When we last posted, toward the end of October, we were finally departing the Bay Area after many doctor appointments and much visiting with friends and relations. By then it had been almost six weeks since we were actually on the road (as opposed to driveway camping) in the rig. A few days before we left town, Kate got a crash course on the care and feeding of Judith’s 27 chickens in her yard in Redwood City (it’s a long story). Kate became the temporary backup chicken farmer, which will now go into her resume.

We got a late start from Palo Alto one afternoon, and after wading through rush hour traffic in three metropolitan areas, we stopped for dinner at one of our favorite roadside restaurants; Ikeda’s California Country Market in Auburn.

Ikeda’s has lots of good food, but especially good burgers and fruit pies. After much indecision, I had the blueberry pie.

I’d hoped we’d make it all the way to Winnemucca, Nevada that night, but we were tired, and eventually settled on camping at the Lowell Lake Greenhorn Campground near Grass Valley. We arrived late and woke up the camp host, who directed us: “Just go up the road to the left, you’ll see the campsites. Can’t miss them.”

We drove up the road to the left in the pitch black dark, managing to miss the campsites.  The road took a steep downhill angle. We continued, looking for campsites, but noticed something strange dead ahead.  We braked, stopping just short of a plunge into Lake Lowell. We were on the boat ramp. We came very close to finding out if the rig would float.

In daylight, we revisited the site of our near disaster.

The next morning, after a few hours’ drive we stopped at Harrah’s in Reno for late breakfast/early lunch at about 11:00. 

Entering one of the casino restaurants, we saw a couple finishing up their meatloaf dinner. As they departed, we heard them thank the host and say, “Good night.” Reno never sleeps.

Departing Reno, we drove five or six more hours and decided to stop in Wells, Nevada, near the Idaho border.  The Wells RV park was nearly deserted; apparently not too many people visit Wells at this time of year. 

We’ve been dodging extreme weather throughout our travels, but late October in the Nevada high desert feels like winter to us. Our water hose leaked a little overnight and we made our first icicle. 

A harbinger of things to come? 

Before leaving for Sun Valley, we ate breakfast in Wells at yet another great roadside eatery: Bella’s Restaurant, across from the truck stop. Bella’s serves huge breakfasts, and huge house-made cinnamon rolls (lightly frosted, as shown in the photo).

 

Cinnamon roll, lightly frosted.

Customers tended toward Vietnam vets with long curly white hair & beards, wearing camo vests, watching Fox News on several TVs. I decided not to take their photos. Just had a sense that they might not have approved.

We saw a bumper sticker we liked in the parking lot: “I’m Retired. Go Around Me.”

The drive from California to Idaho is mostly Nevada desert. There’s a certain monotony to it, but there’s a certain beauty, as well.

We arrived at our friend Judith’s house in Hailey (next door to Sun Valley) to find crisp fall weather and waning, but beautiful, fall colors.

Where's Waldo?

 Judith was about to embark on a trip to Mexico for the Day of the Dead, so we watched over the house and the dog in her absence. Tough duty.

Lola the dog.

 Hailey and neighboring Ketchum in some ways are throwbacks to small town America. While Judith was away, we had use of her car and her truck. We followed her custom when we went to town and left the vehicles unlocked and the keys in the ignition. She says she’s never locked her house in the thirty-plus years she’s lived in the area. When we went out to a restaurant one night before Judith left town, we found that the car’s dome light was on and we couldn’t figure out how to turn it off. While we were dining, the waiter came to the table and informed us that our dome light was on. Judith asked if he’d mind going out to the parking lot and figuring out how to turn it off. “No problem.” And he did. Full service restaurant.

Once Judith had departed for Mexico, we settled into a daily routine of long dog walks, errands, and evenings by the fire.

Evening by the fire.

We did manage to experience some unexpected adventure, though. Based on the ten day forecast before we embarked for Idaho, we expected sunny weather, with temperatures ranging from the high 40’s to the low 30’s. On the strength of that we decided to travel in the rig – the only of our vehicles that didn't have all wheel drive, and the only one that required “winterizing,” whatever that entailed, in extreme winter temperatures.

Once we had arrived in Sun Valley the forecasts suddenly changed: Temperatures ranging from the mid 30’s to single digits, with snow on several days.

Kate bundles up for a dog walk.

Don and Lola brave the elements.

 This presented a problem. Clearly, we needed to winterize the rig. Unfortunately, since we never expected to travel in cold places in the wintertime, we had no idea how to do that. We consulted the internet, the rig manual, the local RV supply store, and Kate’s nephew Nick. A plan was developed. We had a new development in rig quirks that would work to our advantage: The cabin heater was stuck in the “on” position, and could not be turned off. That meant that whenever the temperature dropped below 55 degrees, the heat came on – day or night, whether we were anywhere in the vicinity or not. That meant that the plumbing was safe. All we needed to do was empty the tanks and put in some antifreeze. Then the heater broke altogether. No cabin heat. The plumbing might freeze and explode. This problem was solved by moving the rig near an electrical outlet, plugging it in, setting up a small electric space heater inside the rig, and leaving it on 24/7. No sweat.

Rig plugged in at the stables.

Ingenious climate control system.

Now firmly ensconced and protected from disaster, we had a delightful weekend visit from nephew Nick and wife Jocelyn, kids Ossian and Clementine from Boise, and from Sarah and friend Charles from Missoula. We had a terrific time together, with good meals and good laughs.

Now for a really boring part. I’m compelled to share the full details. I'm duty-bound to characterize all of the untethered adventure, not just the fun parts. But you can skip over the next section if you’re only interested pretty sunsets and idyllic camp-outs.

We had a new problem: For several days we’d noticed a disconcerting shimmying in the rig whenever we accelerated. While Nick was visiting, we asked him to take a test drive to see what he thought. The answer: Bad torque converter. The solution: Pull the transmission and replace the converter. The price: kind of expensive, even including the family discount (if there is one). Nick said he’d also take a look at our heater controls to see if he could solve the problem of no heat. So, we decided instead of going straight to Portland next, we’d drive the rig to Boise, leave it with Nick, borrow Nick’s car, drive to Portland, stay with the grandkids, drive back to Boise, then drive home in the new, perfect rig. Simple. Problem solved, no sweat.

Before we left Idaho for Boise, the smoke alarm in the rig broke. It appeared to have dead batteries, so I installed new ones. This had the effect of setting off a continuous, unceasing, shrieking alarm. I pressed every combination of available buttons, but the alarm continued shrieking.  Eventually I gave up and placed the alarm and the batteries (separately) on the rig’s kitchen counter. I would deal with it later, and risk un-alarmed smoke inhalation in the meantime. [Note: The foregoing is important to remember – it foreshadows additional boring details to come later.]

So off we went from Sun Valley to Boise, smoke alarm-less and shimmying. We stopped at Nick and Jocelyn’s just long enough to shift most of our worldly belongings from the rig to Nick’s spare car (a Mercedes, of course). Then we continued on to Portland to visit Sam and Marisa, et al, making the entire Sun Valley-Boise-Portland trip in one ten-hour driving day.

We were immediately confronted with an opportunity to plunge into a frenetic activity involving many children. Marisa is the volunteer book lady for the kids’ elementary school, responsible for heading up the annual book drive. The plan: Assemble twenty or so kids aged seven to ten, and have them sort through and organize hundreds of donated books. The supervision: Us (oh, and a few of the children's mothers, but they quickly gravitated to the kitchen to chat and drink wine).

The book sorting was a model of organization and decorum.

In the end, somewhere north of 1,300 books were neatly sorted, boxed and stacked.

I was in charge of neat stacking.

 Sam and Marisa left for a business/pleasure trip to New York City for a few days, and the grandkids were all ours. We ruled with an iron hand. I told Maya under no circumstances was she to eat in the downstairs playroom. She gave me a look. “We’re supposed to have fun!”

We compromised. Only waffles were to be eaten, and only on the rug. We were in firm control.

No staring at screens all day, we insisted. But it was raining outside.

(Screen not shown.)

 "Constructive activity only," we insisted.

                                    No comment. 

Halloween candy was stored up high, where no one could find it.

We did successfully promote some worthwhile activity, including an afternoon excursion to Powell’s City of Books.

Kellen was absorbed in the pursuit of literature.

Sawyer felt he might need several books, so he secured a large pull cart.

 There were some quiet moments at home…….

Sarah came from Missoula to join us for the weekend, to help in the wrangling of the children. She arrived just in time for the cultural moment of our visit. Maya performed admirably at a recital, along with her fellow violin students.

Snack time after the performance.

Throughout our visit, many, many meals were prepared and consumed.

At last, all-nurturing Mom returned home, and the demanding grandparents and aunt were sent on their way.

In mid-November we set out from Portland back to Boise to pick up our rig. While we were away, Nick had contacted us with some news about the rig. It turned out we didn’t just need a torque converter, we needed an entirely new transmission. The family-discounted price tripled. Nick sent us a photo to show the terrible condition of our transmission fluid:

Terrible looking transmission fluid.

Having minimal experience with photos of transmission fluid, we agreed that this was some of the worst looking transmission fluid we’d ever seen.

The eight-hour drive from Portland to Boise had its compensations. The landscapes in eastern Oregon and western Idaho are breathtaking, and unlike anything we’ve seen anywhere else.

We arrived in Boise just in time to chat briefly with Nick and Jocelyn, go to bed, get up, and go. Nick did tell us that we got a bonus: He fixed our broken rig cabin heater. It was the control panel that had been broken; the layer of conducting material between the pushbuttons and the electronics had worn out. So he took apart the unit, cleaned it up, and replaced the missing conductor with a layer of lead from a soft pencil. Exactly what I would have done, if I had had a clue.

Here's how you fix a heater control unit. Precisely as I had thought.

Driving from Boise to the Bay area in late-ish November turned out not to be a great idea. We headed straight into a storm. It intensified in earnest just as we crossed Donner Pass, encountering snow, slush, wind, hail, accidents to the right and left of us. I thought wistfully of the full set of snow tires for the rig sitting in the garage in Palo Alto. Of course we wouldn’t need them, we thought. The long-term forecasts called for no snow anywhere on our route when we’d started this journey three weeks earlier. We made it as far as Auburn, retreated to a motel for the night, and drove on the next day, still through driving rain. All this wasn’t part of our vision of the carefree “untethered life," but we made it back to the Bay Area in one piece.

We crossed Donner Pass without having to resort to you-know-what.

Arriving at Judith’s house (Redwood City Judith) as the storm abated, we commenced to set up camp in her driveway. I connected to the outside water, turned it on, and nothing happened. I fiddled with the connections, changed out connectors, checked the hose, checked the plumbing while using only the onboard water source. Everything seemed to work perfectly in isolation, but put them all together – presto! No water.

Looks OK, but no water.

 We could survive the night without water from an outside source, so I turned to making up our bed for the night. [Note: We’re back into the boring part, big time.] Our bed is the back seat of the rig, pulled forward via tracks in the floor and folded flat. I pulled it forward. It wouldn’t budge. I pushed and pulled, I lubricated the track, I contorted my body in order to shine a flashlight underneath the seat to examine the tracks for an obstacle. No luck. No bed.

Bedding is all ready, but no bed.

Judith kindly allowed us to sleep on her living room futon for the night and to share her bathroom, which we could reach by tiptoeing through her bedroom while she slept. Five times, in my case. This arrangement somehow didn’t seem ideal, so in the morning I redoubled my efforts to solve the rig problems. No progress.

This was on a Friday. I began searching for a resource that a) knew how to fix RV problems, b) was willing to work on our cool, almost one-of-a-kind, classic, collector’s item, never seen one, never even heard of it, rig, c) could fix the problems fast, because we were unable to live in it, and it was in fact our home, and d) was open the next day, a Saturday (hardly any RV shops are open on weekends for some reason).  Miraculously, I found one, 50 miles away, in Santa Cruz. A fifty-mile drive seemed paltry to stalwarts such as we, who had, for instance, already driven 225 miles from eastern Oregon to Boise at 30 miles per hour on an Interstate highway to reach a repair shop willing and able to fix an earlier disaster. And that was a repair shop run by a relative.

I also managed to find a replacement part that might solve the water intake problem. The next day, Saturday, RV Services of Santa Cruz did replace the water system part and water flow was restored. The stuck seat stumped them as much as it had stumped us, though.   Eventually they threw up their hands and said we should return on Wednesday (the day before Thanksgiving), and they’d keep trying.

Just at that moment, our friends Lora and Gerry came to our rescue. They would be out of town for a week, and they offered us the use of their lovely house in downtown Palo Alto. So we moved in, and spent Thanksgiving week in comfort while the rig repair saga continued.

Wednesday brought another trip to RV Services of Santa Cruz. After several hours – success! After studying the 1,000 page manual we’ve lugged around the country for 15 months, they were able to remove the entire seat and find the culprit(s). A screw had somehow rolled into the floor track and had become lodged in a mall hole. Then a battery (remember the smoke alarm batteries?) had somehow rolled into the track and become blocked by the screw.

Screw, literally.

Battery (Use your imagination).

 

Gil, a living hero -- and our bed!

While tarrying at the RV place I met Ryan, a school counselor from Scotts Valley who had just traveled all the way to Whitefish, Montana to purchase the vehicle of his dreams – a classic 1973 VW camper with 89,000 miles on it. He planned to fix it up and to travel the country in it with his fiancée. I tried to convey to Brian the proper mixture of adventurousness and masochism that would serve them well. I didn’t know whether I hoped for them that they’d get married before or after their adventure. But I wished them well.

Ryan and his rig.

In the meantime, what a great week! We fit in two victorious Stanford Women’s Basketball games, and watched the Stanford football team beat Cal and Notre Dame and qualify for the Pac 12 championship game.

We had a really good Thanksgiving with our local girls at the Smiths’.

While camping in Judith’s driveway, I tried to partly earn our keep by helping her sort out problems with her various devices.

As is well known, I'm an award-winning and highly skilled cyber expert and electronics technician. My award was for being humble.

Uh-oh. Back to the rig. A new warning light flashed on the dashboard. The brakes were gone. We took it to our local Palo Alto mechanics. They had some trouble getting the parts they needed, so we ended up camping in their parking lot for a couple of nights. It wasn’t the first time we’ve camped in a mechanic’s parking lot while awaiting repairs.

I’ll wrap up this blog post by noting that although we’ve reported on various rig disasters in the past 15 months, they haven’t tempered our enthusiasm for our adventure. Well, maybe the succession in the space of three weeks of the transmission failing, the brakes failing, the water system failing, and the bed breaking resulted in a little tempering – but we quickly recovered.

We’re now in the “sleeping around” phase of the odyssey. We’re off the road for the most part, keeping to ground on the West Coast, away from blizzards, floods, icy roads, and other threats. We’re never completely sure where we’ll be from one week to the next; we’re dependent in part on the kindness of friends for driveway campsites, spare beds, and short-term house sitting gigs. The impermanence and unpredictability makes us feel some relationship with, and empathy for, people who are truly homeless. I admit that during the run of vehicle problems and dislocations I began to feel like a First World, present day Job (Why God, why?).  But I know a lot of truly homeless people. They don’t have cars they can use to get around town and do the shopping. They take buses – sometimes three or four buses just to get from a warm, dry place to spend the day to a warm, dry place to spend the night. They don’t have reliable (or sometimes any) health insurance. They don’t have friends offering warm beds and beautiful homes to use for respite. We’re lucky and we know it.

We’ll stay in the Bay area for a while longer now, and then head for Portland for Christmas. Merry Christmas all, and to all a good night.