On Monday, I left the Michigan city park and headed to Grand Forks to pick up the produce I’d failed to get the day before. Unfortunately… well, I’ll just say I’m glad I don’t have to buy my vegetables in Grand Rapids regularly.
(Digression: I just rewrote the above paragraph five times — literally, five times, maybe six — trying to politely phrase “lousy, over-priced, boring.” Because why? Because I don’t want to hurt the feelings of the vegetables? Because someone who owns a grocery store in Grand Forks, North Dakota might someday read my blog and get offended? Because I don’t want to be rude? Gah, sometimes I annoy myself. More directly, the local grocery store in Grand Forks was so dismal that I wished I’d gone to Walmart instead. I don’t think I’ve ever made such a wish before, or even conceived of the notion that such a wish could be possible. There. Rude or not, that’s the truth of my Grand Forks vegetable shopping.)
Post my disappointing Grand Forks excursion, I headed to an Army Corps of Engineers campground in Minnesota. My favorites, as you know.
But, ah, not that one.
Maybe my post-headache blues had just left me in a critical mood, but Leech Lake Campground was crowded & confusing, with small sites and narrow roads. I was ready for a place with good showers, which Leech Lake might have had. But when I realized that I’d missed the 1-3 PM registration window by 2 minutes and instead of getting settled into a campsite right away would have to go back to the front office at 5PM to register, I decided I’d just keep driving.
I feel a little guilty about that, because one of the reasons I missed the registration window was that I was dumping my tanks. But only a little guilty, because the other reason was that I got caught behind a very, very big RV trying to back into a reasonably small site and had to sit on the road behind it for about twenty minutes, while the driver tried to navigate between the trees. Fun, fun. At least I wasn’t driving the big RV!
I decided to head to a county park about an hour farther east, but along the way, I passed a national forest campground, Mabel Lake, and swung in to take a look. It was glorious. Absolutely fantastic dry-camping. For $14, I had a huge site (#22), surrounded by trees, with a short trail that led down to an adorable tiny beach.
Zelda at the beach
I could see the water between the trees (and there were other sites that had real water views), but my site was surrounded by gorgeous green trees. There were trails leading into the forest, and it smelled incredible. I don’t have the faintest idea what kind of trees or plants they were that smelled so good but every breath felt fresh and clean and… hmm, like Irish Spring soap, actually. Whatever plant Irish Spring smells like, that would be the plant that was growing in that delightful national forest.
There was only one small problem. Actually, no, there were only about a million small problems. I like to remind myself when I run into bugs that they are the sign of a healthy ecosystem. That they are essential to the well-being of the planet. That as long as they’re not in my space (indoors), I should respect that I’m in their space. But, OMG, the mosquitoes were insane.
If they’d just been willing to stay outside, I might not have found them so oppressive, but it was impossible to open the door to the van for even the quickest second, without a flood of them pouring inside and going on the attack. And the thing about mosquitoes, to me, is that I don’t actually care that much if they bite me — it itches, so what? — but I HATE the sound of them. The high-pitched buzzing in your ear and around your face is so damn annoying.
Mabel Lake was so beautiful and I loved my site so much that on Monday evening, I thought I’d spend a few days there, appreciating the sounds of nature, enjoying solitude and peace. On Tuesday morning, after I walked Zelda while wearing a scarf wrapped around my head and face like a bee-keeper’s shroud, I packed up the van and headed out. Good-bye, Minnesota! Next time I will come equipped with some industrial strength mosquito repellent and maybe I will love you more.
Michigan, North Dakota, that is. I’d be both impressed and worried about myself if I’d actually managed to drive all the way to the state since my last post. In actual fact, I didn’t even make it to Minnesota, which was my vague goal when I started out.
I’d only been driving for an hour or so when my windshield started… I want to call it fractal-ing, but that’s probably meaningless to anyone who hasn’t had the experience. Medically, it’s described as an aura, which isn’t the right word at all in my opinion. But off on the left side of my vision, the windshield started sparkling and crumbling.
My first thought was, “How pretty.”
My second thought was, “Oh, shit.”
My third set of thoughts went something like, “Caffeine, check. Pain killers, check. Dark, quiet place to sleep off a migraine, um, not so much.”
The next few hours were not particularly fun. I’ll skip the boring details, but eventually I found myself at the city park in Michigan. It’s not exactly a campground, but there are four electric outlets in a row, where campers can plug in and stay the night. The cost is a “Free Will Offering,” which in my case was $10. It was early enough when I got here that I didn’t plug in right away, didn’t even decide to stay. I just lay down and closed my eyes and gave myself some quiet time. After about an hour of quiet, quiet time — as in, the park is completely empty, there are no other people here, it’s just me and Z and the birds and the trains — I got up, plugged in and settled in for the night.
Before I went to sleep, I packed everything up. I told myself that in the morning, I’d get on the road really early, drive to a grocery store in Grand Forks to buy the vegetables I didn’t manage to get yesterday, and then drive most of the way across Minnesota. When I actually did wake up, though, I didn’t know what my hurry had been about. Instead of scurrying out of here, I’m enjoying some leisurely coffee and a fully-charged computer. My head still hurts, but it’s the lingering, post-migraine pain, not the intense stabbing pain, so I can deal with that.
Last night’s sunset, during Z’s good-night stroll.
But North Dakota continues to impress. Last night’s sunset was beautiful, and today is a gorgeous, clear, sunny spring day with a cool breeze. I know it’s the time of year — I might even have liked South Dakota if I’d gone there in June instead of late July. (South Dakota wins for my least favorite state — the reason the Badlands are called Bad is because they are, and my reactions to South Dakota can best be summarized as 1) How soon can I get out of here? and 2) Thank God I was not a pioneer housewife, I would have fled back to Pennsylvania after the first week on the plains.)
But still, North Dakota in June is a remarkably lovely place. I’m going to be just a little sorry to say good-bye.
I ought to try to find a link online somewhere, so that other people can also enjoy the wonders of my Costco camping chair, but I sorta think camping chairs are super personal. It’s the Goldilocks thing — I don’t want the low chair or the big chair or the chair with arm rests (although I do sort of miss the cupholder from my previous chair) — I just want the chair that’s sized exactly right for me. And this one is it. I spent a fair amount of time sitting in it on Friday and it really is comfortable, even for writing outside. Of course, computer screens are still challenging in outdoor light, so I doubt I’m going to start spending hours writing outside, but at least it’s an option now in a way that it wasn’t before.
Speaking of outside — I had a lovely relaxing Friday in Downstream Campground, in Riverdale, North Dakota. And then the weather changed. Oh, my gosh, did the weather change. I tried to view it as an opportunity to appreciate the Rumpl puffy blanket that I splurged on at REI in Seattle (after seeing how nice S’s was when we were traveling in Idaho and Oregon.) And I did appreciate the warmth, definitely. But I also gave in and turned the heat on, because 45 degrees, gray and damp, is just too cold. I actually woke up yesterday morning and thought, “It’s seriously time to head for Florida for the winter,” and then I remembered that it’s June. JUNE! There will be no heading to Florida for the winter until after I’ve managed to enjoy some summer somewhere.
Downstream Campground, though, is great. When I first got here, I bonded with the campground host over the niceness of Army Corps of Engineers campgrounds. She asked if I would be in the system, I said that ACOE campgrounds were my favorites and I would definitely be in the system, and she asked if I’d ever been to Arkansas. Yes! We exchanged stories about the delights of Arkansas ACOE campgrounds, and she told me to be sure to look for the nest of bald eagles — with babies — when I walked along the trails here. So far I haven’t spotted it, but the trails are great. I particularly appreciate the fact that they’re gravel, not just grass, because I’m still finding ticks and my tick paranoia is running rampant. I found one crawling on my neck yesterday — which obviously is better than finding one embedded in my neck — but still… ick. Just ick.
The back of the campsite on Friday, before the weather changed.
My site is nice — level, spacious, and with a water view, although only at the back. From the windows, I see other campers, but there’s plenty of room between the sites and lots of trees, so that’s okay. The showers were nice, too — clean, free, and with plenty of hot water. I’m glad I took one on Friday, when it was warm though, because campground showers when the temps are in the high 40s, low 50s are so not my favorite thing.
In writing news, I am still not figuring out how to write (fiction) while I’m on the road. I’m frustrated with myself, but beating myself up about it doesn’t actually help me get any writing done, just makes me unhappy, so I’m trying to be nicer to myself. But I’m binge-reading shapeshifter romances, which is largely a category of books I’ve avoided in the past. I like some of the urban paranormals that include shapeshifting — Patricia Briggs, Ilona Andrews — but the straight romances usually bore me. The library, however, has a plentiful supply of them, which makes for easy binge-reading. I’m going to say that I’ve read fifteen or so in the past week, by various authors, but I think the only one that I’m actually going to remember in a “oh, yeah, that was fun” sorta way was Shelly Laurenston’s Hot and Badgered. It was ridiculous but entertaining, but I think I mostly liked it because the hero is nice. Yep, nice. Not in a bland, inoffensive, lacking personality way, but in a stable, thoughtful, helpful and considerate way. I enjoyed him. Although not nearly enough to pay the ridiculous prices — $9.99 for an ebook? — that the publisher is asking for the other books in the series. Yay for the library.
But today is a driving day, so I should get moving. I actually don’t know where I’m headed — north, south? Eventually east, obviously, but I’m pretty sure I’ve got to start by deciding whether I want a fast major highway (to the south) or more interesting quieter roads (to the north). Will it be a long day, short day? If it weren’t for the fact that my sole remaining vegetable is a bag of shredded carrots, I might stay where I am for another day or two, but adventure awaits. Yep, the adventure of finding a grocery store and buying salad greens. Ha. My life is so exciting.
A long while ago — back in 2016, I think — I realized that I was already forgetting places, and I made a pact with myself to write about every campground I stayed in, so that my blog would be a true record of my travels. That’s easier said than done when I’m moving every single day.
But I’m pretty sure that I wouldn’t forget about the Far West Montana Fishing Access Site even if I didn’t write about it. For starters, it’s seriously pretty.
Z, taking me on a walk through the wildflowers.
It was also completely deserted when I arrived here on Monday. As in, I was the one and only person in the entire campground.
It’s also free, but not the typical “public land that you can park on” free — there are clearly marked campsites, with fire rings and picnic tables. Also, in my case, a nice view of the water. I think there are only two sites that actually open onto the water, but since I was alone, I felt no hesitation in taking one of them.
It’s also seriously tick-infested. Ugh. Every campground has a good news/bad news situation, and the ticks are definitely the bad news for this one. They’re making me totally paranoid. I’m being careful and I’ve still found five in the van. Fortunately, Z’s on a good tick prevention treatment, which I know, because one of the ticks was already dead. That’s my favorite kind of tick, personally. I also haven’t yet encountered my second-to-least favorite sort of tick, the one already embedded in my skin, or my least-favorite tick, the one that gives me Lyme disease or some other horrible tick-borne illness. At least I’m assuming on the latter, since I haven’t run into the former. Either way, ticks. Ick.
Before I knew about the ticks, though, I had a delightful Tuesday morning, spent sitting outside, in my brand-new camping chair. Yes, I found the camping chair! On Monday, I left Wyoming and headed toward North Dakota. Around noon, I found myself in Billings and despite knowing that it was a pointless waste of time, I made my way to CostCo. I told myself that they weren’t going to have the chair, but I could still get cheap gas and maybe some more of the really good cherries that I’d found in Bozeman. As it happened, the cherries were too expensive, I didn’t really need gas yet, but they had the chair! I was so pleased that I bought two of them, so the next time I have a guest in the van, I’ll even be able to offer my guest a comfortable seat. And it really was comfortable — because there are no arm rests, I even managed to write outside for a while.
Again before the ticks, I liked my free campsite so much that I decided to give myself a rest day, so I spent all of Tuesday enjoying my empty campground and my water view. I wrote a little, but mostly read books and made myself some delicious meals (spicy pasta with weird but tasty soybean noodles for one) and puttered around the van. I enjoyed it so much that I debated spending another day, but after the ticks, I decided I’d rather move on. I’m not sure I can escape from ticks, really, and Montana ticks don’t carry Lyme disease, so it’s not like I’m safer from the scary things by heading into the midwest where the ticks do carry Lyme. Still, I lost my enthusiasm for enjoying the grass when I found ticks in my bed.
But I woke up on Wednesday to unexpected thunderstorms.
Rain in the distance, but it was still pretty
My weather app still says it’s going to be a beautiful day, but it was thundering and lightning at that very moment. Since I didn’t want to drive in it, I decided to run the generator, charge up my computer, and write a blog post instead. And now that the blog post is done, I should probably make some decisions. Stay or go? Read another book or pack up the van? Work on Fen or head into my 49th state? Decisions, decisions…
You know how to find a grizzly bear in Yellowstone National Park? Just look for the traffic jam.
Sadly, that is not actually a joke. I didn’t take any pictures of the grizzly bear I saw, because I would have had to park along the road with dozens of other cars and my picture really would have been of lots of people taking pictures of a brown shape lumbering away off in the distance. Still, it was cool to see.
I also didn’t take any pictures of any of the elk I saw, not even the baby, or the mama bison with her baby for roughly the same reason. (The baby bison was so, so cute, though. Baby bison are adorable!) There are plenty of places to pull off the road and take pictures in Yellowstone, but on a Saturday and Sunday in June, they usually had plenty of cars in them. I admired the animals on my own slow drive-bys, but I didn’t stop.
The only animal I took a picture of was this bison, because it was wandering near the campground.
It was still incredibly beautiful. And immense! I knew in my head how big Yellowstone was (bigger than the smallest two states), but driving through it makes it a lot more obvious. It did feel like I was driving through a state, one with spectacular scenery, snow-capped mountains, gorgeous blue lakes, and plenty of trees. Also plenty of people, but that’s how it goes.
And that was not a disadvantage for me, mostly. Remember my foreshadowing? On Saturday, I managed to snag a camping spot for the night at Norris Campground. The spot was small and slightly sloped, and the campground was full, but it was still Yellowstone. I actually took that picture of a bison from within the campground, while Z and I were out taking a walk. ( I don’t have a better one because Z was highly disinclined to sit still while I played at photography. )
My plan was to leave the campground as early as possible Sunday morning and head to Old Faithful, hoping to beat the crowds there. I’m willing to guess that even if all had gone as planned, there would have been no way to beat the crowds. And all did not go as planned. As I drove away from my campsite, the van started making a funny noise.
My first thought was that I’d left something loose in the back. I paused and did a quick check — what could be rattling around? But the silverware drawer (always a likely suspect) was closed, and there was nothing visibly loose and rolling. So I drove a little farther. Nope, definitely a weird noise. Paused the van again and checked the fan — could something have gotten stuck in it? I turned the fan off, just in case it was a problem with the cover rattling, and thought grim thoughts about hail storms and broken roof attachments. I started driving again and it was clear that turning the fan off had done nothing. So I paused again, in the middle of the road, and got out to walk around the van.
The problem was obvious, as soon as I crouched down and looked underneath. A metal bracket was dragging on the ground. I think — and I admit, I’m mostly guessing — I think it is a bracket for the generator, to hold the generator in place. Whatever it is, it’s not the kind of thing that you want scraping along the ground, as opposed to doing its job.
I thought bad words. I thought about wire and duct tape and zip ties and bungee cords. I thought about finding RV service places in the middle of an enormous park, at least fifty miles away from anything, and how much it was likely to cost to have someone come fix it, but how very bad it might get if that piece entirely stopped doing its job. And then I thought that at the very least, I needed to get out of the middle of the only road around that campground loop, so I carefully, slowly, drove down to the parking lot.
And the advantages of being in a crowded place immediately showed up. I’m going to guess that I had my head under the van for under five minutes, still trying to figure out what exactly this piece was and what it needed to attach to when a nice guy wandered over and said, “You need help?”
Yep, I needed help. He took a look, told me there had to be a piece with a bolt in it somewhere along my path, but that he’d zip tie it up for me in the meantime. I went back to the campsite where I promptly found a long metal rod with a bend at one end and a bolt at the other, and by the time I made it back to the parking lot, he’d already zip-tied the piece back in place. I showed him the piece and he said he needed to get his trailer set up, but he’d try to come back and help me with it.
I spent the next while waiting, while also figuring out how the piece worked, where it was supposed to fit, how it needed to go back into place, and trying to get the bolt loose. Basically the bent end of the rod hooked over a hole in an attachment on the frame while the bolt end was attached to the dangling piece. I have no idea why it worked its way loose in Yellowstone — I didn’t hit anything and I didn’t hear anything on the drive there — but I suspect my bumpy drive in Gallatin had at least a little to do with the problem. I theorize that it had come loose from the frame (maybe during the crunch I had in eastern Oregon several weeks ago) but was caught on one of the wires or hoses, and the bumpy road plus the slope of the campsite was enough to finally shake it free.
Anyway, I was just starting to reach the point of thinking that Helpful Guy #1 must have gotten busy with kids or campsite set-up or his own responsibilities and forgotten about me, when Helpful Guy #2 showed up. I showed him the problem and he went off to his campsite and came back with a set of wrenches. He told me he’d been carrying it around for 15 years and this was the first time he’d ever used it. I laughed and told him that my collection of tools was always for the last problem I’d had, never for the one I was currently having. But he loosened the bolt from the rod, and then we put it back into place, he tightened it up for me, and I was good to go.
It was a very satisfying outcome to a morning that had started out with an unpleasant sinking feeling. I think that unpleasant sinking feeling comes with some associated energy costs, though: the adrenaline high of “Oh, no, scary problem that must be dealt with immediately,” turned into an energy crash soon thereafter. By the time I’d made my way to Old Faithful and watched it spout on schedule (along with a thousand or so other people), I was seriously tired, and so sick of crowds of people. I like people-watching normally. I love situations where I can watch families and speculate on what they’re like, what their stories are. But not Sunday. I just wanted to be in a quiet place away from strangers, even nice helpful friendly strangers. So I got on the road and started driving.
It was another completely beautiful drive, this time into Wyoming. I was headed to Cody, where I planned to turn north to Billings. But along the way, I kept passing campgrounds and thinking, “I could stop there.” And when I’d been stuck behind a person going 55 in a 70MPH for a half hour that felt more like two, I let the impulse take me into the driveway of the North Fork of Buffalo Bill State Park.
There is no possible photo that could do this park justice, because it is one of those places with spectacular scenery in all directions. Also huge campsites, absurdly easy to get into. They’re all pull-through spots, parallel to huge grassy fields. My current spot could easily fit an enormous bus. And although I paid $35 for a water/electric spot, I’m actually worried about the water pressure — it blasts out so fast and hard that even with a pressure adapter on my hose, I feel like it might break something. That said, the water is delicious, so I am going to try to fill up my water jugs without getting too wet in the process. I think it’s the first time that I’ve ever had campground water that was noticeably good. (I’m not really a water snob, but I do notice what water tastes like.)
One angle on the view at Buffalo Bill State Park, Wyoming
The showers were pay showers — $1.75 in quarters got me five minutes worth of water — but private, clean, and with (unsurprisingly!) excellent water pressure.
In fact, I liked the campground enough that I seriously considered taking a rest day. I’m still not entirely sure what my plan for this trip is — I seem to be vacationing an awful lot, instead of trying to figure out how to write (fiction) while on the road. Somehow, though, I found myself clean, packed up, and ready to go by 10AM.
The question was: how badly did I want my surprisingly comfortable, $29.99 CostCo chair? Badly enough to try to order it online, absolutely. Alas, it wasn’t on their website. But badly enough to return to CostCo for a third day in a row?
It took me a while to decide, but I really wanted that chair. That said, I definitely wasn’t paying resort prices for a campground for a second night. It was time to hit the wilds. Off I drove, into Gallantin National Forest, and a land of roads with no names, just numbers. Directly south of Bozeman, three campgrounds border the Hyalite Reservoir. The first one looked nice, but a review said the second one was great, if you were willing to drive along a bumpy, rutted dirt road for a while.
Bumpy roads? No problem, I’ve done that before. (This was probably a bad decision but I wouldn’t know that for a while. <–foreshadowing!) And that campground, Hood Creek, looked fantastic. Narrow, winding roads, but the campsites were on different levels, bordering the water, laid out for privacy and views. Unfortunately, it was noon on a Friday in June, and I was too late: the campground was full. The camp host suggested I give the next one down the road, Chisholm, a try.
I did. And… it was not great. It wasn’t horrible, but the available sites didn’t have water access or views or anything. It was $20 for your basic parking spot in the woods. I was tempted to keep driving. Maybe the first campground I’d passed would have an available spot? Maybe a campground back on the road to Yellowstone would be better? But I had no cell service, so no internet to research my options, and the skies were looking gray. Plus, well… I really wanted that chair. If I kept driving, I’d have farther to go to get back to get it. So I settled in with a book or two. (I’m currently reading everything Martha Wells has written, because I liked the Murderbot Diaries so much).
My campsite: a parking spot in the woods, basically.
Within the hour, it started to hail. I like the sound of rain on Serenity’s roof. I am not so fond of the sound of hail on Serenity’s roof. It’s funny how much a seemingly minor increase in volume can change a noise from comforting to threatening. But there wasn’t anything I could do about it, so I read my book and waited for it to stop. To the best of my knowledge, the van survived just fine. Of course, I have no way to actually get on the roof and check for damage, but eh. I’m going to assume it’s fine. If it’s not, I’m sure I’ll find out eventually.
After the hail, the sky cleared. I kept my nose mostly buried in my book and bright and early the next morning headed back on that bumpy, bumpy road for the 45 minute drive to CostCo.
*Sigh.*
I shouldn’t have been surprised, really. When I took S to CostCo in Eureka, I told her that if you see something you want at CostCo, you should always buy it right away because there’s no guarantee that you will ever see it again. A third helpful employee tried to help me find the chair I was looking for, but this time, it was like it never existed at all. She let me look over her shoulder while she searched her computer for variations on camping chair, backpacking chair, outside chair, but nothing matched the one I’d seen on Thursday. It was the magical disappearing chair. I should have known that a comfortable camping chair for $29.99 was too good to be true.
The good news, though, was that instead of driving to Yellowstone in a hail storm, I got to drive there on an absolutely beautiful, blue sky, perfect weather June day. But it’s now almost 10PM and I’m tired after an eventful day, so I’m going to save my Yellowstone stories — and my foreshadowing! — for tomorrow. (Spoiler alert: I’m fine, so is Serenity.)
On Thursday, I headed off, so optimistic about all the things that I was going to manage to fit into my day. Finding water for the tank was number one on the list, but I also needed groceries and windshield wiper fluid. Of course, I’d have to buy gas somewhere — it’s a daily occurrence when driving this much — and after a few nights without plugging into electricity, it would also be nice if I could find a spot where I wouldn’t feel bad about running the generator for an hour or so to recharge my computer. I wasn’t going to kid myself about getting any real writing done, but at the very least, I wanted to update my blog. That meant I also needed at least a short time of internet or cell service availability.
Cutting a long story short, by 5PM, I was tired, sort of frustrated, sick of driving, and had at least another hour of driving to get to where I’d been hoping to spend the night. And I still needed water. But then there, practically calling my name, was the Bozeman Hot Springs Resort.
It had only one problem: it was the most expensive resort I’d ever seriously considered staying at.
On the other hand, it also had one incredible virtue: with an overnight stay, you got a pass to the hot springs. These springs were swimming-pool/hot-tub style, and easy walking distance from the campground. There were 9 different pools, or maybe 10. (I feel like I remember 6 inside, and I know there were 4 outside.) It also had live music, with a singer-guitarist on a stage in front of one of the outside pools. Fancy! And for tired, frustrated, camping-dirty me, totally worth the $64 I spent on my campsite. I took a shower, soaked in all of the hottest pools, then took another shower. Yay for hot water!
The campground also included a nice hotel-style breakfast in the morning: scrambled eggs, waffles, yogurt, cereal, apples, bananas.
And the campsites weren’t horrible. They were definitely the parking lot style, the kind of place where if you stuck around long enough, you’d get to know everything about your neighbors just by overhearing every word they say, but they weren’t piled up on top of one another. There was nice grass between the spaces and I stayed in a water-electric spot, so refilled my fresh water tank and my jugs, and recharged my computer. Also used the sous vide cooker and insta-pot to prep some food for quinoa bowls later in the week. Yay for electricity.
I had no neighbors on either side of me, so it was nice and spacious, but it would have been pretty cozy if the campground had been full.
Plus, it kept me close to CostCo. One of the reasons for my frustration was that CostCo had the most comfortable camping chair I’d ever sat in out on display. I’ve been trying out camping chairs for basically forever. Well, for three years anyway. They’re just not really comfortable, mostly. They’re fine for half an hour, maybe forty-five minutes if you’re sitting around a campfire, but they’ve always got metal bars that dig into your legs or weird armrests or they’re too low to the ground or oddly angled. I’ve never found one that I really liked until that day at CostCo. And it was only $29.99! An absolute bargain, given how expensive they usually are.
Unfortunately, the only one they had left was the one on display. But that was okay, because they were getting a new shipment — 224 of them — the next morning. All I had to do was come back. That wasn’t exactly convenient, since I’d hoped to be well on my way to Yellowstone by the time CostCo opened in the morning, but it was worth it to me, because it was such a comfortable chair.
But boo for CostCo. When I drove back the next morning, there were no chairs. I found a helpful CostCo employee — not the same one I’d talked to the previous day — and he used his walkie-talkie to ask about the chairs. Alas, they hadn’t arrived. But they were still on their way and ought to be in the next day.
Did I want to stay in Bozeman another day? Nope. Places to go, things to do. But by the time I’d gone to CostCo, parked, wandered around searching for my chair, found an employee to help me, and chatted, I was already running late to get a campsite in Yellowstone for the night. (They’re first-come, first-served: during peak season, they fill up by 7:30 AM, but this time of year, they fill up around noon. I was about three hours away, so would get there around 2.)
I decided to start driving south, while I considered: how badly did I want that chair?
The creek is dry, but the campground is still remarkably beautiful.
I had a fairly typical driving day on Tuesday: I left Seattle by 9:30 and took a break about two hours later, wondering why I hadn’t managed to get farther along my path. I ran the generator to use the InstantPot, and made myself a delicious quinoa bowl, with fresh greens, avocado, pickled onion, shredded carrots and a lime-yogurt dressing. Walked Zelda, washed dishes, checked my email, read the news, and then realized that it was almost 1 and I’d been sitting at the rest stop for over an hour. Sigh.
Back on the road again, but I stopped an hour later to get gas. Back on the road again, and Z was awake and wandering the van restlessly, so it was time for the next rest stop and a quick dog walk. Back on the road again and traffic was picking up. Road construction around Spokane, an early rush hour…
I spent my day thinking about nothing. Watching scenery; listening to music; wishing I wasn’t driving; trying to promptly clean splatted bugs off the windshield; remembering details from the weekend; considering billboards and lottery winners and the weather. Developing strategies for measuring time as it passes, counting down the minutes on Apple maps.
Debating places to visit. Glacier National Park? But the Sun road is still closed, and I’d so much rather go there when I have time to be there, not just a quick glance into the visitors center followed by more long driving days. The sapphire mine in Phillipsburg? A reader in Montana (who I should really have emailed days ago if I planned to stop by)? Yellowstone?!?
Arguing with myself over whether to drive long days then take rest days vs trying to drive 100 miles every day or drive 250 miles every other day. I finally told myself that I’d just finish every driving day by filling the gas tank. When I’d driven to the point where I needed gas, I’d give myself permission to stop.
But I wanted to spend the night in northern Idaho, because my Progressive insurance adjustor promised me I’d like it. I was aiming for Beauty Creek campground in Coeur d’Alene. It’s first come, first served, and according to the reviews, sometimes crowded. Given that it’s now post Memorial Day, I was prepared to be disappointed, but I persisted anyway. And it is so, so beautiful. My insurance adjustor was not wrong.
My gorgeous view wasn’t cheap: $23 for dry camping, with no hookups, no showers, just vault toilets and picnic tables. The trees were alive with bees, too — I could hear the hum of a happy (and probably big!) hive in the grove of trees next to the van. A few visited and explored my screens, but none made it inside.
I’d hoped to fill up my fresh water tank here — although there were no hook-ups, they did say they had water. But the water was a pump. And not an electric pump, the kind of pump where you move the handle up and down to get the water to run. It’s a multi-handed operation — one person to pump, one person to hold the water jug and the spigot open. Zelda was not much help. In fact, Z was sort of actively unhelpful, because she didn’t understand why I wasn’t walking when as far as she was concerned, we were taking our evening stroll. Oh, well. I filled one jug, enjoyed the experience, and moved “water” higher up my list for a future campground.
And sadly, my neighbors found it important to run their generator all evening long. I was so tempted to go knock on their door and ask why they were ruining the camping for the rest of us, but a) the rest of us was just me, the only person in hearing distance, and b) ha. I never would. I might think about it, but that kind of conflict is not in my nature. Instead, I eventually closed my windows and appreciated the stillness and coziness of my quiet house, minus the fresh air.
Once upon a time, I was going to spend a week or ten days slowly going up the Oregon coast on my way to Seattle. That was before I crunched Serenity, causing a delay of several days, and before R let me know that he was passing through S with a long, long layover. Change of plans, so I took the most direct route possible, up Highway 5 through the middle of the state.
While I drove I was remembering all the other times I’ve driven on that road. Once in 1999, maybe? A couple times around 2003, I think. Once headed south in 2017. Enough times to make me think that one of my issues with traveling is how much driving days feel like wasted days. I need to do better about turning them into discovery days — days when I do something more interesting than simply drive. Spending all day on the road, especially when it’s a familiar road, just isn’t an interesting way to spend time. Yesterday’s big event to that point had been a stop at a Safeway to pick up salad greens and get gas. Woo-hoo! (Not.)
The day got more interesting when I arrived at my carefully-selected campground and discovered that it was full. On a Monday. In May. Having had so much availability earlier in the day that I’d decided I didn’t need to make a reservation! Dang it.
Back in the van and on the road we went and no sooner had we gotten back on the highway than I was cursing myself. The only reason I needed a campground was to dump the tanks. If I wasn’t heading from one ten-day stretch in a driveway to another several days in a driveway, I wouldn’t need a campground at all, I could just spend the night in a rest stop or a parking lot. If I’d thought of that before I left my carefully-selected campground, I could have asked to use the dump station and opened up my options. But alas, I didn’t think of it. So I was on the hunt for a campground with a dump station or hook-ups.
Fortunately, I found one reasonably easily. I got mildly lost once and had to ask for directions at the non-camping park across the street, but Gills Landing, a county park in Lebanon, had spots available, and I was settled in — tanks dumped, water tank topped up, with electricity running the InstantPot — by about 6PM. I was a little dubious about the train tracks running directly behind my campsite, but if any trains went by in the night, I missed them.
And I quite like the campground. It’s not for tent campers — there’s a bathroom but it closes at dusk, so they only accept RVs with a manufacturer-installed toilet system (and both hosts asked me about it, so that is something they take seriously). But the spaces are level, with concrete pads, and lots of room between them. It’s $35/night, so not cheap, but they are full hook-up spots, so not unreasonable, either. I didn’t check out the bathrooms and don’t know whether they have showers. But I have reasonable internet access on both T-Mobile and Verizon.
Serenity, with the elevated train tracks directly behind her.
Unfortunately, the rain started in the night. Z and I started walking this morning and we got about four sites away before she stopped and stared at me, her attempt to psychically say, “Why are we doing this?” I got the message and we turned around and came back to the van. There’s a river nearby, according to the map, so I suspect there’s probably some nice walks and maybe even a view — but Z isn’t curious enough to want to walk in the rain, so we are probably not going to investigate. Instead, I’m writing these words and hoping that Fen’s adventures aren’t so totally disrupted by my driving day that I can write some of those words, too. And then it’s back on the road. Seattle by dinner-time!
If I had the money to live anywhere and was completely unconstrained by thoughts of friends and family, Bend would have moved to the top of my list this week. It’s a fantastic small city. Good thrift stores, good parks, reasonable roads, and excellent restaurants. Also, very, very dog-friendly.
We spent a fun afternoon there, doing all of the above: lunch at Parilla Grill, a fun walk in Drake Park with the dogs, visits to a couple of thrift stores. Then we checked in to the La Quinta Inn for a night of luxury. Woo-hoo! Clean showers, comfy beds, and electricity. And internet, too!
I know I’ve been posting as if I was writing the entire trip, but in actual fact, most of our campsites didn’t have electricity or internet. By that point on Sunday afternoon, my computer had been out of charge for three days or so, and I hadn’t written a word for two of them. I told S that it felt like I was going through withdrawal.
So I was happy to write for a while and then we used our delightful internet access to find a restaurant for dinner. We wound up at 10 Barrel Brewing — with all three dogs! While we were browsing restaurants, I pointed out that they had a patio, and S promptly called them and asked if they allowed dogs on their patio. The woman on the phone answered, “Yes, of course.”
“Yes, of course,” even applied to three dogs. Yep, we took all of them out to dinner with us. Everyone else on the patio brought their dogs, too. It was great, and completely solidified my already growing love for Bend. The dog at the table next to ours was a puppy that looked so much like Zelda as a puppy — white body, black ears, patch over an eye, except about twice as big. I can’t believe I didn’t take a picture of him. But here’s a picture of Zelda under our table.
Zelda, wondering when she gets a bite of my elk burger.
To complete our restaurant pleasure, on Monday morning we ate at McKay Cottage Kitchen one more time. And this time I took a picture. 🙂
Breakfast before a long day on the road.
But after breakfast, it was time to start the long trek home. Of course, when you’re traveling with three dogs, it’s one thing to say, “We’re just going to drive all day.” It’s another thing to actually accomplish that.
We stopped at a rest stop in Chemult and let the dogs play in the snow.
We stopped at the Rogue Gorge and walked the dogs along the river while S told me Tolkien stories.
We stopped at Fred Meyer in Grant’s Pass and bought snacks and sushi and gas.
And eventually, we stopped at Florence Keller County Park and spent another night on the road, because even though we were only 90 minutes away from Arcata, why not spend a night camping in the redwoods when you can?
Riley and Buddy, sharing the good bed. Buddy and Zelda, sharing the good bed. Some very tall trees.
On the way home on Tuesday morning, we stopped at the Redwood National Park visitor center, for the final moments of a truly lovely vacation, in which the weather was mostly perfect, the adventures were mostly pleasant, and the company was always fantastic. The food was generally pretty good, too!
