Archive for the ‘miscellany’ Category

 

 

To rectify a massive oversight and kill time until we get back on the road, I asked Ralph, co-pilot of our DWR, to finally guest post on ‘Streaming. Ladies and gentlemen, for the first time ever, put your hands together for “The Master of History”:

 

Hello! I’m the other half (or quarter, if you count Ripley and Raven) of the quartet that’s featured here. I’m the one that’s the product of that celebrity math equation on the “Who is ‘Streaming?” page, and the one with the foldable fetish.

Things have been quiet….Rhonda been very busy writing, about Airstreams of course, and we haven’t been out on the road much at all. That’s what happens when you lose control of your life; when work and a new house start getting in the way of having Airstream fun. 

The move to Bend has changed our approach to Airstreaming. Here, the weather starts becoming a factor–at least that’s what our predisposition was. Either roads are icy, campgrounds closed, or you just want to hunker down. Now, this year, there’s no excuse. The weather in late November and December was good, but the Holidays just got in the way. Also, the house is too nice. Yes, the Pine Cone Lodge (the nickname we gave our house) is a pretty fun place, and we’re busy exploring Bend. So, lots of reasons but no excuses. 

The upside is that we’ll have some great adventures once we get going, because Central Oregon is a target-rich environment for the short trips we make during the late Winter and Spring. There’s Crater Lake (when it reopens), the Lakeview district, and maybe even stopping over at Frenchglen again, but this time taking it all the way out to Winnemucca. I’ve got a couple of fishing trips lined up (thank goodness we now have seat covers), and Rhonda’s planning another visit to Burning Man.

So, stay tuned…

 

 

 

 

Ralston’s passing, as any pet owner can attest, was difficult and bittersweet. He will never be replaced, and I miss him every day. His demise was no reason to delay restoring the Four Rs to pack capacity, however. Ripley needed a companion—preferably a non-human that could understand the byzantine games he likes to play.

 

When people asked if I was ready for another dog so soon, I replied, “I may never be ready for another dog. But I’m ready for a miniature dachshund!”

 

Down, small dog lovers; just kidding. Doxies—Ralph’s favorite breed—are a merry and noble dog, though after owning a big lab they still seem like pocket pets.

 

Introducing Raven, seen cavorting here with her littermates, and at four months old with me on the cover of the Fall 2011 issue of  Airstream Life. (Photo by Alison Turner, official photographer at Alumapalooza, who has a magical knack for capturing expressions—especially dog owners and their canine trailermates.)

 

 

 

I like the Airstream factory-issued Owner’s Manual that came with the DWR: the uncluttered layout, the clean language, the Euro-style cover. But, as it must be, it’s a dry read, and sometimes raises more questions than it answers.

 

Rich Luhr’s compact Newbies Guide to Airstreaming presents everything—literally—that you need to know before setting out on your shakedown cruise in a personal and friendly fashion, like a calm and trusted friend, patiently answering all your idiot questions one by one with expertise, respect, and a touch of humor.

 

While not technically a newbie—I’ve been trailering for fifteen years—I had a dreadful experience long ago (and another more recently) that stunted my confidence. Towing the Martini Wagon to Yosemite on a steep, narrow highway, I glanced in the rear view mirror following a curious clink*tinkle and watched in horror as the trailer, somehow now divorced from the tow vehicle, rolled backward toward the edge of a cliff. (Unseen benevolent forces intervened; it turned and came to rest, only minimally damaged, against the rock wall of the hillside.) I’ve had towing PTSS since.

 

When I paged through the Newbies Guide cover to cover I felt reassured by all I’ve learned over time (and I know the DWR has safety features the 1958 Cardi never did). I also had a few embarrassing, forehead-smacking epiphanies mentally performing the “walk around” in Chapter 1, and discovered why I inconveniently lost power midweek during Burning Man. (“Use” and “store” do not mean what I think they mean.)

 

Recently relocated to a climate where we’ll have to winterize for the first time, I’ll be referring back to page 69 when frost is on the pumpkin. And though I appreciated the simple instructions on how to fix a flat, I will be changing my own tire when they pry my AAA Plus RV card from my cold dead fingers.

 

The reassuring, lighthearted tone of the Newbies Guide continues to the end and the recurring theme is “this task is crucial, but don’t worry, it’s easier than you think.” Newbie or not, your Airstream isn’t completely packed until it includes a copy.

 

 

My mom and dad—married 65 years and counting—still live in the POS town in California where I went to high school, an hour’s drive north of Santa Barbara (which sounds far tonier than it is).

 

It’s also near Solvang, the ersatz Danish community where tourists flock to buy abelskivers and crap from the Thomas Kinkade gallery. Six miles further lies the promised land: the smoke-choked but otherwise upscale Chumash Casino.

 

My parents, frequent flyers of the resort, drag me there when I return home to visit. This trip to Chumash had three saving graces: 1) Penn & Teller were performing (when we attended their show in Vegas they called my mom up on stage to observe Teller naked—long story, tell you later); 2) they actually paid me to go; and 3) the rare “Lucky Lemmings” video slot game was on the casino floor.

 

Without a doubt Lucky Lemmings (who else loves the bold irony?) is the most surreal machine in gambling. The concept is mental: ice cubes, orcas, and eggs in a nest align to initiate a bizarre sequence in which lemmings jump off their arctic cliff into caves where they pull out fistfuls of money, scuba dive, or, if the fates allow, fly into space wearing jet packs. The enjoyability of this game can be enhanced under the influence of mushrooms, or at least a stiff cocktail. Too bad the casino is dry.

 

It was nice to see the parents, but their circular conversations make my head hurt. Here is their exchange while waiting for Penn and Teller to take the stage:

Mom- I thought you got the cheap tickets.

Dad- I did.

Mom- But these are more expensive.

Dad- They are.

Mom- But not as much.

Dad- But they are less expensive than last time. 

Mom- Yes, but you bought them.

 

(Later, this between me—a former art major—and my mother:

Mom: When you write an article for a magazine, do you send a drawing to go with it?

Me [pondering the insanity of this]: Um, no. [Brightening]: But, sometimes photographs!

Mom [unimpressed]: Why not a drawing?

Me: Well, that’s called an illustration. There’s a separate person who does that.

Mom: Why don’t you do that?

Me [cornered, somehow unable to change the subject]: Oh, I suppose if I had an idea for one I could pitch it; you know—suggest it. I guess.

Mom: Why would you not have an idea for one?

Me: [shrug] *sigh*. You know, magazines have a format they follow. Sometimes they don’t even use illustrations, or only in certain sections.

Mom: Well, that’s boring isn’t it?

Me: I’m getting another drink. Can I bring you one?)

 

Staying at my parent’s condo I concluded that there must be an old people’s manual, issued at some point late in life with tips and guidelines. “#6: The Weather Channel is your favorite show.” “#49: Store red wine in the refrigerator.” “#78: You need a fanny pack.” “#57: If you once liked casinos, now you love them. And Branson, Missouri.”

 

 

 

Ralston crossed the bridge comfortably at home this week after a bout with cancer. He was nearly twelve; a little early in the life span for his breed, but well into his senior years. 

 

Everybody loved Ralston, and he lived a life more robust, meaningful and exciting as many humans.

 

A crossbreed (Yellow Lab x Golden Retriever) born into the Guide Dogs for the Blind program, Ralston grew up going to work every day at U.S. Bank in the Big Pink tower, preparing for his future blind partner by learning office manners and getting accustomed to the sights and smells of downtown Portland. He washed out of the training program at the age of eight months (for being car sick), and as is the custom of the organization, we as his puppy-raising family adopted him as a pet. (No, we didn’t sabotage his training to keep him.) (But we thought about it.)

 

After a brief period of unemployment (during which he hung around the house, getting into trouble with Moses, the hoodlum neighbor dog), Ralston changed careers and became a certified Dove Lewis Animal Assisted Therapy and Education (DLAATE) pet.

 

For several years he provided love and comfort to troubled children living at the Parry Center, where he was assigned to kids so abandoned by adults that no family came for them on Sunday, visiting day. Ralston served as the visitor for these boys and girls, helping them feel special and teaching them to be kind to animals in the process.

 

He also brought some normalcy and a family atmosphere to homeless teenagers at the New Avenues for Youth shelter. Petting him, the young people spoke with love about the dogs they left behind, or the pets they hoped to have when they were on their feet again.

 

His final DLAATE assignment was to spread cheer and distraction to the patients and families on the 7th floor of St. Vincent’s Hospital, where he had an uncanny knack for who needed a hug the most—sometimes it was the nursing staff.

 

Ralston knew a lot of commands and enjoyed a short acting career while registered with the Talented Animals agency. He appeared in two TV commercials—one for the Oregon Lottery where he showed considerable skill, and another for the Oregon Humane Society which captured him in a role he was meant to play: just sleeping on a dog bed. He was also sent to Canada for ten weeks to work on the set of Underdogs, a feature length film with real movie stars that, due to bond issues and melting snow, was unfortunately never completed. He had a ball on location anyway, learning to pull a sled, hit a mark, and running wild with his canine castmates.

 

Since retirement Ralston has stayed busy napping, shedding, chewing sticks, and covering the Airstream and tow vehicle with his muddy pawprints. 

 

He will be sorely missed by all, especially his young friend Ripley, who we are sure Ralston believed was one of his stuffed toys come to life.

 

See you on the other side, my good boy.

 

 

 

Detroit Lakes, Minnesota: population 7,000 and change. Small enough for residents to know everybody’s business, big enough to support a community event like the annual Water Carnival.

 

Look up “good clean fun” in the dictionary and you’ll be directed to this url. The community recently celebrated the 75th anniversary of the event in the usual way: turtle races, boat parade, firehose water fight, “polka in the pavilion”, kids’ ship building contest, and 63 other events.

 

The money shot of the two-week festival is the Parade of the Northwest, involving every Shriner in a 200-mile radius, every emergency and service vehicle in the city (including the Kentucky Fried Chicken delivery van), assorted entrants (like the bed race champion), and local elected officials and festival organizers waving from towed pontoons. The parade route is a sea of Norwegians (and one token brunette; diversity in Detroit Lakes means electing a beauty queen that isn’t blonde.)

 

After watching the kids in the boat building contest go down with their cardboard ships (the victor is the last one afloat), I sat on a rock ledge next to the beer garden eating cheese curds and watched a disorganized family dump water on a pile of sand in preparation for the sand castle contest. I felt sublimely happy and put my finger on why I love small towns. I wouldn’t be caught dead living in one full time but here’s the thing: If that event were held in a city like Portland it would be sponsored by Doernbecher Children’s Hospital or Cascade Aids Project or some other nonprofit needing money— Not That There’s Anything Wrong With That. Companies like U.S. Bank would pledge the bodies and people in their marketing departments would do the recruiting and the whole thing would be used as one big motherf’ing team building exercise. In a town like DL, old couples, kids and their families, community groups, and local businesses just show up and have no-strings-attached summer fun. 

 

We’re pondering our own entry for next year’s boat parade: The Mitey-Toon, decorated like the ΔTX Homecoming Parade Float, Animal House style.

In 1955, a group of 55 avid Airstream owners—mostly friends of founder Wally—became charter members of the Wally Byam Caravan Club. During that year, the largest Airstream caravan in history was launched to Mexico.

Ralph’s Norwegian grandmother Odne and her husband George were part of the historic WBCCI Western Mexico Winter Caravan of ’55. During our visit to Detroit Lakes, Ralph’s mother—Odne’s daughter—dug through a box of keepsakes and produced Odne’s journals about the trip that winter, handwritten in notebooks she purchased along the way.

Update the cultural references and much of her chronicle could be written about an Airstream caravan in 2010 (though hopefully highway conditions have improved by today). Odne describes spectacular scenery and recounts harrowing tales of road hazards, blowouts, treacherous river crossings and refrigerators needing service. It was a pleasure to read about the kindness of the Mexican townies and the other caravanners who helped them get back on the road.

The couple stopped to shop (“I bought a Van Huesen shirt for George for which I paid 38 pesos; grass mats; and a mata moscas – a fly swatter”), sampled the local cuisine (“Each item was cooked in its own kettle over its own fire. On a table were vegetables and other food and flies galore. It was all in the open!”), and witnessed freaky amateur entertainments. (“The fireworks were really wild. The man shooting them off held them in his hand and a display in the form of a bull was carried by a young man and another young kid pretended to fight him. All this time sparks were flying every which way. No one knows why the town didn’t burn down.”)

They toured local sights (Aztec ruins, and Rivera, Siqueiros, Tamayo and Orozco murals), and met new friends (“The couple to our left are reportedly ‘pink’”).

Allegedly there are color slides of this adventure packed away in a closet in Reno. Following are Odne’s journal entries from the exciting first days of the caravan.

Mon. Jan 3  We left Tucson around noon and were all set up in Nogales by 2:30pm. We were parked in the War memorial park which is a ball park. There are flood lights and water and garbage barrels near by. A large grandstand will be used for the meeting. The park is enclosed with a high wall and we’re parked against it. We sat in candle light but decided it was just too primitive.

Tues. Jan 4   We went up town to shop for some items we’d forgotten like a Coleman lantern, etc. It rained all day and we were in a sea of mud before long. I was a prisoner in the trailer as I had no rubbers. In the p.m. I tied newspapers on my shoes to walk over to the car but they came off and I got muddy anyway. In the evening we went to the Roxy Theater where we were welcomed by the mayor of “Ambos” Nogales, Wally Byam gave us the word, we saw movies of the Canadian caravan [Eastern Canada, Summer 1955], and a group of Mexican Musicians entertained. They were good but didn’t know when to stop. Their costumes were very good looking. I went to a general meeting at 11:00 a.m. and took pictures from the grandstand. Counted 157 trailers in this park.

Weds. Jan 5   It rained intermittently but dried the gumbo up a little [‘dried the gumbo’? What the?]. George and I walked up a high hill behind the park and took pictures. We went to a meeting in the armory in the evening and then over to a bonfire.

Fri. Jan 7   Big day. Cold. It was down to 22 degrees this morning with frost on the cars. We’re waiting now to move on. The trailers from other private parks and vacant lots will go first. Then we’ll come next, and lastly the people parked in the athletic field. A man from Life will take pictures of our encampment. They plan to send a trailer a minute through the customs. Even so, that will take hours to push through the 530 (rumored) registrants. -Later- We left before 9am and went through the customs in a short time. People lined the streets and waved and the children called “good-bye”. The countryside was interesting because it was so different. Even the cattle are not like ours. Burros roam all over. People along the route lined up to see us.

We were parked in a field at Hermosilla especially prepared for us. It was graded very nicely. We didn’t go up town, as the townspeople came out to see us. The mayor and city officials, the Governor and Vice Governor of Sonora and other dignitaries came out to welcome us and an orchestra played for us at our meeting. We were invited to a dance the next evening and so we voted on whether or not we should stay. Everyone wanted to.”

 

Close Encounters has been on my Top 10 Favorite Movies list for 35 years so I was predictably excited about visiting Devils Tower, our nation’s first national monument. As we drove through Wyoming I waited for it to appear on the horizon the way I did as a child in the 60s approaching Disneyland, watching from the backseat of the family Studebaker for the first sighting of the Matterhorn.

As one explores the world it’s interesting to note how the natural and manmade wonders you’ve come to know in photos and films hold up to face-to-face scrutiny. The Eiffel Tower [990 ft] seemed smaller in person. The Mona Lisa? [30”x21”]—a LOT smaller. Devils Tower [800+ft to 1200+ft, depending how you measure it] was larger and just as spooky as expected. You can see it from miles away, aggressively sticking up from the flat land surrounding it. The Great Pyramid [455 ft] definitely delivers, as does the Sphinx [200 ft long]. Mount Rushmore with its 60-ft heads wasn’t so much smaller as it was further away than I imagined it would be. I’m shocked to learn as an adult that Disney’s enormous Matterhorn was actually only 15 stories high.

What have you seen on your travels that have met, exceeded or fell short of your expectations?

PS: Campsites are plentiful near Devils Tower. Just drive right up to it from I-90 (seriously, you can’t miss it) and you’ll pass several campgrounds with great views to choose from—there’s even an accommodating little town near the park entrance with a post office, campground and store. Hikers and rock climbers, simply register at the visitor center and you’re free to scramble all over the Tower. Promise not to disturb the Native American prayer bundles.

 

Thank you friend Pete, who alerted me to this six minute video on YouTube from Season 12 of “How It’s Made”, a program on the Discovery Channel that I didn’t even know existed.

Watch while one of the longer models is built and tests are conducted to insure the outer shell can withstand “hurricane-strength rain” (a feature we’ve been grateful for more than once in the Northwest).

 

I heard a Fred Meyer ad on the radio, suggesting gift ideas prior to Father’s Day. “What do dads like?” began the announcer, implying that the listener should start a checklist. “Playing sports, and especially watching sports. And watching historical epics.” (Master and Commander or something was just out on video.)

Given. But, why do men love history? And women can take it or leave it (in my case, absolutely leave it)? Yes, of course, some women enjoy history, but even the blog for the American Association of University Women acknowledges this stereotype in a post that fumes about the gender bias of bookstores that sort the history magazines in the “men’s interest” section.

I posed this question to Ralph (who has been a lifelong consumer of the subject and labors tirelessly to bring it to life for his high school students). He didn’t disagree with the observation at all. “Because history is heroic,” he said. “And popular history—the kind you see on the History Channel—those are really good, simple stories that you don’t have to be very smart or sober to follow.” Yes but, I challenged, what about Lifetime? Those are stories. “Exactly,” he said. “For women. History is about men. The History Channel is Lifetime for men. And the stories are about a time when men dominated.”

“Men don’t like ambiguity,” he continued, “and men like sports for the same reasons they like history. It’s heroic, and it’s about other men. You put yourself in their place.”

Ralph paused thoughtfully to baste the chicken wings (this conversation was conducted at the barbeque, another Thing Dads Like). “Watching the History Channel or movies like ‘Troy’, that’s different than really studying history,” he mused. “That’s a bitch. Because then you run into things that aren’t manly, like ambiguity. And discipline.”

The kind of history we face at the official monuments and sites we visit is “national history” according to Ralph. “The ‘valiant struggle of the American patriots’, Bunker Hill, George Washington chopping down the cherry tree…anytime you go to a national monument, it’s the History Channel at best. Which isn’t bad—but you lose the real drama of what really happened.”

So, what do you get out of visiting all those forts and battlesites? I asked. Is it like a folk song, you’re accustomed to it, is it comforting?

“Not at all. It’s pretty simple,” he said. “Those forts are built on America’s sense of place in the world, and show a part of America that demonstrates a tremendous amount of technology for the time. I imagine being stationed there. What did it really look like? What were the conditions, the weather? The weapons? How did they live? The historical imagination process works on many different levels.”