Military Family Camps – Page 2 – The MoHo and Other Traveling Tales

1-13 and 1-14 2014 Big Bend to Seminole Canyon to Corpus Christi

I guess it is time for a reminder. Mo had forgotten this little trick and she reads the blog often. Hover over the photos for the caption, and if you click on them you will get a larger image.

Seems as though Big Bend struck a popular note for blog readers. Lots of folks have either visited or wished that they could and I have enjoyed reading the comments about the different ways of visiting the park. Some have immersed for a much longer time than we did, doing many of the hikes we couldn’t. Others traveled through for just a day-long road trip, and still managed to see the Scenic route, Santa Elena Canyon, and the Chisos Basin. Many expressed a desire to return for more time. That is my desire as well, and it was with a bit of nostalgia that we packed up on Monday morning getting ready for the long drive across south Texas to our next destination.

After last night’s sunset, with all the clouds milling about, it was surprising to wake to perfectly clear skies and a LOT of wind. The previous day driving through the park, the winds had been up to 35 MPH, and on the high exposed ridges, sometimes it felt as though the kayaks would just lift us, car and all, and dump us into the desert. Didn’t happen, of course, but we were a bit worried about those winds, so Mo double checked all the rigging for the bikes and kayaks before we left on our next leg of the journey.

From point A at Rio Grande Village in Big Bend, to point F at the NAS Corpus Christi is 557 miles, more than we wanted to do in a day. I spent some time last summer trying to figure out this route and where to stay, but it was again with the great letter from MBZ that I found Seminole Canyon State Park, (Point B). At first I thought I wouldn’t bother to make a reservation, but thought again and did so. I was glad I had when we arrived Monday afternoon and discovered the park nearly full.

The drive was uneventful, the Panther Junction highway north to Marathon travels through large alluvial desert landscapes that were a bit less than spectacular. There was dust in the air from the winds, but thankfully those winds died down a bit during the day and we had no problems.

In Marathon we filled up the MoHo at 3.53 per gallon, a mistake since we could have continued a few miles farther to Sanderson where fuel was back to the going price of 3.07. I tried to look up gas prices with Gas Buddy, but somehow missed the opportunity at Sanderson. The only station at Marathon was quite small, and I asked the owner if it was the only station in town. He replied, “Now it is, that burned down building next door was a Shell station owned by my brother. We think it was lightning or something and it burned down a couple of weeks ago”. That seemed a bit interesting, I thought. Two gas stations owned by brothers in a little town and one burns down?

The route was uneventful, with large spaces filled with emptiness punctuated by an occasional ranch gate and somewhat dull wide landscapes. This part of Texas was as empty as Big Bend, but instead of being really empty, there were fences and telephone poles, and garbage on the roadsides.

Once we again approached the Rio Grande River to the east, the landscape shifted a bit, with shallow canyons and rolling hills covered with brush giving a reprieve from the boredom. We arrived at Seminole Canyon around 2 in the afternoon, checking in at the visitor center for our reserved campsite. What a surprise!!

It seems that Seminole Canyon is home to one of the more fascinating rock art sites in the southwest. Unlike the Fremont and Anasazi rock art in the Utah and New Mexico canyons, the pictographs in Seminole Canyon are from a separate group of indigenous people and are referred to as Pecos Style. There are no petroglyphs (carved images in stone) but the pictographs (painted images) are beautiful.

The visitor center had some wonderful imagery of what we could see in the canyon below, but we discovered that the only way to hike to the Fate Bell Shelter was on a tour. Tours are conducted by volunteers at 10AM and 3PM. Hmm…it was 2:30. Could we get set up and back down to the center in time for the tour? Were we really UP for a tour after driving all day?? Yup, of course. You do it when you can. Rest is not an option if there is something cool to see that we might never see again.

Our guide, Kevin, was incredibly informed, and wonderfully talkative. He explained in detail about the different plants, showing us which yucca worked best for making rope, and which plant had the most saponin, used as an emulsifier with pounded rock to make the paint used in the pictographs.

The path to the shelter was in good shape, with paved rocky steps and guardrails where it was steep. It was only a mile or so down into the canyon. Even though Seminole Canyon drains into the Rio Grande, it isn’t an actual river, just a big “wash” that fills with water from overland flow after rains.

We enjoyed all the detail of the tour, and since we were the only two people on the tour we had Kevin’s undivided attention. Forgot to mention, the tour costs $5. per person, and we had no idea, so didn’t bring wallets. The park staff said, “Fine, just drop it by in the morning before you leave”. Pretty nice.

Kevin took us into the shelter, explaining the various pictographs and discussed the saddest aspect of all. The limestone walls, after 4,000 years, are degrading, and the pictographs so visible for that time are disappearing. In the 1930’s, an artist/historian Forrest Kirkland painted detailed watercolors of the images, and there are displays of those paintings at the site. Comparing what they saw in the 30’s with what is seen now, the expectation is that the rock art will only be visible for another 25 years or so.

Questioning why there hasn’t been similar deterioration in Colorado Plateau rock art, he suggested that the humidity form the giant Amistad Reservoir has shifted the climate and the limestone is susceptible to degrading as a result. Interesting theory. Another interesting theory links the Pecos Style rock art to the Huichol Indians of Mexico. A new book by a recognized authority on rock art will be coming out soon that discusses this possible relationship.

By the time we got back to the campground, the sun was getting low in the sky. The campground sits high on the mesa above the canyon, and we were asked if we wanted a pull through site with no view or a back in site with a better view. We were directed to site number 1, and had no idea what she meant by a view. The only view we had was from the step of the MoHo of the flat, brushy mesa and our very nice shade shelter.

Best thing about this park was the number of trails that follow the perimeter of the canyon. The trails are all dog friendly, although prickly things abound and Mo spent some time picking stickers from Abby’s paws even in the area around our camp. It was too late to take the six mile trail to the Panther Cave overlook at the junction of the canyon with the Rio Grande, and even too late for the 3 mile hike along the edge of the canyon. Darkness was falling quickly and we were ready to relax.

Still, I was surprised at this great little park, with electric and water, a good dump station that was actually angled the right way, and a wonderful visitor center with nice trails. A good spot to spend some time. As usual, this trip is an exploratory one for us, covering new ground and finding places that we may want to see again and give a bit more time. Not sure if this would be a destination, but if we were passing this way, I might stay two nights at least to give us a full day of hiking and exploring.

On Tuesday morning we continued east toward Corpus Christi, following a route farther south than Google Maps suggested. I didn’t want to go up to San Antonio and through Pleasanton, wanted to see parts I hadn’t seen before so we drove south to get fuel at the HEB in Eagle Pass. Daughter Deb discovered HEB stores when she lived in San Antonio and says they are even better than our beloved Fred Meyer stores in the northwest. Sure enough, I found some guacamole, fresh made and fantastic, a couple of bottles of wine and a few supplies that we needed while Mo fueled up the rig at the big station with the best price around.

The rest of the day, through Carizzo Springs, and east toward Alice, we were somewhat appalled at the level of ugliness. Oil is king here, and the highway I chose was heavy with big truck traffic, and where the traffic was less along highway 44, the road was bumpy like a roller coaster. The views were of what is called “Texas Brush Country” and it was definitely brushy. It was also flat, but the brush made it seem really claustrophobic compared to some of the flat country we have been farther north.

There are huge wild game reserves in this area, with gates so big we sometimes wondered why someone would build a house so close to the road. Oops, nope, it is a gate. We saw some Orricks and some other wild animals behind the fences, lined up ready for someone to shoot them. I once worked for someone who came down here to shoot a wild boar, and I had to dust that dang thing down in the game room. Haunted me.

The landscape just seem to get flatter and flatter as we approached Corpus Christi, a wide coastal plain without much to see right up to the point when we entered the Naval Air Station gate and could finally see Corpus Christi Bay to the…north?? east?? south?? I make maps, remember? I have a great sense of direction, remember? Well here on this flat coastal plain where the water is everywhere and the big water is in the wrong direction, half the time I have no idea which direction I am facing.

We checked in at the marina as directed, and decided on one of the available water front sites with a large cement pad and full hookups. We were warned that it could be windy and that there was a lot of sea spray. Still, we wanted the site because it seems as if it is all alone our here on the peninsula, even though the campground is full. Sure glad I had a reservation here!

The laundry is just across the way from our site, so I trundled off with soiled rugs and blankets to discover a huge, clean beautiful laundry with home style machines and they were all free! Yippee!! I just love having the chance to freshen everything up without having to pay a huge ransom to do it.

We watched the sun set and the moon rise at the same time, tried to figure out which way was east and which way was west…oh yeah…that sun thing, but it still didn’t help much when looking at the maps and trying to figure out which way we were traveling the next day. Everything, I mean everything is at an angle of some sort and is surrounded by water. It is fun, and after a few days here I am beginning to get my bearings, but I was surely glad for all the map aids I had in the baby car when we went exploring.

We have been here for a few days now, with some fun adventures in Port Aransas, on North Padre Island and the National Seashore still to write about, and a great time meeting up with friends. More to come soon!

The Mighty Columbia

(This post is from February 21 and 22 )

After two days of quilt shopping all along the Oregon Coast, it was time for us to relax back into our original plan to explore places yet unseen by both of us. Fort Stevens, Fort Clatsop, Astoria, and Long Beach on the Oregon Coast all have one thing in common. The incredible history of Lewis and Clark and their journey to the Pacific is the thread that ran through the rest of our time during our coastal road trip. Being winter, the beaches were beautiful, but cold and windy, and lazy beachcombing explorations were cut short when we would look at each other and say, “OK, Enough!”

Mo’s family, originally from North Dakota, relocated to the small mill town of Columbia City on the Columbia River north of Portland when she was just a toddler. She grew up with that truly mighty river in her backyard, a playground for homemade wooden rafts and watching the passing freighters. In spite of this, she doesn’t remember thinking much about the passage of Lewis and Clark down that same river.

I relocated to Idaho in my late 20’s and spent the next 25 years or so mapping soils throughout Lewis and Clark territory, sometimes actually walking on the trails they walked north of the Lochsa River and over Lolo Pass, and having lunch at Canoe Camp along the Clearwater. I mapped Nez Perce lands and in the process learned much about their interaction with the Corps of Discovery. I was fascinated then by their story, and for me this trip to the final destination of that amazing journey was extra special.

Our campsite at Fort Stevens was cloaked in mist when we woke on Tuesday morning. Our plan was to explore a bit and then move south to Camp Rilea, a Military Family Camp with full hookups and good television for a mere $20 per day. I can see why Fort Stevens is such a popular camp in the summer, with more than 500 spacious sites, lots of history and long stretches of open beach. For us, on this windy and cloudy morning, we decided to first check out the wreck of the Peter Iredale, one of the more than 2,000 ships claimed by the treacherous Columbia River bar since 1792, earning the bar the name “Graveyard of the Pacific”.

We had the beach to ourselves, and I worked very hard to get my photos to show something other than a seriously gray landscape. Even Abby wasn’t too interested in running on the cold, wet beach. The sands on this part of the Oregon coast are much finer as well, and darker in color, so with all the storms, the water was thick and muddy as the waves crashed inland.

Following our map of things to see at Fort Stevens, we drove north to the South Jetty and the ocean and wildlife viewing platforms at Clatsop Spit. As we approached the jetty, huge waves were crashing over the rocks and we were glad for the viewing platform to at least get a glimpse of the wild ocean.

The north and south jetties at the mouth of the river were built between 1885 and 1895 and served to keep beach sand from clogging the river. The sands have built up over time and the shoreline is now actually a full mile farther west than it was when Lewis and Clark arrived in 1805.

We drove through the State Historic Site portion of the park, with it’s tiny museum, but chose to continue to one of the historic batteries to get out and explore. Fort Stevens was actually constructed in 1862 during the Civil War and remained active until shortly after World War II. Although the guns have been removed, the concrete batteries remain.

We climbed the moss covered steps of Battery Russel and walked alone among what was left of our nation’s defense against a Japanese invasion. In fact, Fort Stevens was the only military installation on the continental United States to have been fired upon since the war of 1812. If you enlarge the photo on the left, (by clicking on it) you can read the information on the sign we found at the site. There is so much to see at Fort Stevens, and I can see how lovely it might be on a summer day, but because of the season, we had it almost all to ourselves. I know the weather here can be iffy any time of year, however, so even a summer trip would require plans for rain and wind and fog.

With most of the morning gone, it was time to get back to the rig and move our camp south to Camp Rilea. Just a couple miles south of Fort Stevens, Camp Rilea is an armed forces training camp first established for the National Guard in 1927. Even though there were only ten sites, all on pavement, I think we enjoyed it more than any other MFC we have visited. Once settled into our spot at the end of the line, we had wide open view of the pristine white buildings and red roofs surrounded by acres and acres of perfectly mowed grass, occasionally dotted with a large herd of Roosevelt elk that casually wandered through the grounds.

Once again settled in, we decided to return via Highway 101 to Cannon Beach, where I hoped to get a view and a photo of the famous Haystack Rock, the oft photographed icon of the Oregon Coast. By the time we got there, it was late afternoon, but in spite of the rain and wind, there were a few hardy souls walking on the beach and exploring the town that calls itself the Oregon coast answer to California’s Carmel. With some effort, we found beach access and walked down to the famous sea stack.

Cannon Beach was delightful, even in the rain, but Mo waited in the misted up car with Abby while I explored beautiful galleries and colorful candy shops. We then found the historic Driftwood Inn just in time for a happy hour Irish Coffee before going back north in the waning evening light.

Tomorrow: Astoria, Fort Clatsop, and Seaside

Don’t believe everything you read on the Internet

Seems as though time just slides by beautifully when winter slips in. This was a work week for me, and the one day I had to drive to town to the “real” office was the day before the huge northwestern snow storm blew in. Lucky me! The rest of the week I worked at home, snug as can be in my little office with the wood stove cranked up high and the cat snuggled in next to me in his bed. Mo plowed a few times, I shoveled and ran the snow blower, and we hauled half a cord of wood to the porch, but the storm didn’t cause us a bit of trouble.

I am working on a rocky soil problem, and my head is filled with stones, cobbles, boulders, and gravels of all sizes. Each of these has a specific size and description of course, and eventually I will get it all sorted out and plugged into all those nice little NASIS fields and someday someone will request some interpretations for the Knot Tableland and out will pop a nifty little report, generated specifically for their area of interest from the data we gather, refine, and populate.

As I sit in the office fiddling with numbers, my mind wanders back to 2004 and 2005 when I was mapping out on the Knot Tableland, and dug a ton of holes in those stones, cobbles, and gravels and described those soils. It was hot and dry, and most of the time I was alone. That is the way we work in soil survey more often than not.

So this week, my mind has been split between recalling those memories as I look at my old descriptions, and talking on the phone with the project leader in Klamath till my ear was sore. ( I gotta get another ear piece!) We resolved the issues, and on this Saturday night, two more soils are written, cleaned up, and put to bed in NASIS.

Then, right in the midst of the worst of the windy snow, I got a call from my daughter Deanna saying that she and her husband were coming down the five and did we want to meet them for a short visit before they chained up to go over the Siskiyous. Wow! Deanna and Keith have their own truck and haul jet engines all over the country, but they haven’t been down this way in at least two years. I don’t get to see my daughter very often, so Mo agreed to drive, whiteouts or not, and we headed over the pass to Medford.

We had a great visit at Shari’s, next to the big Pilot truck stop where they could park the rig. I even remembered to bring the sweater I am working on for Deanna to check the fit. It was perfect and she likes the colors. I still can hardly believe this little girl of mine drives that great big truck.

Somehow, in the midst of everything else, remembering the last days of our trip home from the desert up the California coast just slid right by with an occasional thought, “Oh yeah, that!”. So here is the promised “rest of the story”.

When we left Vandenberg, there was a bit of fog hanging around making the hills look mysterious and mystical. The route led through Pismo Beach, a beautiful place to spend some time, but since it was only 9:30 in the morning when we arrived and still quite foggy and chilly, we decided to continue on to San Luis Obispo. First I had to check out the local quilt shop, and with early morning traffic in the small town almost non-existent, we had no trouble parking the MoHo right in front of the store. I browsed through the windows, but decided that waiting another 90 minutes for them to open was silly and we continued on toward breakfast.

Our route home from Vandenberg AFB could have been simply a run up the 101, but why do simple when challenging is an option. We instead decided that we were up for the winding beauty of California’s scenic coast highway 1. Listed in many places as one of the most beautiful drives in the world. Why in the world would we miss the chance to crawl along the steep cliffs overlooking the Pacific Ocean in a motorhome towing a car.

One of my favorite restaurants along this part of the coast the the Apple Farm in San Luis. We were seated in the beautiful glassed in gazebo with brilliant sun shining in the windows framing the lovely hills surrounding us. As usual, breakfast was scrumptious, with home fries and “California Scramble” which included lots of spinach, artichokes, olives and other California stuff. I really appreciate my California upbringing and being exposed to things like artichokes, avocados, and olives as everyday food. I grew up eating lots of fresh stuff from the lush gardens and orchards where we lived that are now just pavement.

We continued north to Morro Bay and our last chance to hightail it back over to the simpler route along 101. The sun was out, the skies were clear, and when we saw the sign saying it was only another 135 miles to Monterey we decided to go for it. It was a great drive. Winding and a bit challenging at times, but nothing too difficult. The only thing about this road that is bothersome is the lack of places to pull over and actually spend time. I was in the passenger seat, and the skies were a just a little bit murky from the morning fog, so my photos aren’t that great. Of course, with the proliferation of digital photography and google search, there are at least a bazillion photos of every single stretch of this beautifully amazing stretch of road. I even have some from other trips we have taken, so I wasn’t too concerned about missing out. In fact, it was nice just being able to do the white knuckle thing now and then without worrying about photography.

Our evening destination was the Military Family Camp at Monterey Pines RV Park and Golf Course. This camp is on the grounds of the Monterey Naval Postgraduate School. We called ahead for a reservation, because even at $30 a night, that was cheap for anything else around that part of California. It was good that we did, because the camp was nearly full. Our rig is technically 26 feet long, and that is what I answer when asked when making a reservation. We were given a nice pull through site on the phone, but when we arrived we were told she had moved us to space 22. I think it was the shortest, tightest space in the park, and a big 40 footer was in our originally assigned space. After crawling around slippery ice plant to try to hook up, and struggling to get level, we decided that in the future we should say we are 30 feet long so we won’t get relegated to the worst sites in the camp!

The campground is adjacent to a beautiful golf course, but the camp itself is really crowded and tight, and is backed up directly to the airport and hangars. Loud noise for much of the night, and the occasional bomb going off now and then made things interesting. We settled in, and decided to try to find a grocery store. Safeway was only 1.5 miles away, but my gosh, the traffic was horrendous! One of those things I forget about California until I get back there. We were glad for a nights rest and hookups, but might not try to come back to this one unless absolutely necessary. There aren’t any Passport America parks anywhere in the vicinity, though, so it was good for a night.

The next day we decided to do another 250 mile run and spent some time searching around Streets and Trips, CampWhere, and AllStays for a place to spend the night. We considered trying to get as far as Trinidad and the free casino, but then found a beautiful little park right on the 101 just north of Willits. Creekside Cabins and RV Resort looked really great on the internet. I tried calling to verify the Passport America Park status, but no one answered so I left a message. After driving through the Bay Area, we were ready for a nice night in a quiet place.

Winding down into a damp, dark canyon, we felt a bit of consternation, but thought maybe the park would be OK. The turn in came up suddenly and we pulled into the driveway only to discover a huge iron gate, tightly closed. It was dark and spooky there, even in the afternoon, but I got out and rang the bell. No answer. We were in a pickle because the rig was cocked at a weird angle and there was no way we would get the car unhooked and we couldn’t back up or turn around. I finally walked into the park and realized that this place might not be the best place to be. There were really old rigs with blue tarps, big dogs with spike collars, strange looking people, and a LOT of junk.

I finally flagged down a somewhat “high” dude and asked him if he could open the gate to let us come in and turn around. He was hemming and hawing but then the camp host appeared, another strange looking woman with wild hair and a gazillion tats and piercings, and said we could come in and look around. One of the reasons we wanted the park was to see some TV that night, Mo was looking forward to one of the debates, and when this woman said, “Yeah we have maybe 6 channels”, we decided boondocking was a far better choice and we managed to get turned around and outta there! Whew!

It was getting late and dark but we got back on the highway thinking we could find a casino, or a pull out or something. I had no cell phone signal, but unbelievably there was still a Verizon signal on the MiFi and I found a park about 40 miles farther up the road. We pulled into Richardson Grove RV Park a little bit later, settling in just before dark and hard rain started falling. We thought we had it handled when we left Monterey. I used all the tools available, found a Passport America Park, used the MiFi and GPS to find it, and still ran into the unknown factor. We still laugh about just how much different that Creekside park looked in person than it looked on the nice internet web site. By the way, it was no longer a Passport America Park, either, and the fees would have been 40 bucks for one night if we had decided to stay.

We surely were glad to return home the next day to our beautiful, safe, cheap, gorgeous space A12 at Harris Beach State Park in Brookings. Ahh, home, or almost home. It was so good that we settled in for two nights and three days before packing up the Tracker, putting the MoHo to bed in the storage building, and traveling home to Rocky Point.

Bungalow Heaven and taking the coast route home

As I sit here at my desk in Rocky Point, it is hard to believe that less than a week ago I was ambling along the coast highway in brilliant sunshine. The sun is brilliant out my window today, but it is reflecting brightly off the first significant snowfall we have had since October. I say significant, but I think it is hardly more than an inch or two out there, nothing to worry about, but also nothing to help with the local scanty snowpack.

Our time in Desert Hot Springs was perfectly incredible, with sunny skies and warm temperatures the entire time we were there. Our trip home up the coast was equally as brilliant, with a bit of morning fog here and there but not a drop of rain and not even the typical coastal overcast to mar the warm days. We only needed a jacket now and then to ward off the slight chill of ocean air and breezes.

We left the desert on a sunny morning, late enough to miss the worst of the LA traffic and yet early enough to spend a couple of hours on a sweet little side trip without compromising our planned nightfall at Vandenberg Air Force Base. I was born just north of Pasadena and raised in the adjacent mountain town of Sierra Madre. LA smog and traffic, and the crush of people drove me out as a young person, but there are some sweet memories of the area as well. One of those memories include the solid coziness of the modest bungalow homes on the shady oak lined streets.

I always dreamed of having one of these Craftsman bungalows, with trapezoid pillars, wide porches and big oak doors. I remember the sunlight playing on my gramma’s hardwood floors and the smell of baking cookies. Something about a Craftsman bungalow really takes me back to a life with different values than what we have today. No McMansion for me, please, just a perfect little bungalow. Ah well, so far that dream is one I have had to set aside, but I still love to cruise old towns looking for the perfect dream Craftsman.

Bungalow Heaven was a place on my want to visit list for a long time, and on this bright sunny California morning we parked the rig at a shopping center and took the time to drive to the approximately 12 square block area in Pasadena that has been set aside as a “Landmark District” I wasn’t disappointed, although I had forgotten how dark some of these houses can be with their overhanging roofs and wide covered porches. I guess sunlight isn’t in short supply in Southern California and the shade of the huge old live oaks and dark porches are a welcome relief.

The rest of the day was uneventful, with amazingly light traffic on the freeways, from the 210, to the Pasadena Freeway, to the Ventura Freeway, across the Golden State, and all the way to the 101. Piece of cake!! We thought about staying at one of the California State Parks along the beach, but they are expensive ($35 per night with no hookups) and crowded. Instead we just kept driving north to Vandenberg Air Force Base and the Military Family Camp we knew was waiting.

By the time we got there, most spots with electric were full, and it was a bit confusing to figure out where to go since the camp host was nowhere to be found. We opted instead for the $8. per night overflow camping where we could be away from the main part of camp and sleep peacefully. It was a bit like boondocking but with the extra safety factor of being on the base.

“On Base” however, had it’s own story! We read on the website that we should be prepared for a rig inspection and that we needed to go to the Lompoc gate rather than the main gate since they wouldn’t do inspections at the main gate. We arrived at the gate around 4, and after a bit of waving and gesturing, we followed the instructions of the officer and moved through the inspection area. I guess we didn’t need an inspection after all. Ambling slowly through the base, we were trying to find the campground when the dreaded blue lights started flashing behind us. Mo couldn’t figure out what she had done, since she is especially careful on any kind of military base, but sure enough he pulled us over.

We were informed that we had driven through the inspection station against the orders of the officer in charge and were to be escorted back to do it properly. The officer and his cohort led us through the base, to a proper turn around and then all the way back to the Lompoc gate. That was a bit embarrassing! It seems that a wave through didn’t mean what we thought it did! The inspection itself was strange. Several security folks told us to undo all the rig compartments (on the outside) and then they ran mirrors all under the bottom of the rig. They told Mo she had to stand in the holding room, and that I had to get out of the rig. When I told them not to lose the cat, they relented and said, “Oh fine, you can stay in there”. Funny part of the whole thing is that they never once looked INSIDE the rig at all!

We passed the inspection and drove once more through the base to find the Family Camp. It turned out to be a decent place to spend one night, but I don’t think I would want to stay here for any length of time. The only good part is that it is conveniently located to the coast, just 41 miles to Pismo Beach, and about the same to Solvang. It is cheap in a part of the state where there isn’t much available, even with our Passport America pass.

After reviewing Streets and Trips and doing some internet surfing (I LOVE the MiFi) we settled in to a nice supper and an early evening of reading and sleeping as the fog rolled in and muted the waxing moon. Instead of traveling fast, we decided to go just another 200 miles the next day to another family camp in Monterey.

Next: Monterey Pines RV and Golf and don’t depend on what you see on the internet!

Miles driven: 267

The Coastal Route 101

There are two major routes available to travelers attempting to traverse the length of California. I-5 is a straight shot from Oregon all the way south, fast, and unless you are skilled at paying attention to fine details, incredibly boring. Highway 101 on the other hand, is gorgeous, a winding road that narrows to two lanes fairly often, and skirts the edge of the Pacific at least part of the way.

When we left Trinidad in the morning, the skies were clear and the predicted rain nowhere in sight. We caught the early morning light gilding the waves and meandered through coastal forests intermingled with dunes, beaches, and hills shrouded in intermittent fog. It was my turn to drive, and with light traffic and beautiful scenery, I exclaimed over and over again, “I’m so glad we aren’t driving down the five again!”

The stretch I drove (hence no photos) all the way from Trinidad, through Eureka into Willits was paradise, and then things started to shift. The traffic got heavier, the drivers more aggressive, and we realized that we were no longer in heaven, we were in “the Bay Area”. Stopping on the side of the road near San Rafael, we switched drivers. Having lived south of San Francisco in Monterra for 25 years, bay area roads are familiar territory for Mo. She negotiated the lanes and the cars over the Golden Gate Bridge while I shot photos from crazy angles and navigated our route with a combination of the iPhone, the NUVI GPS, and the internet. Yes….the internet.

A week or so before we left, I decided to purchase a nifty little gadget called MiFi from Verizon. Last fall Laurie and Odel had theirs with them when visiting Rocky Point and it worked just fine. For a long time, high speed internet was an impossible dream out there in the forest, but lately a new tower has given us the delights of cell phone service. We still don’t have cable TV and my only option other than dial-up for the internet so far is HughesNet satellite, an expensive and fairly cumbersome system. Amazingly, the MiFi works great and I can actually do my work with it. And! it travels!! Yes!!

So far, it travels quite well and I have been having all sorts of fun doing internet stuff on the computer while Mo drives down the road. As we passed through San Francisco, I spent a bit of time searching out places to get cheap gas, found a restaurant to get some supper, and did some internet searches of possible boondock locations for Wednesday night in the desert. Thanks to Laurie for testing the Rocky Point Verizon bars, and to Randy for sending me a great email detailing how well the MiFi has worked for him while on the road.

For some reason, when planning the trip with Streets and Trips, I decided that we could make it to San Miguel in a day. I don’t remember seeing that it was nearly 500 miles, only that we could stay at the Camp Roberts Military Family Camp for ten bucks with full hookups. As the day progressed, we thought a few times about stopping earlier, but once we hit the bay area there really wasn’t a reasonable stopping point.

Mo did great, much better than I can do driving in the dark, and we pulled into the camp around 8pm. Now describing what it is like to drive into Camp Roberts in the dark is almost impossible. It is about two miles from the gate to the campground, and there is no light at all, and the road meanders around a portion of the camp that has been abandoned. Once we arrived, our reserved site was waiting, and setting up went smoothly, even with the tiny flashlight. No TV, and of course no internet, except I am now armed with Verizon and I had five bars of rip roaring speed. Amazing!

There are 22 sites in this camp, and there are absolutely no frills, but who cares?! I think we have paid ten bucks just to dump, much less camp. The highway runs parallel to the campground and is a bit noisy, but on a mid week dark night this time of year it wasn’t much of a problem. I read a scary post recently from Janna and Mike where someone attempted to hijack their toad while they were sleeping in the rig! Sure made me appreciate a reasonably safe place to park! We slept great and woke up early to 27 degrees showing on the thermometer and before the sun was all the way up it had dropped to 24. That is F, not C by the way. UhOh. Even though our little electric heater kept us cozy for the night, the outside water hose was frozen solid.

We still had plenty of water in the fresh tank and within a short time the sun brought the temperatures up dramatically. Mo thawed out the hose with the hair dryer, we cooked a good breakfast, and took our time getting back on the road since the day ahead was to be a short one.

San Miguel and Camp Roberts are just a few miles north of Paso Robles and our route east toward I-5 on highway 46. It was a fine stop for one night, but I surely wouldn’t want to actually camp there for any length of time. As we left the camp, I took photos of the abandoned buildings, and only in the distance did we see some nice buildings in good repair that were still in use. Mo did training at this camp back in the 80’s when she was in the Army Reserve, but she didn’t recognize much of what was left.