Road photos updated

Dear Reader,

I've gone back through the blog and added some photos to the entries describing the driving parts of the trip. (Unfortunately I had forgotten to take the magic cord needed to download them from my camera to the laptop during the trip.)

And here is a final road photo (taken outside Merced) to make you smile.

Dr Mom

Blown Home by the Wind

The wind continued to roar around the van all night. We didn't actually have a lot of trouble getting to sleep - Hubby told us all to think we were on a boat rocking on the waves, which seemed to help some of the family - but the van was cold in the morning from the drafts finding their way through cracks and crevices. That said, we weren't as cold as the two guys who had pitched tent in the site next door after we'd gone to bed. It was a dad and his son and, boy, did they look cold and miserable putting the tent away at 7:00am. It was not a night (or a location) for tent camping.

Everyone got splendidly clean in the campground showers. It was a revelation. Deep Thought had a bit of a problem with her towel and robe becoming soaked because Dad didn't warn her that she had put them on a seat for disabled people in the shower, and not a bench, but apart from that all went swimmingly (if you'll excuse the pun).

We set off promptly for our longest drive, 322 miles north to Merced and the McConnell State Recreation Area.

The kids watched "Guys and Dolls" on the portable DVD player while we drove along I-15 away from Calico, through Barstow - another depressed town going nowhere - and back to Mojave. Our route traversed a stretch of the Mojave Desert. I am glad that I didn't make more effort to find places for us to camp in the Mojave Desert, as we now feel like we've seen enough of it. Dry and flat with a lot of rocks. Impressive for its scale, and the contrast between the desert plain and the mountains, but not a place you'd much want to hang out. Or live. I guess some people choose to, though I'm not sure why... It seems clear from the state of most of the little towns that the young people leave and never return. One day these small towns will fall into the desert like the mining towns that preceded them. Some of them are half way there already. Quite a spooky thought, really.

We backtracked along our earlier route from Mojave through Tehachapi to Bakersfield. The landscape around Tehachapi is appealing, with rolling hills, more greenery, and a winding road that meets and greets the long distance railway in numerous places.

Bakersfield was as lovely as we remembered. This time there were no diversions. We stopped for lunch at the China Town Buffet off I-99 just at the edge of Bakersfield, and it turned out to be just what we needed. Imagine a bland single story building filled with 150 diners of all shapes, sizes, colors, and ages. About 85% of the men have facial hair - something we noticed was a lot more prevalent in the central valley - and everyone has at least three plates of food in front of them. It was a help yourself to everything buffet for $10 each, and we sure did. Little Starlet focused heavily on the meat options. Deep Thought consumed mostly appetizers, though she also tucked into some teriyaki chicken. Hubby ate ribs and shrimps, while I focused on brightly colored food skewered on sticks. It went down very well in all senses.

By the time we'd finished gorging ourselves, the rain had started to fall in Bakersfield. We decided to out run it. The kids armed themselves with "Nanny McPhee", and we set out along the ever-so-slightly-dull I-99.

Reaching Fresno, the rain was really coming down hard. Hubby put forward the crazy idea of abandoning our last night of camping and driving home. We decided to have a family conference in Merced, just short of the McConnell Recreation Area. Fortunately we were able to hold it in a Starbucks! Nectar of the Gods! (Our first sighting of a Starbucks for several days was in Bakersfield, which is how we knew that Bakersfield counted as civilization, and that we'd been experiencing the wilderness before that.)

The vote was taken and the decision made to return home. So that is where I am writing now, in our family room with a cup of tea.

From Sand to Silver

Yesterday afternoon we went back to the sand dunes on Mesquite Flats, near Stovepipe Wells. It was a bit windy, which had obviously put people off because it was much quieter than the last time we’d visited. We walked out to the largest sand dune – according to the Park Service, over 700 feet high. Hubby and the kids walked across the top of the sand dune, a dramatic curve, while I remained on a peak below to take photos. Just like everything else in this area, the scale and colors were amazing. We spent about an hour and a half walking out and back, a distance of about two and a half miles. Going up and down the dunes, up and down, it was pretty good exercise for the old calf muscles.

Overnight it rained a bit. Not enough to make the campground significantly damp, but enough to wake up Deep Thought at 5:00am with the drops drumming on the roof of the cab. There was also a bit of additional dampness inside the tin can: Little Starlet peed in her bed for the second time on this trip. We couldn’t remedy the situation with her still asleep this time, but she is claiming that she had no recollection of us getting her up, fixing her bed, going to the toilet etc. I think the poor little thing was very tired again.

In the morning we saw another road runner scurrying over the sand in front of the RV. (This is the only photo we succeeded in taking of one.) They’re cute. We haven’t seen much other wildlife in Death Valley. A couple of little lizards, ravens at the campsite, hardly any insects (though we did see big black beetles at the sand dunes), an antelope ground squirrel, and we heard the coyotes yapping in the darkness.

We drove away from Death Valley along highway 190. At Death Valley Junction – a sad, derelict community steps away from becoming a ghost town – we turned south on highway 127.

This straight road took us through the bottom end of Death Valley and into Silurian Valley, back into the Mojave Desert. We didn’t see any Joshua trees in this part of Mojave. We did see some spectacular sand dunes in the distance at Dumont Dunes Natural Preserve. They looked even taller than the ones at Stovepipe Wells. We also passed many dry lakes.

The little town of Shoshone was in fairly good shape, with a health center, gas station, motel, café and several houses in good repair. At Baker, we turned west on interstate 15. Baker was most notable for having “the world’s largest thermometer” at the side of the road. It was a very easy drive from every perspective.

Calico Ghost Town is a few minutes from I-15. The campground at the Town is pleasantly laid out. We are in site A25, which has full hookups. This was essential as we ran out of water in the van this morning. Unfortunately it is incredibly windy. The van is rocking from side to side as the wind whistles through and up the canyons. It’s a whole new experience for us (and makes us very glad we aren’t in a tent). This will be the first evening that Hubby and I do not sit out by a campfire. It is just too darned cold – and we’re not even sure we’d be able to light a fire at all. Hubby tried parking the van to shield the fire pit, but there is simply too much wind for that strategy to work.

So here we sit. Deep Thought is writing something creative on one computer, I am blogging, Little Starlet is reading (and eating chocolate), and Hubby is in the RV shower! When he gets out, we’ll play a game.

Now to reflect on Calico Ghost Town. Calico was founded as a silver mining town in 1881. The boom years continued till the end of the 1890s when the price of silver fell dramatically and the population fell rapidly from its peak of twelve hundred (1887) to three hundred (1893) and down to only ten in 1951. During its active years, over $86 million of silver was extracted from the hills around here. The population also supported twenty-two saloons, a China Town (for washing and laundry), and a red light district. The town fell into decay until 1951 when Walter Knott, the founder of Knott’s Berry Farm near to Los Angele (a theme park precursor to Disneyland), decided to spend a bunch of money purchasing and “restoring” it. He donated the town to the County of Bernardino in 1966.

That’s the history lesson. The town today is basically a middle-grade tourist attraction. The entry fee is included in the camping charge, which was a good thing, or it might have offended Hubby’s Scottish sensibilities. The town consists of two main streets, with a short walk up to a school house, a mine, and a railway. The mine and the railway have separate charges.

The railway takes a short loop around the top of a hill, allowing a view of some derelict miners’ houses built into the rocks. (In its previous life the train hauled materials away from the mines.)

“Maggie’s Mine” is a genuine silver mine. Interestingly for those of us experienced in passing through mining exhibits in the UK, this one allows everyone to stand upright (and they didn’t insist on us wearing safety helmets, which they would have in the UK). It was fairly interesting to walk through the mine for a few minutes, though there was a minimum of interpretation – not even an arrow saying “Look, silver ore here”.

The kids wanted to pan for gold, but that exhibit was closed. We ate lunch in the Calico House Restaurant (burgers) and dessert in the Miners’ Café (ice cream). We also went into all the different shops, of which there were many, all selling the most bizarre things….like teddies with wings, cowboy statues, dream catchers labeled “Not an Indian Product”, a piggy bank dressed flamboyantly in feathers and sparkles, frilly toilet roll covers, scoop-your-own bath salts and, our absolutely favorite thing, a singing deer’s head which opened and closed its mouth and also told jokes. Honestly.

Deep Thought’s rating out of ten: five, because it was strange and it was a bit too touristy. She’d have liked it to look a bit more like a real ghost town. Little Starlet also rates it at five, because the stuff in the stores didn’t seem like it would ever have been in the town when people lived there. Hubby rates it more generously at six because all the effort at Disneyfication hadn’t completely hidden the mining town atmosphere. I’d rate it at seven, because I like the look of the rugged frontier town architecture (some of which was even real and not a 1950s pastiche).

Mojave Desert to Furnace Creek (Tuesday Feb 16)

[Catching up with blog entries. The Furnace Creek Visitor Center offers free wi-fi for a few hours each day but we’ve had trouble accessing it.]

After being tempted to do email for a few minutes, we managed to set out around 10am. Our route took us up highway 14, then 395, onto highway 190 and into Death Valley. Though it was scheduled to take just over five hours, in the end we spent almost six and a half hours on the road. Hmm, could be something to do with nature presenting us with multiple photography opportunities. I’m sure you’ll see some of the results of that when Hubby gets a chance to blog.

It was a spectacular drive through a changing, but increasingly rugged, landscape. We were struck by the number of abandoned houses and other buildings – including something that looked like a barracks – along highway 14. Struck, but not surprised, as this was definitely one of those areas which made you wonder why anyone would live there. First stop at 10:30am was at the Red Cliffs Natural Preserve in the Red Rock Canyon State Park. As the name suggests, fabulous red cliffs.

After Red Rock, we drove through plains encircled by hills. Highway 14 is a long straight road running alongside the Sierra Nevada mountain range. It’s a curious contrast, the tall snowy mountains to the left, the dry plains to the left. I noticed on the map that the area is dotted with multiple named wells; and indeed the area is called “Indian Wells Valley”. How the Native American tribes ever survived out here is a mystery to us.

As 14 turns into 395, we were tickled by a roadside bill board with its enticing invitation to move: “Looking for a Few Good Doctors for the Uncrowded Eastern Sierra.” An inspired piece of marketing speak, but not, perhaps, quite an honest message. “Looking for Doctors who want to Live in the Desert, Miles from Anywhere” would be more like it.

As 395 trolls north, the landscape becomes more volcanic. This surprised us – we really hadn’t expected that at all, I guess because we now associate volcanoes with northern California, following our RV trip last summer - but there were ashes and cinders aplenty, including the Red Hill, a cinder cone that would have been worthy of Lassen.

We stopped to eat a quick sandwich lunch on the side of the road at Owen’s Dry Lake. This is a shimmering white plain on the horizon, ringed by the Sierra Nevada, Coso, and Inyo mountain ranges. Entering Death Valley National Park just after noon, we were impressed by the variety of colors all around, and particularly noticed the strong contrasts between the reds and blacks of the volcanic pumice.

At Father Crowley Point – named for a Roman Catholic priest who served the area for fifty or so years – we got out of the car for a short walk to the vista point overlooking Panamint Valley. In the distance, on the valley floor, you can see sand dunes and the remains of a lake – really nothing more than a damp sandy area. To the left and right the valley extends away into a misty haze, while the mountains loom in front. It should have taken us about 20 minutes to walk there and back, but we must have taken a hundred photos, so it took twice as long. On the way back to the RV, we met a family coming the other way which turned out to have children at the same school as our kids: The daughter recognized Deep Thought and greeted her by name. Honestly, you drive hundreds of miles….

Just before we headed to Furnace Creek, we made a final roadside stop at the Mesquite Flat. The thing that we really noticed there was the absolute quiet. Even Little Starlet was persuaded to stop talking long enough for us all to hear it.

We are now at the Furnace Creek campground, which is the “high gloss” facility in Death Valley. Hubby is slightly appalled by the lack of showers, but he’ll cope. (There’s actually a golf course a short distance away which seems madness to us, and a resort with palm trees. While we’re conserving water, they’re watering their super green lawns.) We spent an hour at the ranger program in the visitor center in the evening, listening to a talk about the 49ers and other pioneers who encountered, and frequently perished, in Death Valley. It was potentially quite interesting, but the presentation was dire and the kids got us to swear we wouldn’t make them go to another.

Pismo Beach to Mojave Desert via Teletubbyland

We rose early and partook of the communal showers before anyone else was around. It was a blessing to see Little Starlet's feet change color under the water, to say nothing of the children's lovely fragrance... After getting away from Pismo at 9:30am, we made good progress north on highway 101, then east on highway 46 from Paso Robles, then highway 58. This was not the route we had imagined doing, but Hubby was not feeling up to the squiggley drive on the alternate route, so we opted for slightly longer but much straighter.

The landscape, ah, the landscape. It came at us in definite waves. First, east of Paso Robles, lots of vineyards. Large, wide fields of vines, punctuated now and again by small oil fields. (There seems to be a fair bit of oil extraction in this area.)

Following the vines came miles of soft, gentle rolling hills without any trees (though there also seemed to be very few animals, which would have been our guess for why it was treeless). At first it reminded us of Cumbria, but we soon came to realize that it most reminded us of Teletubbyland. Eh oh!

As we drove out of the hilly area into Antelope Valley, we entered a long patch of nothingness: Very flat, no animals or obvious agriculture, no towns, just the occasional house which would make the kids ask, "Why would anyone live here?" Eventually the nothingness gave way to nut orchards, mostly almonds we thought, which were just coming into bloom. In another week or so it would offer a very beautiful display.

More oilfields welcomed us into Bakersfield, and here we all found ourselves wondering why anyone would choose to live there. OK, we only saw part of the north of town, but it presented such an eloquent image of declining middle America that it would have had us emigrating back to the UK before agreeing to live there. Any place where the bill boards on the main highways are neglected is in a bad way. We stopped for lunch at Spencer's Diner, which was packed and hopping but offered only so-so food. Hubby did a spectacular piece of parking, diagonally across two spaces, without any assistance.

As we had made very speedy progress, I suggested a side trip to the Kern County Museum and Pioneer Town. I called their information line for hours etc, and we set off. After a twenty minute diversion we arrived - and it was shut for Presidents' Day. In the Bay Area, the attractions tend to open on the public holidays, including those that usually close on Mondays, so we were a bit surprised by that.

Since there was absolutely nowhere else to visit, we pushed on to our next campsite, Sierra Trails RV Park on Highway 14 just outside Mojave. There aren't many RV campgrounds in this area. I had read reviews of them all, and chose this one as the best of a bad bunch. In the event, we're quite happy with it. (Photo of our site, #19, at left.) You can hear the road noise, but the campground itself is very quiet with a mixture of visitors and long term residents. (And that presents another question: How do you end up living in an RV on a campground just outside Mojave, which is frankly in the middle of nowhere and has nothing much to offer except the desert?) For a mere $27.50 we have electricity and water hookups and access to a dump station if we wish. There isn't a fire pit, but Hubby has improvised with logs in the BBQ grill.

(Team G attaching the van to the hookups in photo at left.)

After arriving, we walked out behind the campground into the edge of the Mojave Desert. It is heavily populated with Joshua Trees, begging the question why you would need to go all the way to Joshua Tree National Park to see more?

Naturally Hubby took hundreds of photos, some of which he will post in due course.

Beach Day at Montana de Oro

The day began cold and bright. The kids played a practical joke on us, pretending that Little Starlet had gone out to the toilet block and failed to return. In fact she was hidden on the over-cab bed behind Deep Thought. We fell for it totally.

We decided to head over to Montana de Oro (Mountain of Gold), which is about 45 minutes drive from Pismo Beach. All nice and easy, but when we got there the parking was murder. Turns out that a fun run was being held in the park today - the website said nothing about it - so we ended up parking along the side of the road in a space that was clearly too narrow for us; but Hubby did a fantastic job of squirreling us into the space. We had to get in and out of the van through the driver's door, but that was a small hardship.

We walked down to Skooner's Cove which has an attractive curve of coarse sandy beach, framed by sheer, crumbling cliffs. This was not a swimming beach, as the waves were very rough and there was clearly a rip tide at work; but the sea pooled in a small lagoon to one side, which allowed Little Starlet to run in and out of the waves and, eventually, to get wet from tip to toe. Of course, she made a couple of friends and was happy as larry for two hours. Deep Thought lay on a towel with her book, pretty much refusing to get up and certainly not to play with her sister (whose birthday was today).

While I assembled a picnic lunch back in the RV, the weather turned foggy and cold, so we took the hint and drove back to our campground. Hubby did a marvellous job negotiating the very narrow roads in the Montana park. He says that there's no need to find any more challenging drives for him, that will do.

Back at the Pismo Beach campground, we played around videoing ourselves for a project Deep Thought is doing for school (on the patriot hero Molly Pitcher - was she real or legend?); and then we took a walk down to the Oceana Dunes beach to see the sunset. We didn't manage to get run over by any trucks or ATVs on the beach, but we were still pretty offended by the way five miles of beautiful coast has been turned into a road.

Hubby and Deep Thought took many photos, which will be posted later.

Tomorrow, into the Central Valley.

Bay to Breakers in less than four hours

We drove out of the Bay Area and got all the way to Gilroy before we had to stop for lunch. The Gilroy Outlets on Leavesley Road offer lots of options. We went for our favorite standby Fresh Choice. The kids are far too posh to go to McDonalds these days.

Full of salad and pasta, we headed south on Highway 101. Oh dear, what a dull drive. In this direction, 101 follows the Salinas Valley, along the route of the Salinas River. It is framed by large hills on both sides, but the valley itself is a flat, pretty uninteresting plain. I must admit that I dozed off somewhere south of Salinas. Hubby struggled to stay awake, while the gruesome twosome asked the classic “Are we nearly there yet?” at half hourly intervals.

One point of interest was the San Ando(?) Oil Field, which had a romantic collection of nodding oil derricks visible on the horizon, and there was even one working just a few feet from the roadside. This was also near to the major vineyard in the area, the Calivega(?)vineyard, which was so large Hubby thought they must have cornered the market in two dollar chuck; but that might be grossly unfair.

Other than that we couldn’t get tremendously excited: The road carefully bypasses all the little towns, so you get no sense of what it might be like to live there. In a few places there are shopping malls which look like the shopping malls anywhere in the Bay Area – same design, same architecture, same layout, same stores …. Very anonymous.

We arrived in Pismo Beach at 4:15pm - the whole journey took 3 hours and 45 minutes, give or take. It was a lovely sunny day, so the crowds were out in force. After one mistake, trying to book into the campground at North Beach, we were directed to our correct campground at Oceana. We have site 48, which has no hookups. I had paid for hookups, but the site where those are located is like an RV mobile home park, with all the vehicles just a few feet apart. We opted for the more spacious back loop without facilities. It was obvious the ranger thought we were mad as hatters.

Tempers were becoming a bit frayed in the tin can by this point so, after a quick pasta dinner, we walked down to the beach which is 0.1 miles out of the campground. Alas, it turns out that the campground backs onto the Oceana Recreational Vehicles Beach – in other words, cars and trucks are allowed to drive up and down it day and night. What a great shame. Why turn a lovely white beach into yet another road?

We saw some bats and two deer on the way to the beach. We also discovered a trail that heads over the sand dunes, so we plan to walk that in the morning, and then see if the ranger can suggest a non-vehicle beach nearby where we can take the RV for the afternoon. (We’re here for two nights so we get a full day at the coast.)

And now to drink tea, each salt and vinegar chips, and generally relax. Crackling fire, waves on the beach, hooting freight trains in the distance….

Twelve hours and counting

The RV is at least half packed. I put away all the food, cooking equipment, entertainment, toiletries, medicines, and bedding this afternoon. Hubby packed the camping gear like flashlights, lamps, firewood, chairs etc. Little Starlet got home from school and sorted her clothes out. Deep Thought has a pile of stuff in her room waiting to go in. I reckon it should take us about an hour to get departure-ready in the morning. Of course I haven't packed any clothes for me yet; and Hubby cannot find my walking boots in the disaster that is currently our garage.

On the house reorganization front, Hubby has been putting together clothes racks from IKEA and piling his gear onto them. We are putting them in Deep Thought's room, as the one that is least likely to be disturbed while we are away. She is taking it quite patiently.

The kids are getting excited about the trip, but Hubby and I can hardly believe it's tomorrow. I've just spent half an hour Googling directions to our various campsites. I discover that my last but one leg in the trip is less than ideal - a 320 mile schlep from Calico Ghost Town to Merced, which breaks the rule I created at the end of our last RV adventure, never to go more than 250 miles in one day. Ah well, it is the Central Valley we're talking about. Places worth stopping are pretty limited.

The Final Stretch

We belatedly discovered that the RV is supposed to be dropped off before 11am on the last day of rental. Of course I had not figured this into the plans, and since we were in Lassen on Monday morning, there was no way we could make it. I telephoned the rental agency on Saturday to request an additional day of rental, which they said we couldn’t have as the RV is due to go out again on Tuesday with another party. So I told them we’ll just have to be late, and they’ll charge us $30 per hour after 11:00am. It’s all very annoying, but there you are.

We set out from Butte Lake at 7:30am, allowing ourselves plenty of time to traverse the gravel road again, then it was along highway 44 to Redding. Alas Little Starlet threw up just outside Palo Cedro (about a mile from the freeway) causing a short stop plus a slightly unfortunate odor to waft about the RV for the rest of the drive. At Redding we joined I-5 and drove for many wearisome hours through the dull, flat landscape. On I-505 we stopped at Winters for lunch in a Round Table Pizza (the worst pizza we have had on this trip by far) and then plunged into the madness of the Bay Area's traffic. The GPS reckoned it was a 316 mile trip.

We got home about 2:30pm, threw everything into the house, and Hubby set out again for San Leandro at 3:15pm to return the vehicle. He had to empty the waste tanks and refill the gas en route; and did not get back to Palo Alto till around 6:00pm. It was a very long day for him - but he was a total star, and drove the beast beautifully every day, the whole way.

And the Award for Most Isolated Campground Goes To...Butte Lake

Just before arriving at the turn off for Butte Lake campground (in the Lassen Volcanic National Park), I mentioned to Hubby that we had a six mile rough gravel road before us. He was thrilled. It was another bone-shaking, teeth- jarring experience that surpassed the previous winner of the wreck-the-RV competition in the Humboldt Redwoods State Park.

After crawling along at 15 miles per hour, we finally arrived. No ranger in the ranger station and, indeed, hardly anyone in the campground. Butte Lake has over 100 sites. I reckon about 10 of them were filled this weekend; and in our loop, we were the only people. It was actually a bit weird. It was super quiet. We couldn't see or hear any people, tents or vehicles from our site, so the net effect was that we had a rather splendid campsite with as many bear-proof food lockers and picnic benches as you could desire. We also had the toilet block to ourselves. The “beware the bears” signs were much fiercer in this campground – you are instructed not to leave any food around unattended for even a few minutes – so by bedtime on Saturday I was quite freaked out by the atmosphere. And, once again, the kids insisted that we lock them into the RV for safety after they’d gone to bed.

It’s clear that next weekend (Labor Day weekend) the atmosphere will be very different: Every camp site is reserved. It will be heaving here. Butte Lake itself is a very short walk from our site, and is lovely, though rather buggy.

Ironically, while this place was easily the dirtiest we’ve been to on this trip, the campground did not have any showers. The place is situated on grey powdery volcanic cinders. There is very little grass, though plenty of trees (Ponderosa pine mainly) providing pleasant shade. But you do get very dusty and grey whenever and wherever you walk outside (and that’s even before the huge fires constructed by Hubby and Deep Thought start to blow their smoke over you). Little Starlet only had to look at the ground and she was black from head to foot.

I Didn't Know the Romans Reached Northern California

Experience is showing that hops of between 150 and 175 miles are ideal. Unfortunately, our round trip has included three hops of 250+ miles. Well, you live and learn. We would have benefited from an overnight between Humboldt and Ashland. The leg we did on Saturday wasn’t quite so bad though. We came out of Crater Lake on highway 62, then transferred to highway 97 which proved to be very straight – I mean very, very straight – through open landscape with background mountains. No stopping points either, so the journey was fast. After a short stretch of I-5, we moved on to highway 89, which also proved to be quite straight, and a generally easy drive. To our annoyance, we got stuck behind a big truck (and it’s mostly a single lane road), but we survived.

As the road passed through Hat Creek Valley, it became obvious that there had been some big wildfires in the area. We saw many acres of blackened forest (and there were still some intrepid campers dotted among them, though they had clearly arrived later than the fire….).

Passing Mount Shasta

Writing this from the car park of the Pizza Factory in Weed, CA, about to join I-5 for a short way until we turn off on Highway 89 towards the Lassen Volcanic National Park.

We came down Highway 97, which was very straight. Ranching seems to be the main business around here, and the "towns" are very tiny. The landscape is flat with large volcanic mountains to all sides. We were close to Mount Shasta with its impressive glaciers and, of course, stopped to take photos. Our route took us along side the Upper Klamath Lake, which is enormous and beautiful, but the beauty is diminished by the rail-track and phone lines that go along the shore. No stopping points - Hubby was visibly irritated by being unable to stop to look further...

No further connectivity expected till Monday.

Photographing Crater Lake

Friday morning, we drove up to Rim Village from the Mazama Campground, about 15 minutes. The regular parking lot was very full but there were many spaces in the RV parking. We presumed that this was a busy visitor center because Crater Lake is essentially something you experience through driving, which makes it accessible for elderly and disabled people, and for families with small children.

We spent an hour doing the Discovery Trail from Rim Village to Discovery Point. Discovery Point was the place where John Wesley Hillman saw Crater Lake for the first time in 1853. The walk was described as “moderate” but really was easy except for a few vertigo inducing sections of trail – places where I held on tight to Little Starlet, much to her great annoyance (“I’m not a dumbo!”). Though it was only a two mile round trip, it took us some time because of the many photos that we all took.

After the walk we ate our picnic lunch in the RV in the parking lot - a true road trip experience - and then we went on the 30 mile Rim Road drive. Needless to say, Hubby took lots and lots of photos. The whole drive took several hours. The kids' patience had worn very thin by the end.

The Lake is impressive - high caldera cliffs leading to still blue waters - but I don't think we'll be trying to get there again any time soon. There really isn't anything to do apart from a couple of little walks and the drive.

The campground is also probably a zoo in the high summer, though it worked just fine for us. We showered in the coin showers, ate dinner in the Annie Creek Restaurant, dumped our black water ("Smelled like wee," says Hubby) and our grey water, and filled up with fresh.

A Typical Morning on a Driving Day

Little Starlet wakes up at 6:00am, reads her book, then wakes us up at 7:30am (though we’re usually already awake). She pulls back our privacy curtain with a big happy “Good Morning!” Deep Thought drags herself out of bed twenty minutes later: She stays behind her privacy curtain as long as she can.

Hubby collects our mugs, kettle and water from outside. Then he breaks Little Starlet’s bed, reconstructing the dinette. We collect our coins, towels and toiletries, and walk round to the campsite showers. Then we eat a breakfast of cereal. (It’s usually cooked food on a stay-put day.)

Everyone gets dressed, then Deep Thought and Little Starlet wash and dry the dishes while I put them away. We tidy everything that is left hanging around, e.g. clothes, shoes, books. We tidy up as we go along: It is very important to be super tidy in such a small space. As we are in bear country we are careful to make sure all food and anything that looks like it might be food (e.g. a mug) is put out of sight. Apparently the bears can try to get into your vehicle if they think they can see food. Hubby tidies up outside, again putting away anything that is or that looks like food. Visits to the campsite toilets, brushing teeth and hair, medicines, and a final sweep of the dusty floor (with the handy brush that collapses down into a very short length of handle, as provided by the RV company).

If we are moving on, Hubby checks the outside of the RV: storage cupboard locked, door step away, leveling blocks away, any hookup unplugged and the cord away. I check the interior: All cupboards securely closed, air vents closed, windows closed, curtains pinned back, nothing loose on any surfaces or on the floor to slide around, all appliances turned off, water pump off, toilet empty and closed, lights off.

And we’re away.

Highway 62: An Official "Scenic Byway"

After Medford, Highway 62 takes you through a wasteland of RV vendors, chain fast food restaurants, places to rent cranes and boats, and many opportunities to buy rocks, boulders and plywood. It was really very horrible. The landscape is flat and dry, with the mountains in the background. It could be lovely, but I guess they have to put the electrical substations somewhere. Our overall impression of Medford and environs was of a fairly tatty, semi-industrial town with the obligatory giant lumber mill and Veteran’s Hospital. A bit like a macho Coventry with mountains.

After Shady Cove, everything changed for the better. The landscape isn’t as breathtaking as our route through northern California, but it has pleasing mountains in the background and a lot of trees. As Hubby said, “Aren’t there a lot of trees in the world….?” These ones are a variety of pines and spruces: Juniper, Ponderosa, and Lodgepole, to name just three. They are a bit scrubby looking, but then you can’t have majestic 350 feet high redwoods everywhere, it would just get boring, wouldn’t it? The land further up Highway 62 seems to be used for ranching: We saw horses and cows, and there were even some vineyards. At times the road ran high above the Rogue River, which was obviously popular with kayakers for its white water rapids.

After Prospect, we found ourselves back among the trees, as the road winds through the Rogue National Forest. At Union Creek, we took a short diversion to see the Rogue River Gorge – much tutting and sighing from the kids - and it was spectacular. Congress has determined that this should be preserved as an official “Wild Scenic Place”. I’m not sure whether the ashphalt path and the chain fences help meet that desire, but they did enable us to get close to the edge of the Gorge and have some wonderful views of the rapids and waterfalls. The Gorge was created by a combination of the collapse of lava tubes (lava from the Mount Mazama eruption about 7,000 years ago that is), and the force of the Rogue River water. Over a distance of some 500 feet, the water cascades in impressive leaps and eddies through a chasm probably no more than 25 feet across.

Once again, the kids had got out of the van with their best “This is boring” sighs, and by the end they had really enjoyed the stop. And, of course, Hubby was able to get his camera out again and take several hundred photos of the water, many of which are very good. (Got to give him his due…)

Best Things So Far

Asked Deep Thought and Little Starlet what they had liked most so far about the trip. Response:
(1) The swimming pool at the Jackson Wellsprings campground.
(2) The Shakespeare play. (Little Starlet is now sure she wants to be an actor when she grows up.)
(3) The big redwood trees at Humboldt Redwoods State Park.

Hubby says he likes being able to visit the beautiful places. I liked the big trees too.

Also asked DT and LS what they had liked least about the trip:
(1) The smell of the water at the Jackson Wellsprings campground.
(2) Worrying about bears at Humboldt Redwoods State Park.
(3) The campground at the Bothe-Napa State Park. It was a bit dusty and cramped.
(4) The bumpy and twisty roads, when the RV feels very big.

Hubby says the only thing he hasn’t liked was the smelly water. I wasn’t too sure about being in a “home away from home” at the start – it didn’t feel enough like camping – but as we’ve been able to run the AC when it’s been hot and wrap up in the warm when it’s been cold, I’ve got used to the civilization of it all.

Best things about being in an RV:
(1) Not having to walk around in the dark outside to go to the toilet in the night.
(2) It stays warm when it is very cold outside (like at night).
(3) When it rains you don’t get wet.
(4) It’s easy to go further.

Nerdy Interlude

No camp fire for us here, but we do have electricity and water. For the nerds among our readers, a full tank of water has lasted us about three days, and a full tank of gas takes us about 300 miles. As for the infamous “black water” issue, this ship has a strict rule: All “number twos” have to happen in the campground loos and not on board. So our black water tank is only 1/3 full so far, and not close to needing to be emptied. In fact the RV's instruction manual says the tank should only be emptied when it is full so that "solids" (lots of delicate euphemisms appear in RV-speak) do not get "left behind" when the "liquids" are drained. We may need to up the wee productivity to get there. Our "grey water" tank is almost full, so we shall need to dump that before setting off from Ashland.

But Hubby is looking on the bright side. He might only need one pair of gloves after all.

[photo by Deep Thought.]

Welcome to Hippy Springs Commune

Tuesday's entry:

Our journey today was about 250 miles. With twisty roads and a couple of stops, they took us nine hours. We were all very happy to arrive at Jackson Wellsprings, our camp site for the next 48 hours.

The RV campground guide book gave Jackson Wellsprings only a 5/10 rating for “scenic” (compared to Albee Creek’s well-deserved 9/10), so we weren’t expecting much to look at, and boy, were we not disappointed.

What the guide book failed to mention was that this is a hippy commune. Yes, there are thirty RV campsites; but only about four of them are for visitors like us. The rest are occupied by long-term residents, complete with dogs on strings, greenhouses, and so on. The folks seem friendly enough if a bit crustier than we’re used to seeing in Palo Alto. There are a lot of goatee beards, dreadlocks (on white guys), and older women in flowing gypsy dresses. The advertised swimming pool (“fed by the mineral spring”) is open to residents and day visitors, as is the spa area; but since it appears to have been built in about 1930 and not renovated since – except for the addition of a large Ganesh statue – it is hard to see why anyone would choose to pop over for a swim.

Hubby took the kids for a splash in the last half hour of the period when children are allowed in the pool area: Clothing becomes optional at 7:45pm and though the kids seemed quite interested to see what might happen, we couldn’t quite imagine what some of the locals might look like unrobed…. Unfortunately, Little Starlet got a face bash and a nose bleed so her swim lasted all of three minutes.

Important benefit of this campground: water supplies to refill the tank and electrical hook ups so we can recharge all our gadgets. Downside: no camp fires.

And A River Runs Through It

This section of 101 is called the Redwood Highway as it twists through and around the Redwood State Park, eventually reaching the Del Norte Redwoods State Park and the Jedidiah Smith Wilderness Area. What a lot of trees. It actually begins to feel a little overwhelming, especially when the RV is rattling along the high edge of a road above a river with the trees looming all around in great walls of green.

The Smith River is another awesome sight, with huge boulders creating cascades of white foam into the clear green water. As we drove through the Smith Wilderness Area, we resisted as long as we could, before nature compelled us to get out of our tin can and take a proper look. From a roadside pullout we walked down to the riverside to find another family swimming in the river from a large pebble beach. The kids made friends with their dog, then Little Starlet stripped off her shoes and socks for a little paddle – cut short when she noticed the many water snails clinging to the rocks.

This place was beautiful. We were sorry that our plans did not allow us to spend half a day or more exploring this area. Next time.

Ursine Pleasures

Eureka was a curious mix of big box stores and run down Mom and Pop operations, at once bustling and depressed. It was clearly the hub of the local area with plenty of people about and almost congested with cars (but only almost). We had planned to stop at one of the State Beaches along the coast just north of Eureka, possibly around Trinidad, but the coastal fog was still rolling in from the ocean at 10:30am, so we decided to give it a miss and press on. The freeway at this point is a twisty road with one lane in each direction, and we were delayed a couple of times by road works. (101 is getting a lot of widening and resurfacing in this northern area – given how little traffic we have seen, we have to question whether this is really the best use of our tax dollars!)

Along the redwood coast, the main industry is clearly carving. Of course there is some logging to provide the wood, and the enormous piles of planks here and there betray the existence of a couple of lumber mills, but most people are involved in the business of turning out models of bears made from redwood logs. The town of Orick seems to consist solely of purveyors of fine statues of bears, hawks, bears, Native Americans in feather head dresses, and bears; plus windmills in a variety of sizes. The good people of Orick can also provide a selection of redwood clocks. I guess even wood carvers need to know the time. I wonder if any of them have ever seen a real bear?