RV resorts – Page 5 – The MoHo and Other Traveling Tales

A quiet day in Fort Bragg

It rained hard all night, pounding on the MoHo roof and making me really happy that I wasn’t in a tent! Someone said that there are two kinds of slides, ones that leak and ones that will. So far, there are no signs of any leaking anywhere in the MoHo, even in the hardest rains and wind. I guess the Dynamax reputation for solid coaches is holding up for us.

I took my time cooking breakfast this morning while we watched the Sunday news shows. Mo and I both love Fareed Zakaria, he brings such a different perspective to the world view. Then Mo balances all that out with a good hit of Fox News while I retreat into the computer. Ha! Guess you can tell who is ex-military and who used to be a tree hugger! The rain let up after breakfast and we took Abby for a walk around the park. On the way we met a couple from Victoria, just out on the beginning of a five month journey through the western US. Wayne and Lynn were very conversational, and we had a great time comparing notes on campgrounds, RV’s, and destinations. It’s amazing how easy it is to talk with strangers in this RVing world, no such thing as a stranger, really.

I love my new kayak, but there were a couple of little problems with it when it finally arrived. Somehow the bubble wrap used to protect it caused the paint to discolor on the side exposed to the sunlight and it has a small area of bubble wrap design along one side. In addition, the rim around the cockpit has a small split that shouldn’t be there. I called the company as soon as I unwrapped the boat and they called me back to make sure everything is taken care of properly. Bill Swift is the owner of Swift Canoe and Kayak in Ontario, Canada, and I am so impressed with his customer service. He is building a new boat for me and paying for the shipping to my home in Oregon. My boat was a sale boat, with a few minor flaws, so he asked if I wanted to pay a bit more to get a new boat, or if I wanted to send this one back for repairs. Either way he would pay the shipping, so I decided to opt for the new boat and the chance to pick my own colors. In the mean time, he said I should use the boat I have now as much as I want to until the new one arrives some time next January. Great customer service, great product, and great company! I highly recommend them.

We spent the morning walking through the Mendocino Botanical Gardens, senior discount fee was 7.50 each, and well worth it. The gardens have several areas, with more formal perennial gardens close to the entrance, and then about a half mile of wilder gardens that lead to a great ocean bluff overlook. At this time of year, the flowers weren’t that exciting, but the plants and foliage were lovely. The trails were nice too, and we took our time enjoying them even more than the gardens.

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After our walk, we drove to the main part of town, but it didn’t seem to have much to offer, not enough to actually get out of the car to explore. Nothing caught my eye and Mo isn’t a shopper anyway. I think we got our fill of browsing back in Ferndale, anyway. At the northern edge of town is Elm Street, leading down to the hidden Glass Beach. Once the town dump, it is now covered with beautiful tiny smooth pieces of sea glass. Somewhere we read that you aren’t supposed to pick up the glass, but once at the beach, it was filled with beachcombers looking for that perfect piece of glass and filling hands and pockets with the tiny treasures. We took a few as well. My favorite is the pale light turquoise pieces. We didn’t find anything particularly fabulous, but had fun looking and enjoying the beach and the surf.

We traveled up the Noyo River to check out Liquid Fusion Kayak Company, only to find an open lot with some kayaks and a sign that said to call them if you wanted to rent one. I had hoped for an actual shop with information, so we later stopped at the dive shop along the highway. The young man there was really helpful and told us that Big River ten miles south at Mendocino was the best paddle around, with easy access and fewer people. Big River is listed in the Sea Kayaking Northern California book I bought recently, so after looking it up and reading we decided that for sure this will be tomorrow’s destination.

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It was just a napping kind of day, so instead of doing anything else we went back to camp, had a late lunch snack and I took a great nap, snuggled back in the comforters watching the trees outside the window as I fell asleep. I love the chance that we have had on this trip to actually slow down and relax. An afternoon nap is just about as decadent as I can imagine! When I woke up a bit later, it was starting to darken and we took Abby for a walk around the nearly empty park before coming back home to make supper. I’m really looking forward to getting out in the kayaks tomorrow, it should be a sunny day, and again the tides are with us perfectly.

Photos for our day at the ocean are linked here.

We are staying at a park in Fort Bragg that had many reviews: Pomo RV Park and Campground. It seems it is the best place to stay around here, since most others are merely parking lots. Some of the reviews complained about the rules and policies, but we had no problem with anything. It is a cash only park, and doesn’t honor anything but Good Sam ten percent discount, so at 40 bucks a night it’s not a cheap place to stay. The sites are huge, however, and as private as a good state park. We wonder if maybe at one time it was a state park. I haven’t seen a private RV park anywhere laid out with this kind of luxury of space. CeiPui asked for some photos of the park, so I linked a separate album here.

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 21 The Santa Fe Trail to Las Animas, CO

The rest of the photos for today are linked here>

I saw a different picture of the west today, and now I have added William Bent to my list of western heroes. I learned about his life and his story today as we toured Bent’s Old Fort this afternoon. This morning as we continued west from Kansas into Colorado, I kept seeing signs for the “Santa Fe Trail”. What we hadn’t known before is that we were traveling along the route, now an official National Historic Trail administered by the National Park Service, with a history that predates Coronado’s historic search for the Cities of Gold in 1540.

In the small town of Lamar, Colorado, we stopped at the excellent Colorado Visitor Center to get information on the trail, the history, and the towns along the way. Once again, the visitor center was staffed with a great volunteer, who gave me all sorts of brochures about the Trail, and suggestions of what would be the best way to spend our time today. In addition, with the simple exchange of my email address to the state of Colorado, I became the proud owner of a “colorful Colorado” baseball cap. I know, I know, but I can always delete the email when it comes in, telling me all the great things about visiting Colorado.

Our campsite destination was another state park, the John Martin Reservoir SP, built by the Corps of Engineers in conjunction with the dam, but now operated by the state. We drove in to an almost completely empty, very large and open campground, situated below the dam among huge old cottonwoods and locust trees, with half a football field between sites along the small overflow lake. Electric, but no water or sewer, but a dump station and a threaded water spigot nearby made it just fine. We settled Abby into her crate, safe in the MoHo with the air conditioner going and set out to explore.

Just 30 miles to the west was the site of Old Bent’s Fort, the highlight of the day. The actual fort burned down in 1849, was carefully excavated and reconstructed by the National Park Service in 1976 based on original drawings, historical accounts, and archeological evidence and is a faithful reproduction. The fort sits alone on a terrace above the Arkansas River, surrounded by natural grasslands and wetlands, and framed by the winding course of the cottonwoods along the river. It feels silent, and as we walked from the parking lot on the 1/4 mile trail to the fort, I felt as if I had stepped back in time. This spot was a significant center of fur trade in the 1840’s on the Santa Fe Trail, influencing economies around the world. It was a trade fort, not an army fort, and William Bent married a Cheyenne woman and was considered part of the tribe.

The fort in 1840 was constructed with adobe bricks, when William Bent brought in 150 Mexican workers because he so admired the adobe buildings he had seen in the Mexican Territories. The reconstruction in 1976 was built exactly the same way. We walked through the fort gates into the dusty courtyard, surrounded with rooms cooled by the thick adobe walls. It was quiet except for a very few visitors. I felt the era so thoroughly in this place, it was an amazing experience. The National Park Service is to be commended for this treasure.

After our visit, we continued to the town of La Junta, also on the trail, and then home through Las Animas to our campsite on the lake. Our travel time was short enough that even after our road tour, we had time to unload the kayaks for a spin on the lake. There were white pelicans, reminding me of home, and at least ten blue herons on the shoreline as we paddled by. The moon was rising, nearly full, in the early evening sunset, and the breeze was just enough to keep us refreshed. Perfect way to end a perfect travel day.

September 20 Kansas winds and Dodge City

Kansas is windy. We knew that, right?! After all, Dorothy was from Kansas and she ended up in Oz, which I think is now called Australia. 🙂 This is the first time we have driven across Kansas in the MoHo. In 2007, on another trip, we left John’s place and drove along the Kansas eastern border, which was green and lovely. Our route today was route 400, suggested by John as a much easier way to travel than our original plan to take a more southern route.

When we left Missouri this morning the skies were still a murky grayish brown from the horizon to about midway up. The highest part of the sky was blue, or something that looked a bit like blue. I have experienced Blue on this trip, capital letter kind of blue sky in Minnesota, so the murkiness of Missouri was a bit sad. I thought maybe as we traveled west it would lighten up. Instead, it got murkier.

No theme, no clue what this crazy collection of wind driven art along Highway 400 in Kansas was all about. It stretched for a quarter mile along the highway, and provided a bit of entertainment on the Kansas landscape

The landscape of the part of Kansas that we crossed wasn’t the dead flat prairies that make Kansas so famous. There were gentle rises and falls, locust trees and willows along the waterways, sections when the road would rise up enough to see a very long way. But the skies were definitely tan and pale, and the closer we got to Wichita, the browner the “haze” turned. Long straight roads near the city allowed a moment of internet access with the phone, and I researched Wichita air quality and found out that it has been on the list of the most badly polluted cities in the country. I hoped that maybe as we drove west, the skies would clear.

It was not to be, and whether from blowing dust, or the millions of cattle in feed lots all around Dodge City, the murkiness continued. The winds were high in eastern Kansas, and as the day progressed, the prognosis was dire for high profile vehicles. Guess that’s us. The average wind speed was 30 plus miles per hour, with gusts to 47 mph, and the direction was from the south, directly perpendicular to our western line of travel. It made for a harrowing day, with Mo hanging on the wheel and me hanging on to the grip bar for dear life. We didn’t see much, and with temperatures in the mid 90’s, I didn’t have a great desire to stop and explore the few little towns that we passed.

I saw a large area of trees all stripped of leaves and broken apart, and remembered vaguely the horrific tornado that blew through Kansas recently. Sure enough, we were passing Greensburg, Kansas, site of the devastating tornado of 2007 that flattened the city.

We continued west through the wind to arrive at Dodge City around 4pm and set up camp at the Gunsmoke RV Park, one of only a couple of RV Parks in the vicinity. Full hookups with a nice laundry that wasn’t ridiculously expensive was a nice perk. As a kid, I was a huge Wyatt Earp fan, and in addition to watching the old TV series, I voraciously read all things Wyatt Earp, Bat Masterson, Doc Holiday, the Santa Fe Trail, and later I loved the series Gunsmoke. I wanted to see Dodge.

By the time we drove back the 2 miles or so to town, the visitor center was ready to close. I learned that the majority of the attractions in Dodge City only run through the summer, and that most of them are Disneyesque gunfights, a fake Front Street, a piece of what was left of Boot Hill inside the closed museum gates, and other sorts of contrived western adventures. Instead, I picked up the one small walking tour guide and we walked a few streets of Dodge City, including the infamous Front Street.

Throughout this part of town, there were several very well done plaques describing the history of Dodge, a bronze statue of Wyatt Earp, and the Trail of Fame, which consisted of a few seals in the sidewalks naming some of the famous historic figures of the era. The train depot was reconstructed, but a small part of the original building still stands. The buildings of Front Street had burned a few times, and were no longer the same. What I learned that was new, however, is that Dodge City is on the 100th parallel, a line that John Wesley Powell ( another of my heroes), set at the arbitrary break between the arable east and the arid west.

A few of the buildings remained from the late 1800’s but most of the historic buildings still in existence were from the early 20th century, during the heyday of railroading and the wealth that came along with it. I knew that Dodge City was central to the history of the west, but I didn’t realize until today that it was also central to the devastation of the huge bison herds that roamed our country. It was to Dodge that the hunters brought their hides, leaving behind literally millions of carcasses rotting on the plains. It only took from 1872 to 1875 for the herds to be completely decimated., with an estimated 1.5 million hides shipped to the east. Later, poor homesteaders would gather the bones from the fields and sell them at 6 to 8 dollars a ton to be used in the manufacture of fertilizer and china. Half a century later, wheat crazed farmers would strip the thick deep sod from the plains as well, an ecosystem that cannot be replaced in a thousand years. It’s a sad story of destruction that is only surpassed by the stories of what happened to the First Nations people in our country. As I walked along the old Front Street, I felt the weight of this history in my heart, as well as the romantic dreams of the west that I had as a ten year old.

September 19 Visiting my son in Missouri

Our planned route today through Southern Missouri meandered through the hills and valleys of the Ozarks. When we woke this morning, the humidity was so high that the windows were covered with water so heavy it looked as though it had been raining. All that humidity creates a steamy murkiness to the skies that dulls the view a lot. Route 160 through the Ozarks is narrow and winding, and only occasionally opens up enough for a view of the larger landscape. Again, I was disappointed in the lack of anyplace to stop, or park, or even slow down a bit to take some photos. We passed some picturesque old barns, farms, and fences that would have been pretty to photograph. Instead, we kept ambling along, with not an inch of shoulder on the road, and I took a few very bad photos through the windows so that I could remember how we traveled.

The focus for this day wasn’t to spend time seeing Missouri, it was to get across Missouri so that I could visit my son who lives near Joplin, on the western side of the state. His life doesn’t allow him much opportunity to travel, so it is good that I can go to him. We planned to park in his yard, after he assured us he could plug in the MoHo and there wasn’t any problem with being there.

Once we arrived, however, it was pretty clear that was a mistake. John’s home is more than 100 years old, a remodeling work in progress, and the electric system couldn’t handle the 20 amps we needed just to run the air conditioner. With the temperature in the mid 90’s and the night time temperatures not much less, air conditioning was a requirement and we relocated to a nice park not too many miles away.

Once settled into the Big Red Barn RV Park in Carthage, Missouri, with full hookups and the air conditioner funning full blast, we relaxed into visiting with John and his friend Shannon. Supper at a new local restaurant gave us time to talk and laugh together over a good meal, and keep nice and cool while doing so.

It was great to spend some time together, to catch up on family goings on, to share some hugs. I am hoping that John will make it out west again soon to visit and see his sisters. The last time he was able to come west, (other than when he was truck driving) was for our family reunion in 2007. John loves Missouri. He has lived here for most of his life, and his father is close by. He loves the warmth and doesn’t mind the humidity. He just laughed at me as he watched the water pouring from my body and my dripping wet hair.

More photos are here, (some the not so good windshield variety), and others of my son are linked here>