Monday
November 7, 2016
On October 29 we had bidden farewell to Judith, her
horse, and her dog in Hailey, and again hit the road.
We
had our propane tank filled by a surly young woman at a gas station near
Hailey. Back on the road, Kate smelled a strong propane odor. We pulled over for a look and found
under the rig a small pipe we’d never seen before, covered with ice and spewing
gas. We quickly pulled out the owner’s manual.
“DANGER. Overfilling is hazardous! The LP gas
tank must not be filled over 80% of capacity [Hunch: the surly young
woman didn’t know this]. If LP gas
tank is overfilled, excessive pressure could develop within the tank causing
the relief valve to open. LP gas released could result in fire, explosion,
severe personal injury, or death.”
We
hunted around for someone to help us understand if we were really in mortal
danger and/or how to remedy the situation. After wasting most of the day we
finally found an elderly man (i.e., more elderly than we are) at an RV park who
showed us the bleeder valve [unlabeled and unmentioned in the manual], allowing
us to drain off the overfill and proceed without worry.
The manual labels and explains everything
BUT the bleeder valve.
There have been unintended consequences of our commitment
to be spontaneous and not to plan during this trip. For instance we missed
seeing our friend in Port Townsend when we arrived there, because we hadn’t
planned ahead and she turned out to be in San Francisco at the time. We sort of
learned a lesson from that and we’ve tried to give people at least a few days
or a week’s warning when we think we’ll be in their area. This isn’t guaranteed
to work either. We had planned after departing Sun Valley to visit our friends
in Colorado, but unforeseen changes in their circumstances made that
impossible. So, mid journey we decided to change course. We elected to go to
southern Oregon, ultimately on the way to Portland for Thanksgiving. We chose a
roundabout route via the little town of Arco, Idaho and Craters of the Moon
National Monument.
We thought Arco would be worth a stop for a few minutes
because it was said to be the first city to draw power from nuclear energy, and
it had a conning tower from a nuclear submarine as a sort of town monument. When
we arrived in Arco, it had the look of another town that time forgot and then
ignored. It was clear that it had seen better days, but maybe not that
much better.
We hunted down the submarine conning tower, at the foot
of “Number Hill,” where traditionally every Arco high school class for the past
century or so has painted its graduating year (The Bureau of Land Management
has lately forbidden the practice and in its wisdom has declared that a new
graduating class may only paint its year on the rocks if it paints over the
number from some other year).
We were wandering near the sub conning tower when
greeted by Richard. Richard is a man who appears to be in his nineties, and is
more or less the curator of the tiny one-room museum adjacent to the conning
tower. He lives in the hills above the museum and monument, and he can spot
people who stop to visit.
Kate and Richard
Richard was yet another of those incredible people who
have cropped up in unlikely places during our travels. He was born in Illinois,
but worked in the nuclear industry for his entire career, including more than
20 years at the Rocky
Flats, Colorado nuclear facility, built in the early 1950s to produce plutonium
warhead triggers for nuclear bombs. He told us offhanded stories
about accidentally holding a piece of plutonium in his hand, of working side by
side for ten years with the man who later became the tail gunner on the Enola Gay
when it bombed Hiroshima, and about having been aboard a troop train as an enlisted
man in the navy toward the end of WWII, when to the surprise of all concerned
an A-bomb test was set off just a half mile from where their train sat, near
White Sands, New Mexico.
Richard had so many facts to impart about the history of
the atomic research happening in Arco since 1951, about nuclear subs, about
pre-nuclear subs, etc. – that we couldn’t keep up. Arco is the site of a
nuclear research center, and indeed as an early experiment it became the first
city ever to be powered entirely by nuclear energy. The was a temporary
phenomenon, later discontinued. We never actually figured out how Arco (about as land-locked as you can get) happened to become the host of a large chunk of a decommissioned nuclear sub,
or why Arco has also become the site of monuments honoring all subs and their crews.
After two hours talking to Richard, we thanked him and we repaired to Pickles
Café (home of the Atomic Burger) for lunch and then headed east. The signature
dish at Pickles Café is fried pickles, but we passed.
Craters of the Moon National Monument is like another
planet. In fact the original astronauts trained there before the first moon
landing. There’s a campground – we
stayed in it – but it’s unlike any other we’ve experienced. Lava everywhere, and not much else. Or
so it seems. Actually there is life everywhere. Twisted, crazy looking pines,
plants that look like sagebrush, lichens growing on the lava rock, gradually
breaking it down into soil (and lichens themselves being killed off by pollution from
distant sources, though the air here seems unbelievably clear and crisp). We
were one of only three sets of campers in the campground.
We drove the seven mile loop and walked on several
trails, witnessing lava tubes, seeing lava cascades (rock that looks for all
the world like it’s flowing downhill), etc.
Leaving
Craters of the Moon, we proceeded to Gooding, Idaho in a driving rain until
darkness fell. We stopped at the Big Wood RV Park in Gooding, where we parked
in time for a huge wind and rainstorm to buffet the rig. It occurred to
us that what might be going on was a tornado, which in turn reminded me of the
old joke about tornadoes seeking out trailer parks. I began to wonder if
it could topple us. It didn't, and we survived the night.
The
Big Wood is near the railroad tracks (ALL RV parks and campgrounds are near the
railroad tracks). It was developed on the site of a hobo camp that accommodated
out-of-work men riding the rails during the Depression.
We
discovered in the morning that during our dark and rainy drive the night
before, we had bypassed the Idaho Potato Museum, home of the world's largest
potato chip. The museum also houses an exhibit honoring Mr. Potato Head. We
considered backtracking to see it, but decided to soldier on.
On
Halloween we spent time in Hagerman, Idaho, home of the Hagerman fossil beds
and also the site of a section of the Oregon Trail that passes close to the
Snake River. It's an interesting area geologically, in that on one side of the
Snake is the end of a huge region formed by lava flows and the other side of
the river is composed of sedimentary rock partly formed by immense floods from
Bonneville lake and Idaho Lake thousands of years ago.
The two sides of the Snake in Hagerman
The
floods killed much wildlife -- even to the point of extinction of some species
-- for example the famous Hagerman horse, and mastodons living in the
area.
The
Hagerman Horse is the earliest known example of the genus Equus – the first
known horse. The most similar modern “horses” are zebras found in Ethiopia and
Kenya.
The
Oregon Trail, approaching close to the Snake as it does in this area, was one
of the few places where the overlanders could trade with the Indians for fish.
The ruts of the Oregon Trail are visible in Hagerman.
Heading
east from Hagerman, we stopped at Glenn's Ferry, where overlanders could cross
the Snake, saving time but costing a lot of money.
Kate checked out the restored Ferry.
Cable
winches on the banks of the Snake were
used
to drag the ferries across the current.
Next
we drove across Southern Idaho to Vale, Oregon -- another stop on the Oregon
Trail. We arrived in the dark and outside town we looked for our chosen spot to
camp, the Bully Creek RV Park. We found Bully Creek Road, but the park eluded
us. Eventually we stopped at a farmhouse for directions and proceeded to the
park. The nice lady in the office assigned us to one of the few sites with both
electric service and drinking water hookups and sent is on our way. We settled
in and I fumbled around in the dark hooking up the electricity and water. While
Kate started making dinner I went to check out the shower facilities. On the
door to the shower room a sign was posted:
DRINKING WATER WARNING -- Bully Creek water has
high levels of arsenic.”
It
went on to describe the dangers of drinking, showering, or swimming in water
with such a high arsenic concentration. I chanced to bump into another camper.
"This is just the creek water they're talking about, right? Not the
drinking water from the faucets at the campsite?" "Oh, no. It's all
the water. I won't even shave with it." I sprinted back to the rig to stop
Kate from making up an arsenic-laced dinner, and to un-hook the water supply.
We
left the next morning for the Malheur National Wildlife refuge in eastern
Oregon near Burns, Oregon.
On
the way: More great scenery -- high desert, flat plains, distant mountains.
There's no visible wildlife
in the wildlife preserve, at least not in November. Like Palo Alto, the area is
on the Pacific Flyway. As in Palo Alto, most of the avian activity is in the
spring, not in late fall.
Lake Malheur
We reached The Narrows, a
crossroads between two large lakes (now mostly dry due to five consecutive
years of drought).
We took the side road to
explore the area. The Field Station (originally a Civilian Conservation Corps
camp during the thirties) looks like a ghost town, with a few stalwarts still
hanging in and living there.
Linda, the current owner (for
the past 12 years) of The Narrows Café and Store and of the adjacent trailer/RV
Park told us that 40 FBI agents stayed at the Field Station during the Ammon
Bundy standoff.
Linda said there were more
than 300 agents in the area for at least four months – including several months
after the occupiers were arrested. She said "They treated all us residents
of Harney County like shit." FBI agents secured her RV Park with two
armored vehicles (it was January -- there were two trailers in residence at the
time). They set up roadblocks on the main highway outside the restaurant with
more armored vehicles. When she was stopped at the roadblock on her way to work
they pointed their guns at her in the car. When her husband came to work they
made him get out of the car and subjected him to a search for guns and
explosives. And then they went back home to work on Hillary's email
situation.....
We drove to the Visitor
Center, but it’s closed and gated. It’s been closed ever since the Bundy
standoff that ended eight months ago. Due to the drought, Lake
Malheur has no water, at least not in November. It turns out that it actually
DOES have water, but it's visible only from the Malheur Lake Overlook, which is
adjacent to the visitor center and therefore closed.
A nice young woman named Shelby
at the Burns information center had told us about Page Springs campground (her
favorite), and about the Frenchglen Hotel (best food in the world). Arriving in
Frenchglen we went immediately to the hotel. Closed for the season starting the
day we arrived.
This somehow puts me in mind of
some of the emerging THEMES of our adventure:
Camping
Visiting National Parks
Chocolate malts in many
states
Buchanan's Scotch in many
states
Visiting friends and
relatives
Visiting points of interest
at times of year when NO ONE ELSE is visiting them. No one. Just us, alone.
At
Page Springs campground, though, we were not alone.There were eight or nine
spaces filled -- a new record. Lots of people visit here in November, which is rutting
season for the local deer, to photograph bucks as they clash to establish the
pecking order.
This guy showed up at our campsite the day before we arrived. Our neighbor got the photo.
Our
campsite was possibly the nicest one we’ve had yet. Right beside the Blitzen
River with a view of the lava-layered cliffs. It’s a Bureau of Land Management
campground, so wood gathering is allowed. Much wood gathered; much sawing and
chopping to prepare for our campfires.
On
our first full day at Page Springs we hiked the Blitzen River Trail. GORGEOUS! And
the dread "Moderate Difficulty" label was actually true in this case --
not too hard.
From
the “Did I Tell You About the Time My Wife Tried to Kill Me” series:
The
next morning Kate started with "Let's take a little morning walk. We can
go down the road a little and see if we can find the bucks fighting over who
gets the best doe.” My back was killing me from all the macho log hauling and
sawing the day before, but this plan sounded innocent enough.
So
off we set. After about a mile with some side excursions, it became clear that
we weren't seeing any bucks. I turned to head back to the campsite. "Why
don't we walk to town?" We can always hitch a ride back if we need
to." This sounded innocent enough, so we walked the 2 1/2 miles further
down the road to Frenchglen.
In
town we bought a few provisions at the Mercantile and used the town public
restroom facilities. We started walking back up the road the four miles
to the campsite, watching for possible rides. Not a single vehicle to be seen.
We
passed a gated road with a sign:
Kate
felt the path would eventually rejoin the road. I felt it was going far away from the
road, and I'd be very disappointed if it didn't rejoin the road.
My back still hurt.
Kate
thought it would be great to have a little bath in the warm spring (granted,
it had been five days since the last shower). We struck out for Barnes Warm
Spring. We walked and walked.
After a half hour or so, we reached a sign.
We saw
some structures. Maybe they were associated with Barnes Warm Spring. They
turned out to be ancient ranch corrals and an old sod storage shed. No sign of a
spring.
Old sod shed. Not a spring.
Kate
said we should strike out across country and find the road. I pointed out the
signs that said it was government land and unauthorized entry was forbidden.
Kate wasn't worried. We set out across fields and thickets in search of the
road. I found myself wondering if any FBI agents still lurked, alert for
suspicious possible domestic terrorists sneaking across government land with
backpacks full of incendiary devices.
We
trudged for an hour or so through uneven tufts of recently mown grass in
hayfields, shoulder-high stands of thistles, tightly-bunched bramble bushes,
and camouflaged dry gullies with surprise 3-foot drop-offs inclining one to
fall face-first into the brambles.
Kate
was optimistic: "Oh, good! Here's an animal trail!" Unfortunately the
animals who made the trails apparently weren't much interested in finding the road. I was.
Animal Trail
Some
animals possibly died trying to find the road.
I
suggested (implored) that we head in the direction of the farmhouse in view
about a half-mile away, on the theory that it must have access to the road. So
we advanced through more thistles, etc. until we reached the farmhouse driveway
at its intersection with the road. We walked the remaining mile to the rig.
Little morning walk complete. Ten miles, four and a half hours. We ate a quick lunch,
I wrestled the bed into position in the rig, and slept for the next four hours.
From
the “Interesting People We’ve Met Along the Way” series:
At
Page Spring our nearest camping neighbors were Gary and his dog Chippie. We
learned that Gary had been a bush pilot in Alaska most of his working life. He
used to fly in Alaska four months a year, then drive 4,000 miles to Arizona for
the winter. Then he bought a boat and sailed 25,000 miles around South America
and the South Seas for four years. He’s been living in his fifth wheel rig and
traveling the country for much of the last 14 years.
Gary and Chippie
Gary's Rig
Gary
had many sailing stories to tell. He
sailed alone from American Samoa to Hawaii in 49 days (He uses a wind monitor.
Powered by wind, the device keeps the boat on course while he sleeps). He once
hired as crew a woman who was a gourmet cook. On the high seas, Gary rigged for
her a tool belt secured by four bungees in the galley, so she could stay
upright and cooking, no matter what the weather. Another time he and his crew
jumped in for a swim when they reached the equator. A group of porpoises passed by them in a straight line,
swimming exactly on the equator. They didn't stop to play, as porpoises often
will do. They were on a mission.
Gary
also gave us some words to live by: “I have two rules: I can change directions
at any time, and I can change my mind at any time. Otherwise, I'm completely
flexible.” Amen.
We
said goodbye to Gary and Chippie at Page Springs and set out on a trip across eastern
Oregon. Sticking with the back
roads commitment, we went east from Frenchglen on Rock Creek Road. We were
heading for the Hart Mountain National Antelope Refuge. On our map it seemed
like an idyllic journey – we looked forward to large lakes, alpine scenery,
wildlife. Instead we found ourselves on 60 miles of gravel road through utterly
unpopulated desert with nary a drop of water, living being, or other vehicle in
sight.
There
was breathtaking beauty along the way, to be sure.
But
bumping along on that rough road for all those miles made us a little nervous.
We were many miles from any semblance of civilization with no form of
communication. What if we had a flat tire? Luckily we didn’t, and we reached
paved road (if not much semblance of civilization) again without incident. Or
so we thought. More about that later.
Once
we reached pavement we were still in unpopulated territory. I should say
unpopulated except for a few cowboys/cowgirls and LOTS of cattle. We seemed to
have arrived on the day of herding from distant pastures to winter areas near
enormous stockpiles of hay. It became clear that the road belonged to the
cattle, not to us.
At
long last we plowed through and past the cattle drive and reached an inhabited
area – Lakeview, Oregon. Though there was no lake to view, we did find a good
hamburger stand where we stopped for lunch. Debarking from the rig, I happened
upon a curious sight.
Apparently
the 60 miles of rough road had jarred loose the restraining cap for our sewage
hose. The hose had snaked out of its enclosure and bounced along jauntily
across eastern Oregon, ripping itself to shreds. We telephoned around central
and southern Oregon and Portland trying to find someone who could repair the
damage. The best we could do was an appointment in Portland in three weeks
time. Luckily we have no plans to camp for the next couple of months, so maybe
we can fix everything that’s broken before we plunge back onto the back roads.
A
brief note about the joys of the untethered life on the back roads. Two words: Idaho flies.
A huge swarm of them entered the rig at the Hagerman fossil beds and took up
residence. Six days later we've swatted at least 20 or 30, but a full battalion is
still with us in Ashland. I don't think flies live too long, do they?
We
finished the seven-hour journey from the Page Springs campsite to Ashland in
time to enjoy dinner out with our friends Bert and Nancy, who are hosting us for a few days.
Bert & Nancy
During
our Ashland weekend stay we did some shopping at Costco in Medford, and bumped
into friends from the Bay Area who recently moved to Ashland.
Angela, John, Johnny, Kate, & Toren
Next
stop: Portland for an election night party (or wake) at son Sam and Marisa’s
house, where we’ll stay through Thanksgiving.
Going around in circles -- 5,682 miles so far.
