Farewell to Casey's RV Park

We enjoyed our dinner gathering last night, and chatted among visiting mosquitoes until after 10. There are some mighty fine folks RVing, and we have been fortunate to meet many of them. ‘Back home’, there just aren’t the opportunities to meet people like this. Folks on the road welcome the contact by fellow roadies, and pretenses quickly disappear. It’s just a matter of walking up to somebody sitting in front of their rig and saying,”Where are you from?”, or similar ‘opener.’ It usually flows from there, with discussions of common travels, etc. It’s reminiscent of the friendships formed many years ago in summer camp.

Despite a somewhat ‘slow’ start, we are again fans of Casey’s. I think it was a matter of simply finding our ‘road rhythm’ which takes about a week. Can’t imagine a more beautiful park setting, and sleeping with the music of the rolling river playing in the background is hard to beat. Don’t even hear the half-dozen freight trains that pass through the night across the way. There is hiking, biking, and beautiful drives to last the summer, if one chose to do so. There are really no touristy destination spots close by to suck the money from your wallet (excluding, of course, occasional rounds of golf). Most special this year have been the people we have met here.

We’ll be back next year, but probably not for a month. Nevertheless, we’ll likely stop by the park office today to make some reservations for next year---forcing us to do some early planning.
Apologies to the residents of Oakridge who may have been maligned by previous blog entries, especially those who can read. We all view the world through unique prisms, and I was just calling ‘em as I see them. And, if you ever visit Oakridge make sure to visit Crystel’s Exquisite Boutique on First Street next to the Corner Bar. Bring wads of cash!

Next stop: Crooked River Ranch north of Redmond.

More Days of Miscellany

A delayed report, but we found one of Oregon’s finest Chinese restaurants located in little ‘ol Oakridge. Owner Jeff Lee, formerly of Park City, Utah and Vail, Colorado, established his eatery on the main drag 6 months ago. Exceptionally fresh vegetables, large prawns and succulent beef. “No buffet…cheap food,” Lee says. He’s a hard-working guy, and guarantees that you won’t find a lick of MSG in his place, Lee's Gourmet Garden. If you like that throbbing MSG headache, you better pass on this one. We enjoyed our waitress, whose banter was quick and humorous. Imka and Michael shared this nice meal with us.

Time for some sightseeing, so we headed down to Crater Lake, some 100 miles south. Arriving there, the smell of California forest fire smoke was in the air, casting a grey-brown haze, and somewhat spoiling the view of the lake. There would be no world-class snapshots on this day. Some tourists from St.Louis gaped their first peek at an overlook and were stunned. Didn’t mind the smoke. “There ain’t nothin’ like this in St. Louis,” they commented. We had been at Crater Lake before on pristine days, especially so 2 years ago in April when it was surrounded by snow. It's always a spectacular view.

We were determined to get some exercise, so we hiked down to the lake…about an 800 foot drop in a little over a mile. The excursion boat departed from the beach there, but they were sold out for the day. Get your tickets early for this cruise---looks like a good one, hazy or not. Not many folks have actually stuck a toe (or finger) in Crater Lake, but I added this to my list of accomplishments. We split a sandwich at the Rim restaurant, saving room for our treat a few hours later. Would we drive 50 miles for pie ala mode? Not on your life, unless it was from Beckie’s Café near Prospect. This was our third visit in 3 years….and we normally don’t do dessert. Got a boysenberry pie for the road, too, for sharing with campmates. On the way back, we glimpsed at Diamond Lake, which might be a future sojourn. Many waterfalls nearby on the Umpqua highway.

Played a round at the Emerald Valley GC in Creswell, some 10 miles south of Eugene, while Janice paid a few visits to bookstores (note, IRS). It was also time for us to visit Trader Joes for replenishment of the three-buck Chuck wine cellar, as well as classier vino for the author. Whether it’s two-buck or three-bucks, such grape-swill will not touch her lips. Even gave a bottle of three-buck to camp-mates Enno and Kathy, who were otherwise likely to go blind drinking Crane Lake Chardonnay, purchased for $3.99 at Ray’s in Oakridge. Could be a life–changing experience for these cheap wine connoisseurs.

Power outage last night at dinner time when a nearby tree fell on power lines, causing a transformer to explode. No problem for us, as the fridge just switched over to propane. Not so for the mega-bucks 42 foot coach next to us, whose fridge is electric only. The owner remorsely advised that he would have to run his (stinky) diesel generator to save the filet mignons no doubt in his freezer. His exhaust outlet was next to our boudoir, and we feared sure asphyxiation. Rather than hang out at our rig during the evening, we declared a ‘diesel fume alert’ and schlepped a few glasses of vino upwind at Enno and Kathy’s rig. The power came on after a couple hours, and we were able to sleep healthfully through the night back at our rig.

Today was declared an official cleaning day, so we spic and spanned the rig, inside and out, and I even did the laundry, after a false start when the power went down again. The place is show-room clean again, and the author is ready to begin her visits to bookstores, libraries and other history-focused venues beginning Saturday.

Scrabble update: Jeff 34, Janice 8, one tie. New personal high for Jeff: 535 points.

Catching Up

Sometimes life on the road doing nothing gets a bit busy. Hence the blog has been deferred in favor of other activities, which, at the particular moment, were more compelling. Only history will tell whether this chronicle of posterity has been given short shrift.

The week's highlight was Janice's first official book tour presentation in Casey's clubhouse, attended by perhaps 20-30 fellow RVers. This was a good shake-down for the weeks to come.

Complete with power-point type projector, she dispensed an interesting dose of Oregon history. Good book reviews continue with the Oregon press.

Thursday, sister Mya whistled by us on Amtrak on her way to Alaska, pursuing her wildlife adventure trek. In broad daylight! Had we known of her passage through this region (the tracks are just on the other side of the river), we would have held up appropriate signs as she passed by: “ Don’t feed the grizzlies!” “Smoke some salmon!” She would have been the toast of the train in her high perch in the Vista-dome car. Instead, she snuck through here stealthily, preferring to travel anonymously. Oh well. Have a nice trip.

A bike ride on Friday found us heading up the Aufderheide Highway again. Janice faltered at the 11-mile mark, while I pedaled in a zombie-like trance for 13 miles, before returning to rejoin Janice for the downhill leg home. She subsequently visited the local bike shop for a $10 tune-up, a new kickstand and a mirror. Her old kickstand was a couple inches short (thanks, Costco!)---might as well just drop the bike on the ground.

Nice chaps at the Oakridge bike shop. (Did you know that proper seat height can be determined by multiplying your inseam x .883? The resultant number should be the distance from the center of the pedal crank to the center top of the seat. No charge for that valuable piece of info.)
Today found us heading to the hills with park-mates Michael and Imka, full-timers from Cambria, CA. They picked a great hike to Lillian Falls and beyond, chauffeuring us to the trail head, no less. (Paid 'em off with a Dairy Queen cone!) At the turnaround (3 miles and 1400 ft. elevation gain), we were blocked from traveling further by Nettie Creek. No bridge or other crossing. Janice’s grandmother Nettie used to volunteer as a camp cook in this area for a mountaineering group 75 or so years ago, so we have concluded that this creek was named after her. Not many other Netties have passed this way. Wahoo, Nettie!

Scored golf rounds at the local nine have been 91 and 93. Likely the final round here tomorrow as a tune-up for a Tuesday visit to Emerald Valley GC in Creswell.

Ah, yes, we visited the Oakridge boutique, having met the proprietor in the local mexi-food bistro. Very nice pieces of imported German glassware and porcelain Santa Claus figurines, many priced in the +$1000 range. (Glassware in Oakridge means paper cups, and porcelain only exists in the bathroom.) Clothing included knit sweaters and denim jackets embedded with rhinestones and other baubles ringing up in the +$100 range. As much as we found this lady charming, we left her shop without a purchase. She has thousands of $$$ in inventory that will simply never sell unless she pays somebody to hi-jack a tourist bus from LA. Ya gotta love her optimism, though. Someday, Oakridge will boom again---in a parallel universe.

A Licorice Buzz

After 12 pieces of black licorice today, I am on the verge of licorice intoxication. Hard to stop after just one piece. This isn’t ordinary licorice, or that gummy “Swizzler” variety. It is ‘Red Vines’ finest ‘black licorice,’ purchased last week at Walmart for $1.29 a pound-sized bag. Good licorice is like a good red wine, though. It needs to breathe a bit before consumption. If the bag can be ripped open and left on the shelf at least a week, the licorice takes on a taffy-like toughness that chews for a long time. It also needs to be nipped off in little chunks no longer than ½ inch. When driving the RV down the highway, it can instantly restore alertness---it sells by the case at truck stops.
Truckers never use red licorice—the kind that secretaries keep on their desks in those one-foot diameter licorice tubs from Costco. Just too wussy.
Can’t write about it without snagging 2 more pieces. Hanging out of my mouth like a good cigar. Now you know the basics of licorice.

Today’s morning exercise consisted of a walk through the woods behind the nearby USFS headquarters, followed by a stroll along Highway 58, returning to camp. The latter segment was anything but refreshing, as we had to share the road for a couple miles with mammoth trucks zooming along the 2 lane roadway. We occasionally hopped over the guardrail to escape certain pulverization, hanging on as the post-truck “blow” nearly sucked us off our feet.
Quite a collection of detritus along the roadway. A roadside collection of America on the go: Soft drink cups and bottles, gum wrappers, slabs of tire tread, gas caps, empty cigarette packs, and a paper-thin lizard that tried unsuccessfully to get to the other side of the road. Very surprised that we didn’t see some old pedestrian fragments. They need a Saturday work-day by the local inmates, or is that, too, “cruel and unusual punishment” now?

While dining the other night at the local Mazatlan Mexican Restaurant (good chow), we met an Oakridge couple in the booth next to us. She, a German- accented fraulein in her 70s and he, a spry octogenarian, were engaging. They had obviously been eavesdropping on our conversation, and she interjected over the booth top when our dinner-mates told us they had almost gotten lost in Oakridge, “Achtung! You can nicht get lost in das Oakridge.” This led to a full-blown meeting in the parking lot where she extolled the virtues of Oakridge, likely trying to convince herself (again) that there was a sane, logical reason to move here. She owns an upscale clothing and glassware boutique in one of the most dilapidated sections of town, next to the Corner Bar, in case you’re looking for it. Driving by her store later, we saw little evidence of her claim that the town will be rejuvenated….soon, and she will be riding the crest of the boom. ‘Upscale’ around here means new polyester seat covers for the pick-up truck..

The local press heralded the opening of a boat manufacturing plant at the site of the old Oakridge mill. 12 to 14 locals would be hired to make fiberglass boat hulls, at a time when RV plants and boat builders in Oregon are pulling the plug. Having lived in a struggling burg once before (Yreka), we are well aware of the drunken optimism that attaches to any inkling of economic development, only to have hopes dashed when the phoenix fails to rise out of the ashes. This phoenix won't fly---mark my words.

Cloudy and cool (60s) today. Wearing long pants (jeans) for only the second time since arriving in Oregon..

We have befriended "Honey,"one of the RV park dogs, and look forward to her daily walks through the park. She's an eleven year old female lab.

Finding Waldo

Thursday we went down the hill to Pleasant Hill for dinner at the Sunrise Café, meeting Janice’s cousin Ron and his wife Judie. Surprisingly good food (lobster raviolis) for a hole-in-the-wall joint along Highway 58. A little thin on ambiance—fluorescent lights overhead and a few flies buzzing about. We were out of there shortly after 8:00 when they began rolling up the sidewalk.

Today’s great adventure began with a haircut—always a risk on the road. The barberess advised me that she once cut rocker Curt Cobain’s hair, along with “all the other rockers in Seattle.” She was now the head scalper in Oakridge. And speaking of scalping, when she asked “How short do you want it, bub?”, I replied, “I’m on the road, so I’d like this one to last a while.” Judging from the results, a “while” hereabouts might last me until we return home in October!

Following my shearing, we headed east on Highway 58, in search of Waldo---Waldo Lake that is. This had been the intended destination of an overland snow-trail hike a little over a year ago, when our dog Carly stumbled into an energy-field vortex and inexplicably took off running hucklety-buck through the woods while Janice and I hysterically yelled for her to “Come, Carly”, despite the fact that she was stone deaf. She eventually returned, but never did find Waldo---Lake. That was her last major hike as she became a doggie geriatric soon thereafter.

Well, we did find Waldo Lake, with intentions of a nice hike and lunch along the shoreline. As the forest service maven explained to us, there had been record snowfall at the lake (6000 ft) and the campgrounds were not being opened until next week. Too many downed trees, etc. One of the other by-products of record snowfall was a bumper crop of mosquitoes, who have been enjoying a breeding frenzy in the little pondlets left by the melting snow. We slathered up with repellent, but we soon discovered that the Waldo Lake mosquitoes regarded repellent as a marinade sauce. Our intended lunch along a tree-lined shore was abandoned in favor of a rock jetty where a breeze off the lake kept the critters at bay.
After lunch, we relaxed, reading and (Janice) snoozing. The hike was delayed until our return drive when we stooped at Salt Creek Falls, one of Oregon’s finest cataracts.


For those who might be interested in my golfing exploits, I have yet to record a scored round at the Circle Bar course, instead using this former cow pasture for practice, since the closest driving range is 40 miles away.

More Potpourri

Today’s exercise consisted of a drive into Oakridge, then unloading the bikes for a run up Salmon Creek Road. Nice ride through trees/ferns (what else) along Salmon Creek. Fairly gentle hills until the 8 mile mark, where a looming monster hill convinced us that it was time to turn around. The Salmon Creek Campground (USFS) was nice. In our next incarnation when we return as tent campers, we’ll be there for sure.

It’s a small world… A few days ago we met fellow Casey’s RV-guests, Bill Brown and Susan Dona, current full-timers who lived in Sacramento, less than a half-mile from our home, as the crow flies. (Actually the crows aren’t flying there much anymore—West Nile Virus is knocking them out of the trees—aerial spraying is underway!). And don't worry, they're not shacking up in that motorhome--they are married! We shared a dinner together and then “campfired” (without a campfire—just the wine) last night. Discussions were curtailed at 10:30—we could have easily gone into the wee hours. Much in common. Like us, both are former CA state employees. We know his sister, whose son used to hang out with daughter Julie at our former church. Bill and Susan are road warriors. (http://www.CoolJourney.net). Their RV travels have taken them to many of the spots we have visited. Plenty of fodder for campfire chatter. They departed this morning. Hope to cross paths with them again. Sure get to meet some nice people ‘on the road.’

Yesterday we drove the vaunted Aufderheide Scenic Byway, a 65-mile drive through the woods north to Hwy 126, the McKenzie River Highway. We listened to a loaner CD that provided information about the route (from the USFS) as we drove through miles and miles of Jurassic Park-like greenery. So much greenery that I longed to see cactus before it was over. In the course of advancing the CD, we missed about 20 miles of narration. It was a yawner anyway. Lunch at Cougar Reservoir.

Weather has moderated a bit after hitting the mid-nineties earlier this week. Will be meeting Janice’s cousin (and wife) for dinner in Pleasant Hill, a burg 30 miles distant on the way to Eugene.

Potpourri

We are currently recovering from our bike ride this morning. What was going to be a 1 1/2 hour, 25 mile spin up and back on the Aufderheide Byway became quite an adventure. While returning, at about the 20 mile mark, I suggested we cross the river (on a bridge) and head downstream along a trail we had heard about. I was tired of pavement.

The first mile or so was an old dirt road, just driving in the ruts, as grasses grew in the center. Soon the ruts disappeared and though we were still on the road bed, it looked like only a couple riders had passed through this year. Then it headed up a side canyon. We turned around. Locating a narrow trail paralleling the river, we resumed our downstream ride, occasionally having to dismount when deep gulleys crossed the path. We were joined by mosquitoes, at least Janice was, the West Nile Virus Poster Lady. It looked like a narrow hiking trail, and weaved through trees and ferns. We ultimately walked the bikes. I had fallen once and Janice understandably said, “I don’t want to do my book tour with a broken leg.”

As we neared the end of the trail near the covered bridge, a railroad truck and crew blocked the trail. We turned off, heading up the Westfir Tie Trail . Big mistake. It was narrow and uphill, traversing a mountain that overlooked the old Westfir mill. Absolutely unrideable. We pushed the bikes uphill, no longer protected from the sun. This was a trail that mountain goats would avoid. Worst of all, we didn’t know where it went. We were merely trying to circle around the trail blockage by the RR guys.

Janice was lagging behind and beginning to wheeze like Gabby Hayes, almost asthmatic. She was out of water, so I gave her mine. While she rested, I walked ahead, doing some recon. The upward path of the trail continued as far as I could see. We could trudge ahead to who knows where, or turn around and head back down the mountain. We turned around, ultimately weaving our way around the RR crew and getting back to the covered bridge. (I later learned this was a good decision--the Tie Trail connected with the Alpine Trail that heads deep into the mountains.) After a drink of water, we slowly pedaled the remaining 2 miles back to camp. We staggered into the rig, spun the AC thermostat to “Arctic” and collapsed.

Yesterday was a bit tamer, as we attended the local picnic commemorating the Lost Wagon Train of 1853 (This is Oregon’s version of the Donner Party, although the Oregon pioneers were rescued before they started tossing their wagon-mates into the stewpot.) This event is big-time to locals, and descendants of the lost wagoneers are revered. Janice was unloading some of her books, especially the ones that UPS had drop-kicked around the back of the truck. Bargain-priced at $5.00 and $10.00, many Oakridge residents went home with something to read besides the Sears catalog.

A great potluck lunch featured fried chicken cooked at Rays Market. The entertainment was a dramatic re-enactment of the saga of the lost wagon train, with locals doing a credible job of retelling the story. Met some nice people, but Oakridge will remain on the “place to visit—not to live in” list

Casey’s Riverside RV Park has lost some of the glitter that enamored us last year. Physically it is just as nice, but the new owners seem to be a bit short on the PR/personal interaction meter. Business appears to be a bit off, no doubt due to fuel costs, as there have been several vacant spots every night, except the 4th of July weekend. Now that we are in the midst of our second week, we somewhat regret signing up for a whole month here (though we did get a good monthly rate). If we return here next year, we’ll be short-timers.

Our big event for the weekend was the 50-mile trip to Eugene. We first stopped at the Saturday Market, an event we attended last year and I forgot that I never intended to attend it again. I was not in the mood for a henna tattoo or an Obama bumper sticker. Marginal quality merchandise, though the produce looked good (and pricey).

Janice signed a few books at a bookstore (note to IRS), then we ate lunch (shrimp quesadilla and an albacore sandwich). Then we headed to Fiddler’s Green, the golf mecca of the northwest. I contributed generously to the Oregon economy, making several purchases sans California sales tax. Heading back, it was a quick stop at Walmart, followed by a gas stop at $4.31/gallon, then wandering the back-road to Highway 58.

BTW: The Scrabble score for the trip: Jeff 17, Janice 5.

Gobble, gobble

Yes, there has been a paucity of postings on the blog this week. Has disaster befallen the dynamic duo? Did the Willamette River sweep us away? A bad bottle of Two-buck Chuck?

Nope. None of the above. It’s just been a very relaxing week along the river. Reading, book promotion duties (by Janice---who scored a nice write up in Oregon’s major newspaper—the Oregonian--see: http://www.oregonlive.com/books/oregonian/index.ssf?/base/entertainment/121554871256370.xml&coll=7), and the evening Scrabble. Interspersed have been bike rides, golf at the local links (Circle Bar Golf Club), a trip or two to town for groceries at Ray’s Food Place, and some minimal sightseeing.

Speaking of minimal sightseeing, the local “what to do in Oakridge” lists a few hot spots to visit, so we decided to work our way down the list. Number one: Visit the fish hatchery. The fish hatchery??? You know it’s slim pickins when the fish hatchery is the town’s number one attraction, but as reported earlier, no bowling alley and no rollerdrome, and there is no evidence of a movie theater in town, either. So a visit to the fish hatchery is at least a starter. On the plus side, the grounds are beautifully landscaped and well maintained, thanks in part to volunteer hosts who live on the premises (we visited with one couple). In fact, the grounds are so nice, that they probably hold weddings there, with the gurgle of fingerling ponds playing in the background.
(This presumes, of course, that folks get married in Oakridge. It’s more likely that couples are joined together by a simple, “Wud ya like to ride in my pick-up truck?”)

There are some lunkers in the holding ponds, ripening for a September spawn (no doubt the local schools close for a few days while the kiddies view this ritual). Mostly though, there are rows and rows of salmon and steelhead fingerling raceways. A 25 cent handful of fish pellets tossed in the water brings a frenzied response of flashing silver beating the surface to a froth. These fish have been conditioned like Pavlov’s dog.

The bike rides have been spectacular, though they were temporarily suspended for a few days. After walking 18 holes of golf a couple days at the Circle Bar, my legs needed some rest. And Janice---well let’s just say that certain parts of her anatomy are still getting used to the bicycle seat. She is hoping for some padded cycling pants or a new gel seat when we go to Eugene tomorrow—our link to the 21st century.

Also on the shopping list is an antenna extension for our Sirius radio. In jockeying the rig for a southern view exposure for the TV-Internet satellite antenna, we parked under a tall conifer that covers the front part of the rig. The Sirius satellite is straight overhead—thus we are radio-less. (The AM-FM radio in these parts features music selections apparently drawn by lottery. Nice jazz is followed by hip-hop -- is followed by rap -- is followed by Olivia Newton John—get the point?) The extension will allow us to reposition the antenna to the back of the rig, where there is an unobstructed shot straight up to the very edge of the universe. There’s a Sirius satellite up there somewhere.

Golf at the Circle Bar is great practice. After 9 a.m., it is a course with few players (The course understandably touts itself as “the course where you don’t need a starting time”.)
Teeing off solo, I played 2 or three balls per hole, and tossed a few more balls on the grass around the greens to work on short game stuff. The greens, plush and soft, are about the size of my living room, making good approach shots a premium. With my discount coupon from the RV park, golf was a buck a hole, and $2.00 bought me a hot dog for lunch.
Warning: (Guys) This is not a course you want to play on ladies day—Wednesday. They let me on the course, after agreeing to give priority to any group of women. No problem there, but there were some behemoths ahead of me in the process of recording (high) record scores. Slow?? Worse than slow. But I gladly let the gals behind me play through while I enjoyed a seat on a shady bench. By 11:00 all were off the course and enjoying their gin and tonics at the club house and I played the final nine without a pause.

One warm day here this week (95) while we read and hear about the 110 degree smoke-filled days back home in Sacramento. We just hang out at the rig, sitting in the shade, enjoying clear skies and temps in the low 80s. A breeze blows up river most of the day, taking the edge off of whatever heat there is. The breeze is so constant that it is almost annoying. It is really the first time in our Rv life that we have stayed in a place for more than 3-4 days. Yes, we are suffering.

A picture is worth a thousand words (except when most of the words in the picture are misspelled). I snapped the picture below of an “ad” I was on the bulletin board at Ray’s Food Place. These bulletin boards are typically a barometer of the surrounding culture.
Amidst the for sale notices for firewood, pick-up trucks and “free kittens to good home” was this one that seems to marked a “low” in the cultural barometer of Oakridge.

A Short Note

The fourth of July tenants have departed Casey’s and there are many empty spaces. We’ll see if there are new arrivals this afternoon. That will be the measure of the impact of gas prices on the RVers, as Casey’s is typically full all summer.

A day off from biking today, as I will visit the local nine-holer. Yesterday’s ride was a toughie, as a new route took us uphill for about 6 miles, much of it in low-low gear. Coming back we hit speeds of up to 27mph, which is plenty fast on a bike. Can’t believe that triathletes average 23-24 mph over an entire 122 miles, with hills far steeper than the ones we climbed yesterday. Did 19 miles the previous day, so we are definitely getting our bike legs.

We have been smitten by a house (for sale) in Westfir along our bike route. It has river frontage, which is a pre-requisite. Westfir is a townlet of 320, and prior to the mill closure, was booming. Now, the only ‘business’ is the post office. We will enjoy some day-dreaming about this, if nothing else. Why would we want to move to this place in the middle of nowhere?

The nearby town of Oakridge appears to be dying on the vine. For very open business, there are perhaps 4-5 shuttered businesses, many of them claptraps. There is a Chinese restaurant, a Mexican restaurant, a McDonalds and a Dairy Queen, plus a few coffee shop cafes (for sale). By comparison, Yreka (former site of Marschner “country living”) is a cultural oasis. Fuel prices will likely deter tourist dollars, so the decline could accelerate.

Rolling on the River

After a morning bike ride up ‘Road 19’, we resumed hard-core loafing at our river retreat.
hRoad 19 (the Auferdeide Byway) was built on an old railroad bed, so the gradient is gentle. It weaves along the North Fork of the Middle Fork of the Willamette River (phew!) with ferns, wildflowers and an abundance of lush greenery along the roadside. We began our ride in the parking lot of the Westfir covered bridge (Offical name: Office Covered Bridge), reputed to be the longest in the state. Westfir is a former mill town, with only foundational ruins of the old mill (closed in 1988) still visible among the grasses and the brambles. If you want a nice house, cheap, in a forest setting, Westfir could be the place for you.

The ride was harder than it should have been, given the fact that the bike tires needed a bit of extra air. They are hard as rocks now, and we will be heading out soon for another ride.

Yesterday’s adventure began where the travails of camp set-up of the previous day had ended. In the process of draining the waste tanks, I neglected to close the grey valve (this is wastewater from the shower and sinks). Thus, my first surprise of the day was to see water running under the rig. I quietly hosed it down, hoping that the suds from the morning dishes wouldn’t produce a cascade of bubbles on the driveway. Had it been the black valve, the EPA would have likely paid us a visit, especially after an earlier visit by the Budweiser Clydesdales. This misfortune was followed by a leaky waterline, caused, I think by the high water pressure in Weed and possibly a faulty pressure reducer valve. The water hose underwent a significant expansion, beginning to look like the narrow balloons that the clown at the fair twists into animals. Will be paying a visit to the local Oakridge ACE hardware today.

And speaking of Oakridge, one cannot help but feel sorry for the youth of this town. The high school tennis courts sport a growing array of greenery, sprouting through cracks in the asphalt surface. In addition, the bowling alley is closed (For Sale!) as is the local Rollerdrome (now when’s the last time you heard that word?). What’s a kid to do in this burg in the middle of the woods, especially in the middle of winter?

A banner near the high school proclaimed “State track champs!”. Looking at the populace of 3200 as we cruised through Oakridge, I suspect that they are champs of a division where competition is somewhat limited. Perhaps Division 6w: Schools under 200 enrollment, white guys only. You can’t expect much athletic conditioning after the Rollerdrome goes out of business, can you?

Met a lot of nice folks in the park yesterday. Where two or more were gathered, Janice had the opportunity to pass out promotional postcards for her book . (Note to IRS)

Yesterday was the 4th of July, right? Besides the stars and stripes affixed to our rig, we saw one flag in Oakridge, and one flag displayed in the park. Disappointing. We’ll keep ours flying, even on the 5th of July!

Camp Casey's

Leaving Weed about 8:30, we fueled up on lattes at the local espresso joint. Janice, our resident a.m. coffee-maker, was given the day off, continuing her battle against trucker’s hack, or whatever is plaguing her. We rolled up Highway 97, heading into northeast California. Smoke hung like a foggy mist against the mountains.

We passed through Dorris, where the highway does a 90 degree right and then a 90 degree left, no doubt an old ploy to stop the early day haywagons from zooming through this decrepit burg of 1000 folks. I recalled my days as Assistant DA in this county during a former life, and remembered the dread when we received cases emanating from Dorris. It was a place where the chief of police changed about as frequently as the weather. The apparent qualifications: Must have been a practicing alcoholic; some police experience (this was broadly construed, and included school crossing guard and/or a subscription to True Detective magazine). Usually, the itinerant Dorris chiefs dispensed justice on the spot, whacking miscreants ‘upside the head’ when an attitude correction was called for. Police reports were handwritten, and the spelling resembled current day text-messages.

Focusing back on the road, we headed into K-Falls. An internet commentary noted: “There is no reason to live here unless you own a nice house, and few do.” I pulled into a riverside park while Janice chatted at a nearby museum, extolling the historical worthiness of her book, “Oregon 1859” (available through Amazon.com). This was the first of many “official stops” we will make during the next 3 months in Oregon. (Note to file: IRS)

Having done some advance work on gasbuddy.com, I located the cheapest gas station in K-Falls at $4.29 per gallon. Now that we are in Oregon, I need to remember that I can’t pump my own gas. I just stand there and watch the meter spin crazily. Despite my self-discipline driving at 60 mph, the fill-up netted out at 7 mpg. I consoled myself with the fact that there was a 5000 foot altitude gain, and the 10 mile hill between Dunsmuir and Mt. Shasta registered a continual 2 mpg on the on-board computer. Pure guzzling. So, the first expenditure from our ‘economic stimulus’ check went into the gas tank. A mere $200. Yipes! It’ll be beans and hot-dogs for awhile.

Next stop was a propane fill-up in Chemult (for those of you headed north, gasoline is 4 cents a gallon cheaper here) which should last us the entire trip, unless an unexpected arctic chill descends upon the northwest.

Heading west, we crested a few hills on Highway 58, and then a longgggg downgrade into Oakridge, passing the famed McCredle Springs, a noted au naturel hot springs. Gotta work on my tan before I’m ready for that. (Janice also balked, remembering the Montezuma’s revenge she acquired in South Dakota, after a swim in a hot springs pool (with bathing suit, of course), her contagion likely caused by a migrating brown trout introduced to the pool by a diaper-less toddler.) We turned north at the Wesfir turn-off, then left across the bridge and there was Casey’s Riverside RV Park, snuggled up along the banks of the Willamette River. Lush greenery. This will be home for us until July 31st.

Setting up camp was a comedy, if anybody nearby was watching. The sewer hose connectors sprung a leak; leveling the rig (with an automatic leveling system) took a half-hour and then, after finding out that trees blocked our satellite antenna, we had to back up the rig 8 feet and start all over. Because we hadn’t used the Direct TV satellite link in 4 months, it had been de-activated, and when I tried to call Direct TV to re-establish service, the weak to non-existent cell phone signal dropped several times. However, all’s well that ends well and the TV worked fine to show an 8-3 SF Giants win over the Cubs. I vowed that this would be may last TV game for awhile (unless the Giants become contenders).

The Willamette River rolls gently by some 30 feet in front of us. There is nothing as soothing as the sound of a river, and we left the windows open last night just to soak it up. It was a perfect 60 degrees during the night. An early morning freight train rolled along tracks across the river, whistling its forlorn ‘hello’ into the night, also one of my favorite sounds.

Today’s activities?? Possibly a bike ride and fireworks at the nearby golf course. Happy 4th of July. Old Glory is flying at Camp Casey’s.

On the Road Again

It’s been almost 4 months since the rig has had any exercise, but it was rarin’ to hit the road about 7:30 this morning. Our intended 7;00 .m. start was delayed by a latte stop at Starbuck’s. Doin’ what we can to keep the company afloat after hearing 600 of their stores will be closing. Understandable. Do you spend $5.00 a day on coffee or do you put it in the gas tank?

Depressing to think that in April we were paying about $3.39 for gas, and hating it.
Not liking to look in the rear view mirror and see the money blowing out my exhaust, I throttled back to 60 mph most of the way today. Made for a pleasant, no pressure drive. Looks like most of the trucks are doing the same.

Before the smoke thickened, some beautiful sunflower fields dazzled along I-5, sun-seeking heads pointing at the sun. (Do they unwind during the night???) Manicured rows of green and gold.

Crossing the Lake Shasta bridge, we entered the far northern California time warp, instantly being transported back a couple of decades (an anomaly we discovered in the 80s while living in Y-rikka). Peeking over the edge of the bridge, houseboats were beginning the holiday binge as the water drained out of the lake. Steep shorelines of bare red earth were a reminder of the spring that wasn’t.

Coasting along the Upper Sacramento River, I was again reminded of childhood vacations, obsessively spending entire days sitting on a rock and floating a grasshopper or a salmon egg downstream. 10 trout limits were common.

Pulling over at the outskirts of Mt. Shasta, we disconnected the Honda and drove to McCloud for a reconnaissance mission to check out the housing for the annual golf soiree’ in September (Men’s Mountain Golf – 10th Edition). A “new” lodging house for us, the Fihn Inn, passed inspection. Great digs. The rest of McCloud is hanging by the fingernails, no doubt stung by a diminishing crowd of recreationists, who have opted for a ‘stay-cation’ at home rather than venturing into the wilds of Siskiyou County.

We finally closed out the day, pulling into the Friendly RV Park, nestled among fast-food joints and truck stops in South Weed. Trees obscured the satellite view, so we’re hooked up to cable tonight to watch the Giants-Cubs game. Janice continues to fight a bout of the ague or the grippe. Her cough is appropriate for a truck-stop. The smoke has thickened outside, likely from a fire in Happy Camp (now there’s misnomer—if you’ve ever been there.) The nearby mountains (Eddy and Shasta) have disappeared from view.