Bus Stop #22, Trinidad, California, (June 23 - 25)

Off we go, the four of us, North on Hwy 101 to a little place on the coast at Trinidad. The bus did great - the motor was strong and the smoother road, in combination with new front shocks, let us travel well.



Mary and Deb in the “salon” talked and laughed the whole way. It was great to see Deb relaxed and distracted from the terrors of the road. Willy was in vacation mode, floating his hand on the wind out the window, occasionally declaring his freedom, just in case some wildlife along the way, failed to have been informed of his terrific condition.

As the day wore on, the cross-winds increased so that we were happy but road-tense by the time we arrived at our incredible beach house. Everyone in the joyful party, fell into late afternoon naps amid crashing ocean sounds.

We were glad of the naps later. Mary’s son Matt and his girlfriend Emily, had assembled their whole musical production team for pot luck at their nearby home.  The term pot luck conjures a kind of conservative midwest or deep south image. People did bring food, but that was the end of any similarity. This is northern California and these are high-energy, young folks whose music is techy, terse and atonal. And their fellowship is all about the music.



Matt and Emily run a successful production company and put on way hip events supported by their specialized teams of friends/partners who handle lights, sound, promotions, etc. These are great kids whose energy and appetites are infectious, but us older boomers struggle to stay in their fast lane.  Thank you Matt and Emily our wonderful hosts. What great coastal experiences you gave us! The beach house - look at our deck and our view. We didn’t want to ever move!

 



 We took a little walk in Arcada at the Enchanted Forest.  The further we walked the more we heard beautiful strains of music - weird.  Finally, we could tell someone was playing a sax, way up the holler from us.  Deb and Mary, always curious, walked on up and snapped this pic of the mysterious musician.  He was visiting from New York - maybe he was just looking for the perfect spot to play....

  

The last day, we got troublesome news from home. My Dad in Tulsa has had a nagging lung infection for over six weeks now, and simple outpatient therapy does not seem to be working. We’ve got reward tickets on Southwest coming, so we are booking a flight home and leave the bus at a shop in Arcata for the week or two we’ll be gone to get the front end fixed right. We’ll rent a car here and drive down to San Francisco early in the morning to catch a noon flight home.

Now, back in Tulsa, after a heck of a day of travel, we get Dad into the hospital for tests and better care.  He's always cuttin' up - even when he doesn't feel good.  Dad and wife Wilma, don our 3D glasses for a hospital pose....

We'll hang in here with him til he gets to feeling better.  Meanwhile a shop in Arcata is looking for used parts to fix the front end of the bus.  We're all settled in now - it's an interlude for healing.

Bus Stop #21, The Lodge at Blue Lake, (June, 22, 2011)

From the coast we traveled North and East on a beautiful diagonal run back up and over the coastal range. We passed a trillion small wineries set among gorgeous vineyard and oak strewn hills. There were a couple of tiny little cross road stores, but otherwise, the entire morning passed in story book rural wine country. The grade up and over the range was easier than the route we’d taken in, and the road was less rough. Thank god. The bus was still hesitating and the front end seemed softer than ever.



We got back to Ukiah in time to visit a parts store. Even though the big problem with the front end has to be bad springs which I knew I could not fix, I figured it couldn’t hurt to try new shocks - the old ones were bound to be worn out from the constant see-saw slamming over bumps. Plus, I had to do something about how crappy the motor was running. Many of the VW owners I’ve talked to on the trip tell me of the need for frequent tune ups (re-set the points and timing - maybe even plugs) after strenuous, hot driving.
Problem was, every parts store I call, they look up the old bus and declare they’ll need a few days to order shocks and get them in. I know better, I’ve looked at them and they’re plain old shocks - no funny stuff - they’re bound to have em on the selves! So, Deb helps and we jack her up right there in the parking lot and pull a shock (under the scowling gaze of the proprietor). We take it in and guess what - they had it right there on their shelf!!! So now we have new shocks on the front!



Then, before I spent money on tune up parts, it occurs to me - we’ve been in a lot of dirt and dust on this trip. A lot! Maybe the air filter? So, I pulls it off and sure enough, it’s way dirty. The air is clean today, so we buy a kit to clean the filter, but first we resolve to drive around with no filter to see if the bus runs better.
And - the bus runs great again!!! No hesitation, great acceleration. It was a dirty air filter! Duh! And the front end is better, not fixed, but definitely better. Oh, the day is shaping up.
We’re are feeling much lighter as we head East to our rendezvous at Blue Lake. It’s one of two spring-fed lakes lying between two tall mountains, and there are several old-fashioned “resorts” on the banks of the upper lake.



Ours is really cute. It’s been totally remodeled by an Austrian/Asian husband and wife team, fastidious and resourceful Peter, and tiny & fashionable Mary Ann. Everything is sparkling clean, and tastefully decorated - simple, light and functional. Peter had little docks with electric boats including an electric inboard picnic boat. He took his guests out on complementary sunset cruises in the nearly silent, and very elegant boat. Deb barely had time to decorate Willy and Mary’s room before they arrived and we had a joyous reunion on the banks of the lake.



Next morning, we transferred their stuff from the rental car to the bus, returned their car, and off we went, way fully loaded, on the mighty hippy bus adventure, north to Arcata on the coast, some 200 miles distant. This will be a real test for the bus!

Bus Stop #20, Van Damme State Park, California (On the Coast!)

We cleared Clear Lake at a lazy pace, stopping at the town of Lake Port on the western shore to run a few errands and eat an early lunch. Then off through more pretty country, for an easy drive west to the town of Ukiah on Hwy 101.
We have made plans to meet up with our buddies from Oklahoma, Willy and Mary Webb. They are flying into San Francisco, renting a one-way car to Ukiah, and will join us in the bus for the 200 + mile drive north to see their son Matt. Matt has secured us a house overlooking the ocean so luxury awaits. (We have mixed feelings…after five weeks we‘re warming to our camp life…we may sleep on the floor next to our bed, or maybe under the porch?)

For now our job in Ukiah is to find fun lodging for the four of us before we all jump off north for the mighty hippy bus ride. After stressful groping around town, we found nothing really neat, so we made a reservation at a cool little place we passed on the way in [See Bus Stop #21, The Lodge at Blue Lake]. This we did in time to drive on west to hunt a camp on the coast for the next two nights, while we wait for Willy & Mary.

This late day trip from Hwy 101, west across the Coastal Range of mountains, to Hwy 1, did nothing to reduce stress. The bus seemed to be running crappy as we climbed and climbed to the top. Then, the way down the ocean side of the range was super steep and curvy, and it was dark! Yes!. It was dark in the late afternoon, as we traveled through a dense forest of spruce, redwood and fern. The road was troubled by chuck holes and poorly patched grade separations where the earth had slipped under the pavement. Our front springs are too weak (are they broken?) and it seemed we couldn’t go slow enough to prevent the un-nerving, loud hammer of our bus body slamming to the bottom on its suspension - over and over again.

As the monster trees looked on in the beautiful doom, the sum total of these issues made us feel small and enfeebled - like a wayward mechanized insect adrift from its comfortable ground.
Finally the light began to return on a smoother, flattening road, and with it, great joy in this vision through Madison’s sun glasses - our first sighting of the Pacific!


It felt like a scene from Tolkien, Frodo and Samwise emerging from dark into light on their quest, in this case to get the bus to the coast - to the Pacific Ocean for god’s sake!!! Look at Deb’s face - this was just so cool.



The first coastal park was full, but the second had five spots left with camp site shoppers driving ahead of us to pick out the best of the lot. We find the best (most remote and private) and rush back to the office to sign it up. It’s all by itself on the side of the mountain in heavy forest and fern. And best of all, the distant crashing ocean sound abides like a lacy audible curtain.


That night sitting at our fire, Deb sounds a silent but urgent alarm to me: a skunk, making his campsite rounds, lingers under my chair, nosing my feet. Loath as I am to be fooled into panic by the made-up tales of a fellow camper, I resolve to call her on this little joke by showing, in mighty shout, my lack of fear…when, wait a minute, what‘s that look? Is she serious?
And so the both of sit, stony vessels of fear, while the little fellow completes his rounds. Deb only thought of quarters during the event - our shower at the park requires quarters and she just can’t imagine where we’d get enough to wash off that much smell.  A passing car’s lights finally distracted Mr. Smelly, and off he sauntered as casually as he had come.


Rich colors everywhere. Our table was adorned with roadside flowers and even the big banana slugs showed richly yellow in the dim forest light.  We spent two lovely, and fairly lazy, days and nights here, soaking up new sights, sounds and smells.  Tomorrow, we’ll head back across the range to dryer wine country and our meeting with Willy and Mary, but this has been a great a great “first touch” for us and Madison’s Bus.

Bus Stop #19, Clear Lake, California

On Sunday morning we left Raymond the bird, and our beautiful camp at Tahoe. We drove along the west shore, north to Tahoe City and saw great new perspectives on the lake. We speculated about a new plan to buy a light, trailerable sailboat, and about returning to enjoy the lake from the perspective of its water. I mean, look at this place! Very hard to leave.

We drove over the famous Donner Pass on a nerve racking I-80 where everyone, trucks and all, whizzed around us on curves that seemed too sharp for an interstate and certainly for our top-heavy bus. The pavement was rough, and we bounced and flailed and dodged faster traffic til we were on our last nerve! We finally turned off on Hwy 20 which we would take all the rest of the way across California to Clear Lake. Very rough day - twisty, steep mountain roads at first, then across the super windy Sacramento Valley. The noise in our bus was too loud for Deb to read, and I fought all day to keep us on the road in the cross winds.

Finally, we found Clear Lake, but even then, we drove forever, in and around the lake to get to the state park which had not one direction sign to it.

Fruit orchards and vineyards everywhere now. Many of the steep slopes were laid in vineyards.

You may have seen cute little dogs that, preparing to lay themselves down, circle and circle with wild eyes, trapped by their own potential remorse, should they land in anything less than a perfect bed form for the night. That is us at every camp, this one included, as we circle and circle, Deb hopping out occasionally, to try the spot on like a new blouse at Macy’s. We had to pass right in front of these two guys over and over until I was sure they understood the crazy little dog in us. I could just imagine what they were saying.
Boy, was I wrong! These guys were wrestling their own personal neurosis. Scott and Jamie - swell guys from the Albany area of New York State - Jamie had moved to silicon valley and Scott had come back to visit.

Turns out Scott is a certifiable VW nut case. Sez his buddy Jamie, “Scott smelled your bus as you approached from Nevada!! Are you kidding? You’re worried your passing by us too much? Scott’s over here preparing himself for intensive grief counseling if you should fail to return for another loop, let along choose a too distant camp site! He impuned your little VW motor sound on every engine noise he heard that afternoon, head cocked, ears twice their size, big eyes with “VW” pupils, peeled for any sign of your return. When you finally chose a site within our view, he nearly lost it. Then our agony, his real - mine inherited, as he stewed about whether and when to go over, introduce ourselves, and really be close to the magic!”
I embellish, but that was the essence of Jamie’s account. As these two approached our camp I readied myself for ridicule about our landing, when surprise…we’re rock stars! Just goes to show you, you never really know what people are thinking.

We got them to hang around with us that evening and we hooped it up big around the campfire, Scott graciously playing the loveable nutcase, letting us all make fun, like we’re not crazy like him. Secretly though, who could not be jealous of his passion - truth was, it rubbed off and we loved it.
[Final Pic of Clear Lake, 5090]
We exchanged email’s the next morning and said goodbye. Clear Lake is a cool spot - but this bus stop was all about Scott and Jamie. Have an air-cooled holiday fellows!!!

Bus Stop #16 & #17, Lake Tahoe, California

Goodbye Nevada - Hello California!



A shower. Deb needs a shower. We drive across the second half of Nevada (which is more like we expect - desert, salt flats, etc.) with a plan to stay in a state park with showers just west of Carson City, but still a little shy of California. The trip was dry and dusty - read the book out loud again.
Carson City shocked our system - we’d not seen a metro area in a while, but we gathered our wits and used the occasion to do a little business. We had been limping on a jerry-rigged cook stove made from borrowed parts of our heater (ergo, no heater), so we stopped in a propane place and found just the stuff we needed to fix the stove right and recover our heater parts! Yeah!
The guy at the propane place was our best tour guide yet - he advised away from the state park and toward Tahoe. “You’re not that far away so why would you not stay at Tahoe? Go to Camp Richardson at South Lake Tahoe - I used to deliver propane there and they have showers!”  Well, Deb didn’t need to hear that twice so off we went to Camp Richardson.

Probably like thousands before us, the ride up and over the mountains to the east side of Tahoe was pretty, but normal mountain pass stuff until we caught our first glimpse of the lake. From there on it was just breathtaking.

 

Here’s are some facts:
The lake is big, 22 miles long, 12 miles wide and covers 191 square miles.
It’s the second deepest lake in the US - 1,645 feet deep!
The water is so clear, you can see things clearly down to 100 feet!

But, as big as it is, it still feels beautiful, and tucked in, and even intimate, with the huge snow capped peaks all the way around - their slopes dressed in monster spruce, red fir and ponderosa pine, sliding a blanket of green right down to the sandy beaches and boulder strewn shores.

We moved into old Camp Richardson, an age-old concessionaire of the US Forest Service, and soon found ourselves strolling on a beach with water lifted from the Caribbean and set right down in this high-mountain bowl. In that regard, its beauty is truly surreal.

Deb was showered, we had a great fire going, we were feeling no pain when, out of the dark comes one of those ball caps with lights in the bill, and a young voice saying, “Hi, I’m just going to set up right over here next to you. Okay?” That was Joe, a wandering college student (or so he sez) who was reluctant to pay for a site when it was just him, a tarp and his bed roll.

Catching us at a yummy moment, we nodded in agreement and soon inherited him for the next two nights. It seemed okay the first night as he regaled us with wandering stories of his own while drinking our wine. Fairly early in the night after we all went to bed, we heard him make a kind of forceful, low yell, only to learn the next morning that a bear had stepped on his head! No kidding, it put the padded part of its paw right on his face - hence the other-worldly yell, and then the bear moved on. We heard lots more bear sightings from other campers, but never saw one ourselves. By the second night, a little polish had worn from Joe’s apple as they say, and we began to weary a bit..

But, Joe or no Joe, Lake Tahoe blew us away. There were a lot of amenities so we got a little civilized - laundry, wifi, etc. We headed out after the second night (Joe did not come with), we drove north along the west side of the lake meaning to go on as close to the California Coast as we could. But, then we went up a steep grade and came to the Emerald Bay Overlook and noticed a beautiful Forest Service Camp just across. We just had to stay two more nights. It’s that cool.

From our new camp we took a great hike to Cascade falls above the little Cascade Lake which is another beautiful mountain lake, on a step just above Lake Tahoe.

Our special visitor at this camp was Raymond, a pretty blue Steller’s Jay. He was social, and hungry and chirped at us urgently, til we got the message that he, like Joe, would appreciate a little hand-out. When first we saw one of these birds, we felt lucky to catch a glimpse through the dense woods. Now, here was Raymond, barely a foot away and chatting us up like we were family.



Bus Stop #15, Big Creek Camp, Austin Nevada, 6-14-11

The first half of Nevada was a truly lonely road, little bitty town or two - miles and miles from each other. But, it was not hot, flat, desert! It was very beautiful.

 From Great Basin Park, we rose up and over a pass through a snow-capped range, and then drove down and down into a massively wide sagebrush valley, and then across and across and across, and then up and up and up again and over the next beautiful range. And so, this entire first half of Nevada went. These monstrously large vistas and spaces and no people.

Then the trouble began. Let me just quote from Deb’s journal. That will be best.
“We knew Austin was our halfway point today. We knew there were two campgrounds, one on the approach to Austin and one on the West side. We were pleasantly surprised to arrive at the first campground just past noon - we had made better time than we anticipated. Small 10-site forest service camp at the very top of 7,195 foot Bob Scott Summit, just right off the road with very few trees.
Thinking the other camp was just a few miles away, also right off the highway, we decided to travel on - BIG MISTAKE! Big Creek Campground is 11 miles off of the highway on a gravel road - no shade trees - 6 campsite - no water - creepy bathroom. But here we are. It has taken me several beers and time alone to work through my emotions.

First of all it was nerve racking driving the bus on that many mile of a gravel road. Thank goodness we have new tires. Secondly, it is an awful feeling to feel stuck. We have driven our quota of miles and there are no other camps for many many miles. My biggest disappointment however, was no possibility of a shower. We had a vision of being able to fill our shower bag, and letting it warm in the afternoon sun. With no fresh water here (two gallons left in the bus) the hopes of washing my hair, are slim to none.
One of the biggest drawbacks of camping in National Parks, is no showers. It has been a week ago tomorrow since my last real shower. My head is itching and my body feels nasty! But as I sit here, the wind is blowing through this canyon, and I know Madison and his band of Angels is saying, “Come on Mom, let your glass be half full, not half empty!”
So the good points are these:
we are not parked side by side in a sea of RV’s;
it is a gorgeous day;
we have a snow capped mountain and babbling creek as a backdrop;
it is warm here;
we have beer in the cooler!;
we have Casper, our porta-potty in the bus;  and
I am traveling across the country in Madison’s bus with the man I am passionately in love with.

Later on……
Roger and I were relaxing with a few beers when I noticed one of the back tires was going flat. Thank goodness for a brand new spare. Another first for us and bus. But the discouraging news was that fact that we would have to backtrack into Austin to have the tire repaired in the AM. Oh well, as Madison always sez, “shit happens”.

The night went south as Roger wanted me to talk about the emotions of the afternoon, and I just did not want to go back there.  He was mad and went to the bus to read. I was mad and sat by the campfire by myself. It was a fabulous fire with a full moon that reflected the snowcapped mountains, and Roger missed it. I was so mad I slept down in the bottom of the bus. In the middle of the night as the temp dropped Roger convinced me to bring Mom Miners wool blanket and join him up top.

Our morning coffee time was spent hashing out our feelings, removing the bricks and getting right with each other. By the time we packed up camp and headed back to Austin, things were good between us.

Agreeing to drive slower on the way out, it took us 30 minutes to go eleven miles to the highway. While I was looking the other direction, Roger saw a Jack Rabbit hopping across the road. After making a couple of inquiries bank in Austin we learned our only chance of getting the tire fixed was, ‘…sometimes Ray at the junk yard will fix a tire….’ So, that is where we went, and luckily, Ray was up to the task. A very interesting experience to say the least.”

Like I said, Deb really said it best - a very emotional stop. But now, after a fine breakfast at a local café, we were finally back to run the second half of Hwy 50!

Bus Stop #14, Great Basin National Park, Nevada, 6-13-11

Goodbye Utah - Hellow Nevada!



From Beaver Utah, we had an easy travel day, North and West through dry, canyon type country, which was our last bit of Utah. With long flat stretches of road, Deb broke out a James Michener book to read out loud that helped to pass the time. Before we knew it we passed into Nevada and the West Coast time zone. A few miles more and we came to the tiny town of Baker and made a welcome turn out of the flats and south, on a straight and steep rise through sagebrush ranch country and up into snowy, pine and spruce covered mountains to Great Basin National Park - one of the least visited parks in the system!


Of five campgrounds, only three were open because of recent heavy snow.  We found a nice site in the first of these, but as we exited to begin our little ground survey, we were immediately accosted by our would-be neighbors, Suzie and John.  They were long-on-the-road RV'ers and seemed desperate for someone besides each other upon whom to debrief.  As we got out, John on me, Suzie on Deb, the onslought of intense, one-way dialogue overwhelmed us - both of them frantically talking at the same time.  I looked over at Deb and our wide, traumatized eyes met and silently declared:  "Not this spot!  No way!"  We climbed back in to resume our site search, and I swear, John and Suzie were still talking and waving arms in the rear view mirror!  Whew!

So on and up we went, driven to the highest and most remote site we could find.  It was a beautiful and fairly private spot near the top of the last of the open campgrounds. Heavy snow, meant heavy snow melt, so the normal water courses through the camp had swollen so that pretty clear water cascaded everywhere around us.

We took a strenuous hike up the mountain hoping to reach a lake at the base of the summit. The course was vertical so our scenery morphed from scrubby pine, to majestic spruce to surprising white groves of aspens in the flats near the top.

 Heavy water and fallen trees blocked us from seeing the lake, but we used up the biggest part of the afternoon as it was, and needed to beat the sun back down to our camp.

Sitting around the fire that night, we were surprised to see the moon rise over the ridge just beyond the camp.  It was full and it's rise traced the steep sloping ridge, so that the moon appeared to climb the mountain as the night went on.

We mostly broke camp that evening after a dinner of spicy beans, sausage and rice with a bottle wine, so we could shoot out early for big dry crossing of the first ½ of Nevada on Highway 50, known as “The Loneliest Highway in America”.