friends – Page 9 – The MoHo and Other Traveling Tales

The long trek home, and breakfast with Donna and Russ

February 24, 25, and 26 Friday, Saturday and Sunday

Once on the road again, we enjoyed the beautiful drive across the Astoria Bridge, once criticized as “the bridge to nowhere”. We crossed the Columbia River for the last time as we traveled its southern shore toward Portland. All routes pointing south encouraged us to cross the bridge at Longview and continue south through Portland on I-5, but we had other plans. As mentioned previously, Mo grew up in Columbia City, and it’s always fun to retrace old steps and check out how the old homesteads are doing.

The drive along the river was beautiful, even on a cloudy day, and traffic was light. Mo’s school still stood, and big old house that Mo grew up in didn’t look much different than she remembered. She laughed as we crossed the steep street that used to serve as a sledding hill when the occasional snow storm would hit. We drove on to the nearby St Helens to see the two houses that her grandfather built. They looked a bit worse for wear, but were still in use. As we drove around she told me stories of her aunts and uncles, grandma, and grandpa, and what it was like growing up in a small town in Oregon.

We kept our NUVI Garmin tucked away for the entire trip, relying on the phone to get us around, but for navigating freeways in big cities, Garmin Girl can’t be beat. Even in a city we know well, it was nice to have the image pop up when it came time to remember which lane we needed to get from the 30 to the 405 to the 5 going south. Traffic wasn’t a problem and Mo maneuvered through the city with ease.

By the time we got to Eugene, the threatening storm clouds turned to heavy rain, and we settled in to our free parking spot just in time. Our choice for the evening was the Valley River Mall in Eugene, reviewed both here by Laurie and Odel and here by Nina of Wheelin’It. I read both those reviews and easily decided we wanted to make use of this delightful free space for our night in Eugene.

Just across the parking lot was one of my favorite Mexican restaurants, El Torito. We had soup thawed, but it was time for a Marguerita and with our luck it was still Happy Hour at the bar. We had drinks for $3 each and a tremendous plate of fabulous nachos to share that made dinner completely unnecessary. The place was jumping busy and our cute little bartender asked us if we intended to “party like rock stars”. Hmmm. Not so sure I remember what that even means any more!

The next morning we were up just in time to button up the rig and see Russ and Donna drive up to our door. Their plan was to take us to their second favorite restaurant for breakfast since it was right on our route. We met the two of them once before in Eugene, and knew that a visit would be full of fun and laughter. Russ and Donna are really so much fun to be around. Russ is always doing something silly, cracking jokes and one liners, and Donna knows just how to bring out the best in everyone. We all laughed and played a bit in the remnants of snow on a parked truck. No, that snow wasn’t on our road, thank goodness!

Back on the road again, we traveled through all sorts of dramatic weather, including snow, sleet, rain, sun, and wind on the way west to Florence. Once there, the sky was gorgeous and we found blooming camellias lining the road next to the Joy of Quilting, where I decided another stop was in order.

In no time we were back at Harris Beach State Park, where once again our A10 site was the only one available on the front row with a view and cable. With the gorgeous sunshine and hardly any wind, we were thrilled to take another walk on Harris Beach as the afternoon turned toward evening. Finally, after carrying that firewood I bought originally the first night we were here, and carried the entire trip in the baby car, Mo built a big campfire. We sat outside enjoying the clear but chilly evening with our supper.

We have an ending routine that works pretty well for us. On our last night in Brookings, I do laundry at the park, where the machines cost just a buck and a buck quarter to dry. Mo gets everything cleaned and stashed for the night and we usually sleep without sheets since I want them clean for the next trip. In the morning we dump the tanks, add the smell prevention stuff to the gray tank, and head for town unhooked. We fill the MoHo, assuming that gasoline will be more expensive when we return for the next trip, and drive across the street for a McDonald’s breakfast before heading for the car wash to clean off the salt spray from the rig before slipping her back into the storage shed. This time our little routine was thwarted with the car wash all closed up, and it’s the only one in town. Since we are planning on coming back in three weeks, hopefully that salt residue won’t hurt anything till then.

Then with everything piled into the baby car, dog, cat, ice chest of fresh food still remaining, clothes I can’t bear to not have in both places, and other assorted flotsam, we make the 4 hour drive back over the coast range to Grants Pass and over the Lake of the Woods pass to home. Last year our routine was a bit different, traveling south to get the MoHo in Redding. We both have decided we like this routine much better. In fact, Brookings and Harris Beach are so darn nice we could just unpack the MoHo from storage and stay there without traveling anywhere. But not next time. Next time we will again travel south to California, hoping to find some warmth and some blooming wildflowers. I do love love love that RV life.

Meeting up with another blogging mentor

Last year when we were in Desert Hot Springs, Rick and Paulette were still tucked away at home in British Columbia, but since I follow Rick’s blog I knew that this time our visit would hopefully include a meeting with the two of them. I emailed Rick and we said we would catch up with each other sometime during the week. Rick didn’t waste any time and as we were relaxing with tea yesterday morning I heard the sound of a diesel truck slowly passing our site and looked outside to see a familiar face. Rick was hunting us down!

As is so often the case with RV bloggers, it was instant recognition and familiarity. We sat in the warm morning sun for awhile visiting and making plans to get together on Monday night at a local restaurant.

After our day circling the Salton Sea we were happy to spend Sunday relaxing, swimming, going for some park walks, and for me, knitting. I will be working on my daughter’s birthday sweater for a very long time. KarenInTheWoods saw a comment of mine regarding sock knitting and sweetly sent along a sock pattern to me. She called it a simple pattern, but I don’t exactly think it is THAT simple, Karen, but Thank You!! I’ll keep working on the sweater and try knitting up these fat warm cozy socks next winter. Karen mentioned that she loves to knit while riding along in the motorhome. I love that as well, although the bumpy California roads have made that attempt a bit awkward.

The warm weather and gorgeous sunshine is conducive to real relaxation, and we planned another day of the same on Monday so that we could watch the Rose Parade and then the Rose Bowl with our home team, the Oregon Ducks actually winning the Rose Bowl. Fellow blogger Merikay is actually in Pasadena seeing the parade and the game and I am looking forward to her stories about that fulfilled dream of hers.

After the parade and before the game we decided to drive out Dillon Road to the east to find Blair’s RV shop, highly recommended by Rick for obscure RV parts and an extensive knowledge base tucked away in the owner’s head. We found the small part we needed to fit the smaller than usual sewer pipe at Catalina and were on our way farther east to check out Thousand Palms Oasis. Our plan was to hike with Abby, but even on the east side of the Coachella Reserve we found signs saying “No Dogs”. Ah well, there are lots of other places where we can go with Abby and tomorrow we will head for one of them.

Mo and I both love roads that wind off into nowhere and as we drove back north toward Dillon road, we found an old worn out once paved track leading up into the hills. Let’s go! The road was rough, but the Tracker can handle that and we followed the path through the desert. The desert seems to be a very popular place for people and guns, because scattered along the road were several groups of people shooting. I noticed most of them had targets that looked like human silhouettes, and while shooting at bottles or bulls eyes seems innocuous enough, those human targets really bother me.

The road looked like it would wind back toward Indio Hills but instead we ran into a complete dead end right in the middle of a large group of young, somewhat rowdy looking shooters. They all had plugs in their ears and basically ignored us except for some irritated looks as we attempted to turn the tracker around on the half lane dirt track. I had a close up look at the guy’s pistol, black and pretty scary looking.

We found several places that looked as though they might be great boondock sites, but I didn’t think we wanted to compete with the shooters or listen to the gunshots all day long. The desert has an earned reputation as a haven for independent sorts of people that don’t particularly like rules and treasure their freedom. My favorite of all time, Ed Abbey, was one of those types, as are these gun toting shooters. Philosophies as wide apart as night and day, and yet both still at home in the desert.

Trundling back to our safe and sane site at Catalina, we turned on the game and spent the rest of the afternoon cheering along (and sending little encouraging emails to Russ) when the Ducks kept getting touchdowns. The game started at 2 and our dinner get together was scheduled for 6. It was an exciting game, with each team scoring like leap frogs, but the Ducks carried it off in the end. Our only problem was we had a half an hour drive to Palm Springs and had to leave during the last four minutes of the game. I fired up the phone and Mo fired up the radio and we managed to finish out that last four minutes while heading for town along Dillon Road.

Downtown Palm Springs was all lit up with Christmas lights and people were walking the streets as usual in the warm desert evening. Parking wasn’t a problem on a side street and we saw the smiling faces of our new friends waiting in front of the historic restaurant. Rick took some great photos and wrote about the restaurant as well, so I won’t try to do it all over again.

I will say that we had a great time talking about some of the similarities and differences between our two countries. My favorite part was learning that watching American politics is a spectator sport in Canada! Of course, Paulette and I share the delight of daughters, she has four and I only have three, and each of us has only one son. Discussing adult children and their various life choices made for some funny observations for all of us. Paulette is a lovely person with a great blog of her own all about her quilting passion and I so enjoyed having time to visit with her.

I must say that meeting Rick was wonderful. Back when I first discovered a blogging community, Laurie pointed me to Rick’s tips about how to manage blogger and blogging in general. I learned a lot from Rick, and he has never failed to almost immediately answer any question I have asked him via email with excellent instructions. I discovered in person a kind, funny, easy going man who is willing to spend time writing about stuff that many of us haven’t a clue about in a way that is understandable. There are times when Rick’s instructions get right to the point of some hidden trick and I really appreciate that he takes the time to put it out there.

Thanks, Rick.

Women and Dirt

A dozen years ago, a great soil survey project leader and I had a joke. If a woman collected rocks at 3, refused to come inside out of the rain, and loved mud pies, she had the makings of a soil scientist. When I first traveled into the world of soil survey in the 70’s, women soil scientists were rare. Times have changed, and more than half of the young soil scientists in the field are now women.

I had the pleasure of working with one of these dirt loving young women when I managed my last project in the foothills of California. Of course, we insiders know that “dirt” and “soil” are two very different things, but sometimes insiders lovingly refer to our particular specialty as dirty. AKA, the bumper sticker that says “Do It In The Dirt” and other such silliness.

Alison came to me by way of Chicago, detailing to California to map soils when we were bringing people in from all over the country to help complete soil survey in areas as yet unmapped. Most of the eastern and central parts of the country have existing soil maps, but out west there are many areas with no certified soil information available. Alison came with enthusiasm and energy and brought a great work ethic to Sonora. Her nickname was “Scoopy”, since not one of us could dig a hole as fast as Alison, guys included! Of course, the fact that she has run 10 marathons (including the Boston Marathon twice) probably helps.

Why am I talking about Alison on the travel blog? Because visiting in Florida gives me a chance to spend a day hanging with a fellow soil scientist who has also become a good friend. Alison left Chicago and took a well deserved promotion to Florida and loves it. With a project office in Tavares, a beautiful new home in Eustis, near the charming town of Mt Dora, and a life filled with year round running routes, Alison is happy. Her husband Matt has settled in as well, teaching marimba and music from their home, although he does mourn the loss of easy access to university culture.

With 8 days available for Bel I didn’t feel badly about taking a day on my own to drive south for a visit. Once again the open space of the roads around Ocala amazed me. Traveling east on 40 and then turning south on 19 led me through the Ocala National Forest and miles of traffic free highway. I passed Juniper Springs and Alexander Springs, remembering stories from Karen and Al’s blog about their camping sites in this part of Florida and day dreaming once again of the time when I will be here with Mo and the MoHo and the kayaks.

It was wonderful seeing Alison, laughing about some of our shared soil survey stories, catching up on good inside gossip about fellow crew members and work in general as we walked around her favorite little sinkhole close to her home. The area has been fenced and protected and has a great trail around the ravine through some lovely habitats. Why we were walking enjoying the warm breezes, Alison came up with a line that I loved. “People say we don’t have mountains in Florida, but we do…they are just up in the sky.” She said that watching the huge cumulus clouds build in the afternoons always gives her the chance to look up and appreciate the scenery.

Matt joined us for a drive to Mt Dora for lunch at the little French restaurant with a lovely patio and live music. Mt Dora is a storybook town, with surprising hills surrounding several lovely lakes lined with beautiful homes. Just down the road from the main part of town is the lakefront and boardwalk giving us another wonderful walk through the woods with views of the water. I still am trying to take photos of “velvet air” to no avail. I think a real photo challenge is getting a picture that evokes that feeling. Still haven’t managed it, but I keep trying.

Mt Dora was quite busy on this Sunday afternoon, with many people shopping the cute shops and stores. The Christmas music was piped outside with strains of “White Christmas” serenading the 80 degree balmy weather. Floridians really get into the Christmas thing, and the decorations are everywhere. Must be all those retired New Englander’s missing their homeland, but not enough to actually go back and weather the awful winters. I found a perfect Christmas flag that has eluded me, a sturdy applique two sided flag with good colors. Even an internet search didn’t yield anything I wanted. I will hang it in the snow at Rocky Point and remember this warm, delightful afternoon in Mt Dora.

Bel is doing well, medications are current, her health has improved a bit with the help of “Heart of Florida” in Ocala, and I had a chance to meet her neighbors and exchange contact information. Bel’s laptop is running well and she is getting used to using the mouse and Windows 7. She now knows how to get online, either in her back yard with a local internet from an agreeable neighbor, or a couple of miles away at Wendy’s.

By the way, Wendy’s is a really great connection spot, none of that interface stuff that happens at McDonalds, and a really fast connection. I have learned to search out a Wendy’s when I need to get online and don’t want any hassles. Wish I had a connection that fast at home!

I talk to Mo every day, and home has been uneventful. The night temps are in the teens with daytime highs in the low 40’s at best. I have enjoyed the break, the warmth, the sunshine, but I am ready to get back home to my real life. Time to haul wood, hug the dog and the cat, hang the flag, have cable TV and an internet connection again, and work in my home office in my pajamas.

Florida Velvet

Florida Velvet Air, at least that is how it feels to me. This morning I somehow slept in until 8:30 and when I woke the breezes were billowing puffy whites around a blue bird sky and the air felt like velvet on my skin. The prediction for today is in the 70’s. Bel and I ambled (yes I amble a lot with Bel) downtown to visit the Ocala Farmers Market in the historic town square. Just last night, we visited the same square to walk around the downtown streets for the First Friday Art Walk of Ocala.

So much seems to have changed around here in the last ten years or so that I have been visiting, but so much also remains the same. Fort King Street is still beautiful, lined with stately old Southern homes embraced by gnarled oak arms that cover entire city lots.

The square this morning was vibrant with color and happy people enjoying the sunlight and fresh food. I love seeing the painted horses from the Horse Fever event a few years ago. I think one of them actually auctioned for 80,000 bucks that went to the art council here.

Yesterday afternoon we slipped to the west side of town searching for a rib truck. Fabulous sweet sticky ribs, dripping with juice, served with yellow rice and green beans full of bacon fat. We sat on the picnic table in the parking lot and slurped up the amazing stuff watching lots of local folks dropping in to pick up supper in huge to-go bags.

I didn’t have the camera with me, sadly, because as we left the parking lot and tried to keep off the main route, I managed to slide into a part of Ocala people don’t talk about much.

In spite of all the years that have intervened, in spite of the fact that Ocala used to have a black mayor, this part of town could have come directly from the pre-sixties. My time warp again. Women on porches looking worn and sad, young men looking angry and sullen, tiny black ladies the color of ink walking slowly with carts and old sweaters. I know we have segregated neighborhoods out west, I have traveled in them in most cities, but there is something very different in the south, something residual, and it was disturbing. Poverty is disturbing wherever you find it, I guess.

After the market, this morning we dropped into a couple of downtown shops, Ocala Traditions, with gorgeous displays of fine china, sterling, and crystal set up on beautiful tables, and the Paddock, a large, wonderful store dedicated entirely to horses, hounds, racing, and fox hunting. Ocala is still the horse capital of the world (they insist it rivals Kentucky) and this shop catered directly to the genteel owners of the beautiful horse farms that surround the area. Those at least that haven’t been converted to gated communities with million dollar homes. After all, John Travolta hangs out here and lives just north in Anthony in a community that lets him land his jumbolair jet. I guess the difference between all this genteel southern stuff and that neighborhood we were in yesterday is still in the back of my mind.

As the afternoon slides by, the sun is still warm, I have downloaded all the photos and will eventually get down to Wendy’s to catch up on email and blogs and such. The time warp is definitely back again…I have no idea what time it actually is right now…maybe I’ll go for a walk.

Time stops in Florida

It probably doesn’t help that I just finished reading Stephen King’s novel “11-22-63” about traveling around in time. When I am here in Florida, I somehow feel as though I have stepped into a time-warp of sorts. Bel isn’t working, and her days seem to run together in a flow of cat food plates, letting kitties in and out of the door, a break for a cigarette, more cat play, and short store runs.

The first day I was here we delivered prescriptions to Wal-Mart. The second day I stood in line to pick them up, almost an hour for that process. Today we ambled mid-day down to Staples so I could buy a computer mouse for the laptop I sent her last month.

Tonight I think we are going to go downtown to see the First Friday Art Walk at the Downtown Square in Ocala. Those of you who know me, or even those who have read my stories for a bit of time, know that I usually am kind of attached to “getting stuff done”.

My job when here with Bel is to slow myself down and listen. To sit and knit, and wait until the time is right to do whatever I can manage to do to try to be a good friend to Bel. Yeah, it wears me out. I am not the least bit in control of anything at all. Bel’s conversation wanders, and I learn to wander along with her and learn not to tell her what she needs to do or when or how. Any idea how very hard that is for a type A person like me??!!

A good part of this morning was taken up with bathing. Bel doesn’t use her hot water heater, instead she heated up pans of water and provided me with several gallon jugs of perfectly warmed bath water to use in the shower. After 5 jugs I had a truly fabulous shower, clean hair including conditioner, and it felt just great. Reminded me of camping.

Yesterday after picking up the prescriptions I just couldn’t quite make myself go back to the house and instead I said, “How bout a trip to Micanopy”. Bel complied, as long as I stop for smoke breaks and make sure she has plenty of Mountain Dew, she is fine with a couple of hours or so in the car.

The sun was brilliant and warm coming through the car windows, and within minutes of Wal-Mart we were driving north on 336 toward Anthony and then on to MacIntosh and Micanopy, the “other” Florida. On the way, we passed through Citra, stopping for huge sweet oranges fresh from the trees.

When I was traveling the Alaska Highway, my favorite parts were the stretches without any other cars on the road and somehow in this part of Florida I get those same moments, minus the mountain grandeur of course, but still. Open road…no cars…either direction. The live oaks stretch across the road, dripping with gray Spanish moss, with vines meandering through the branches, catching all the light and reflecting it back like stained glass.

Micanopy is very nearly silent, quiet in the way it seems that only a southern town can be. Big old houses, old brick buildings now selling antiques, a bed and breakfast here and there, an ice cream shop. We park in the shade and walk the streets before being told by a storekeeper about the Thursday chicken and dumpling special across the street at the café. The bowl is styrofoam, but the chairs are “real” naugahyde and the chicken and dumplings are true south.

On the way back home, we stop at Lowe’s for something or other and are sidetracked by the garden shop, filled with blooming plants and flowers on this winter day in Florida. Bel, with her wacky sense of humor, finds a pink plastic flamingo and takes it for a ride in her cart until she finds a proper resting place for the poor guy. Time has stopped again. My real life seems far away and unreachable, in spite of the daily phone calls home. I feel a bit loose, a bit disoriented. My friendship with Bel is from another life, one I barely remember, yet still meaningful and important to honor. So here I am, in Florida, in the time warp.