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.