Posts Tagged ‘airstream’

 

 

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…

 

 

 

 

What happened to Frenchglen? I recall passing through fifteen years ago to find an oasis in the desert: enchantingly upscale accommodations; a country store tastefully merchandised with fine handmade gifts and locally grown produce and cheeses; espresso. Now, the Mercantile, once beamed directly from Marin County, squats forlornly behind the Iron Curtain with its half-empty shelves of dirty gourds and stale-looking cracker boxes. And the hotel? No longer on my short list of places to honeymoon.

 

What goggles was I wearing? Was I infatuated at the time, with either someone or my new Oregon home? Was I parched from the cultural drought that is the drive from Reno through Winnemucca? Or has Frenchglen, like everywhere, fallen on hard times? (Why am I writing like Carrie Bradshaw?)

 

While the town of Frenchglen no longer holds any magic, the surrounding area still does. Returning to southeastern Oregon years later with a different rig and crew would have been a harsh letdown except for the enduring beauty of the untouched landscape…which never changes.

 

I’ll go out on a limb: the campground at Page Springs Recreation Site—a BLM property on the Steens Mountain Loop—is possibly the most beautiful we’ve overnighted in. (Ralph: “You’re not going to blog and tell everyone about this, are you?”) (Oops.) It has no hookups, (water and johns, though), feels remote yet is exquisitely groomed, and the flora and fauna are among the Creator’s finest work. Near the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge, the area draws hawks, herons, magpies and binocular-toting birdwatchers; the Donner and Blitzen rivers (guess what? not named for the reindeer) attract wading flyfishermen. Deer and coyote roam freely, like pets. The surrounding Steens aren’t actually black but dramatic lighting makes them appear so. 

 

On the way down from Bend I misunderstood the checker at the Safeway in Burns who asked if we were headed to the Round Barn, a Harney County hotspot. “What? Oh, definitely,” I replied. (I thought she said “Round Bar”.) Of course we detoured anyway, past the Diamond Craters (which look like a failed batch of devilsfood crinkle cookies) to take in the cultural significance of said barn. The mildly interesting structure is as advertised: a barn, that is round, with a complex interior structure of juniper beams. Nearby, a testy man who won’t tell you all about it presides over a crap n’ trinket store with an odd attraction inside that serves as another class reminder: when one is poor and surrounded by junk, they’re a hoarder. Rubbish of the wealthy is considered an eccentric collection, and transferred to frontier museums.

 

 

My friend Karla—a spectacular cook—sells high-end kitchen tools as a Demarle At Home instructor and host. Recently she suggested the obvious that I’d overlooked: wouldn’t Flexipans be perfect for your Airstream?

 

Of course! Yes! If the DWR had an oven. 

 

I made these Halloween brownie bites in a mini muffin tray at home (using a low cal version of a box mix, with applesauce instead of oil), but YOUR trailer or RV certainly has an oven and you’ll want this rubbery cookware for your galley. 

 

Made of some kind of silicone, they don’t need prepping (no polluting your Airstream interior with greasy Pam spray), they barely need cleaning (rinse and wipe), and they squish to stow and don’t clank around in the cupboard. The Silpat baking sheets roll up as well, and the roundish one even doubles as a pot lid.

 

Demarle products aren’t cheap, but Christmas is coming. Get the cookbook-like catalog from Karla and assemble your wish list; the pans, molds and sheets come in dozens of diminutive (and regular) shapes and sizes.

 

 

I towed into Pendleton, Oregon minutes before the Westward Ho! parade and faced nowhere to park; every empty slot and lot teemed with RVs and horse trailers and teepees. Somehow I squeezed into a miracle spot in the WalMart parking lot, stuffed to the curbs with motorhomes, tents, and rednecks camped in the beds of their pickups…like spring break for hillbillies. I followed the crowd and piles of manure on Court Street to the all non-motorized parade which showcased wild west wagons and buggies, all manner of cowboy, Indians, Mexicans, sheriffs, preachers, outlaws, firemen, Oregon Trail pioneers, weird timber equipment, every rodeo princess in the Northwest, longhorns, mules, donkeys, horses, miniature ponies, and State Treasurer Ted Wheeler. The sky was blue, the sun warm, the air acrid with smell of freshly-dropped dung. Life is good. “Let ‘er buck, hail yay-uh,” commented the spectator to my right about the inscription tooled on the chaps of a pretty cowgirl.

 

During Round-Up Pendleton swells by 50,000 people and becomes a spectacle. Tents with vendors hawking cowboy hats, brisket and tacos, rugs and horse blankets, cowgirl bling, and Native American crafts line the streets; at night, the town hosts a week-long party with five entertainment stages and assorted bacchanalia. 

 

The rodeo itself is one of the ten largest in the world. The announcer (who is quite excellent) kicks off the competition by leading the crowd in the official catchphrase: “It’s a noun, it’s an adjective, it’s a verb…!” to which the crowd screams “Let ‘er buck!!” The concessions are reasonable (beer, $4) and the townfolk are friendly and polite. I was mildly surprised when the audience stood to enthusiastically cheer the area tribes in their ceremonial attire during the Indian Show portion of the rodeo; the community here warmly embraces and honors the Native American, a part of Round-Up week for 101 years. (It’s not like that in California. Just sayin’.)

 

I visited the “Let ‘Er Buck Room” during a break in the rodeo action to see if I could get groped. (No takers). Less of a bar and more of just a shadowy, enclosed space beneath the bleachers, the famous party den is packed wall to wall with drinkers generating a deafening noise; copious signage warns “Keep Your Clothes On – Indecent Exposure Will Not Be Tolerated”.

 

I drycamped for the weekend in the community park and enjoyed overeating and overdrinking as usual with the Oregon Unit of the WBCCI, who have been hosting Airstreamers at the Round-Up for 46 years.

 

Parade rankings by the author

(Criteria: Length, weather, relative lack of corporate sponsorship, high local kitsch factor)

1. UFO Festival, McMinnville
2. San Diego St. Patrick’s Day
3. Pendleton Round-Up Westward Ho! Parade
4. Detroit Lakes Water Carnival Parade of the Northwest
5. Fred Meyer Children’s Holiday Parade (now, alas, Macy’s)
6. Tournament of Roses, Pasadena
7. Portland Pride 
8. Lompoc Flower Festival 
9. Grand Floral Parade, Portland
10. Crazy Days Pet and Doll Parade, Audubon MN
11. Vergas Looney Daze 
12. Jackson Center Community Days

 

Parade bucket list

• Portland Starlight Parade
• Doo Dah Parade
• Carnivale, Brazil
• Carnivale, Trinidad
• Mardi Gras
• Please comment your suggestions!

 

 

I used to be crazy-patriotic. I walked precincts for the party when I was eleven, and voted in every election since I’ve been able (wearing pajamas to the dorm polling place to be first in line at age 18). I know every flag etiquette rule and the harmony part to This Land is Your Land. I grew out of it though, jaded in recent years by my understanding of the bigger world, media massaging, and our electoral system. 

 

But, this Independence Day I had to turn my head so no one would see me choking up over a red white and blue birthday cake.

 

July 4th is the birthday of Airstream creator Wally Byam, born in Baker City, Oregon in 1896. In observance, the Oregon Unit of the WBCCI and the Baker Heritage Museum threw a summer-long celebration: an exhibit of rare memorabilia from the life and travels of the hometown boy, highlighted by a “living history” open house rally of vintage and new Airstreams on Byam’s birthday weekend. 

 

Artifacts in the museum included personal items and photos from Byam’s caravan trips and rarities from the early days of Airstream manufacturing, mostly donated by cousin Dale “Pee Wee” Schwamborn, custodian of Byam’s history, who also presented an insightful and comprehensive decade-by-decade lecture on everything you ever wanted to learn (and more, if you know what I mean) about Byam, his origins, motivation, and travels. 

 

The rally had a historic focus (in conjunction with the expected fraternizing and overserving): Scott Goranson described his experience rescuing and restoring one of the trailers from Byam’s famous Around the World Caravan, and unit member Tom Golden shared the journals and collectibles saved from his mother’s adventure from Cape Town to Cairo.

 

Our rigs in the park adjacent to the museum drew crowds of visitors, including an inspiring couple pedaling their way to whatever’s next, filming and blogging along the way, who captured our rally and birthday party at the museum in a video.

 

At the party I reflected on Wally Byam, the man who brought us all together. An American innovator who created a fine American-made machine, still in production after 80 years, still employing American workers. How apt that he was born on the fourth of July. (Pee Wee recounted a funny fact: four year old Wallace, unaware of the broader meaning of that date, believed the town parade on his birthday to be in his honor.)

 

Before the museum director cut the flag-frosted cake, she led the gathering in song. “Happy birthday to youuuu, happy birthday dear wall-lee…"

To which one voice added, “and America!” So corny. That’s when I hid my silly patriotic tears.

 

 

Group photo above courtesy of Bill Ferry. Visit his Airstream photoblog.

 

 

Jackson Center, Ohio: population 1365—where Wally Byam found the vacant paper factory in 1952 that would house his Airstream production center. Today, workers in JC continue to crank out the aluminum beauties at the only plant that builds new Airstreams and delivers them by flatbed to dealers across the country.

 

‘Streamers, plan a pilgrimage to the factory at your earliest convenience. (New buyer tip: order from a dealer, obtain the production number of your unit, and scurry to Jackson Center where you’re welcome to watch [and photograph] your very own Airstream being built step by step on the line during its nine day assembly process.)

 

The public factory tour (held each day at 2pm) is fascinating—if you love factory tours, and who doesn’t—but it may surprise you. (The Weaselmouth perspective describes it well.) Airstream is a monstrous facility occupying a wide spread of land, yet inside it’s nothing like the automated automobile assembly line you might imagine. It’s more like a home dreamshop. 

 

Each unit is built lovingly by hand (though the new automatic router that cuts windows and doors from a pattern keeps the guide and tour participants riveted—no pun intended), and the factory sounds are satisfyingly deafening. Trailers pass through specialized workstations where plumbing, furniture and lighting are installed, aluminum paneling is riveted, units are checked for leaks (subjecting each to a PacNorwest-level rainstorm in a sealed spray chamber), and finally affixed with their proud insignia. 

 

Disappointingly, no pictures are allowed; a prudent rule, preventing someone like me from publishing a photo of the “water leak awareness” board or other behind-the-scenery that some might use for evil.

 

A family business in a small town, “everyone is related” at Airstream (quipped the guide). I got a little verklempt when CEO Bob Wheeler thanked the Alumapalooza gathering for not just supporting a brand, but for providing the livelihood for hundreds of families.

 

Consider your visit to the Airstream repair center as an opportunity to relax. Your trailer is fixed when it’s fixed; it will be towed to the Terraport—the onsite campground—where you’ll overnight if there’s more work to do when the workday is done. (If predictability and rigid travel plans are how you roll, the Airstreaming lifestyle may not be for you.) At the blessedly air conditioned service center—tricked out with Airstream-themed furniture, comfy sofas and wifi—owners chill out, swap travel tips, chat up the friendly service staff and shop in the “Wally Byam” store for collectibles and gear. Your dog is welcome. There’s free coffee, and cookies. Sit a spell.

 

Airstream production fun facts

• 66% of all Airstreams made are on the road today
• The 25-footer is the top seller, but more Eddie Bauers are on the line now than any other model
• The body style has changed only six times in 80 years; new shapes appeared in 1936, ‘46, ‘50, ‘58, ‘65 and 2005, each time reducing the number of panels (reducing the opportunities for leaks)

 

Alumapalooza is an all-Airstream event sponsored by the good folks who bring you Airstream Life magazine, held on the grounds of Airstream, Inc. 

Like a giant rally, but more, Alumapalooza crams back to back activities into a too-short six day event, presented by those who own and love Airstream: gear, technical and safety classes; workshops on interior design and vintage restoration; tax tips for fulltimers; morning yoga; numerous maintenance sessions; cooking and sketching demos; a short session on bucking rivets (“Buck Rivet”—best porn name ever) before the annual team competition; vendors with expensive, must-have goodies; professional entertainment; and daily happy houring, grilling and socializing with the big names at Airstream and fellow travelers from all corners of the nation. In short, it’s a blast.

 

Replacing what was once called Homecoming Week at the factory, Alumapalooza is cheap for all you get; $300 per rig buys a week at the Mothership and field parking with water and enough electricity to keep your laptop charged. (What wasn’t cheap was the gas it took to get here. Let’s see…2500 miles, $4 per gallon, average mpg…Gah! I don’t even want to add the receipts.)

 

Already memories:

Visiting the mothballed trailers (including Stella, the Byam’s gold Airstream) in the production lot with @whereisKylenow; finding a corny map of the US on the side of one—the kind with the stick-on states—and pointing out where we’ve been, and where we plan to go

Meeting other online acquaintances in person, like the delightful @Weaselmouth team (perhaps their blog will mention their performance at the Rivet Masters contest)

Learning to cook (sort of) using hot coals and a Dutch oven

Conversing with Maxine—a lovely lady at the Methodist church dinner—who shared a few stories about working as a curtain seamstress at the Airstream factory, fifty years ago

The lively couple with two miniature dachshunds who dress them in twisted costumes

Pink bursts of lightning reflecting off the mirror-polished vintage trailer parked next to the DWR

Michael Depraida’s ice machine. (Agreed: “The ability to make ice is what separates us from the animals.”) 

 

 

As I can’t resist a “world’s largest” or “home of” roadside attraction, I swerved off the highway in Iowa and followed signs to Winterset—birthplace of John Wayne (American). There I encountered bustle and excitement: bunting around the courthouse, a cavalry encampment, a Rotary-sponsored fun run, a band assembling in the town square, and everywhere, flags flying.

 

“What’s going on?” I asked a local Rotarian. “Memorial weekend?” He blinked at me. “It’s John Wayne’s BIRTHDAY,” he said.

 

Oh. Sorry! Didn’t know. This will result in a loss of precious RSS subscribers but I regard John Wayne (né Marion Morrison) as the most overrated actor in film history. But, his status as an icon (and American) cannot be denied.

 

Twenty minute tours are conducted year round at the treasured white house that was his childhood home; inside are Rooster Cogburn’s eye patch, the cavalry hat worn in Rio Lobo, and old photos and letters from Jimmy Stewart, Lucille Ball, Bob Hope and other (once) household names.

 

The tour commences at the home next door, now a gift shop vending all things John Wayne (and a few mementos commemorating the nearby Bridges of Madison County and their vomitrocious movie).

 

John Wayne’s birthday party! Quelle chance. For once I’m roadtripping through towns at the right moment—ordinarily I pass banners announcing the local festival that just was or will be in a week. I even hit Indianapolis on the 100th anniversary of the running of the Indy 500 (though I couldn’t approach the raceway due to highway closures…don’t get me started on how little I loved Indiana). 

 

 

From the moment I was informed by the nice gas station character that filled the trailer tires that 38 tornadoes just had their way with my eastern destination states, the hostile spring weather has tried to run me off the road: torrential rain in Washington; fat wet snow flurries in Oregon (is the west not aware that it’s nearly Memorial Day?); fierce winds in Idaho that actually BLEW A PART OFF the Airstream (hopefully they’ll reattach it at The Mothership); and fog so dense in Wyoming that semi drivers on the I-80 formed a 30mph protective convoy, hazards flashing.

 

I didn’t see another Airstream on the road until two days into the journey to Alumapalooza—they waved to me from the other side of the freeway in Utah where I was shipwrecked with a blowout. (“What’s next?” asked Ralph on the phone. “Locusts? Raining frogs?”)

 

Having fun anyway. Portland humorist Joe Spooner suggested I stay alert for Little America, which he remembered from crosscountry road trips with his family. Billboards for it appeared up 60 miles in advance but offered no compelling reason to stop: “17 marble showers”, “clean restrooms”, “mechanic on duty”. (At least Wall Drug offers free ice water.) I pulled in anyway, as commanded, and found a long row of Colonial-style buildings with a Sinclair dinosaur on the lawn and absolutely nothing inside: hotel rooms, a tragic gift shop, and a restaurant with the bleak ambiance and fusty smell of a nursing home. That it’s a destination at all is a testament to how empty and devoid of attractions southcentral Wyoming is.

 

Hungry for kitsch, I followed signs at the Nebraska border to the “shrine” hoping to find a local Lourdes-like grotto but it’s just a collosal concrete statue (the largest in Wyoming!) of the Virgin Mary that I could have just as easily seen from the interstate.

 

Road Trip Thumbs Up

☺Free campground WiFi

☺O’Jays on the iPod

☺The Dennis Miller AM radio show. (For a comedian famous for his “rants” he’s the most subdued national pundit. Please, everyone on Fox Talk, CTFD.)

☺Pilot stations. (Wide, accommodating lanes between the pumps; unnaturally bubbly ladies at the counter; Cinnabon.)

☺States that post the number of miles to the next gas station.

☺New puppy Raven—at only three months, already Airstreaming like a champ.

 

 

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.