8-13-2016 BLAINE, WA

Jim

Liz and Marnel

This resort, Birchwood, in Blaine, WA on Birch Bay, is quite beautiful.  We are surrounded by tall pines that reach all the way up to God and the broad expanse of the blue bay peeks through the trees.  It is quiet and starry.  Best of all, we are parked next to friends,

Rob

Marnel and Grubby,

Grubby

who are pickleball snowbirds we met in Pahrump.  In addition, tomorrow we meet up with two other snowbird pickleball couples, Jim and Liz and Ada and Bob.  It is a veritable tournament and reunion!

Just kidding on the tournament part.  We just bat around on the courts and giggle and horse around.  Yesterday, we played for 4 ½ hours!  I was completely wasted!  But never let it be said that we can’t go on!  Bob and Ada own a parcel of land at Sandy Point Shores where they park their fifth wheel for the summer season each year.  The power boat is moored at the pier but otherwise, the land is undeveloped.  A picnic at their digs followed pickleball and everyone brought treats.  Bob and Ada bbq’d outstanding Korean teriyaki ribs. 

Oh Bob!

Rob and I were assigned to bring chili beans.  As luck would have it, on Saturdays, everyone who is anyone has a garage sale on the point.  There were garage sales for miles!  Well,  you need a crock pot for chili beans, don’t you?  We found a crock pot for $2 and bazinga!  Beans!  After the picnic we were done, right?  Not so fast!

OK, he's texting?!

The annual block party takes place nearby, the “Elvis Festival.”  Well, who can go through life without attending that?!  Indeed, that is why we traveled here!  Marnel wrote and told us that they were attending the Elvis Festival with Ada, Bob, Jim and Liz and it wouldn’t be complete without us.  Okey dokey, then!  Drive 2,000 miles to four inches from Canada (eh?) to join a monster block party and watch Elvis and

Roy Orbison

Roy Orbison impersonators and drink beer till we drop?  We can do this!  What else is there to do in August in Pahrump?!  And who was the best Elvis of the three performers, you ask?  Erin Wong.  Last I checked, Elvis was not Asian and Erin is not Caucasian but Erin did a great job.

Caught in the act!

 

Elvis Wong

Everyone made merry and danced in the streets for several hours in the balmy evening air on the bay and we pretty women shaked, rattled and rolled!

Sunday called for a ceremony at St. Pickleball and another picnic at Bob and Ada’s out on the spit.  This time, my job was pulled ham sandwiches.  Enter trusty $2 crock pot!  Here’s the recipe:  Chop a picnic ham into chunks that will fit into the crock pot.  Pour a beer over it.  Simmer all night and the next day, remove the bones and fat and shred the meat.  Pile it on a hard roll with horseradish, dill pickle relish and hot mustard.  Wash down with an ice cold beer.  Yum!  This trusty fool-proof recipe is brought to you by my baby brother, Larry, and his wife, Linda.  

Did I capture this or what?!

In the afternoon, Bob and Ada took us out on the briney to capture crabs.  This was a learning experience for Lucky Lindy.  First, you drive the boat out to your favorite secret crab spot.  The trip in itself was worth the price of admission. 

Rob, Grubby and Mount Baker

Ada and Marnel, cruisin' babes!

The sun, sparkling water, blue sky, snow-covered Mr. Baker on the skyline and salty ocean spray provides a feeling of sublime serenity and exhileration. 

Then, Captain Bob got seriously into teaching us the fine art of crabbing.  First, put the boat at the perfect coordinates where all the crabs hang out.  We brought the bait enroute to Bob and Ada’s:  a few pounds of fresh chicken.  At this point, we sliced the chicken to give the crabs even more reason to come and check this out, put the chicken in the bait box, hooked it down inside the cage and then, threw the crab cage overboard.  The cage is about 2X2X1 wire attached to several buoys and a flag so we would know where to find it later.  We lowered the four cages down to depth, then, turned off the engine, poured a drink, laughed and told stories and argued religion and politics while we waited for crabs to get suckered into the traps as we drifted along in the warm ocean breeze.

After about an hour, Capt. Bob decided we should have a look at each of these traps to see if we had caught anything at all besides an old tire or something. 

Crabs!  Yay!

When what to our wondering eyes should appear:  Many crabs were in our cages!  We carefully meaured each one and if one were too small or a female, Bob would throw it back.  Pays to be a chick, if you know what I mean!

Careful, Krauser!  They bite!

 -continued-

Chicks go overboard!

8-10-2016 SALEM. OREGON

(One more thing.  We noticed that the locals pronounce Yreka two different ways.  I have always said, “why-REEK-ah” as many do.  But we notice that some folks say the “y” as if it were an “i” prounouced like “ee,” as in “ee-REEK-ah.”  Just thought you’d like to know this important factoid.)

We spent about 48 hours in the Peoples’ Republic of Oregonistan, specifically Salem where Mike (#2 son) and Jenn live.  We’ve been lucky to see Mike for the second time this year, as his job running the music store and playing in the Mike DeLaMare Quartet keep him very, very busy.  But we four found time after hours to share a few laughs over cocktails and dinner for two nights.  On the second night, Mike and Jenn took us to one of their favorite digs, the Union Barrel, a beautiful place with a 50 feet long one piece heavy wooden bar and matching polished wood back bar.  When the proprietors moved them to their places here, they had to close the streets! 

Jenn, Mike, Rob and the fluffy one

The Union Barrel is famous for its varieties of whiskeys and bourbons which they serve as a flight, i.e., in small glasses on a plank of wood.  Mike and Jenn are the whiskey pros, we don’t know from whiskey.  They pointed out the various special qualities of each one.  I took a couple of sips and felt my whole head heat up!  The Italian ristorante, Christo’s, that was the follow-up serves dangerously delicious food, red wine and chianti.  I recommend the veal marsala!  Pizza Boy had, you guessed it, pizza.

We had a free day to nose about and started the day with lunch at the Flight Deck, located at the Salem General Aviation Airport.  We classified the food as five star and ate as we watched the airplanes take off and land outside the big picture windows.  Hanging from the ceiling are big model airplanes that fly, or did at one time.  What a cool place!

The Flight Deck!

Pretty cool place with excellent food!

Next, we decided to visit the capitol building in Salem.  We already have this one in the bag but we wanted, one more time, to see the quote etched in white stone on the front of the  building, just to be sure we read it right the first time we were here.  Yup, we read it right, “… for the common welfare and the sharing of benefits justly apportioned.”  Huh?  We notice that no one takes credit (or blame) for this quote.  We decided it was either Alinsky, Obama or Marx (not Groucho).  Isn’t that just special?    Moved, we shared a justly apportioned group hug.

Down at the city park, there is a building that houses a beautiful carousel, all lights and colorful horses, elephants and covered wagons.  We could not learn any history of the carousel.  Politely, we asked if they had brochures or booklets. 

“No!” she said.  OK.  We thought instead we’d take a ride on the Willamette River on the paddle wheel boat called the Willamette Queen.  They were closed today.  Okey dokey.  Out to EZ Orchards Farms, then, to see if the market was open.  Hurray, it was!  They have bins filled with every make and model of fruit and vegetable imaginable, spices, homemade soaps, giant freshly baked cookies, fresh baked bread, jars of berry preserves, a variety of pressed oils, local wines, arts and crafts. 

EZ Orchard Farms

Oh and a frozen Marienberry pie which is now safely in captivity.  I’m dangerous in markets like these.  I belong on a leash.

Wow!  Somebody stop me!

We gave the kids a great big bear hug and set our clock for a 9:30AM departure in the morning.  At 11:05AM we drove off, heading northward to Blain, WA, four inches from Canada.  Rush hour traffic through Seattle made this a long 8 hour trip.  The park is beautiful with tall shady pines and pickleball courts.  Parked, settled in, hooked up, cold cocktails…. Yup.  

8-8-2016 YREKA, CA

Miracles do happen and our departure time occurred at 10AM, difficult because we were leaving so much fun.  We waved our good byes to Fritz and Pal and headed northward toward Yreka, CA.  On the route, lucky for us, is a deli in Corning, CA called the Olive Pit, a place you should visit before you leave planet Earth.  Any time we learn that Corning is on the way, we consider it the jackpot.  The Olive Pit has grown so much due to its reputation that they have a special parking lot in the back for big rigs.

Wanted:  one bottle of gin!

Walk in, grab a cart and take out a second on the house, Baby!  You will find shelf after shelf of pickled spreads, jarred olives, black, somewhat green or green, stuffed and spiced up with everything your heart and mind can imagine.  Stuffed with mushrooms, kalamatas, capers, anchovies, a variety of cheeses, spices such as cajun, mexican, smokey, chipotle and beer.  God loves me and wants me to be happy.  Well, we exhausted the monthly portion of the budget allocated for olives, Rob ordered a ham, sausage, provolone and mufletta sandwich from the deli and we left richer than when we had arrived.

It’s a shame that California is so fucked up, politically and financially.  It is such a beautiful place.  Driving north past Mt. Shasta is almost a religious experience.  Around the bend there it is and you almost want to genuflect.  The roads are bordered by tall pines and the sky is navy blue and Shasta stands there, immutable, saying, “What?”  Stunning.

Beautiful Mount Shasta

Some folks in Oregon learned that there was gold to be found near Scott River south of Yreka some 30 miles.  In the year 1851, they embarked to collect it.  Along the way, they camped at a flat near Yreka through which passed a huge rain storm.  In the morning when they arose, the pack animals were pulling up the bunch grass by the roots and … what the…?  The roots were glittering!  Gold!  The town grew to 5,000 inhabitants and this area, now known as Yreka, was considered one of the “richest square miles on earth.”  (I don’t know how they determined this.)  Of course, the town burned down in 1871 on July 4^th as a result of firecrackers.  Undaunted, the citizens rebuilt the town from brick and blocks, which don’t burn, by the way.  Who knew?

The name “Shasta” was already taken by another town and so this town, known then as Shasta Butte City, took the name Yreka, Indian for, you guessed it, “Shasta.”  “Shasta” is probably a name for something else, too, but we couldn’t find that out.  I mean, we couldn’t out with which that to find… or whatever.  I am trying very hard not to end the sentence with a preposition.

Lindy at Elks Lodge bar

Importantly, there is an Elks Lodge in Yreka.  We stepped in and froze in our tracks.  There it was, my God, the most beautiful back bar we’ve ever seen!  It was built in England in the 1850s, at some point shipped around Cape Horn to SFO and trucked to Yreka, then installed in the Elks Lodge in 1957.  Made of solid highly polished cherry wood, the mirrors, lights and crystal chandeliers enhanced the sparkling beauty all the more.  It is spectacular!  A reason all its own to visit Yreka!  Our luck ran out when the lady told us that the bar wasn’t open but we at least had the good luck to see this immense art treasure.  Nothing, by the way, was open in Yreka.  They roll up the sidewalks on Sunday and Monday.  Fortunately, we could explore the historic district and read the landmark plaques on almost all of the buildings on Miner Street to learn what we could on our own.

Chips, hamburger, corn on the cob and a beer and we are ready to call it a day. Tomorrow is a bit of a drive, almost 300 miles.  That will be tiring so it’s best to hit the pillows, now.  Good night with love.

Toonie Time at the homestead

The Jeepster & B2 at Yreka RV Park

8-6-2016 MEADOW VISTA, CA

It is out of character for us to stay but one night at a park but Hawthorne is familiar to us and has been explored to some extent.  It is a convenient stopping point though, so as not to drive too far in a day.  We tend to keep our travel legs in the 300 mile range or ideally, a little less.  So we pulled in, left the Jeep in hook-up mode and turned off the key, warmed up dinner and settled down for the night.

B2 at Whiskey Flats

There are millions more stars here than other places in the universe!  Staring upward in the dark of night is a beautiful, magical, mystical experience.  How can it be that the silvery smudge that is the Milky Way is made up of trillions upon trillions of individual heavenly bodies?  This is mind-boggling, even to a person such as me who has LBP (Low Boggle Point).  In a short time, I saw four shooting stars, three that started on the top and shot down to the edge and one that shot from one edge all the way over the top and down to the other edge.  Simply fantastic and amazing!

Besides the beauty in the sky, there is the peaceful, quiet drive through the ranchland where wild burros, horses and cattle meander.  Walker Lake, north of Hawthorne, is not what it was but it is still immense.  In prehistoric times, Walker Lake was one small part of Pleistocene Lahontan Lake which covered most of Nevada.  Over the millenia, the waters receded (Global warming, don’tchaknow.) but Walker Lake remains, fairly secure as a “terminal lake” because it does not feed any other streams or rivers.  It is home to about 360,000 cutthroat trout which would be endangered if we lived up here!

This leg of the trip involves traveling through the Donner Pass, home of Chuck Roast, Steak Diane and Quiche Lorraine and finger food, among many other delicacies.  B2 is performing like a champ and now we are on the downslope, on approach to Meadow Vista, home town of our friends of 45 years, Fritz and Pal.  Over the next few days, fun and shenanigans are anticipated, many of them probably legal.

Our friends’ home is in a quiet wooded area, except for the roosters who like to awaken everyone at dawn with persistent crowing and the goats who answer them.  In this idyllic setting, a mamma deer and her two Bambis live close by and wander about unafraid. 

Future venison on the hoof!  Yum!

Mamma is graceful, like poetry in motion, but the white-spotted babies scamper around and play like puppies.

Fritz and Pal had a lot of great activities lined up for us including hours of playtime on the pickleball court.  At first, I didn’t play because of wrist and shoulder pain but ultimately, it is impossible to stay away.  Play through the pain, right?  The pickleball folks here are really friendly and fun and accepted Rob and me into the group as if they had known us forever.   Happily, they had arranged to have a picnic at the Rod and Gun Club which sits in a pretty park on Lake Combie.  Everyone brought their coolers filled with sandwiches and cold beer, a big fat, sweet, juicy watermelon (Can’t have a picnic without a watermelon!) and kayaks! 

Lake Combie

So if pickleball isn’t enough exercise there is always an afternoon of kayaking!  We were fortunate that friends loaned us kayaks for a couple of days and paddling around in the blue water surrounded by the tall pines was tranquilizing and nearly hypnotic.  Once is one time too few, of course, and so the following day, there was more pickleball and kayaking, this time on Lake Rollins.  There are ducks, geese, cormorants and ospreys and I searched the trees for eagles which live here but they were elusive.  We were gourmeted and beered up and exercised for three days and it was quite a grand time.

Lake Rollins

Worrisome was the problem B2 had with the 20 amp electrical supply line at the house.  Ultimately, we found that no power was getting through to run the refrigerator, our only goal.  Troubleshooting one idea at a time, at last we figured it out.  The beast simply did not like such a long cord, so we shortened and rerouted it and bazinga, power!  “Resistence is not futile, it’s voltage divided by current.”

INTRODUCTION - AUGUST 2016 ON THE ROAD

“Moss grows bad on a rollin’ stone,” as the song goes, and we’re no fan of moss so we’re rollin!’  I know some of you are probably wondering why anyone would want to head north from the pleasant 110F temperatures of southern Nevada.  Especially with the breezes… similar to a blast furnace.

The simple answer is that we have been invited to party in Oregon and Washington with our snowbird pickleball friends and ultimately, end up at the “Elvis Festival” in Bellingham.  Well, who can say, “no,” to that:  several weeks of party and an “Elvis Festival?”  We’ve got this.

We acquired a new beast in February of this year, flying up to Boise, Idaho, taking delivery and driving it back to the homestead.  For some time, there were headaches and teething problems and the last six months have been interlaced with multiple trips to the Las Vegas Ford truck shop and Fleetwood.  We believe that the serious issues have now been resolved and the rest is small potatoes.  We know how to tighten screws, oil squeeks and adjust door knobs.  One issue that Rob resolved independent of Ford involved streamlining the speed-gear-rpm ratios.  He studied and searched on the net for hours, days and sleepless nights.  Finally, Five Star website read, “Does your truck downshift and scream if it even looks at a hill?  We can fix that!”  For a few hundred dollars, they sent a hand-held computer about the size of a pack of cigarettes with a software program installed in it.  Working with the geeks, Rob downloaded the software into the beast’s computer.  Still not satisfied, Rob told them what he wanted.  They wrote a new program, sent it to Rob’s email, he downloaded it to the hand-held and installed it.  Bazinga!  B2 purrs like a kitten and my gear head is, or will be shortly, a “happy camper.”

As you can see, the world is overpopulated

Now, with the bugs worked out and having moved all of our “stuff” from the old bins in Bee to the new bins in B2 (or Bee-Too?), the time grew nigh to pack up the clothes, food, beer and olives.  Shooting for an 11 o’clock departure this morning, at 11:30 it was final:  whatever isn’t in the beast at this point isn’t going along.  We were sure to remember sweaters, hat and mittens, however, so as to prevent “Desert Rat Frost Bite,” it being “Summer” in the PacNW, after all.

5PM, just in time for the martini hour!

First stop:  An rv park named Whiskey Flats (what else?) in Hawthorne, central Nevada.  So far the drive has been uneventful, smooth, a bit gusty, fairly barren and unoccupied.  Here and there, the ghostly remnants of abandoned, small wooden mining town shacks barely stand, at last weatherworn and beaten down by the unforgiving desert elements.  There are a few small active towns, Goldfield and Tonopah, and of course a sprinkling of whorehouses here and there, such as Alien 51 Cathouse.  The sign read, “Brothel, Hot Sauce and Souvenirs.”  One does wonder if any of the souvenirs require medical treatment.  Tonopah featured one hotel called Humbug Flats, the Shady Lady B & B and the Bug Bar.  In this part of the rugged Wild West, metrosexual city slickers need not apply.

So we are off to the PacNW, where humans are wet and cold and fish are nervous!  Stay tuned!

4-11-2016 Flagstaff, AZ

The scenery changed from brambles, brush and purple snow caps to red rock formations and now, 300 miles later, we are in Flagstaff, Arizona, one of our favorite places.  There is something for everybody, here.  It’s a college town, there is sunny heat, snow, a ski area, observatory, old town, a 2 to 3-hour long Fourth of July Parade and park festivities.  Oh, and it rains everyday.  Not for long, but every day.  That isn’t the good news, fyi.

Lore has it that the name “Flagstaff” developed over time based upon the stripping and whittling of a ponderosa pine to be used as a flagpole to display the US flag for the 100^th anniversary of our country on July 4, 1876.  Before this, the town was named Antelope Springs and Old Town.  It was settled on an old dirt road that lead to California and the main industries were timber and ranching.  The railroad was laid through the town and that and Route 66 put Flagstaff permanently on the map.  It is often called the “City of Seven Wonders” based upon surrounding forests, high peaks, canyons and a huge crater.  The Lowell Observatory houses the Clark Telescope.  Pluto was discovered and the moon was mapped for the Apollo missions using this telescope.  (Mickey was discovered after that.) 

Weatherford Hotel with pine cone

In 1900, John Weatherford opened the Weatherford Hotel, a historical landmark in Flagstaff.  It has been visited over the decades by the famous and the infamous, politicians to gunslingers, and is still open for business. 

You know how they lower the ball on New Year’s Eve at midnight in NYC?  Not to be outdone, in 1999, the townsfolk began the tradition of “Lowering the Pine Cone” from the roof of the Weatherford Hotel at midnight on New Year’s Eve.  We attended this event last year, agreeing that, whereas Time Square in NYC on New Year’s Eve may easily be left off the bucket list, one may not go through an entire lifetime without witnessing the “Lowering of the Pine Cone.”

"Ten... nine... eight... Happy New Year!"

New Year's Eve in Flagstaff

Finally, after having visited Flagstaff at least a half dozen times, we made it to Black Bart’s Steakhouse, Saloon and Musical Revue!  Yes, they were open, a miracle!  They serve great lamb, beef steaks and cold brews and the wait staff sings and entertains, backed up by the talented piano player.  We were seated near the huge log-burning fireplace and the evening was a really unique, cozy experience.

My Beloved had gone long enough without a pizza and was therefore on a mission.  It ended happily at Fat Olives, a seriously authentic Italian restaurant.  The centerpiece is the wood-fired oven, built in Italy by a fifth-generation Italian family from stones obtained in part from Mount Vesuvius. 

Fat Olives wood fired oven from Italy

The restaurant’s claim to fame is the certifications it carries based upon the strictest Italian standards, from the quality of the olive oil to the fineness of the flour used to make breads and crusts.  The award-winning chef makes breads, dough and cheeses fresh every morning, including mozzarella de buffala.  My quest to try unusual things I’ve never had before was once again a success.  My salad included wood-fire roasted Italian olives and artichoke hearts.  Roasted olives?  Delicious!  Lunchtime was a bonanza for us!

Wood fired pizza!

We are on our way home, now, Tuesday April 12^th.  Our internal homing devices know the way to and from Flagstaff, Arizona with our eyes closed.  What a wonderful adventure this has been.  Now, let’s see what we can dream up next!

4-9-2016 Durango, CO

Gas up here in the heartland for $1.70/gallon.  Other trivia:  signs along the highways read, “Keep Kansas Clean Next 2 Miles,” “Range Burning Area Do Not Drive Into Dense Smoke,” “Big Game Hunting Here, Elk Deer Bear Antelope” and in Colorado, “Marijuana for Sale.”  The expansive ranges are populated with cattle, horses, deer and antelope.  While cruising along at 75 mph, I spotted a steer that was on the wrong side of the fence and apparently on a singular mission to cross the highway.  I braked to a sudden and complete stop, tossing books, maps, phones, backpack and water bottles onto the cockpit floor.  (“Good brakes,” I’m thinking.)  The animal stood there looking at us, lower jaw chewing side-to-side, “What?!”  “Hey, wherever you want to go, Mr. 1,000 Lb. Steer (except through the radiator)!”  Slowly, I inched around him and we were back on our way.

My imagination paints a picture of a wagon pulled by oxen crossing these desolate ranges irregular with ditches, troughs and mud, criss-crossed by streams and tangles of brambles, bushes and pickers. You are the wife in a dirt-length dress and bonnet, sitting in the wagon (no a/c) with four tots and an infant and pregnant, being eyeballed by coyotes, rattlers and  restless, territorial warriors who think your scalp would make a nice tepee decoration. 

The wagon crests a hill, as we do now, and blue mountains topped with snow appear on the horizon.  She’s thinking what I would have been thinking, “Oh shit, what fresh new Hell is this?  Hey honey, why don’t we just stop here, till up the dirt a little bit, throw some water on a few seeds and see what happens?”  And he’s thinking, “Like, I know, right?”

Well I don’t know how the pioneers did it but the BFT navigated the paved highway nicely through the Wolf Creek National Forest in the rain and slushy snow and just before Pagosa Springs, up over the Continental Divide at Wolf Creek Pass (el. 10,850 ft.). 

It was a long slog but it didn’t seem like it because of the breathtaking beauty;  alpine meadows populated with herds of antelope and mule deer, burros, horses and cattle, towering snowy peaks covered with tall green fluffy conifers and bare skinny aspens, high icy waterfalls tumbling into deep canyons.  I don’t know how the folks manage.  I look at the isolated wilderness homes and my thought is, “Where’s Albertson’s?”  Big chalet-like homes have a marvelous view through windows up to the sharp peaked roofs and I ask myself, “Who cleans it?”

Spring has sprung in Durango. 

Daffodils are popping up and the trees are heavy with blossoms.  People who think that 60F is actually warm are running around in shorts and t-shirts.  It was a nice day to visit the State Fishery but it was closed. 

Rob with fish & chips
on the hoof

Fish apparently take weekends off.  Plaques informed us that in the wild, only 10% of rainbow and cutthroat trout survive to adulthood.  In the fishery, however, 95% make it and 1.4 million are turned loose into the lakes and rivers per year.  All I know is they are beautiful (on the plate next to my rice pilaf).

Rob in the BFT at the State Hatchery

We had lunch at the Diamond Belle Saloon in the Strater Hotel (estab. 1887) on Main Street.  It’s a stately structure, the centerpiece of Durango.  Louis L’Amour always stayed in room 222 and here he wrote several of his novels.  The original saloon was sold off for awhile to other businesses.  Earl Barker wanted to restore it but his Dad said he’d never make a dime.  So one time when Dad went out of town, Earl and a friend got busy.  Dad came home and saw what a great success it was and bragged that it was his idea all along.  Asshole. 

The splendid Strater Hotel

The building is a living piece of art and the rooms, parlor and saloon are filled with beautiful antiques of all kinds. 

At the bar in the
Diamond Belle

The stunning back bar was found in an old barn and restored.  The ragtime piano tinkles and there is a feeling of old west historic romance here.  The antiquity ends, however, with the pretty barmaids who are younger than my travel shampoo bottle.

Ashley and Deanna serve victuals
in the Diamond Belle Saloon

The bartender was born a year after Reagan became President.  My goodness.   You can reach out and touch both ends of time here in Durango, Colorado.