boondocking – Page 5 – The MoHo and Other Traveling Tales

July 30 Day 25 Glenn Highway to Valdez

Our boondock site overlooking the Chugach Mountains wasn’t as quiet as it seemed to be when we first parked. On Friday night it seems that everyone in Anchorage and the surrounding area must have decided to travel east on the Glenn Highway to the wild rivers and mountains. Falling asleep early, I was awakened repeatedly by rigs pulling into the paved turnout for views of the still light valley below. As night wore on, we were joined by other rigs very close to us, one in front, one behind, and one that even parked beside us for a time in the darkest part of the night. The view was gorgeous, but all that company wasn’t really what I expected.

Waking with the brilliant sunlight we took our time, cooking a good breakfast, turning on the hot water heater for showers, and in spite of the neighbors, turning on the generator for a little extra heat. When we left around 8:30, the folks behind us were still buttoned up tight, with no sign that our reasonably quiet generator bothered them at all.

The Glenn Highway east to Glennallen has a magnificent view of the three major volcanoes of the Wrangell Mountains. The one that looms highest on the horizon is Mt. Drum, but the other two flanking it on the north and south are actually higher. Mt Wrangell was a broad rounded snowfield visible through the clouds in the morning light. I am fascinated by volcanoes, and this one is still hot. There are shifts in the CO2 emissions that indicate magma may be rising. It last let off steam in 1902, but all indications are that it could erupt at any time.

Wrangell actually looks like a broad shield volcano, similar to Mauna Loa, rather than a composite cone like Rainier, but theories are that the lava emerges under deep glacial ice which causes it to flow laterally and form that rounded off summit. Mt. Drum was beautiful, but Mt Wrangell looked mysterious and ethereal with only the top visible and the rest hidden.

We stopped at the Hub of Alaska, partly because we knew we should gas up before going on south to Valdez at the junction of the Glenn Highway and the Richardson Highway. The other reason we stopped is thanks to a nice long phone call with my daughter Deanna while we were descending to the junction from our morning summit location. Deanna and Keith love Alaska, and she told me the Hub was a great place to stop. They always gas up their big rig there when traveling the Glenn Highway delivering engines to Anchorage. Before they started driving, the two of them traveled to Alaska on their Harleys and when Keith was still director of the museum in Wenatchee, they spent some time in Homer consulting with the museum there. It was so much fun talking with Deanna about their favorite places, places we had just traveled.

Turning south on the Richardson Highway, we were traveling a path that followed the route of the Klondike gold rush miners as they rushed north. Many came to Valdez, walked across the Valdez Glacier and on to Whitehorse before building their water crafts to take them on down the Yukon to Dawson City. The history of this short lived rush and the people who traveled such wild lands for gold never ceases to amaze me. What were they thinking?? It was a lot harder than buying a lottery ticket, without much better of a chance for the big win.

Only 8 miles south of the Glennallen junction on the road to Valdez, is the Information Center for the Wrangell-St Elias National Park, the biggest and one of the newest parks in the US, only established in 1980. The sun was shining, the air was clear and fresh and Mo hung out in the parking lot with Abby while I explored the center. There are viewpoints overlooking the Copper River Valley and the Wrangell Mountains. The center was all shiny new and fresh, and extremely well done as usual, with lovely exhibits and another one of those huge 3D maps that I love.

Southward to Worthington Glacier and Thompson Pass, the road is 2 lane paved, but the frost heaves and bumps are enough that I had to put on my wrist bands. I love these little bands. In addition to keeping me from getting sea sick on a ship, they keep me safe from the car-sick bug that gets to me more on rough roads than it does on curvy roads. Jeremy did fine, though, without many disapproving looks, but Abby sat up looking forlorn for much of the rough parts. Neither one of the animals much like it when the road gets rough.

Thirty miles north of Valdez lies the lovely Worthington Glacier, with a state park, a tiny visitor center, trails to the glacier and no fees! We stopped in for a break and another chance to hike to a glacier, this time with the opportunity to actually get close and touch it. The large paved and signed trail from the parking lot led to an overlook, but then you were pretty much on your own to figure out which primitive trail you wanted to follow to get up close. We first started up the east side, since we could see tiny people actually hiking on the glacier. As we got closer, however, we decided that we would rather be on the west side of the glacier where all the blue ice shone in the sunlight.

Mo went ahead scouting the trail while I came along behind carrying the camera. It’s a bit scary to be on rough, slippery ground carrying an expensive camera, and I tottered along with my walking stick like an old lady. Ah well, maybe I would have tottered without the camera, who knows. I hate slippery loose rock, one of the reasons I so love hiking in Utah on slickrock, which isn’t slick at all.

Our efforts were rewarded with another up close encounter with a glacier, slipping inside the crevasse at the toe to capture that magical blue light. The hike back down was much easier, mostly because we had a clue where to go this time, and when we got back to the rig Abby and Jeremy were doing fine. It seems that more and more Abby is getting a little bit more comfortable when we leave her in the rig, but it still can be a worry if she barks in a populated place.

Once again on the road, we reached the summit at Thompson Pass and thanked the weather gods for another gorgeous sunlit day with just enough clouds to keep it interesting. The road dropped suddenly down to the river and the deep gorge of Keystone Canyon stretched west to Valdez. The mountains rise vertically in all directions, lit up with glaciers and snow, their shifting shades of green turning to grays and browns and timberline.

All along the canyon waterfalls pour down the steep sides to the river, and we stopped to take photos of two of the named falls, Bridalveil and Horsetail Falls. Valdez is another placed dubbed “The Switzerland of America”, but here it must be true. As I walked around the falls and breathed the crystalline air, I realized that for several weeks now I haven’t seen smoke on the horizon or brown air over a city. I have breathed clean, pure air for so long I almost forgot how much it means to me.

A few days ago, at the Portage Glacier, I looked at the map of Prince William Sound and thought that I really wanted a chance to see some of those pristine waters, to see the wild tidal glaciers calving into the sound. As we approached Valdez, I said out loud that maybe this was the place to do it. Mo agreed, and we drove directly to the Three Bears RV Park where we were lucky enough to snag tickets for tomorrow’s noon cruise with Stan Stephen’s Glacier Cruises. With that important detail handled, I asked about Copper River Salmon, and was pointed to Peter Pan’s Seafood right across the small boat harbor.

They actually had no fresh Copper River, but the young woman told me that Prince William Sound sockeye was better anyway and had just come in that day. The halibut was the other catch of the day, but I really had my heart set on some of that wonderful salmon. I wait for every year when it has a three week run at Freddy’s in Klamath Falls. I bought a beautiful filet and a package of cedar planks and we were set.

Even though there are several RV campgrounds right in Valdez, we really weren’t ready for a full hookup full price kind of night and Mo wanted to go back out of town to check out the Valdez Glacier Campground. We pulled in to the private, treed site and when Mo walked back to the pay station, she discovered it was a military campground and we got our dry camp site for only $10 with her discount. There is a dump station and potable water as well, and best of all we weren’t too close to anyone nearby.

This was especially important, since we called around and could find no kennels with an opening for Abby, and she would have to wait in the rig while we did our seven hour cruise. I pulled out the Weber to cook that beautiful salmon, and for the first time on the trip, we had a real problem with a few mosquitoes and a lot of tiny little black flies. Mo brought out her citronella coils, I brought out the propane bug repeller, and the cedar plank contributed a lot of smoke to the scene as well. By the time the salmon was done, it was bug free enough that we enjoyed our meal outside at the picnic table. That was without a doubt the best salmon I have ever eaten, and the whole meal was probably a lot better than anything we would have found in a restaurant.

After supper I decided to take our garbage, especially that fishy plank, to the bear proof container down the road while Mo enjoyed the after dinner quiet. While she sat there at the table, she was surprised by a black bear who must have thought that the salmon smelled great. When he saw Mo, however, he turned and disappeared back into the brush. Of course, the bear shows up when I am gone and the camera is tucked away in the MoHo!

Later we went for a walk around the campground exploring, but saw no more sign of Mr Bear. We did run into a couple of guys who looked quite familiar. We visited with them a long time ago back at the Teslin Overlook in Yukon, and shared stories of our travels since then. They had a pickup and camper, and had done the Dalton Highway to the Arctic Circle. He said the road wasn’t bad at all, nothing like the scare stories going around about it.

Home to read and fall asleep thinking about our exciting trip to come the next day, Prince William Sound and the Columbia Glacier!

(note: We are now in Tok and I am catching up on writing and also on reading blogs. Just read Judy’s blog to discover that they were in the same campground and SHE got a photo of the little black bear. Also discovered to our dismay that we missed the big brown bears feeding at the fish hatchery. Not sure where I should have found out about this, except we haven’t had internet for awhile, and I guess that is the price I pay for boondocking and staying out of touch!)

Miles traveled today: about 200

Road condition: 2 lane paved with some small gravel areas and a few frost heaves here and there, steep pass with an 8 percent downgrade, but nothing particularly difficult

The rest of the photos for this day are linked here

Day 17 July 22 The Denali Highway

Once again, we are camped within feet of a lake, but this time we are not just dry camping in a primitive campground, we are actually boondocking. We are just a bit more than 8 miles east of the Parks Highway and Cantwell on the Old Denali Highway 8. This road continues east to Highway 4, the road to Valdez, and then back north to Delta Junction where we were a few days ago. I am terribly behind in writing, and it seems the only way to get going again is for me to start with the here and now, this moment.

Mo is cutting some dead wood nearby along the lakeshore and feeding our campfire while we watch the evening sky shift and change across the lake. It smells wonderful. A very occasional car or truck passes our site, but we aren’t really visible until they are almost right on top of us, so that works just fine. This morning when we drove this highway, for a very long time we were the only ones on the road.

We began our day in the Riley Creek Campground at Denali National Park, with a 5:30 am drive west on the park road to Savage Creek, the extent where private vehicles are allowed in the park. Except for the green and white shuttle buses, already taking people into the deeper recesses of the wilderness, we were the only ones on the road. We thought perhaps an early morning drive might yield some critter viewing, but it wasn’t to be. Again, we saw squirrels and snow shoe hares and nothing else. Unlike yesterday, this morning the Mountain was clouded over and if we hadn’t seen it last night we would have had no idea where it was on the horizon.

The tundra was beautiful at dawn, though, with pale shades of misty green on the high hills to timberline glowing in the morning light. Once at the parking lot at the Savage Creek trail, we were delighted to be the only ones there. Rules said that we couldn’t leave Abby untended in the car, and of course she couldn’t go on the trail, so Mo sat with her while I took off on a beautiful, silent walk along the river. The only sound breaking the silence was the river, the sounds of birds calling, and an occasional rumble as a shuttle bus crossed the bridge to the security point. When Mo was here so many years ago, she was able to drive to a campground farther into the park, but even back then the only animals she saw were a small herd of caribou in the distance. There are no guarantees that you will see any wildlife at all, even on the bus that travels the entire 85 miles to Wonder Lake.

I have a friend, Jeanne, who lived in Alaska for several years and told me we should try the Denali Highway for a true wilderness experience without the crowds of Denali. So after our morning drive, we packed up the MoHo and headed south on the Parks Highway 3 toward Cantwell and the Denali Highway junction. Mo checked in with the owner of the Tesoro station at the junction and he said it would be fine to leave the MoHo there while we took the Tracker on the gravel road leading east through the wilderness.

I owe it to Jeanne, because we might not have taken the time and trouble to travel this long gravel road. Even though unpaved, the road was in much better shape than the Top of the World Highway, and we could have driven the MoHo all the way to the eastern junction with Highway 4 without any problems, I am sure. We spent many hours on the trip, mostly because I had to keep stopping to take pictures and walk out over the hills for wider vistas. Along the way, we saw many places that would be perfect for boondocking, but this one at mile 8 was our choice because of the lake and the proximity back to our route on Highway 3 south to Talkeetna tomorrow.

We drove as far east as the Susitna River crossing where the landscape changed dramatically. This is about the half way mark of the road, and also marks a great landscape shift where the Sustina River flows south to Cook Inlet, and the Nenana River we had been following for many miles flows north into the Tanana River, the Yukon, and eventually the Bering Sea.

The reward for our many miles of gravel road highway was the expansive wild landscape of the Nenana River valley flowing at the southern base of the Alaska Range. During the morning, on our route east, the skies were clear enough that we could see Mt Deborah and Mt Hess among the rugged peaks of this beautiful range that also is the home of Denali as well. The Susitna River lodge, east of the river, was boarded up, and when we decided to turn back at mile 77 we were starting to get a bit hungry. Silly me, I was so excited about the trip that I completely ignored the possibility that we might need sustenance, so we had nothing with us. A few miles west of the river is a tiny enterprise called Gracious House Lodge B&B at historic milepost 82, with the supposedly famous Sluice Box Bar, and a café.

We stopped thanks to the handwritten sign on the road proclaiming pie and espresso, but the restaurant was closed and the only pie available was a wondrous creation that had been frozen for $30 bucks each.

Carol was delightful, and assured me that her pies were world famous, and that if we weren’t outsiders, we would know that they were a deal at any price. I agreed with her, but still couldn’t quite opt for a 30 dollar pie. I did buy an espresso for me and a latte for Mo and enjoyed visiting with Carol who told me all about the lodge, the slow summer, the reason for closing the restaurant, and all about her kids, grandkids, and husband. They have lived here for 31 years, (her husband actually lived her for 55 years), have traveled the Highway to the south five times because they get cabin crazy, and are really wanting to sell the place and leave the wilderness.

With a good jolt of java we continued west, enjoying the views. For a day or two now, the exhaust pipe on the Tracker has been loose and rattling, and Mo tied it up with a piece of wire till we can get it welded. But the sound we suddenly heard on the gravel road was something new, and Mo pulled out immediately to a beautiful spot overlooking the Nenana River Valley and the Alaska Range to see one of her brand new tires going very flat. The spare was ready, the lug nuts were loose enough to actually remove, and we got the tire changed without a hitch. We were both amazed to see that the puncture was caused by the 1/2 inch hitch latch bolt that had run right into the tire. Who knows how it managed to get in there but it had punctured it and was all the way inside the tire.

We continued west back to Cantwell, checking that our chosen boondock site was still unoccupied, and asked the nice Tesoro guy where we could get the tire repaired. Of course, there was a tire repair shop right in Cantwell, although I say that loosely. We paid 40 for a used tire and 20 to mount it and it was worth every penny. Especially considering the old man who wandered out of the house to help us. By the time he was done, Mo knew most of his life story as well. Folks in Alaska are very friendly it seems, and like having someone listen to them.

We picked up the MoHo and drove back to our lake, which I since discovered aka the Milepost, is Joe Lake, used by a local air service, and that our boondock site south of the road can flood. I don’t think that will be a problem tonight. After our evening kayak, we are still sitting out by the fire with a glass of wine, enjoying the evening unhampered by bugs, wind, or rain. I somehow never envisioned moments like this when I imagined what this trip would be like. I was ready for mosquitoes, for rain, for dreary skies, for hordes of other RV’s on the road. Tonight at least, we have none of that. Just wilderness all around us, a sky that is many shades of blue and white and gray, a glassy lake all to ourselves, and a free campsite.

One last thing. Erin asked the other day about how I manage the Pelican Waterproof Camera case in the kayak. First of all, we have Adirondack boats from Swift Canoe in Canada, and bought them specifically for the roomy cockpits so that Mo could paddle with Abby. For me, that equates to plenty of room for the Pelican. I lock it up while launching and if the water is smooth, I’ll open it up and can even switch lenses mid stream if needed. Seems to be a great system and I no longer have to be afraid to take the good camera out on the water. Hmm, that wide angle lens does really great things for my legs. ewwwww!

Miles traveled today in the MoHo: 37

Miles traveled in the Tracker on the Denali Highway 150 or so

The rest of the photos for this day are linked here

Day 6 July 11 The Yellowhead

I was so happy that we kayaked in the afternoon yesterday, because by late evening the sky was dark and the clouds were thick with heavy rain. All night long the rain sang on the roof of the rig but by morning it had slowed to a gentle drip. By the time we hooked up the Tracker, the rain had stopped, even though the air was still misty. Today we are traveling the Yellowhead Highway, 16, the route that connects Prince Rupert on the BC coast to Edmonton, Alberta, by way of Prince George. When I was in Prince George in 1973, the road was fairly new, and one day we drove east a bit to just say we had been on it. I remember lots of snow and ice, and trees, and boring.

That certainly wasn’t the case today as we traveled west on the Yellowhead. Fraser Lake to the north of the highway was still shrouded in dark clouds as we passed, but by the time we reached the Lakes District the sun was trying to shine on us. We stopped at a rest area called Tintagel Cairn, with an interesting stone in the center of the cairn that was from Tintagel Castle in England, supposedly the birthplace of King Arthur. The sign at the rest stop had maps of what is called the Lakes District. These lakes are huge, long crevasses in the glaciated landscape, much like the Finger Lakes of New York, but exponentially bigger. Many of the roads leading to these huge lakes are rough gravel and not advised for RV’s.

With the cloudy day ahead, we read the Milepost and thought that a visit to the charming little town of Smithers might be fun in addition to a planned visit to the New Hazelton area. Both towns have excellent visitor centers, a great resource that we try to use often when traveling. The highway was great, smooth and wide, and very little traffic on this Monday morning. Arriving in Smithers before noon, we found the visitor center and parked across the street, picked up a map of the town, and walked toward Main Street.

Smithers is an interesting mix of tourist town, ski town, mountain bike town, and First Nations town. There was definitely an interesting mix of people on the streets, and there were a good number of fancy outdoor outfitter shops. I stepped into one and emerged with a nifty Pelican waterproof case with foam inserts that is made for kayakers and cameras. Even if it goes in, it floats, and there is some kind of weird pressure release valve that will keep the camera from getting crushed by the weight of the water. I don’t expect to be in that kind of water, but am still tickled that I can now take the good camera and telephoto lens out on the lake with a bit less trepidation.

We walked around Smithers for an hour or so and enjoyed a latte and tea from a corner kiosk that tasted wonderful. In the Milepost we read about Twin Falls, a must see in the Smithers Area and the visitor center provided a nice local map to the Twin Falls Road. As we started up the trail, the sun started to emerge, and glimpses of the snow covered mountains all around Smithers peeked through the clouds. The hike to the falls was just fifteen minutes or so of incline to the viewing platform, but we decided to go on to the base of the falls. Beautiful.

As we drove back down to town, the sun was out all the way and the mountains west of town took my breath away. We stopped at an RV wash just north of the main intersection to get the road grime off the Tracker before going back to the visitor center. There is a free dump, free WiFi, and good water all available and easily accessible. Since we planned to boondock for the next 2 or 3 days, it was important to start fresh with enough water and clean tanks. In no time at all, my photos were uploaded and the blog pages that I wrote the previous day were posted. Sure wish my internet at home was that fast!

Continuing north on Highway 16, we followed the raging Bulkley River past the native village of Moricetown where the native people took advantage of the narrow canyon to trap salmon. Our route continued north and west to “The Hazeltons”, three communities that are centered around Old Hazelton. Situated at the confluence of the Bulkley and Skeena Rivers, Hazelton grew up as a major transportation and navigation center, and a wintering place for miners and prospectors from the daunting Interior. We crossed the suspension bridge that spans the Bulkley River high above a magnificent canyon, surrounded by craggy, snowcapped mountains. There is much to see in Old Town Hazelton, but it was getting late in the day and it was time to move on. We stopped in at the local tribal store and filled up for a mere 1.24 per liter, 4.57 per gallon C$ still not sure what the US exchange is right now, but it is somewhere between 4 and 6 percent higher. I bought a half gallon of milk, a bag of chips, and two Haagen Daz bars and it cost me 15.80. I didn’t get a receipt so I have no clue what particular bit of that package was outrageously priced.

It was with some internal excitement that I saw the sign at the junction of the Highway 16 and Highway 37. The Stewart-Cassiar Highway seemed to me to truly be the epitome of wild British Columbia, and we were there at last. Our original plans were to go to Meziadin Provincial Park, about 97 miles north of the junction, and then earlier this morning we decided that we would rather boondock somewhere along the highway. It was getting close to 7:30 and around mile 50 we started looking in earnest for a place to stop. We found a small lake, with three campsites, and dropped down into a mosquito infested hole that already had a crusty camper and a crusty dude settling in, and decided that we wanted to be out somewhere alone, not smashed in close to someone else. It was tight in there, so we had to unhook to get back out, and after a few moments of traveling companion backing conversation, we managed to get back on the road. You all know those conversations, and we don’t usually have them, so it was funny when it was over.

We actually saw two young bears, but even going 50 mph, we had no way to stop to see them, or nowhere to pull off, so it was just a quick sighting and they were gone. Within a couple miles we found another pull off, this time it was just off the road and no one else was around. The sun was still high in the sky, even close to 8 pm, and we lowered the jacks, put out the slide, and in no time at all had our supper on the trays. Mo went to bed while once more I tried to manage the 200 photos that I took today, and I gave up without writing a word about the day’s travels. I know that I have to write every day, because it is so very hard to regenerate all we have seen a day later. The only way I can keep track is with a review of the Milepost and my photos. I started marking photo sites in the Milepost since my camera doesn’t have GPS capability. I actually thought about trying to shoot an iPhone shot at each site to get coordinates, but decided that was just plain stupid. Red pen in the Milepost is working fine.

I stayed awake until after ten, watching the sun set on the mountains around us and listening to the silence. An occasional truck would go past, but as the night wore on, I never heard a thing and slept wonderfully. I think it may have been the quietest, darkest night we have spent on the road. Perfect.

Miles driven today from point 7 to point 12 about 275

Road Conditions: 2 lane perfect all the way

I took a LOT of photos today, including some gorgeous wildflowers at our boondock site, the link is here

TOMORROW: THE CASSIAR HIGHWAY!

October 1 Boondocking on 447

Yesterday, as we left Ely, we both thought that our last night out would be a great time to actually boondock. Looking at the map, there were many miles of open range, what looked to be a lot of BLM land, and we imagined that finding a wide place to pull out would be simple.

What we didn’t count on was the temperatures in late afternoon along our route. Nevada is hot. Most of the time, Nevada is hot. I know this, but after all, it IS the last day of September. After turning north on 447 from the Sparks area we started looking for a boondock site. What wasn’t at first noticeable on the map that I was using was that many miles of the route were included in the Pyramid Lake Indian Reservation, not a place to try to camp without specific permission.

The other problem was the temperature. It was five o’clock in the evening and the gauge read 100 degrees. Stopping for just a few minutes to take a break and let the dog walk around a bit gave us a pretty good indication that we couldn’t really settle in until the sun went down, or we found a shady side of the hill. We continued past Gerlock, and after several miles found a wide place in the road that would suffice, but I had a vague memory of a small lake and camping spot where Mo and I had stopped on a day trip in 2003. There was nothing on my map, but the phone, when it worked sporadically, showed some green areas a bit distant, so we kept going.

The best moment of the day was rounding a steep curve and dropping down to the small reservoir, then realizing that the closed gate wasn’t locked. The signs indicated private property but allowed recreational use if the rules were followed. After some maneuvering, we settled the MoHo into a wide spot on a bumpy road, managed to get level, and opened up the fans and doors to the cooling evening breezes.

We camped with the slide closed, but still had plenty of room to cook a good supper and relax with a movie. I have to thank Laurie Brown once more for helping us to finally understand our inverter! We have traveled in the MoHo for two years without understanding that the tv and dvd would work if the inverter was on.

The night was starlit and perfectly still, and even though we were fairly close to the road, the closed gate and complete absence of traffic made it feel perfectly safe. I watched the sun rise this morning over the basalt hills and felt incredibly grateful for this perfect last night. Our trip home today through Alturas is on familiar roads and landscapes. Mt Shasta will rise up in the distance to mark the passage and tell us we are close to home.

I will call my daughter, we will stop at Fred Meyer for gas and groceries for home, we will dump the tanks at our local city park on the way out to Rocky Point. This trip of 7,714 miles will end, and it will be time to start thinking about the next one.

There are a few more photos for this last day of travel linked here>

HOME, BOTH OF THEM

September 30 The Loneliest Road in America

In July of 1986, Life Magazine described Nevada’s Highway 50 from Ely to Fernley as the “Loneliest Road in America”. Life said that there were no attractions or points of interest along the 287 mile stretch of road and recommended that drivers have “survival skills” to travel the route.

Things have changed a bit, but not much. The biggest change is in the vehicles we drive along these roads rather than the roads themselves. I remember desert driving and the days of vapor lock, overheated engines, flat tires, and no air conditioning. Cars seem to be made better these days, and we cruise along at 70 miles per hour without a thought about our survival. There really is quite a lot to see in Ely, and we plan to return, especially to visit the Great Basin National Park on the eastern edge of Nevada. We also want to come back to check out Ely’s treasure: The Nevada Northern Railway Museum, touted by the Smithsonian as the most complete authentic railroad complex in the country.

That is what we are doing today, cruising along, covering the distance on US 50 instead of I-80, enjoying the eyeball stretching vistas of the high Nevada desert. There are a couple of towns between Ely and Fernley where we will turn north toward the Black Rock Desert. Eureka and Austin are both historic mining towns from the heyday of Nevada history in the late 19th century. We will stop and take photos, enjoy the stories, and the time travel provided at these outposts before moving on down the road. At Gerlach, we will pass the sandy roads leading to the Black Rock Desert where the wild ones have their Burning Man festival every year.

Somewhere in the middle of nowhere, we saw a large group of road bikers pedaling up the long grades, supported by a couple of vans in pursuit. At the same time, we saw a lonely man walking in the opposite direction up another grade with some sort of walk.com sign on his back. Then nothing again but low sage and rabbitbrush and the distant hills. The air again is smoky, not in the concentrated way that it was yesterday in Utah, but high hazy widespread smoke that extends as far west and north as we can see, even from the summits. We are traveling west again through basin and range, so the MoHo is climbing the ranges and dropping into the basins repeatedly shifting gears as we go up, then down, then up, then more down. Glad I am not on a bike!

This morning in our full hookup park, I took the time to cook a good breakfast and clean the house a bit. In the process of cleaning the toilet, adding extra water to help with the black water flush to come, I suddenly dropped the large cleaning washcloth right down into the holding tank. Ugh! I freaked out, but Mo patiently bent a hanger, fished around in there, and got the thing out of the tank before anything got terribly clogged up. Kind of amazing that we actually had one simple wire hangar in the closet among all the fancy lightweight things I have for our clothes. I got all teary and realized that the stress of dropping a washcloth into the sewage holding tank shouldn’t be THAT bad, and thought, gee, maybe I am sad about the trip coming to a close.

Today and tomorrow we will continue our trek across the deserts and over the Warners into the Klamath Basin, to the base of the Cascade Mountains. Home. I am sure it will take a bit of settling in to really appreciate being there and not here, traveling along some highway with ever changing views out the windows.

There are a some more photos for this day linked here>