claim.
That I need to buy another decidedly waterproof and skinny set of gloves to fit inside these.
That I’m glad I brought a whole lot of antimicrobial cleaning agents with me.
Eew.
That I can’t figure out how to set the correct time on the van radio.
That I have user manuals for everything in the van.
Except the radio.
Doesn’t matter, I’ll be changing time zones anyway.
But it still drives me buggy.
Oh, well.
Observations:
A large, very sloppy nest perched precariously on top of a telephone pole. An eagle’s nest, perhaps? I know they’re lousy housekeepers. And I don't expect to see an osprey's nest in the area. They're pretty messy, too.
A warning side by the road that says, “Watch for ice.” Not far behind this sign is another that says, “Watch for rock.” Okay, make up your mind, will you? I can’t watch for both and keep the van straight too, so which one is it going to be? How silly.
I saw a spotted fawn almost at full growth with no mommy in sight. That doesn’t mean the mommy wasn’t nearby, just that I didn’t see her. The fawn ignored me completely and didn’t even look up as I walked by but continued to nibble some grasses under her feet. Pretty little thing and graceful as only a deer can be.
Day 5 - St. Regis, Montana
I’m sitting at Rose’s Restaurant, a nice little home-cooking-just-folks kind of stop right off of I-90 not far from the border of Idaho and Montana. I’m enjoying my excellent breakfast as I tippity tap on my laptop and sip heart-stopping coffee. Espresso has nothing on this! I decided to take myself out to a restaurant this morning since I haven’t eaten in one since I left. That and I’ve run out of yogurt and need to restock. Ok, that’s a really lame excuse - I just wanted to eat out but I do need to get more yogurt. Fluffbutt likes to lick the edge of the cup when I’m finished and appears to prefer Black Cherry, as I do, so that’s what I’ll get.
A group of age-enhanced motorcycle riders are at a table near me. No long, gray hair pulled back in a tail with tattoos and Harley Davidson leather jackets - just regular guys and their wives, most older than I am, or at least so it appears, all riding cycles big enough to lie down on. In fact, the rear seat riders look like they are lying down. Amazing! And they have heaters and gloves thick enough to pick up dry ice with. Since it was cold enough to get goose pimples in the morning chill, I can only imagine what it must feel like to ride in the open. My tender little body would not tolerate that for long!
I heard them discussing 40° below weather in the area, which reminded me of a couple of winters I experienced in Maine. I wonder if Montana gets that every winter? Having your nose hairs freeze is an interesting experience but not something I’d want every time the snow fell. It got cold in Maine during the January/February months, but it didn’t always get so cold you couldn’t start your car without an engine block warmer. Here, I think that’s the norm.
After finishing my breakfast I hit the road and made my way back on to I-90 with Charmagne giving me approving nods every so often. I swear her accent is becoming British even though I didn’t change it. I do wonder where she’ll dump me out today. As usual I inputted (sp?) the exact address of my next campground but I reckon I’ll just wait and see. (Microsoft Works didn’t tell me to correct “inputted” so I guess it thinks that’s a word. Huh.) Inputting the exact address hasn’t worked before but since I don’t mind getting lost when I see such beautiful scenery as I wander around, it’s not really a problem. I only have a Rand McNally Atlas to guide me but it doesn’t have specifics for these small towns. And I haven’t been able to get a wireless connection here in the mountains so I’m left with asking for help. Fortunately I don’t have a problem doing that…
As usual I stayed in the far right lane tucked in between much larger rigs forced to go slowly down some pretty steep grades. There was no runaway truck lane and I prayed fervently that none of these huge trucks would lose their brakes as we careened madly down the hills going a terrifying 45 mph. Ok, laugh, but it was damned scary to me when my van was doing its usual lumbering back and forth across the lane and the truck behind me was getting waaaayyyy too close for comfort going into some of the sharper turns. I was hugely relieved when we finally reached a gentler grade and I could relax my hands which had been bolted to the steering wheel. The mountains are gorgeous but driving them in Le Van Gogh is just a wee too bit interesting for my heart.
About 15 miles before I knew I would see signs for St. Regis Charmagne piped up and announced that I had reached my destination. Oh, for cryin’ out loud! I could buy the dump-in-the-middle-of-the-road scene since at least up to now she had been within 200 yards of our goal. Fifteen miles seemed really over the top. Either Charmagne is just mentally defective or they haven’t updated the GPS coordinates in quite awhile. Sheesh.
I ignored her, indeed I turned her off since what good was she to me now? I continued driving until I saw the turn-off for St. Regis. I pulled into the Visitor’s Center which had a sign outside that said “Visitor Friendly.” Well, that’s good, considering that’s what it’s there for. Inside I found all kinds of information on Montana but nothing on St. Regis. I asked the lovely lady on duty and she looked a bit embarrassed as she searched for a pamphlet amongst the hundreds on display. She finally found a tattered map of the area which showed a town of very small proportions, most of which was centered around the turnoff right here by I-90. She did find a brochure for the St. Regis Campground I was staying in tonight and I thanked her heartily, making her feel a little better for not being able to give me any useful information about the immediate area. Perhaps there wasn't any to give.
I left with a friendly wave and stopped at a nearby grocery store (everything here is “nearby“) intending to stock up on yogurt and fresh veggies. After seeing the prices I restarted my heart and left hastily to go find a veggie stand. The prices were enormous! I guess the store manager had to raise them to make up for the costs of paying for the health care of the truck drivers who made it this far down the mountain. I did find a lovely little stand, however, and bought peaches and cherries and headed out to the campground which came with a 5-star rating and a Good Sam discount. There was also a discount for military, retired, active or veteran, so I was covered both ways (I joined Good Sam quickly when I saw how many sites discount for membership).
I checked in and was given a nice spot in the ‘quiet’ area, whatever that means. Perhaps they don’t put families with more than one child nearby. Whatever, I had it all to myself when I closed up everything and went to bed. Of course I took advantage of the showers and scrubbed and washed my hair, etc, before I went to bed because I planned on a Wal-Mart stay in Missoula. And although it is convenient to have my own shower, it is definitely not convenient to use it. You have to really want a shower to get this one ready and rinse your hair, turn off the water, add shampoo and lather your hair and scrub the rest of you, turn on the water, rinse everything very quickly, turn off the water, etc. And then towel dry your hair and your body, and make sure the drain area gets dried and then hang your towel on the miniature clothes line that can be strung across the van on this side of the lavoratory and kitchen. And check to see how much water you have left and if it will last you until you reach your next campground where you can refill your fresh water tank. And check your holding tanks to make sure you haven’t filled the gray water up yet. And don't forget to duck beneath the clothesline or you will strangle yourself in the night. All in all, if I’m desperate I’m glad it’s there. If I have a choice, however, I’ll take a full shower that doesn’t require so much work.
It was deliciously quiet after I returned to my little camper, for which I was doubly grateful that I had been placed here. The children section had been placed at the other side of the campground where there was a pool and other playground attractions, but over here was nothing but beautiful pines and grass and quiet. Just quiet. Camp fires were springing up all around me in the twilight and campers and tents alike were softly lit from within by lamps or overhead lighting. No stars shone above because it was overcast, but that was OK. I actually heard a rumble of thunder as a few drops of rain fell with a passing storm. I was delighted to hear it since Port Angeles rarely gets any thunder storms and I had only heard one once since I had arrived there. There had been more than that but I had always been asleep when they occurred, dang it. This was lovely to hear, like an old friend calling to me from the skies.
And now it is 7:00 p.m. and I’m tucked into my little baby trailer across from two monster motor homes. My rig would look like a golf cart between two hummers if I was in their middle. I’ve plugged in the electricity and water so I’m not using mine and I can turn on the microwave and air conditioning. Inside I’m laying on my back, laptop propped up on my knees, Jesse Cook strumming a Moroccan theme on his guitar with fantastic percussionists thumping a complicated beat to his melody and I’m loving this experience! Off to sleep I go and a good night to all.
So much for quiet. When I woke up this morning, my quiet spot had morphed into a more-than-one child spot overnight. Next door to me was a large tent with a young couple, two very small children and grandparents just climbing out with two very sweet doggies already happily sniffing around. The older dog was a shepherd/something mix but the younger was a black lab puppy with big feet and clearly not yet trained. Both ran over to me to say hi and I rubbed, petted and was licked thoroughly by them before the parents noticed and called them back, apologizing for their dogs’ behavior. Not at all, I replied, I love dogs and these are obviously very good dogs. They smiled and began setting up breakfast for their kids, putting the youngest, who appeared to be less than a year in age, in his(?) high chair. The little boy picked up his rattle and proceeded to pound his tray and screech loudly, doing what babies do naturally, which is make noise. His older brother, who looked to be about three, shyly came over to say hi and I smiled at him and waved but his father ordered him back and told him to stay put and go nowhere. I had a feeling that order wasn’t going to stick.
But a high chair? Camping??? Two babies??? The mind boggles! I confess that the thought of my niece, Melissa, camping with me when she was five years old, brings visions of total premature gray to my mind. Brian, who would have been three years old to Melissa’s five, would have been just fine sitting on a blanket and looking around raptly, but Melissa when she was a wee thing was curiosity and energy personified. The horror of it, oh, the horror! (Sorry if I’m embarrassing you, sweetie, but you know darned well that it’s true. LOL!)
Before I ate breakfast I went for a walk with my camera tucked in my pocket. I needed the exercise and planned to walk a minimum of 30 min a day whenever I could. Might as well take some photos while I was doing so.
I had seen some lovely fields with farm houses scattered about on my way in to the campground and I headed in that direction to see what lighting there was to be had and if I could see something I could reproduce without screwing it up too much. I saw much to be admired and shot several photos of fields, mountains and cows (leas) in an area that was so peaceful and quiet that I could hear nothing but the wind blowing in the pines. That’s one of my most favorite sounds in the world, second only to the sound of snow falling in the woods. Subtle but oh, so lovely.
And just as I was turning to walk back, I saw an owl sitting on top of a telephone pole. I thought it was a fake owl meant to scare away some kind of bird or rodent, or what have you, but it turned it’s head to look at me and that was enough to pull my camera out again. The picture of course didn’t turn out as well as I wanted since it was overcast and early but you can at least see the silhouette. Pretty cool, huh?
Anyway, I performed my morning ablutions, tidied up, stowed everything tightly and took off. All in all, St. Regis, what I got to see of it at least, is tiny and smack in the middle of some gorgeous country. And I was not able to pick up a wireless connection, so this blog is going to be late in uploading as well as yesterday’s. Oh, well.
Lessons Learned:
That I need to get a new fitting for the end of the sewer hose that fits older dumping stations.
That today was much better than the last time I dumped.
But still a weensy bit of spillage.
Which will get better.
That when I hose down the van I need to make sure all windows are shut, not just the driver’s side.
Oops.
That the gloves I bought for working with the sewer hose aren’t as waterproof as they claim.
That I need to buy another decidedly waterproof and skinny set of gloves to fit inside these.
That I’m glad I brought a whole lot of antimicrobial cleaning agents with me.
Eew.
That I can’t figure out how to set the correct time on the van radio.
That I have user manuals for everything in the van.
Except the radio.
Doesn’t matter, I’ll be changing time zones anyway.
But it still drives me buggy.
Oh, well.
Observations:
A large, very sloppy nest perched precariously on top of a telephone pole. An eagle’s nest, perhaps? I know they’re lousy housekeepers. And I don't expect to see an osprey's nest in the area. They're pretty messy, too.
A warning side by the road that says, “Watch for ice.” Not far behind this sign is another that says, “Watch for rock.” Okay, make up your mind, will you? I can’t watch for both and keep the van straight too, so which one is it going to be? How silly.
I saw a spotted fawn almost at full growth with no mommy in sight. That doesn’t mean the mommy wasn’t nearby, just that I didn’t see her. The fawn ignored me completely and didn’t even look up as I walked by but continued to nibble some grasses under her feet. Pretty little thing and graceful as only a deer can be.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Day 4 - Coeur d'Alene, Idaho
Earthship Le Van Gogh Diary
Day 4 - Coeur d’Alene, Idaho
(It’s actually September 5th but I couldn’t get a signal where I was yesterday. For that matter, I can’t get one now as I eat breakfast at a cute little restaurant further on down the road. You might not see this for a bit…)
(It's now 1730 (5:00 p.m.) and I'm set up at my next stop in St. Regis, Montana. This is the first time I've been able to get a signal. Oh, well.)
Anyway, yesterday I was up with the sunrise in my little spot by the lake and sat for a moment sipping coffee and marveling at the sky. I wasn’t the first up - the huge camper across from me already showed signs of life and a fire was already crackling in the stone ring. The Bendy Men, kitties and I just relaxed and watched the day unfold, or I should say, I did. The Bendy Men were still sleeping and the cats were eating their breakfast. I watched, anyway, and just relaxed and meditated before I began making preparations for departure.
The desert texture of the scenery I had passed the day before now gently smoothed into rural farmland and the beauty of the surroundings so affected me that I had to get out and take some pictures. Because it was near the end of the season many fields were already cleared while others still lay waiting for the harvester. It was stark and very bleak, even harsh, but it had its own textures and colors and patterns that were simply lovely. It appeared to me that the gods had sewn a large patchwork quilt of muted hues and hand stitched rows that crisscrossed the pieces in incredible patterns resembling a large Japanese garden. Indeed, the hand-raked patterns of the gods that were touched by the early morning light sprang into sharp detail and if there had been a place to turn off so I could take a picture I would have done so. Sadly, I was on a small, two-way connecting road taking me back to 90 and there was too little space for my van to safely park. I did take some other pictures from the side of 90 but they cannot do justice to the colors I saw. Some day I’ll get the hang of manipulating my photos. Sigh.
I noticed yesterday before I reached Cle Elum that the crops on both sides of the road were in many stages of growth, from corn no more than two feet high to fields still not quite ready for harvest. Soybeans and hay were likewise at different heights and I envied an area that could coax three plantings from the fertile grounds. In Maine the only two-harvested crop I saw was hay but the growing season was so short that everything else was lucky to reach full growth in one season. The potatoes and cranberries were naturally of one season and the family gardens reached full growth near the end of August, individual vegetables and fruit notwithstanding. And in Kentucky and Illinois I only saw one growing season for the corn and soybeans, so eastern Washington was fortunate, indeed, to have three! Amazing! It was either that or the drought delayed the growth of these immature crops. I like my story better, though. Happier endings always work well for me.
I noticed also that the land, which maintained its rural leanings as I drove along, changed sharply when I drove over the Spokane county line. A sprinkling of fir trees sprang up which quickly became very thick in growth as I headed east. I wondered if the firs had been told that it was illegal to grow beyond the boundary. The ground hadn’t risen sharply or even at all and yet here we were, the line of demarcation suddenly catapulting me into fir city. Interesting. Lovely, but interesting.
I took a nap just outside Spokane and awakened refreshed and made the last few miles easily to Coeur d’Alene. I’m glad I had the rest, however, because I went out and beyond the city down 90 and deep into gorgeous mountain scenery trying to find the Wolf Lodge Campground. Charmagne was doing her best to get me there but once again, she dumped me in the middle of a road and pronounced me at my destination. Hmmm… I saw no sign for the Lodge and decided to check out a nice gravel road far up into the hills while looking for something to give an indication of the location. Even though I was tired I wasn’t sorry I made the extra drive because I passed the most incredible surroundings, long, green valleys with horses grazing, wild flowers swaying everywhere in the breeze, and the patterned light gently touching the firs and trees surrounding the fields. I stopped at a modest house to ask for directions and was greeted by a very nice goat, five chickens and a ferocious watch dog who came shuffling up to me with tail wagging and a big grin on his face.
“If you’re the watch dog, someone’s not getting their money’s worth,” I laughed, as I gave him a rub and assured him that he was a very good dog even if he wasn’t much in the way of security. I walked around looking for someone but even though the garage door was open and the back of the SUV parked in the driveway was flipped up, no one answered as I called out. I shrugged and gave the ferocious dog one more rub, stroked the nose of the goat who liked the taste of my fingers, and left with the sound of the pitter-pat cluckings of the chickens in my ears.
Eventually I saw an Idaho DOT truck heading towards me and I waved it down. The young man driving it gave me the proper directions and I thanked him and drove on. On my way out I saw a female turkey and her almost grown chicks sauntering around in the grasses on my right. Yep, I could live here, alright. Never mind that every house in the area had their own bulldozer for winter snows and some of the driveways were sloped up to the road making it all but impossible to get out in an ice storm. Maybe they didn’t want to get out. I wouldn’t. What a gorgeous place to live!
I visited northern Idaho briefly while I was stationed in Salt Lake City as a medical officer recruiter. The powers that be had arranged for a conference up in a small lodge and I don’t even remember which one it was. I do remember how beautiful it was and now I could confirm that memory of loveliness around me and in me, so healing to see and feel!
(Pause to go outside and take some morning photos of the surroundings.)
Ok, I’m back. I have far more photos than I can upload to my blog. I’m only aloud three per blog and yesterday I was given the option of thumbnails only. You can’t click on those and get a large view of the photos that way so I’m going to start an album on Facebook with the others. I wish I was a better photographer so I could do justice to the scenery around me but I have no doubt there are professionals out there who have taken some of the area and made a far better job of it. It is what it is, I suppose.
Today I’m heading to St. Regis, Montana, about halfway between Coeur’ d’Alene and Missoula, Montana. I’m only going to go about 100 miles a day because 200 is wearing me out. Plus, I want to get out and explore as I go along and I can’t do that if I’m constantly preparing to get to the next stop. That’s not what I planned, that’s for sure!
The kitties are fed and in their traveling positions, the Bendy Men are back after a night on the town and sleeping it off, and I’m going through my morning ablutions, including writing a blog. May your day be as blessed as mine!
Until tomorrow!
Lessons Learned:
That just because you want to dump your tank at the next stop because you feel too lazy to do it this morning doesn’t mean that there will be a dumping station at the next stop.
That you should always dump when the opportunity presents itself.
Always.
Forget being lazy.
That Charmagne is good with the broad scope but not so hot with the particulars.
That if the address doesn’t have a cross street, you’re going to end up in the middle of the road.
That forgetting to turn the shower nozzle off completely will lead to copious amounts of dripping in the lavoratory.
My cup runneth over.
I needed to mop the floor anyway.
That it’s not a good idea to let the kitties out when your spot lies directly in the path of dog walkers.
That just because the dogs are required to be on a leash doesn’t mean that they won’t give the kitties a heart attack.
That the normally docile, friendly doggies, even the miniature dachshund (think Jaqq) wandering by, believe themselves to be ravening beasts at the sight of a little white cat cowering on the top of the picnic table.
That I should check the location of the dog path before I do this again.
That if you want the furnace to blow hot air you must first turn the propane valve to ‘on.’
And don’t forget to turn it back off.
Observations:
While passing some of the tilled, dusty fields I noticed what appeared to be wisps of smoke going straight up into the clouds. There were numerous little smoke stacks dotting the fields on both sides and it looked like tiny puffs of steam bursting from the ground. While driving close to one I saw that it was actually a tiny tornado drawing the dry ground up into its little vortex. And off to the right was yet another. And another. Must be the spirits of the gods dancing in the fields!
On the far side of the divided highway, a statue of David painted in the bronze hues of a Native American man with a loin cloth draped modestly around his hips.
Two streets noted in Spokane named Freya and Thor. Must be the the Norse Gods behind the patterned fields. Perhaps it's Loki who's out dancing with the wind.
A young pregnant woman and her husband(?) with a sleeping hound dog sitting in the sun at the top of an exit ramp just outside of Spokane holding a sign that said, “broke and stranded, please help.” Probably a scam but I gave them $5.00 anyway because the dog had such a great smile.
Before Spokane a road sign saying Cheney Medical Hospital. I had visions of small groups of patients in swimsuits and bloomers lining up by the lake for a healthy dip in the healing waters while Cheney stood by nodding benevolently.
I have been plagued by nightmares about this ever since.
Just kidding.
I have no idea what day of the week it is. I know what time it is and the date, but that’s it. I don’t suppose it matters, actually. I rather like it.
Day 4 - Coeur d’Alene, Idaho
(It’s actually September 5th but I couldn’t get a signal where I was yesterday. For that matter, I can’t get one now as I eat breakfast at a cute little restaurant further on down the road. You might not see this for a bit…)
(It's now 1730 (5:00 p.m.) and I'm set up at my next stop in St. Regis, Montana. This is the first time I've been able to get a signal. Oh, well.)
Anyway, yesterday I was up with the sunrise in my little spot by the lake and sat for a moment sipping coffee and marveling at the sky. I wasn’t the first up - the huge camper across from me already showed signs of life and a fire was already crackling in the stone ring. The Bendy Men, kitties and I just relaxed and watched the day unfold, or I should say, I did. The Bendy Men were still sleeping and the cats were eating their breakfast. I watched, anyway, and just relaxed and meditated before I began making preparations for departure.
The desert texture of the scenery I had passed the day before now gently smoothed into rural farmland and the beauty of the surroundings so affected me that I had to get out and take some pictures. Because it was near the end of the season many fields were already cleared while others still lay waiting for the harvester. It was stark and very bleak, even harsh, but it had its own textures and colors and patterns that were simply lovely. It appeared to me that the gods had sewn a large patchwork quilt of muted hues and hand stitched rows that crisscrossed the pieces in incredible patterns resembling a large Japanese garden. Indeed, the hand-raked patterns of the gods that were touched by the early morning light sprang into sharp detail and if there had been a place to turn off so I could take a picture I would have done so. Sadly, I was on a small, two-way connecting road taking me back to 90 and there was too little space for my van to safely park. I did take some other pictures from the side of 90 but they cannot do justice to the colors I saw. Some day I’ll get the hang of manipulating my photos. Sigh.
I noticed yesterday before I reached Cle Elum that the crops on both sides of the road were in many stages of growth, from corn no more than two feet high to fields still not quite ready for harvest. Soybeans and hay were likewise at different heights and I envied an area that could coax three plantings from the fertile grounds. In Maine the only two-harvested crop I saw was hay but the growing season was so short that everything else was lucky to reach full growth in one season. The potatoes and cranberries were naturally of one season and the family gardens reached full growth near the end of August, individual vegetables and fruit notwithstanding. And in Kentucky and Illinois I only saw one growing season for the corn and soybeans, so eastern Washington was fortunate, indeed, to have three! Amazing! It was either that or the drought delayed the growth of these immature crops. I like my story better, though. Happier endings always work well for me.
I noticed also that the land, which maintained its rural leanings as I drove along, changed sharply when I drove over the Spokane county line. A sprinkling of fir trees sprang up which quickly became very thick in growth as I headed east. I wondered if the firs had been told that it was illegal to grow beyond the boundary. The ground hadn’t risen sharply or even at all and yet here we were, the line of demarcation suddenly catapulting me into fir city. Interesting. Lovely, but interesting.
I took a nap just outside Spokane and awakened refreshed and made the last few miles easily to Coeur d’Alene. I’m glad I had the rest, however, because I went out and beyond the city down 90 and deep into gorgeous mountain scenery trying to find the Wolf Lodge Campground. Charmagne was doing her best to get me there but once again, she dumped me in the middle of a road and pronounced me at my destination. Hmmm… I saw no sign for the Lodge and decided to check out a nice gravel road far up into the hills while looking for something to give an indication of the location. Even though I was tired I wasn’t sorry I made the extra drive because I passed the most incredible surroundings, long, green valleys with horses grazing, wild flowers swaying everywhere in the breeze, and the patterned light gently touching the firs and trees surrounding the fields. I stopped at a modest house to ask for directions and was greeted by a very nice goat, five chickens and a ferocious watch dog who came shuffling up to me with tail wagging and a big grin on his face.
“If you’re the watch dog, someone’s not getting their money’s worth,” I laughed, as I gave him a rub and assured him that he was a very good dog even if he wasn’t much in the way of security. I walked around looking for someone but even though the garage door was open and the back of the SUV parked in the driveway was flipped up, no one answered as I called out. I shrugged and gave the ferocious dog one more rub, stroked the nose of the goat who liked the taste of my fingers, and left with the sound of the pitter-pat cluckings of the chickens in my ears.
Eventually I saw an Idaho DOT truck heading towards me and I waved it down. The young man driving it gave me the proper directions and I thanked him and drove on. On my way out I saw a female turkey and her almost grown chicks sauntering around in the grasses on my right. Yep, I could live here, alright. Never mind that every house in the area had their own bulldozer for winter snows and some of the driveways were sloped up to the road making it all but impossible to get out in an ice storm. Maybe they didn’t want to get out. I wouldn’t. What a gorgeous place to live!
I visited northern Idaho briefly while I was stationed in Salt Lake City as a medical officer recruiter. The powers that be had arranged for a conference up in a small lodge and I don’t even remember which one it was. I do remember how beautiful it was and now I could confirm that memory of loveliness around me and in me, so healing to see and feel!
(Pause to go outside and take some morning photos of the surroundings.)
Ok, I’m back. I have far more photos than I can upload to my blog. I’m only aloud three per blog and yesterday I was given the option of thumbnails only. You can’t click on those and get a large view of the photos that way so I’m going to start an album on Facebook with the others. I wish I was a better photographer so I could do justice to the scenery around me but I have no doubt there are professionals out there who have taken some of the area and made a far better job of it. It is what it is, I suppose.
Today I’m heading to St. Regis, Montana, about halfway between Coeur’ d’Alene and Missoula, Montana. I’m only going to go about 100 miles a day because 200 is wearing me out. Plus, I want to get out and explore as I go along and I can’t do that if I’m constantly preparing to get to the next stop. That’s not what I planned, that’s for sure!
The kitties are fed and in their traveling positions, the Bendy Men are back after a night on the town and sleeping it off, and I’m going through my morning ablutions, including writing a blog. May your day be as blessed as mine!
Until tomorrow!
Lessons Learned:
That just because you want to dump your tank at the next stop because you feel too lazy to do it this morning doesn’t mean that there will be a dumping station at the next stop.
That you should always dump when the opportunity presents itself.
Always.
Forget being lazy.
That Charmagne is good with the broad scope but not so hot with the particulars.
That if the address doesn’t have a cross street, you’re going to end up in the middle of the road.
That forgetting to turn the shower nozzle off completely will lead to copious amounts of dripping in the lavoratory.
My cup runneth over.
I needed to mop the floor anyway.
That it’s not a good idea to let the kitties out when your spot lies directly in the path of dog walkers.
That just because the dogs are required to be on a leash doesn’t mean that they won’t give the kitties a heart attack.
That the normally docile, friendly doggies, even the miniature dachshund (think Jaqq) wandering by, believe themselves to be ravening beasts at the sight of a little white cat cowering on the top of the picnic table.
That I should check the location of the dog path before I do this again.
That if you want the furnace to blow hot air you must first turn the propane valve to ‘on.’
And don’t forget to turn it back off.
Observations:
While passing some of the tilled, dusty fields I noticed what appeared to be wisps of smoke going straight up into the clouds. There were numerous little smoke stacks dotting the fields on both sides and it looked like tiny puffs of steam bursting from the ground. While driving close to one I saw that it was actually a tiny tornado drawing the dry ground up into its little vortex. And off to the right was yet another. And another. Must be the spirits of the gods dancing in the fields!
On the far side of the divided highway, a statue of David painted in the bronze hues of a Native American man with a loin cloth draped modestly around his hips.
Two streets noted in Spokane named Freya and Thor. Must be the the Norse Gods behind the patterned fields. Perhaps it's Loki who's out dancing with the wind.
A young pregnant woman and her husband(?) with a sleeping hound dog sitting in the sun at the top of an exit ramp just outside of Spokane holding a sign that said, “broke and stranded, please help.” Probably a scam but I gave them $5.00 anyway because the dog had such a great smile.
Before Spokane a road sign saying Cheney Medical Hospital. I had visions of small groups of patients in swimsuits and bloomers lining up by the lake for a healthy dip in the healing waters while Cheney stood by nodding benevolently.
I have been plagued by nightmares about this ever since.
Just kidding.
I have no idea what day of the week it is. I know what time it is and the date, but that’s it. I don’t suppose it matters, actually. I rather like it.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Day 3 - Moses Lake
Earthship Le Van Gogh Diary
09.03.09
Well, I wildly overestimated how far I could get today. I had planned to spend the night in Coeur d’Alene in Idaho but only made it as far as Moses Lake in Washington. That was not quite 200 miles which is pretty darned good for me, if I do say so myself. But I had not anticipated driving into a stiff head wind into the mountains, silly me. Le Van Gogh is a good little camper guy but it doesn’t drive well in windy areas. It pretty much felt like I was steering a derelict old scow that was wallowing through a deep trough. In other words, not good. The van skittered back and forth across the lane leaving both me and the other drivers with a few hair-raising episodes of ‘too close for comfort’ driving. I shouldn’t wonder if they thought I had been drinking before I left this morning. I hadn’t, of course, but any policeman would have been justified in pulling me over and giving me a breathalyzer test. All he’d get would be coffee breath but I’d still look suspicious.
And even though the speed limit was often 70 mph through Snoqualmie Pass, I retreated to the far right with the trucks who were required to go no faster than 60. In that lane I at least felt like I might have a bit more control when a good blast of air came at me. And if I did lose control I could aim towards the mountain side instead of other drivers. A small consolation, but it meant something to me.
So all in all I think I did pretty good going uphill against winds with a wandering van that couldn’t decide which side of the lane to stay in. I don’t know yet what my mileage was for today but I’ll bet it wasn’t worth a tinker’s darn.
My night in the Walmart parking lot was interesting but amazingly quiet once I moved away from the guy with the noisy generator. When I closed the curtains there was only two other gonzo RV’s outside besides the generator-run small van. When I woke up this morning I was surrounded by seven more vans of a variety of sizes in addition to the two I started with, plus three pickup trucks, numerous assorted cars and one cab. Walmart is a very popular boon docking site, I’m beginning to see. It’s sure good for my budget though I noted that this Walmart stayed open all night. Perhaps that’s their way of getting money back from the free parking they provide.
After deciding that I would stay in Moses Lake tonight, I pulled over in a parking lot in town and googled any campgrounds in the area. There was only one listed right here in Moses Lake and since I didn’t want to drive any farther I called them up desperately hoping they might have something open for one little bitty RV. To my delight I could have one night for $25 if I got the heck out in the morning. The camp was full from tomorrow through next Tuesday with last-weekend families out for one last huzzah before school began. I restrained my tears and tried not to look too pathetically grateful as I handed over the cash. I was assigned to a site down away from the already full row of RV’s and tents in the upper level. I was happy with that because there was only one camper down below and up here there were multitudes with loud country music blaring. I’ll take peace and quiet with fewer neighbors any day.
Before I found the campground, I had programmed the address into Charmagne (who had kept her tone of voice distinctly civil today in spite of my frequent ignoring of her advice) and got back onto the proper street to lead me just a wee bit out of town. As I neared what I assumed would bring me a big sign saying “Cascadia Campgrounds,” Charmagne piped up and declared I had arrived at my destination. Well, heck, I was still in the middle of a road with no sign in sight indicating where the campground could be. I saw just down the road a little mom n’ pop grocery store and I pulled in there to ask for directions. I asked the man if he could tell me where the campgrounds were because my GPS unit had told me it was right back there in the middle of the road. The nice man laughed and said that I wasn’t alone - there apparently was a constant stream of people coming in, all claiming their GPS unit was drunk or had vertigo or something was wrong. Oh, goodie, I thought. If Charmagne is as mentally defective as she appears to be, then at least she’s not alone. The man gave me the rest of the directions and off I went to check in.
My site was by the lake (I presume THE lake) and under a tree. I successfully backed in with only a couple of attempts (I’m getting better!) and hooked up the water and electricity. I then fed and watered the kitties, tidied up the stray items that were apparently left out and rolled around, and let the cats out on their leashes and harnesses. They couldn’t go out last night in the parking lot because it was dangerous and they both would have been scared silly. But here the sun was shining though we were parked under a large shady tree and the wind was lightly blowing through the grass. Beautiful! Chopper, being a formerly in-and-outdoor cat, immediately went out to explore and just sat in the sun for several minutes, enjoying the moment. It’s been a while since she could do that.
Fluffbutt, on the other hand, made a beeline towards the van and hid behind the rear tire. I had looped their extended leashes around the picnic table close by and she had reached the end of the leash under there. She stayed in that area for a bit, slowly peeking her little white nose around the corner and sniffing the air like a dog. I left her sniffing and peeking for a bit and walked over to say hi to my only neighbors.
I introduced myself to Ruth and Mark and their two sons, Levi and Zac, who had got there that morning and were staying through Tuesday. Both Levi and Zac were in wheelchairs, both appearing to have cerebal palsy. Zac had more control over his body and could crawl to his wheelchair and get in himself. He waved happily at me and said howdy. Levi, on the other hand, was severely physically challenged with the condition. Although there was nothing wrong with his smarts, he was held captive by his body and could only make distorted sounds and jerky, uncontrolled movements. It was obvious, however, that in spite of his challenges he was your basic teenager and wore his hair in wildly unkempt dreadlocks and the latest in what passes for fashion in that age group. Zac’s hair was much shorter but his clothingwas similar in nature and both he and Levi looked just like what they were: Happy young men who liked to laugh and clearly enjoyed camping by the side of the lake.
We all chatted for a bit and Mark said he’d keep Daisy, his beautiful, goofily affectionate golden lab on a leash since she was a confirmed cat hater. I told him the kitties would be going back inside in a bit and then if he wanted to let her go, feel free. I then asked him if he had seen the folks who had been in my spot prior to me because it looked like large herd of small dogs came stampeding through and offloaded every place they could. The area was a virtual minefield of poo and I stepped very carefully around the van when I went out to hook up the utilities. Mark replied that it wasn’t small dogs, those were goose droppings. Lots of goose droppings. Although there weren’t any in sight at the moment, there was apparently a flock of geese who spent time there and had made it kinda tough to get around safely. I immediately thought of my sister, Laureen’s, ordeal when she had to march through goose droppings in Officer Candidate School. So much for having a spit-shine on your shoes!
I wished a wonderful time and a good night to all and returned to my little camper. Time for dinner, a little reading, and beginning of tonight’s blog. With the heating pad on under my back and the laptop perched on my belly, I sit in a relaxed and soothing atmosphere with a little light classical music in the background and some icy water at hand. What more could I ask for?
I’ve added a section called Observations in addition to Lessons Learned. It seems appropriate.
Lessons Learned:
That the sound of rain on the camper roof is nice.
That it’s good to have a furnace that runs off of 12V.
But electricity is better.
That I should never have bought blankets that snag.
That Chopper requires untangling even as I write.
That I need to find a local charity drop-off so I can get rid of these ‘gently snagged’ blankies.
That I see yet another trip to Walmart in my future.
After I find Goodwill.
That I found a tiny screw on the floor and I can’t figure out where it fell from and it’s driving me as buggy as the unknown item that is still rollicking around in the cabinet.
That the sink no longer leaks leaving me wondering where the water came from which is driving me even buggier.
That my windshield wipers flap in the wind.
That I have no windshield wiper fluid.
That I need to go get some and soon.
That seeing out of my front windows in rain is a little tough with flapping wipers.
That this adds to the ‘interesting’ factor of driving into the wind.
That I can do without any more ‘interesting’ factors right now.
That my radio speakers are in the rear of the van.
That I can’t hear them very well when I’m driving.
That there is no place to plug in a headphone except in the rear.
That perhaps I’d better get a long extension to my headphone wires.
That my portable radio/DVD player has a headphone jack.
That the sound won’t come on when the headphones are plugged in.
That I can’t hear it playing aloud much better even though it’s sitting right beside me in the passenger seat.
That I’m now listening to instrumentals played low (and still coming from the rear) that give me a little background music because they’re the only music I can hear that doesn’t require me to understand what they are saying.
That I’m going to have to regroup and rethink this whole playing music thing while I’m on the road.
Goose poop.
Obervations:
A teensy, tiny elderly lady working in a Burger King where I stopped to pee told me she liked my shirt. I’m wearing a Monty Python design of the armless, legless knight yelling that it’s only a flesh wound.
I caught only part of a story on NPR this morning in which they were discussing a herd of goats that had been trained to dance together to a Scottish jig. The goats were so good that they were being compared to the Rockettes. Where is this happening and when because seeing this has just gone on my ’see before I die’ list.
Eastern Washington doesn’t look anything like the northern peninsula. Where there are forests and beaches and dampness (when we’re not in a drought, that is), here there are long, sloping hills that resemble something out of the four corners territory of Utah, Arizona, Colorado and New Mexico, only without the red rock. More like a subtle variation in browns, grays and greens with scrub brush and grasses thrown in for good measure. In fact, I drove by the Ginko Petrified Forest, something else that can be found in the four corners area. The petrified forest, not the ginko. Very cool. I stopped at one of those ‘scenic view’ pull offs and grabbed my camera. There were brownish-grayish canyons overlooking a beautiful lake with a gorgeous blue sky overhead. Fantastic!
And then I looked up on the hillside and there was a herd of horses galloping across the hilltop. Or I thought they were galloping. Actually, they were this life size metal sculpture that I’d heard about but had never seen and they were beautiful!! I snapped a couple of pictures but in the sunlight I couldn’t see if they turned out ok. If so, they’ll be posted. If not, maybe I can find an internet photo I could swipe and post here. We shall see.
I couldn’t remember the name of this installation so I asked a couple standing near me if they knew and the man said he thought it was “Advantages.” Odd name for a bunch of metal horses so I think I’ll look it up. I don’t remember the name of the artist either (I’m doing really great here for someone who has taken several art history classes) so I guess I’ll look that up, too.
A car passed me on 405 with “got cornbread?’ scrawled on the rear window.
I saw several cows in a meadow on my right today, lying down and chewing their cud. Over many years I’ve heard the meaning of my name, “Lea,” given as “weary,” “wild cow (feral cows?”, and “a meadow.” That means that today I saw a bunch of lea leas in a lea.
Tomorrow I will most definitely make it to Coeur d’Alene where I was confounded to discover that I could switch tonight’s reservation at the Wolf Lodge Campground to then. I guess because Le Van Gogh is such a little guy that he can squeeze into more spots. Otherwise, I’d be screwed looking for any open site at the beginning of a long weekend. The next night might very well be another Walmart parking lot, but at least I’ll have had a hot shower two nights in a row!
And on that note, the hot shower has done its job and it’s time for beddy. Until tomorrow, adieu. And may you all have wonderful, hot showers!
09.03.09
Well, I wildly overestimated how far I could get today. I had planned to spend the night in Coeur d’Alene in Idaho but only made it as far as Moses Lake in Washington. That was not quite 200 miles which is pretty darned good for me, if I do say so myself. But I had not anticipated driving into a stiff head wind into the mountains, silly me. Le Van Gogh is a good little camper guy but it doesn’t drive well in windy areas. It pretty much felt like I was steering a derelict old scow that was wallowing through a deep trough. In other words, not good. The van skittered back and forth across the lane leaving both me and the other drivers with a few hair-raising episodes of ‘too close for comfort’ driving. I shouldn’t wonder if they thought I had been drinking before I left this morning. I hadn’t, of course, but any policeman would have been justified in pulling me over and giving me a breathalyzer test. All he’d get would be coffee breath but I’d still look suspicious.
And even though the speed limit was often 70 mph through Snoqualmie Pass, I retreated to the far right with the trucks who were required to go no faster than 60. In that lane I at least felt like I might have a bit more control when a good blast of air came at me. And if I did lose control I could aim towards the mountain side instead of other drivers. A small consolation, but it meant something to me.
So all in all I think I did pretty good going uphill against winds with a wandering van that couldn’t decide which side of the lane to stay in. I don’t know yet what my mileage was for today but I’ll bet it wasn’t worth a tinker’s darn.
My night in the Walmart parking lot was interesting but amazingly quiet once I moved away from the guy with the noisy generator. When I closed the curtains there was only two other gonzo RV’s outside besides the generator-run small van. When I woke up this morning I was surrounded by seven more vans of a variety of sizes in addition to the two I started with, plus three pickup trucks, numerous assorted cars and one cab. Walmart is a very popular boon docking site, I’m beginning to see. It’s sure good for my budget though I noted that this Walmart stayed open all night. Perhaps that’s their way of getting money back from the free parking they provide.
After deciding that I would stay in Moses Lake tonight, I pulled over in a parking lot in town and googled any campgrounds in the area. There was only one listed right here in Moses Lake and since I didn’t want to drive any farther I called them up desperately hoping they might have something open for one little bitty RV. To my delight I could have one night for $25 if I got the heck out in the morning. The camp was full from tomorrow through next Tuesday with last-weekend families out for one last huzzah before school began. I restrained my tears and tried not to look too pathetically grateful as I handed over the cash. I was assigned to a site down away from the already full row of RV’s and tents in the upper level. I was happy with that because there was only one camper down below and up here there were multitudes with loud country music blaring. I’ll take peace and quiet with fewer neighbors any day.
Before I found the campground, I had programmed the address into Charmagne (who had kept her tone of voice distinctly civil today in spite of my frequent ignoring of her advice) and got back onto the proper street to lead me just a wee bit out of town. As I neared what I assumed would bring me a big sign saying “Cascadia Campgrounds,” Charmagne piped up and declared I had arrived at my destination. Well, heck, I was still in the middle of a road with no sign in sight indicating where the campground could be. I saw just down the road a little mom n’ pop grocery store and I pulled in there to ask for directions. I asked the man if he could tell me where the campgrounds were because my GPS unit had told me it was right back there in the middle of the road. The nice man laughed and said that I wasn’t alone - there apparently was a constant stream of people coming in, all claiming their GPS unit was drunk or had vertigo or something was wrong. Oh, goodie, I thought. If Charmagne is as mentally defective as she appears to be, then at least she’s not alone. The man gave me the rest of the directions and off I went to check in.
My site was by the lake (I presume THE lake) and under a tree. I successfully backed in with only a couple of attempts (I’m getting better!) and hooked up the water and electricity. I then fed and watered the kitties, tidied up the stray items that were apparently left out and rolled around, and let the cats out on their leashes and harnesses. They couldn’t go out last night in the parking lot because it was dangerous and they both would have been scared silly. But here the sun was shining though we were parked under a large shady tree and the wind was lightly blowing through the grass. Beautiful! Chopper, being a formerly in-and-outdoor cat, immediately went out to explore and just sat in the sun for several minutes, enjoying the moment. It’s been a while since she could do that.
Fluffbutt, on the other hand, made a beeline towards the van and hid behind the rear tire. I had looped their extended leashes around the picnic table close by and she had reached the end of the leash under there. She stayed in that area for a bit, slowly peeking her little white nose around the corner and sniffing the air like a dog. I left her sniffing and peeking for a bit and walked over to say hi to my only neighbors.
I introduced myself to Ruth and Mark and their two sons, Levi and Zac, who had got there that morning and were staying through Tuesday. Both Levi and Zac were in wheelchairs, both appearing to have cerebal palsy. Zac had more control over his body and could crawl to his wheelchair and get in himself. He waved happily at me and said howdy. Levi, on the other hand, was severely physically challenged with the condition. Although there was nothing wrong with his smarts, he was held captive by his body and could only make distorted sounds and jerky, uncontrolled movements. It was obvious, however, that in spite of his challenges he was your basic teenager and wore his hair in wildly unkempt dreadlocks and the latest in what passes for fashion in that age group. Zac’s hair was much shorter but his clothingwas similar in nature and both he and Levi looked just like what they were: Happy young men who liked to laugh and clearly enjoyed camping by the side of the lake.
We all chatted for a bit and Mark said he’d keep Daisy, his beautiful, goofily affectionate golden lab on a leash since she was a confirmed cat hater. I told him the kitties would be going back inside in a bit and then if he wanted to let her go, feel free. I then asked him if he had seen the folks who had been in my spot prior to me because it looked like large herd of small dogs came stampeding through and offloaded every place they could. The area was a virtual minefield of poo and I stepped very carefully around the van when I went out to hook up the utilities. Mark replied that it wasn’t small dogs, those were goose droppings. Lots of goose droppings. Although there weren’t any in sight at the moment, there was apparently a flock of geese who spent time there and had made it kinda tough to get around safely. I immediately thought of my sister, Laureen’s, ordeal when she had to march through goose droppings in Officer Candidate School. So much for having a spit-shine on your shoes!
I wished a wonderful time and a good night to all and returned to my little camper. Time for dinner, a little reading, and beginning of tonight’s blog. With the heating pad on under my back and the laptop perched on my belly, I sit in a relaxed and soothing atmosphere with a little light classical music in the background and some icy water at hand. What more could I ask for?
I’ve added a section called Observations in addition to Lessons Learned. It seems appropriate.
Lessons Learned:
That the sound of rain on the camper roof is nice.
That it’s good to have a furnace that runs off of 12V.
But electricity is better.
That I should never have bought blankets that snag.
That Chopper requires untangling even as I write.
That I need to find a local charity drop-off so I can get rid of these ‘gently snagged’ blankies.
That I see yet another trip to Walmart in my future.
After I find Goodwill.
That I found a tiny screw on the floor and I can’t figure out where it fell from and it’s driving me as buggy as the unknown item that is still rollicking around in the cabinet.
That the sink no longer leaks leaving me wondering where the water came from which is driving me even buggier.
That my windshield wipers flap in the wind.
That I have no windshield wiper fluid.
That I need to go get some and soon.
That seeing out of my front windows in rain is a little tough with flapping wipers.
That this adds to the ‘interesting’ factor of driving into the wind.
That I can do without any more ‘interesting’ factors right now.
That my radio speakers are in the rear of the van.
That I can’t hear them very well when I’m driving.
That there is no place to plug in a headphone except in the rear.
That perhaps I’d better get a long extension to my headphone wires.
That my portable radio/DVD player has a headphone jack.
That the sound won’t come on when the headphones are plugged in.
That I can’t hear it playing aloud much better even though it’s sitting right beside me in the passenger seat.
That I’m now listening to instrumentals played low (and still coming from the rear) that give me a little background music because they’re the only music I can hear that doesn’t require me to understand what they are saying.
That I’m going to have to regroup and rethink this whole playing music thing while I’m on the road.
Goose poop.
Obervations:
A teensy, tiny elderly lady working in a Burger King where I stopped to pee told me she liked my shirt. I’m wearing a Monty Python design of the armless, legless knight yelling that it’s only a flesh wound.
I caught only part of a story on NPR this morning in which they were discussing a herd of goats that had been trained to dance together to a Scottish jig. The goats were so good that they were being compared to the Rockettes. Where is this happening and when because seeing this has just gone on my ’see before I die’ list.
Eastern Washington doesn’t look anything like the northern peninsula. Where there are forests and beaches and dampness (when we’re not in a drought, that is), here there are long, sloping hills that resemble something out of the four corners territory of Utah, Arizona, Colorado and New Mexico, only without the red rock. More like a subtle variation in browns, grays and greens with scrub brush and grasses thrown in for good measure. In fact, I drove by the Ginko Petrified Forest, something else that can be found in the four corners area. The petrified forest, not the ginko. Very cool. I stopped at one of those ‘scenic view’ pull offs and grabbed my camera. There were brownish-grayish canyons overlooking a beautiful lake with a gorgeous blue sky overhead. Fantastic!
And then I looked up on the hillside and there was a herd of horses galloping across the hilltop. Or I thought they were galloping. Actually, they were this life size metal sculpture that I’d heard about but had never seen and they were beautiful!! I snapped a couple of pictures but in the sunlight I couldn’t see if they turned out ok. If so, they’ll be posted. If not, maybe I can find an internet photo I could swipe and post here. We shall see.
I couldn’t remember the name of this installation so I asked a couple standing near me if they knew and the man said he thought it was “Advantages.” Odd name for a bunch of metal horses so I think I’ll look it up. I don’t remember the name of the artist either (I’m doing really great here for someone who has taken several art history classes) so I guess I’ll look that up, too.
A car passed me on 405 with “got cornbread?’ scrawled on the rear window.
I saw several cows in a meadow on my right today, lying down and chewing their cud. Over many years I’ve heard the meaning of my name, “Lea,” given as “weary,” “wild cow (feral cows?”, and “a meadow.” That means that today I saw a bunch of lea leas in a lea.
Tomorrow I will most definitely make it to Coeur d’Alene where I was confounded to discover that I could switch tonight’s reservation at the Wolf Lodge Campground to then. I guess because Le Van Gogh is such a little guy that he can squeeze into more spots. Otherwise, I’d be screwed looking for any open site at the beginning of a long weekend. The next night might very well be another Walmart parking lot, but at least I’ll have had a hot shower two nights in a row!
And on that note, the hot shower has done its job and it’s time for beddy. Until tomorrow, adieu. And may you all have wonderful, hot showers!
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Day 2 - The Walmart Experience
Earthship Le Van Gogh 09.02.09
End of Day 1
Although I posted my blog this morning at 0700, I didn’t actually finally hit the road until about 1000. I’m so slow at getting ready to go and dumping waste and taking out the garbage and all that because the learning curve is still pretty high. It takes awhile to put things back that I’ve taken out for the evening and make sure that everything is secured tightly so nothing will fall and break. Even so, I know I’ll get better and faster as I get the routine down and I won’t be such a slow poke.
I set Miss Charmagne GPS Unit in her holder on the dashboard and turned her on. She immediately said, “turn right.” Since we were still parked in the KOA campsite I thought this was a bit premature. I stopped at Costco to gas up and I thought Miss Charmagne was going to get hysterical on me. She didn’t sound calm again until I was finally back on 101. Lord, woman, relax!
When I neared the ferry dock she repeated three times to “take the ferry.” Perhaps by then she didn’t trust me. I hope this isn’t so because a relationship such as we have is based on trust. I also noted that when we got off the ferry, to my right was a turnoff for US 5 but she insisted that I go straight. Huh. I was pretty sure that we were going to be on 5 but I went ahead with her plan. We took a very scenic and pretty route through the little town and eventually came out to, surprise! Yet another turnoff for US 5! This time she allowed me to take it and I headed to 5 N. She relaxed for awhile until I came to the final turnoff and when I got to the intersection for the street where Walmart was located, she announced that I had reached my destination. Mind you, I’m still waiting for the light to turn so I can go right but she had nothing else to say. I’d call this just a wee bit inadequate but I could see the Walmart from the intersection so I was cool. I wonder just how more precise I can get with the directions I can give her when the address has been fed into her destination. Interesting…
Oh, when I was boarding the ferry, I met this nice man who was directing me down to the bottom deck in the middle. When I was close enough to the car in front of me, he put his hand up to stop me and with the sunlight shining into the van he was able to see inside. He looked at me and I smiled and he got this delighted grin on his face and walked over to my window. I rolled it down and he said, “I really like your van!”
“Thanks,” I replied. “I’m taking it on a tour of America.”
“Wow!“ he said. His grin got even wider and he asked me if I had room for one more. I laughed and said no, there was just enough room for me and two kitties.
“Well, I hope you have a really great time!” he said with a laugh.
“Thanks again, “ I said and off he went to direct the next car.
What a sweet man and a great smile! And a nice farewell (only for awhile) to the north peninsula.
When I was all parked and set up, I grabbed my frozen food bag and walked about a mile down the road to a little roadside vegetable stand. I gathered fruit and veggies for the day (not much room for more than that), paid, and walked back, uphill all the way. Good workout! And lord, did I need it after no regular walking for the past three weeks. My back felt better for it and it was nice to get out and see the sun and exercise my body. And now I’m ready to lie down. Aaaaahhhhh.
The kitties are getting used to the routine and have settled down amazingly. Right now Fluffbutt and Chopper are both up and exploring with a lot of looking through the front windows of the van. They’ll be back for a lengthy petting and cuddling session but they both seem to be happy with the whole thing. I’ve taken them outside once when I was still at Denise and Gene’s and I’ll take them out again tomorrow when I reach the next destination - a campground in Coeur d’ Alene, Idaho. I’ve decided that while dry camping is certainly much cheaper, I do love that electricity, you know? That and the holding tanks will have to be dumped again. Sigh.
Until tomorrow and sweet dreams to all!
Lessons Learned:
That 9 gallon and 11 gallon black and grey holding tanks fill up pretty quickly.
That I drink a lot of water, as do the kitties, from my 18 gallon fresh water tank. Among other things.
You do the math.
That I need a bigger wrench to take the sewer cap off.
That I need a different cap and coupling for the sewer hose to connect tightly with campground dump stations.
That it was kind of messy because I didn‘t have the right kind.
That spillage stinks a lot.
Bleh.
That I’m sure glad I have antimicrobial cleansing agents.
That I need to buy gloves to wear when I empty the tanks.
That whenever the possibility arises, I should use someone else’s toilet.
That I'm glad I don't need to do this every day.
That I’m very glad that Fluffbutt and Chopper didn’t get seasick on the ferry ride from Kingston to Edmonds.
That I give thanks every day that I’ve never been seasick.
That even though I respectfully requested permission to park overnight as suggested by other RV‘ers, the nice lady told me that I didn’t have to ask. Just make sure I park all the way at the very end and that I would be gone by tomorrow night. Otherwise I’d get towed.
That I’m feeling just a wee bit like a leper.
That when I parked there were only two other campers but when I woke up at 0100 I was surrounded by two big honking campers.
That it’s nice to have company.
That I’m glad that I didn’t park any closer to the guy running his noisy generator.
That I should wear something to bed that I can go outside in because Security will knock on my door and check out who I am.
That I’m honest and law abiding and all that and that I promise to be gone within 24 hours. Really.
That now I’m not only feeling like a leper, but a homeless transient person to boot.
And finally that this is a whole lot of fun, dumping mishaps and psychological twinges aside!
Until tomorrow...
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