A cute little blackbird from North DakotaA chirpy robin, also in North DakotaA mysterious and very noisy brown bird. Maybe a sandpiper? In Wisconsin. Not as great a view of the sandpiper, but a more interesting picture of it. My campsite at Prentice Park
If I didn’t have a schedule to keep, I might have settled into Prentice Park in Ashland, WI, for weeks. I’m not sure how many sites it has, because most of them were tent sites, but there were 6 RV sites, nicely spaced, with lots of grass, trees, and paved driveways. Water, electricity, excellent walking paths, clean showers that didn’t require quarters, (although no control of the water temp), and friendly neighbors.
Paradise.
But I’ve understated the “water” part. I know I claimed not to be a water snob, and I’m really not, but Ashland has artesian wells. People apparently come from miles around to get water at the local beach. I had only the vaguest idea what an artesian well was, or why it mattered, but on my first morning at the campground, I set out to look for it. Turns out, it was all over the place. The park had at least half a dozen spigots in the ground with water free-flowing out of them. I had a strong desire to look for the off valve every time I saw one, because I’ve spent so long being careful about water. But there were no off valves, the water is just pouring forth from the ground. It felt like such abundance, such wealth from nature.
The artesian water. Cold, fresh, refreshing. I filled up all my water jugs.
I’ve understated the friendly neighbors, too. The showers require a combination code, so when I saw the campground host outside his camper, I went over to get my code. That led to tours of the van, conversations about van life and children, an invitation to a delicious jambalaya dinner, and eventually s’mores around their fire.
I really did debate staying at the campground for a few more days, especially because the hosts were out in the morning, so I didn’t get a chance to say good-bye. (And if you’re reading my blog, LaDonna or Sharon, it was so nice to meet you, thanks so much for your hospitality!) But I wanted to check out the Apostle Islands, as well as visit Pictured Rocks National Seashore. Plus the whole reason for hurrying across Montana was to be able to spend some time in the upper peninsula of Michigan, which people have been telling me about ever since I started traveling. And I do have a deadline — scheduled plans with friends and relatives at the end of June. So after two nights at Prentice Park, I got back on the road.
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.
Far West Fishing Access was so lovely that I decided I’d stay another night. That lasted until I took Z for a short walk and, upon our return to the van, found three ticks crawling on her. Yeah, no. No point in staying at a campsite where I’m completely unwilling to go outside. Instead, I packed up the van and headed out.
I’d been considering staying at a state park in eastern Montana, to support my vague goal of camping at a state park in every state, but another nonsensical achievement was beckoning: North Dakota, state #49 on my personal list of states visited.
I doubt anyone from North Dakota is reading my blog, so I will admit the truth: I had very low expectations of the state. I’ve never read or seen anything to make me think North Dakota is my kind of place, so I was driving through it pretty much to make that checkmark on my list. North Dakota, done.
North Dakota, beautiful? So unexpected! But I spent my first night in North Dakota at a camping spot outside Theodore Roosevelt National Park. I don’t think these pictures convey the beauty but the first one captures the solitude pretty well, and the second one is at least a glimpse of what it looked like.
Serenity, alone in the grasslands. The grasslands and hills.
I spent a quiet night there, windows open, admiring the stars, but I knew I didn’t want to stay more than a night. The weather report, untrustworthy as it sometimes is, was saying temperatures into the high 80s, and with the van sitting in the direct sun, that would quickly become unbearable. So early on Thursday, we headed off to Theodore Roosevelt National Park.
Wildlife sighting!Not quite as cute as a baby bison, but fun to watch.
I would have liked to take the scenic drive all the way around the park, but part of the road was closed. And it was too hot, even early in the day, to drag Z on any long walks. But we paused at the prairie dog town and watched the prairie dogs for a while, and strolled out to a scenic overlook and admired the view. And then we got back on the road and I made my way to an Army Corps of Engineers campground where I’ll stay through the weekend.
One last picture from Far West, which I would remember wistfully if I hadn’t found another dead tick in my bed this morning.
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?
On Wednesday, I started driving again. Along the way, I found my joy.
To be honest, I hadn’t realized I’d lost it until it was back. It’s not that I’ve been down — I’m quite upbeat most of the time. In fact, the terms “ray of sunshine” and “living your best life” have both been used to describe me recently. Really! But content, happy, enjoying myself, serene — all of those are quite different from the hum of joy that hit me on Wednesday.
I’m attributing it to Montana, because Montana is beyond awesome. I had sort of forgotten that. I mean, I remembered that when I went through Montana before, I liked it a lot, enough that I hoped to come back and spend a lot more time, but by the time I was planning this drive-through, I was mostly thinking of it as… well, exactly that — a place to drive through. An impediment on my road to friends in the east and time to write a book.
Instead, it’s just ridiculously gorgeous. I was so unenthusiastic about driving, but it’s so beautiful that I couldn’t help enjoying myself. Green hills and mountains and pine trees, rugged cliffs and then sprawling plains, horses and cows and cute little Western towns.
I was still indecisive about where I was going for the first couple hours of my trip, but when I hit St. Regis, I didn’t make the turn to Glacier. I do want to go there someday, but in that moment, it felt like it would be marking off a checkmark on a list of places to see instead of being fun. And I was in the mood for fun. So instead, I went back to the sapphire mine near Phillipsburg.
I bought myself a bucket of gravel and spent a pleasant hour playing in the muddy water and sorting rocks, and then retreated to their campground in the hills, where I did… well, nothing. Except feel happy and pleased with the world and full of joy, as I made my dinner and washed my dishes, and hung out with my dog.
Free camping in the hills.
It was dry camping, and by dry, I do mean dry. Their website said that they had water available by the parking lot, which was technically true, but it wasn’t close enough to the parking lot that I could use it to fill Serenity’s tank. If I’d been desperate, I could have filled a jug or two, but the woman at the mine said she wouldn’t drink it, so I didn’t bother.
By now, I travel with five gallon jugs of water lining the floor between the beds. Three years ago, that would have seemed like a lot of water, but not anymore. Between the generator, the van’s engine, and my solar panel, I never worry about electricity, and I actually quite appreciate my days without internet (as long as they don’t happen too often!), but it is impossible to go a day without water. So I wasn’t desperate, but I was careful, washing my dishes with my spray bottles and not washing myself at all.
As a result, my plan for Thursday… well, let’s say it evolved. Quite nicely, too. But I’ll save that story for my next post, because I’ve got things to do!
On Friday, I visited the school where P teaches and answered questions asked by three of her language arts classes (and gave them tours of the van & introductions to the dog). It was so much fun that it made me wish I wrote middle-grade stories so I could visit more schools. In the evening, we went to a literary event where three authors and a musician read/sang from their works. It was also fun, but made me glad I don’t write literary fiction.
And now I’ve been thinking about those things for twenty minutes or longer, but I’m not sure I’ve got anything more profound to say about them than this: talking to kids about creativity and imagination and writing to please yourself felt full of joy to me; listening to the adults share their pain in literary form for our muted applause had no joy in it. At least not for me. Maybe it did for them? Either way, I’m not going to start writing literary fiction.
On Saturday morning, P and I caught the 6:10 AM Edmonds-Kingston ferry, to visit friends of hers on a farm near Quilcene for the weekend. The weather was miserable and Pam’s hopes of stunning me into devoted love for the Pacific Northwest seemed doomed to failure. Rain, gray clouds, a chill in the air… But we hung out at the farm, which was quite beautiful, and met the chickens and goats and resident cat and people. Ate veggie hash and chicken-apple sausage for lunch and tried not to get too wet. The air was amazing — fresh, clean, with that smell of wet plant-life mixed with a hint of ocean — and everything was lush and green.
My weekend view. As driveways go, it was spectacular.
In the afternoon, we went on a walk to a beach: not a hike, more of a stroll. But it took us on a dirt road through a nature preserve, surrounded by gorgeous rain forest. Then down an invisible path, Zelda hopping over the logs in her way, until we reached a marshy area that opened on to an almost deserted beach, with oyster shells everywhere.
The trail down to the beach. The pink is wild rhododendrons, I think.
Sunday dawned almost as gray. But I had a nice walk around the farm with Zelda, and then an excellent late breakfast of blueberry pancakes, bacon and potatoes. Afterwards, P and I drove into Port Townsend and wandered around for a while. It’s an appealing small town, right on the water, but around noon it started to get crowded. Lots and lots of dogs on the sidewalks for Zelda to sniff! On our way back, we stopped at the tiny local grocery store, where I found gluten-free sandwiches, gluten-free brownies, even gluten-free oats. And some beautiful fruit and veggies. The weather might not have been selling me on the Pacific Northwest, but that little store was amazing.
And the weather was starting to improve. The sky was clearing, patches of blue showing up. By late afternoon, it was gorgeous. We took another drive, this time to an oyster beach where Pam could harvest oysters. She’s got a license that lets her harvest 18 per day, and we brought one of her friends from the farm with us, so the two of them harvested 36 oysters, while Z and I wandered around and admired the view and the day and the feeling of ocean air.
Before the walk down to the beach, a viewing stand had signs with information (none of which I remember) and stairs leading up to a platform where you could admire the view. It was well worth the pause to admire.
That night, our hosts invited several people over for a barbecue. They grilled salmon and shrimp and beef and pork tenderloin and chicken, with roasted vegetables, kale salad, and potato salad, followed by ice cream for dessert. Oh, plus the oysters, rolled in corn meal and pan-fried. It was an incredible feast, all of it delicious. We sat around a bonfire and ate, then shared a few ghost stories.
On Monday I woke up super-congested and not feeling very well. I’d had plans for the day with a local friend, but he texted me that he’d caught something over the weekend and wasn’t feeling great and since I was also not feeling great, we agreed to try again next year. Then P said, “Oh, if you’re not leaving, we should kayak today.”
Apparently, the word “kayak” is a miraculous health restorer for me, because I forgot all about not feeling well. We took the kayaks and Z and went for a paddle. Unfortunately, Z was not super-cooperative. I put a towel down for her on the front of the boat and she did okay for a little bit, but then she started jumping off, repeatedly. I managed to pull her back in without overturning the kayak multiple times, but finally I took her back to shore. P went to put her kayak away so she could help me with Z and while she was gone, Z peed without waiting to reach grass. (An indication of how urgent the need was, because Z only pees in grass.) Drat. I wish I’d realized earlier that that was her problem, because we could probably have kayaked for longer and farther, but by then P was out of the water and it made sense to head home. But it was absolutely lovely to be on the water and it was a perfect day.
A perfect day for kayaks!
After kayaking, we began the trek home. We knew we’d have a long wait for the ferry, but we used the time to first get ice cream and then walk Zelda down to the beach by the ferry dock. I’m not going to post any more pictures, because I’m actually writing on Tuesday morning and hoping to get on the road in the very near future and my internet is so slow that picture-posting is tedious — but the path to the beach had wild roses and fennel growing, and the beach had kids playing in the water and people enjoying the sunshine, and it was lovely and warm and perfect.
Despite the weather, my congestion, and the traffic, it was an amazing holiday weekend. I still don’t think I’m going to wind up living in the Pacific Northwest, but I hope to spend lots more time here in the future. But not today — today, I start heading east. I have no reservations and no definite plans, but I want to be in Michigan by June 22nd, which means it’s time to get moving.
