road trips – Page 9 – The MoHo and Other Traveling Tales

A gorgeous day on I-5 (and a few minor glitches)

Gotta thank everyone for all the encouragement yesterday, both on Facebook and as comments on my blog post about the break-in. I was even surprised at how comforting it felt to have people noticing and sending along good thoughts. A couple of folks mentioned our good attitude toward it all, but again, as we looked around last night at how unscathed we were, it was impossible to not have a pretty good attitude.

This morning, even though there were huge clouds all around the San Joaquin Valley, we saw promises of brilliant sunlight peeking through. Although we didn’t get up till 6:30 or so, I had been lying awake since four, watching the perigee full moon through the sky visible below the back bedroom shade. All sorts of scenarios went through my mind, still trying to figure out just how they managed to do some of the weird things they did. So yeah, that good attitude held up fine with the lights on, but in the dark of night, not so much.

We got up, neither one of us much in the mood for breakfast, and checked out the weather on the internet. Didn’t look real good for us no matter which route we follow, so we just decided that driving down the open country of I-5 on the west side of the valley was more agreeable than bumping along on my least favorite road, Highway 99, even though 99 would have been a shorter route. Our latest plan was to amble toward Bakersfield and then check again about the passes, and probably camp somewhere this side of Castaic and the Flying J on the interstate.

Of course, with so many little things missing, we also decided that a shopping trip to Camping World, south of Bakersfield on 99 was a good plan, and we still hadn’t completely let go of our wish to travel via 58 to Tehachapi and our friends. Speaking of friends, Loree is at this very moment sitting in Tehachapi, and her photos of the snow there looked a bit daunting. Either way, a night of boondocking was on the agenda.

The drive south on I-5 was actually breathtaking. With all the storms, there isn’t a bit of smog or pollution in the air, and the wild cloudy skies with brilliant sun breaks only intensified the spring green of the annual grass rangeland of the western perimeter of the Great Valley. I said to Mo, “I have to get some real photos, not windshield shots, this is just too gorgeous>.” She replied, “Well, I can’t pull over here in the middle of nowhere, but I’ll keep watching.” In less than 2 miles, we saw a sign indicating a “vista point”. Perfect! The exit wound up a high hill right next to the interstate with an amazing 360 degree view of the entire valley north, east, and south, and the coast range rising to the west. In addition, we found ourselves looking down on the California Aqueduct just below us.

A true engineering marvel, whether you love it or hate it, and stretched out to the horizon parallel to Interstate 5, it was all that made California what it is, especially Southern California. With my 3G connection and 5 bars on the I-phone, I managed to learn more about the aqueduct that I even knew growing up in California when it was being built. In a nutshell, the magnificent snow melt of the Sierras flows down the Feather River to Oroville Dam, west to the Delta of San Francisco Bay, then south through a mind-boggling array of pipes, tunnels, pumps, over mountains, through mountains and ending up supplying the outrageous water needs of the bread basket of the world in the San Joaquin Valley and the entire metropolitan area of Los Angeles. I even read that the water Rick and so many others are drinking while supping at Palm Springs restaurants comes from the gorgeous Feather River high in the Sierras.

Once again on the road, the pavement was smooth enough for me to knit, and the storms coming and going made for great entertainment. A bit after noon, we thought lunch might be nice and stopped at a quiet rest area with thoughts of starting up the generator and cooking some grilled cheese sandwiches. Mo said, “Probably would be a good idea to start up the generator anyway, since it’s been sitting awhile”. UhOh. Good thing we did. She started easily and then ground right down to a stop and wouldn’t start again. Mo checked under the rig for any sign of what might be the problem, but no luck. She did say that the intruders were messing around in the generator bay, and who knows what they actually did. The sound felt like it wasn’t getting gas. Maybe something is cut or gone, but either way it wasn’t something she could figure out so we called Camping World. Wouldn’t you know, they are booked up until Friday! We don’t have our battery charge indicator, and certainly aren’t comfortable boondocking without the generator, so Camping World gave us the number of Pacific Power in Bakersfield, and thank goodness they said to come on in.

It was another hour and a half in to the shop, and lo and behold, it was a shop dedicated specifically to generators, with Onan on the window signs. We pulled around to the back bay as directed by a crusty old guy who wasn’t the least bit talkative. He pulled off the cover to the generator, harumphed a bit about how Dynamax didn’t make it easy to work on, and made some mumblings about us having it in storage too long and the carburetor was probably just glazed up.

Mo told him about our vandals, and he crawled under to find the fuel line to the generator was cut. Seems as though the robbers couldn’t manage to siphon the gas directly from the gas tank, so evidently thought they could get it out of the generator gas line. Must not have worked, but they weren’t completely awful people because they actually plugged up the cut hose with a piece of pipe so all the gas wouldn’t run out on the floor and cause an explosion. Our fixer man re-connected the hose, pushed the starter, and the generator roared to life. Perfect. Only after all this, did the guy actually start to talk a little bit and laughed with us about the good outcome. I told him I was part of the RV blogging world and would put in a good word for Pacific Power on Buck Owens Boulevard in Bakersfield. Great service where we least expected it.

Back on Highway 99, we traveled just a few miles south to camping world to check out some goodies, and found another voltage meter to replace the one that was stolen. By this time is was after 4pm and we were definitely ready to settle in for the evening. Looking at the snow ringing the entire valley, we finally decided that we would take our chances traveling 58 directly east to the desert tomorrow morning. A quick search on Streets and Trips yielded an RV park not too far out of town along our route and within an hour we were parked and settled in, just in time for the huge thunderstorm to hit.

You wonder why I am so amazed at our good luck? I have had other times in my life where something that looks like a streak of really bad luck is combined with amazing good luck that gets me through it all by the skin of my teeth. This has been one of those streaks for sure, a time when I know someone is watching over me. As we left Pacific Power this afternoon, Mo turned to me and said, “How likely would it be for us to just randomly decide to use the generator in the middle of the afternoon?” How likely that we would be within a few miles of an Onan specialist. How likely that the vandals didn’t let all the gas drain out after cutting the fuel line, and how likely that the whole thing didn’t just blow up completely. How likely that we would decide to travel highway 58 and then hear that there were heavy snows and landslides on I-5 and it was closed down anyway!

Yup, so far, this has been one heck of a lucky trip.

The Best Laid Plans and all that

After posting yesterday about our departure plans, I continued to check the internet for road conditions and weather cams. Our original plan included visiting some good friends in Tehachapi, traveling east along Highway 58. After reading about 6 inches of snow accumulation and predicted winds on Sunday of 40 plus miles per hour with gusts to 85! yes that is 85 mph, we thought we should possibly reroute. Next plan, instead of driving over 58 toward Laughlin, we could just stay south on 5, get through LA hooking up to the 210 and the 10 heading east and go straight to Borrego Springs, saving Laughlin for the latter part of the trip and skipping out on our visit to friends. That’s a bit sad since we haven’t seen them since 2007.

So, once again to weatherunderground.com and the web cams and the severe weather reports. What??!! 85 mph gusts at Bakersfield, Frazier Park, and 6 inches of snow possible over the Grapevine on Sunday??? Big Sigh.

Jeremy doesn’t care whether we are traveling or home, just as long as he can be warm and snooze.

So here I am this morning, in my jammies typing away on the computer instead of driving south to Redding as planned. We wrote all our friends along the route saying, nope, not this time. We are packed and mostly loaded, watching the weather. At first we thought we might wait until Monday, but looking a bit more closely led us to deciding on a Sunday departure. Yes, high winds and rain all the way to Sacramento tomorrow, but not 85 mph. We will hole up tomorrow night near Lodi, amble south on 5 toward the Grapevine and hole up again at a truck stop and wait to see what the road is doing on Monday morning. Sooner or later we are going to get to all that hot sun and warm temperatures that everyone is talking about, right?

One of the very best things about retirement and the RV life is the ability to re-route, re-plan, and stay flexible. Today, instead of driving, I am going to cook up a bunch of stuff for our trip that I hadn’t the opportunity to do last week. Today the house will be filled the the smell of pulled pork in the crock pot, some chocolate chip and some peanut butter cookies, a big pot of spaghetti sauce to freeze, and a luscious turkey pot pie with a biscuit topping made from some of our leftover freezer turkey. I won’t have to cook for a week while we are on the road!

Off to the coast

Jeremy loves a road trip in the MoHo and settles in immediately to his spot on the dash

I barely had time to get my land legs back before Mo looked at me and said, “How about a trip to the coast?” Of course, Mo has been home patiently feeding the fire while I was off gallivanting around the Caribbean and she was ready to get out of the house and do something different. A trip to the California coast actually sounded wonderful, with warm temperatures and plenty of water for kayaking. We decided to go to the area we visited last fall, a bit unusual for us to return to a previously visited site when so many await, but it’s actually the closest place to Redding that looked good to us.

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The Shasta Trinity Mountains in northern California are wild and rugged.

While I finished out my work week, Mo researched our route and checked out the available campgrounds. This trip we hoped to be a bit more thrifty and make use of some of the great local county campgrounds. The Humboldt County Fairgrounds at Ferndale looked like a great choice so that is our major destination. Our planned route this time takes us across the Shasta Trinity mountains via Highway 299, turning south at Highway 3 near Hayfork, and connecting up to Highway 36 heading west toward Grizzly Creek State Park along the way to Ferndale. It’s about 160 miles from home to Redding where we pick up the MoHo, and then another 180 miles or so to the coast.

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The view from the summit of South Mountain along Highway 36 is gorgeous.

This morning we woke up at 5:30 with great plans to be on the road by 7. We already loaded up the kayaks and the baby car with MoHo supplies and were ready to go right on time. With the MoHo in storage in Redding, we have to bring everything home with us, wash and repack it all up, and then tuck everything into the baby car for the 3 hour trip back. It’s a bit of a squeeze, with clothes, bedding, all the throw rugs that I brought home to wash, the comforter cover, the kayak paddles, walking sticks, the kayak bag of life vests and equipment, extra water for the MoHo till we get to a campground, the charger just in case she doesn’t start, the dog and the cat and the cat cage, and oh yes, me and Mo. We don’t even bother with a cat box, since Jeremy usually settles down pretty well when he knows we are heading for a big trip and waits until we get to the MoHo where his box is waiting. Good kitty.

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It’s really funny to watch the animals the night before a big trip when we are packing up. Abby sticks to Mo’s leg like glue, no matter where she is going. Jeremy walks around and meows loudly, and keeps looking expectantly at all the stacks of stuff. I actually think he knows where we are going. I can only surmise that Jeremy loves going on these trips so much because his humans and his dog are going to be 100 percent completely accessible and no farther than 12 feet away at any given time. In his dotage, he has become a very needy cat and hates to be alone. So, proudly, right at 7 am we jumped into the car, cat and dog and humans, and traveled east toward the rising sun. About 25 minutes into the trip, almost to Klamath Falls, I turned to Mo and said, “You have the MoHo keys, right?”. She looked at me and with a gasp, pulled the car over and whipped it around to head back west to get the forgotten keys. You have to know Mo to know just how rarely this kind of thing happens. I have no idea what made me think of it at that moment, but we were both really glad it wasn’t three hours later in Redding when it came to mind.

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With an extra hour behind us, the rest of the trip to Redding was uneventful, with open roads and good weather all the way. The mountains are especially open and bare for this time of year, and the lack of snow pack is surprising considering the huge snowfall we had in December. Once in Redding, the sun was warm and the thermometer read a balmy 71 degrees. We slid the MoHo out of her berth as she rumbled to life without a whimper and in a short time we were loaded, hooked up, and on the road west.

I drove from Klamath and Mo drew driving duty this time over the mountains. Mo is a great driver, but after many miles of narrow roads with long steep canyons dropping off on the passenger side, and 10 percent grades, I was getting a bit testy. I am a great companion most of the time, but not so much after several hours of being tossed about by rough, winding, bumpy, nasty roads. The scenery was gorgeous, but the road, not so much! Every time we end up on a road like this we are grateful for our short 26 feet.

The original plan included a stop at Hayfork in the County Fairgrounds Campground for the night, but we arrived at Hayfork at 2:30 and our next stop was only 80 miles away, so on we rambled. It was a bit of a rough 80 miles, however, and Highway 36 might not really deserve the handle of highway at all. The day had been sunny and gorgeous, but as we dropped down toward the river, the coastal fog enveloped us. We reached Grizzly Creek State Park around 5 pm, and the deep forest of redwoods was fairly dark and gloomy. The entire campground was empty except for a single tent camper, with no one around. Instead, there were instructions to self register and pay in cash or check. California State Parks are an endangered species, with the budget of the state threatening to shut them down at any moment. The rate is $35 a night with a $2 discount for seniors. For that price you get no hookups, one lone working bathroom, and no camp hosts around. We wouldn’t spend any real time here, although it looks like it might be a pretty park with the river flowing past and the lovely forest. Since we thought we were going to spend two nights on the road, we figured we could mentally divide it by two and figure it wasn’t too bad.

It’s incredibly dark out there, but not terribly cold in spite of the overcast skies. The highway is fairly close, but not terribly busy. It will be a very early night snugged in to read a bit and then get a good nights sleep before our arrival in Ferndale tomorrow.

Our new kayaks are delivered!

I was so impatient to get on the road today, that I could barely sit still. We were supposed to meet the trucker delivering our boats at exit 33 in Medford between 11 to 12 AM, and Mo didn’t really want to get there too early and have to sit around waiting. The weather was perfect, in the high 40’s, no frost, and clear sunny skies. Our pass to Medford over Highway 140 had some remnants of snow at the summit, but the pavement was bare and dry with hardly any traffic.

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The driver was tremendously accommodating and agreed to meet us in Medford by changing his route to I-5 instead of Highway 97 through Klamath Falls. It was perfect timing for us. We arrived in Medford to find him waiting patiently at the Pilot station, having arrived at 6AM!. He delivers high end boats all over the country, and his rig was loaded up with 60 foot racing rowers and some kayaks made in China and Peru. Our kayaks were bundled up in bubble wrap and plastic, and after many thank you’s and hand shaking, we transferred them to the baby car top rack, tied them down, and headed west.

The biggest reason for buying new boats had to do with weight. I couldn’t believe it when the driver and I hoisted that boat to the top of the rack. I could have done it one handed! Our older boats weighed about 49 pounds and the new ones top out at a featherweight 34 pounds of Kevlar-Fusion. It is amazing what a difference 15 pounds can make!

We continued our route north on I-5, grateful that we didn’t have to stay on that busy highway, and turned west at Grants Pass. One thing about living in this part of Oregon is that there are just a few ways to the coast, and none of them really is a direct route. Highway 199, west and south of Grants Pass meanders though the beautiful Illinois Valley, through Cave Junction and then along the magnificent Smith River to the coast. Mo had a condo in Brookings for several years and we were used to driving this road, but I forgot how beautiful it can be. The fall colors were magnificent with brilliant yellow and gold big leaf maples lighting up the dark green forest. Here and there are some red trees, but most of the native trees are shades of brilliant yellow. It isn’t east coast, of course, but it is still breathtaking. We took turns driving so we each could enjoy the views. Once we reached the Smith River the road narrows and follows the high gorge of the river. “Road Narrows” is a big joke to us. It’s a repeated refrain along this part of the coast. On a very narrow winding road, that is already quite narrow, appear signs that say “Road Narrows”. We are never quite sure how a paved major highway with two lanes can get more narrow!

The distance from home to our first park was a measly 146 miles. After our usual 300 mile plus days last trip, it felt as though we arrived almost too quickly. We are staying at the Hiouchi RV Resort in Hiouchi, California, about 10 miles east of Crescent City on Highway 199. Just down the road is the magnificent Jedediah Smith State Park and the Stout Grove of giant redwoods. The resort allows Camp Club USA discounts only in the months of October, November, April, and May, for seven nights maximum. It is a really lovely park, especially here on the north end along the creek where it doesn’t feel anything at all like a typical park. We have space and privacy, with our own little bubbling creek outside the door, a clean cement pad with a nice picnic table, big trees for shade, ferns and ivy for landscaping. We have excellent WiFi, full TV cable service, water, electric and sewer for just fifteen bucks. No taxes, no other fees. I guess there is a bit of traffic noise from Highway 199 on the eastern edge of the park, but it’s not really obtrusive.

We arrived before 2 in the afternoon, and settled in to our site, made some snacks and opened a bottle of wine before taking the kayaks down and unwrapping them. It was an exciting moment, marred just a little bit by a couple of flaws in my boat that I didn’t expect. I immediately emailed the owner of Swift Kayak in Gravenhurst. I have no idea what the result will be. Hopefully the rim that is cracked slightly can be replaced, and he will let me know how to go about it.

Once the boats were again loaded up on top of the Tracker, we headed in to Crescent City to find an old restaurant on the Citizen Dock where Mo had dinner with her brother and his wife. She remembered it being at the end of a pier with lots of barking sea lions to accompany a decent fish supper. We drove all around the harbor, but the restaurant never appeared. It turned out to be a good thing, though, because the place where we had dinner was fabulous. The Northwest Inn is next to a motel and is a place we would have never stopped if we hadn’t read a little blurb in the RV Park map about the fabulous fish served there.

The restaurant isn’t pretentious at all, with a rustic, but comfortable decor and casual staff. The fish, however, was fabulous. Mo had fresh sole done up in butter and I had fresh snapper stuffed with crab and shrimp served over an amazingly well sauced pasta. It was rich without being heavy at all, and the fish was fresh and sweet.

The drive back to camp went quickly, in spite of the curves. The road between Hiouchi and Crescent City curves through the thickly forested state park, with huge trees right next to the pavement. It’s a beautiful road, and each time we pass through we are enthralled.

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>