Posts Tagged ‘camping’

 

 

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…

 

 

 

 

I was outside at a Utah Starbucks when a man arrived with his two chocolate labs. He left them unleashed near a table, and without a word, went inside to fetch his latte. The dogs watched him disappear, then sat politely to wait for his return. “That,” I said to my friend, “is the difference between a lab and a dachshund.” Ralston would lie down to wait. Ripley and Raven would cry, “Yay, she’s gone! Let’s play in traffic!” and I’d never see them again. 

 

Thus the need for Invisible Fence at home and a new camping must-have: “The Rock” PetFree™ Outdoor Solution Plus portable electronic fence system. It works like a charm and the concept is fiendishly simple. 

 

Before The Rock, glamping with the doxies meant they either a] hogtied us to our camp chairs with their tangled long leashes (on purpose, we’re sure), or b] promptly darted away. (I get why people call them “dash-hounds”.) Now, with The Rock fence, we establish a big yard around the Airstream with one hundred feet of wire attached to a transmitter hidden in a little plastic boulder, and inform the dogs of the wire perimeter by planting the white flags they’re trained to recognize at the border. While wearing their special “beep collars”—which issue a wristwatch alarm-like tone if they get too close to the flags (and a mild shock if they dare to cross the wire)—the dogs play safely nearby without knocking over the cocktail table with their outdoor leads, or running off to chase the campground squirrels and neighbor pets.

 

Does the collar hurt? Not really; it’s more of a creepy pulse than a pain. (The Central Oregon Invisible Fence trainer/installer—a kind and patient man that the dogs adore—encouraged me to take the adjustable shock myself.) It’s as intense as touching the TV set after walking on the carpet in sock feet; just enough of a surprise to get the pet’s attention and divert them away from the boundary. Dogs are not dumb, and learn the rules quickly.

 

R&R jump for joy when they see the collars coming out; they represent freedom, smells, and playing leash-free outdoors. Soon, we’re told, they may not require the collars at all; just placing the white flags around the trailer should keep them nearby. We’ll see. (Again: Dogs—not dumb.)

 

 

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.

 

 

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.

 

 

Laura and Kevin, the Oregon couple I interviewed for Airstream Life ("The Technomads", Winter 2010), own a stomp-gorgeous 2010 27′ International. I dropped by to spend a splendid morning where they were glamped at Champoeg State Park only thirty miles from Portland, where the couple enjoys taking their writing work while they take in the view. (Sometimes they tow over to the coast, for a different scene from their picture window.)

 

Both hightech creatives, they’ve upgunned their rig with sleek silver and chocolate upholstery, the tastiest of household conveniences (down to the ingenious key holder by the door, magnetic vertical spice jars, and wine rack under the bed), and wired it (with as many solar panels as possible on the roof and supporting tech) for life on the road as long as they wish to be away from the city.

 

Expansive Champoeg (pronouned “shampooey”) State Park offers the requisite visitor’s center with interactive displays about regional history (“Open this door to vote ‘yes’ for a provisional government”) (wtf?), an 1860s kitchen garden, frisbee golf, and fishing in the Willamette River. It’s also the gravesite of Kitty Newell (a Nez Perce woman and trapper’s wife) and the Manson Barn; clues collected during its restoration date the structure back to the 1830s—not the 1860s as previously thought—making it (possibly) the oldest building left standing in Oregon.

 

 

Why we waited to replace a four year old battery until the day it died—the morning of a road trip—is indicative of how we roll. Ralph, not what anyone would describe as a grease monkey, struggled with the issues surrounding its replacement and we were off like a herd of turtles to The Dalles only three hours past ETD.

The Dalles, Oregon: the town that sounds awkward in any sentence. (“Historic The Dalles.” “The The Dalles walking tour.”) Instead of demolishing their tired old infrastructure, forward-thinking city planners must have said, “Let’s hold off. In another three decades, history buffs will come in their Airstreams to see our one hundred year old Oddfellows Lodge, and drink our beer.” And so it came to pass.

A brochure provided by The Historic Downtown The Dalles Association tells the story of each worn brick building (and a map can be uploaded to your handheld as you walk the few commercial blocks).

The nearby Deschutes River State Park—a splendid, spacious campground right on the river—was sub-freezing, the bathrooms were locked, and the camp host had wisely moved on to less wintery climes. We spent most of the weekend in the warm local ale joints.

 

 

It doesn’t fold but for Christmas I received the MyPressi TWIST Easy Elegant espresso maker, which claimed to change how and where I will enjoy my delicious espresso and espresso-based beverages, as it is “perfect for home and office”. Somehow they overlooked its most obvious application: for use in the Airstream.

 

Producing “perfect crema every time”—I suspect that’s the beige foam at the top of the coffee—the unit uses pressurized cartridges (the ones that make carbonated water from a seltzer bottle) in lieu of external power, and dispenses single or double shot extractions. A separate “frother” turns hot milk into a fake-steamed latte lather.

 

The Twist is advertised as easy to use—“put in the coffee, pour in hot water, and pull the trigger”—but it’s a hell of a production when one can just drive through the ampm for a 24-ounce High Voltage Java. Keeping the coffee hot is an issue; you have to practice, preheat, work mad fast and get the sequence of events exactly right or your drink will be tepid.

 

That said, if you’re confined to a campsite miles from a Starbucks (hard to imagine, in the northwest) the Twist is fun to use, easy to clean, looks bitchin’, makes rich coffee, and the loose parts travel neatly in a pouch.

 

I made peppermint espresso with frothed milk as a treat for the holidays.

 

It was 21 degrees when we left Portland on New Year’s Eve day and it wasn’t much warmer at Cape Lookout State Park on the Oregon Coast, but the sky was a promising blue.

 

We unhitched the Airstream and drove to nearby Netarts to celebrate over steak and cocktails at the fanciest lounge we could find. “A lot of people here, are, uh…missing teeth,” Ralph observed. Somehow the evening cartwheeled into a fireball and we returned to the trailer after a wicked argument and fell asleep—back to back—by 9pm.

 

New Year’s day dawned clear and cold, offering a fresh start. We visited Cape Meares Lighthouse, old Ralston enjoyed the sea smells, Ripley wore his little parka. A fiery sunset was followed by a limitless black night sky without a moon, cloud cover or light pollution; a million stars glittered like retail diamonds.

 

Later: “Donner, party of 84…” (And so on. Ha! I never tire of this joke, once told by restaurant lounge cover bands who used to call names when tables were ready.)

Returning from Bend during a holiday snowstorm on the Santiam Pass (my knuckles are still white), the subject of the ill-fated Donner party arose. What would that trip have been like without a heated, 4WD, 8 cylinder SUV with traction tires?

Well, it was unpleasant. The Emigrant Trail Museum near Donner Summit in Truckee recounts the scary story of the Donner Company of 1846: 42 men, women and children who “lost their desperate struggle for life” and the 49 who survived the bitter winter at 7227 feet. There by the grace of God go us all—what happened to the Donner party could be repeated by any traveler today; they simply got delayed by the weather and one bad decision led to another.

The tragic losses, unthinkable hardships and complicated stories (settlers coming and going, splitting up and forming new parties; animals and their people starving, freezing, and dying right and left) are detailed in the museum. A sculpture depicting hopeful emigrants heading west rises up 22 feet, poignantly illustrating the height of the snow that year. An instructive sign outside about "Winter Survival" lists emergency how-to’s; talk about the teachable moment.

The museum disappoints in one regard: I was looking forward to a gory diorama about cannibalism, but there’s only the merest mention of it (five words). Turns out that particular survival practice is greatly exaggerated; only a few people in the party dined on those that didn’t make it to spring.

A word about the adjacent Donner Memorial State Park campground: don’t. I stubbornly stayed three nights because I prepaid online and was too cheap to move along. It’s expensive ($35/night) and there’s no electricity, not even a plug for a blow dryer in the sorry excuse for a bathroom. (Time for that solar upgrade we’ve been talking about for the Airstream). 

Any item that smells (Trisquits, toothpaste, Captain Morgan’s) must be secured in a bear box, an inconvenience one puts up with in Yosemite, but worth the trouble in Truckee? Not so much. Upon entering the park campers are forewarned by “the bear picture” (of a mother Black Bear boosting her cub up into the window of a camper, Ocean’s Eleven style) and required to sign a statement that absolves the state from blame for damages. This bear tyranny in California really must stop.

The campsites are nonplus in every way, it’s windy, dirty, covered in red ants, inexplicably crowded, and if you arrive from the Bay Area on the 680 and the 80, the drive is a teeth-gritting horror with POTHOLES on the freeway; the right hand truck and trailer lanes are the worst. At 60 mph and you can hear the contents of your trailer hitting the ceiling.

 

I fully expected the WBCCI Oregon Unit members to know how to have a good time when I met their club president at the International. Expectations fulfilled: The HiWay Haven rally in Sutherlin, Oregon—a nonstop block party with Airstreams and the people who love them—pegged the fun meter.

 

A little Airstream history was thrown in between the eating and drinking; the weekend commemorated the 50th anniversary of the famous Cape Town to Cairo caravan with a special lecture and a screening of two films about Wally Byam and his followers to Africa and Mexico. Other movies on the old drive in screen included the unwatchable RV and The Long, Long Trailer, unwatchable for other reasons. (I wince when I picture Ralph’s response to the situations Lucy and Ricky encountered. A trailer stuck in a muddy ditch just isn’t funny when you tow one.)

 

During the weekend many of the Airstream owners opened their trailer doors for a public tour of their lovingly restored vintage trailers, factory-fresh rigs, an especially killer new remodel, the smallest trailer at the rally (our DWR) and even an Airstream motorhome, manufactured in the 80s.

 

But let’s let someone else tell it for a change. Welcome Oregon Unit Member Bill Ferry, ‘Streaming’s first guest poster. His impressions of the HiWay Haven rally:

 

 

"You scream

I scream

We all scream

For Airstream

How many of us heard that ditty (modified here of course) when growing up. Well what we have here are some screamin’ Airstreams. 

The president of the Oregon Unit owns a REAL classic Airstream, a 1968, one far shinier than ours will ever be. Their rig will fit right in with the classic car show in nearby Sutherlin as part of their annual Blackberry Festival. As a matter of fact, all of us at the rally have the opportunity to open our rigs up to visitors as part of the festival. We’re part of the car show – folks are set to come out to the RV park to tour the units that are putting out the welcome mat.

The oldest is a 1953 and the newest is brand new. Some folks don’t know that Airstreams come in different packages so to speak. The owners of the 1953 have done a great job preserving the feel of this historic trailer.  

There is much turmoil in the club currently. Since it’s inception by Airstream creator Wally Byam in the 1950s, the Wally Byam Caravan Club International (WBCCI) has undergone a number of changes over the years. Caravans, which seem to have been the centerpiece of the club for many years (and are still done), are now very junior in popularity to long weekend rallies. The average age of the membership is trending younger while the governing hierarchy is getting older. The digital age is pushing out the analog. Folks aren’t afraid of customizing their trailers while at the same time the popularity of the vintage Airstreams grows. The spread in popularity of these well designed and uniquely beautiful trailers have brought more folks into the club. At the same time those of us new to the organization are asking questions about the type and cost of governance as well as the poor financial shape of the International (HQ unit). Like many large groups (WBCCI currently has 6,000 members) it takes a while to see change reach the top. Many of us scoff at the “Blue Beret” formality (Wally wore a blue beret) of the annual meetings, which until this last year required suits for him and dresses and white gloves for her. This marks our 4th or 5th rally and what is clear is that the local groups we’ve seen are healthy both in adventure, membership and finance. Those at the top are just now beginning to hear the voices beneath them.

We joined the Oregon unit of the WBCCI for “fun, fellowship & adventure” as the WBCCI motto goes and at the rally we enjoyed some of that. There was a choice of outings and we picked a truncated wine tour. The member hosting the tour was an experienced wine connoisseur.  

51 years ago Wally Byam organized the Cape Town to Cairo Caravan. We revisited that historic journey during the dinner program (the menu was nearly identical to the last meal of their trip). One of the Oregon Unit member’s mother & father went on that journey. The photos and souvenirs drove home just how exotic and difficult such a trip could be. Images of men pushing and pulling trucks and trailers through muddy bogs, long stretches of wheel sucking sand, the guards that were hired to protect the caravan and more. Broken springs & spirits, lack of replacement parks and a trip that lasted two months longer than planned took its toll. Of the 41 units that started, 29 finished. We are wusses compared to what these men and women endured. And still they wore ties and white gloves in a number of the ceremonial pictures we saw.

The next afternoon was a lazy affair that rather segued into happy hour then dinner. We finally got to know a few more club members once we had a chance to slow down and stay in one place for a while. You can’t begin to estimate the varied background of Airstream owners here this weekend (and something we have noticed at other unit rallies). It is a fun and fun loving group of people and though they like to party, they like to camp more often. Some of these people we’ll see a little later in our travels In Pendleton, most all are off to the four winds for more travel and adventure before winter sets in. For only a few are they done for the season. The owners are as distinctive as their rigs."

View incriminating photos of Oregon Unit members in Sutherlin on Facebook.