Airstream,
RV Camping
& Travel Tips

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.

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 OR—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.

“Profond, froid et magnifique” (that’s on a plaque), Lake Louise in Banff National Park is thrilling and unspoiled. Tourist guides claim that as a protected World Heritage Site, the vistas that greet visitors today are virtually the same as those that Swiss explorers experienced more than a century ago, and I believe it. The present day village mini-mall with its high end grocery, sports shop and artsy fartsy gift store now only adds to the ambiance.

After driving through the monotonous prairie to the south, the abrupt appearance of the colossal Canadian Rockies can take your breath away.

Preparations for Summer Road Trip 2010 are in full swing. We back out in twenty one hours but we’re stress free; the process is down to a science (and we only have 16 feet of Airstream to pack and tow away).

Resources abound for helping you ready your rig and a person could go checklist crazy. We maintain only two: a limited supplies list (including necessities like “presto log” and martini olives) that resides in the RV Companion iphone app, and a by-the-book hitch up and go procedure. (Don’t want to get sloppy even though we know the drill by heart.)

Dinnertime in western Oregon and Washington while camping with the DWR means huddling inside, out of the wretched weather, preparing meager, unobtrusive meals in the tiny galley, and smelling wet dogs drying by the floor heater. Roll east of the Cascades though, where skies are clear, and the great outdoors becomes your dining room. Time to barbeque.

Storage within the trailer remains on a miniature scale, so we ‘stream with the HotSpot Notebook Portable Charcoal Grill.

The language of Twitter is humiliating. “Tweet me”; “I tweeted”; “Guess what, Tweeple?” (It’s for a similar reason that I don’t patronize Burger King. I can’t tell another person that I need a “whopper”.) Despite this, I love and depend on Twitter, and mercifully, most users have grown tired of thinking up new words that begin with “tw”.

I get it that a vast population considers Twitter to be pointless, narcissistic and time-consuming (the latter it indeed is). Opting out is a viable choice. Sometimes even regular tweeters (see? how idiotic is that) have difficulty conceptualizing its practical benefits. But if you travel, Twitter is an invaluable tool.

Under a new moon in October, all but deserted Viento State Park on the Columbia River is atmospheric and eerie. Even on the first day of modern firearm hunting season there were only a handful of campers, likely due to the park’s most distinctive feature: the train that thunders by at all hours of the day and night, blasting its earsplitting whistle scant yards from the campsites.

Saturday morning drizzle turned to a downpour as we passed the local purveyors and their lavish bins of pumpkins, squash and a dozen apple varieties on our way into the Hood River Valley Harvest Fest. Having been there before we knew to make an immediate beeline for the beer and brat tent.

Growing up, I was a hopeless nerd (shut up) and waited for each long lonely summer to come to an end so I could take my place at the desk nearest Teacher in September. This may be why, no matter where I’ve lived, that fall is my favorite season. Autumn in Oregon—especially east of the Cascades—has a refreshing vibe that feels, counterintuitively, like new beginnings.

If you paddle, cycle, ski, hike or fly fish, you already know about Bend. We spent the weekend just rubbernecking around town (Ralph applying his real estate appraisal knowledge like a tour guide as we passed through the neighborhoods) and hanging out in the sun at the campsite, drinking beer and watching the dogs roll in the dirt.

The inn was full near Glenns Ferry, Idaho. We were unaware that the Three Island Crossing was taking place, the annual (and this year, final) reenactment of (yes) the Oregon Trail settlers struggling to cross the dangerous Snake River with their wagons and horses. Every RV park for miles was full: the state park, Power Pop Campground, everything. (“Power Pop”, that cracked Ralph up. “Is that next to Speed Metal RV Park? Across from Hair Band KOA?”)

We met Stan, the caretaker of Carmela RV Park, who took pity on our ignorance and graciously offered us a place to hook up in the parking lot of Carmela Vineyards, right next to the vines and tasting room.

The Utah scenery abruptly vanished when the wind kicked up and created a brownout of smoke and grit from Provo to Ogden so thick we could barely see the huge temple in downtown SLC. People everywhere were apologizing. (“It’s never like this!”) A crusty guy in line at the gas station convenience store reported that “one of the islands in the lake”—what on earth could he have been talking about—was on fire due to a lightning strike.

When a state park is downgraded to a county park it falls into a bureaucratic black hole for a period, making it impossible to find online or otherwise. Such was the fate of Fort Buenaventura, which we finally discovered hidden behind the railroad yard.