Adventure 147: Stage One Rocket: Maryhill Revisited

Riding High.

"On the road again, I guess I'll just get on the road again..." Thanks Willie, I think we will. The Wily Cager, alias Stumpy, who through the miraculous regeneration of recreated facts now has a full complement of toes and fingers, and I left Spokane this morning about 9:40. After bucking a headwind (9 MPG), we arrived at MaryHill State Park around 2:30 P.M. As is customary this time of year, the park is about a fifth full. After setting up, we wandered down the road to the Maryhill Fruit stand where we bought two just off the tree Red Delicious apples, two soon to be ripe peaches, a sweet onion, an acorn squash, and a couple of fresh peppers. The wind was howling loud enough to flap the Cager's pants. If she would have had ear protection, she would have looked like a flight line sailor directing F-16s  on an aircraft carrier. So we didn't ride. Instead, we watched the episode of NCIS we missed last night because of Soup Night. For the uninitiated, Soup Night is something we've done for over a decade. I make soup (Potato/Kale last night), Judy makes bread (Rosemary Walnut), and we invite the neighborhood. We started Soup Night to get to know our neighbors, and it's been wildly successful. Last night we had about forty people. A restaurant sized pot of soup was consumed, along with a bit of wine, and several sweet treats, which the neighbors brought. For tonight's dinner, we had the last batch of our favorite summer meal: Cherry Tomato Pasta. We love the dish, which is made especially good with garden tomatoes, fresh basil, and a Walla Walla Sweet onion. For  dessert, we shared one of the made from scratch chocolate cupcakes that managed to hide itself inside our cupboard last night.  And woe is me, the Cager beat me by one point in the opening game of this year's cribbage series. I think I lost on a scurrilous move when she took two points for a thirty-one plus another for last card (That's the way the Cager rolls). To make it interesting, we're playing for $$$$ this trip (One dollar a point; Five dollars a game). I currently owe her $6. This is the first night of stage one of our three week trip, which will end with us storing Fric and Frac in San Jose, California until we return in mid January of 2015. Needless to say, life is good, especially today.

 Who knew oil could flow up hill? Warren Buffet!

 A view of our new bedroom in Frac 2.0.

 The dining area seen from the new bedroom.

 Fric and Frac (2.0) snuggling into site #10 at Maryhill State Park.

 The rear bedroom as seen from outside.

 A view of the hills as they rise from the Columbia River to create the gorge. Stunning!

 The local apple/peach orchard is less than a mile away.

  Cherry Tomato Pasta and our frivolous game.

Bonus Coverage: I spent last week riding a bicycle in Vermont with my buddy, Ed. This was my sixth trip to Vermont, which is a special place. Judy usually comes with me, but she attended her fiftieth high school reunion instead. I missed her, but the Vermont countryside helped distract me. See for yourself.

Vermont ain't flat.

 White churches anchor each tiny village.

 Covered bridges dot the countryside.

And tiny schoolhouses hide amid the dells, like this one in Pettengill, circa 1869.

Vermont 2014 as seen through my prism (Go there as soon as you can!). 

My buddy, Ed Drouin's mantra is that everyone sees life through their own prism. Touring on a bicycle affords me time to gaze through mine. I like to think, and Vermont makes me think like an existentialist. I get all myopic like Henry David Thoreau watching an ant hill, all cosmic like Ralph Waldo Emerson preaching ‘Oversoul’, and all mystical like Emily Dickinson contemplating “…great pain.” Vermont cleanses my heart as if I am cleaning my closet of unused clothes-clothes that no longer fit or clothes no longer in style. Vermont frees me to shed layers of myself. I let every ray of light see me, every floating leaf caress me, every colorful hillside entice me, every arduous ascent encourage me, and every rapid downhill thrill me. Vermont also gives me a sense of the natural world. It centers me. I remember part of a quote I read on a poster on the wall of some country store somewhere. It suggested that Vermonters are caught by miraculous surprise every fall when the colors suddenly burst from the hillside. I get it. I’m constantly stunned by the array of ever changing color as the shifting light chases through the trees, and the ghostly presence of the nineteenth century lurking beneath the eaves, and the sweet and not so sweet smells of the forest and the dairy farms. There are quaint homes, dilapidated barns, country stores, and white churches. There are creeks, rocks, the sky, and the hills. But there are also the small sights like a solid shard of granite poking its speckled gray nose up through the hard packed dirt. Like a sentinel, it’s there to fight for its place, ever ready to bend its snout into a tire just to educate an inattentive cyclist. It flatly states,  “I, too, am a part of the land; respect me.” Vermont is rugged land, a glorious land that affirms the wonder of creation and the glory of America. It holds itself apart, resisting the scars of urban blight, thereby respecting the miracles of nature. Vermonters guard their rural sanctuary zealously. I’m glad they do because my spirit is refreshed every time I visit. In his famous poem, Robert Frost noted that life is uncertain, that choices matter, that the road diverges into the equally fair, and like Ed says, we look down the path into the underbrush as far as we can. When I press my own prism to my eye, I see the comfort of friendship (Thanks, Ed), the power of self, and that life is good, especially today. TW

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood...

Adventure 146: Heyburn Shakedown

S**t eating grin

Miraculous things are happening in the world of Fric and Frac. On the moderately miraculous side (since all it took was money), Frac grew two feet right before our very eyes. The longer version gives us a standup shower, a spacious water closet, a bit more counter space in the kitchen, and a walk around bed. More miraculous than that was that Stumpy (The Wily Cager) regenerated her entire array of digits: feet and toes. I'm entirely grateful for the miracle because it was becoming quite onerous to drag her everywhere we went. It's all good, though because we're on the eve of this year's adventure, and we'll need her at full strength. We plan to travel for three weeks from mid October to the first week of November in order to get Fric and Frac below the snow line. We'll store the rigs in San Jose, California and fly home for the holidays as well as Judy's knee replacement surgery. After the holidays ( and depending on Judy's recovery), we'll fly back to California, pick up Fric and Frac and begin our 2015 adventure  down the California coast below San Francisco. This past weekend was a shakedown of the new trailer. It's not only longer, but a bit wider and a bit heavier. We had to test it. Everything works well. The extra space is delicious, the extra light is delightful, and the new smell wafts luxury like warm semel baking in the oven. So far, so good. There is some news on the cribbage front. Because of her miraculous digit regeneration, Judy is back to being known as the Wily Cager (She's still capable of some pretty bold maneuvers, after all), and we've decided to play for money. We're going to play for a penny a point plus a nickel a game. We'll pay up the night before we get home from this year's long adventure. Right now the Wily Cager up $.75. We've shared this shakedown weekend with our friends, the Ulmens who also enjoy tandem riding. Yesterday, we rode along the south end of Coeur 'd alene Lake on the area's fabulous rail trail of the same name. From Heyburn State Park to Harrison is about twenty miles round trip. It was very pleasant as we are enjoyed one of the Pacific Northwest's best features: Indian Summer. Almost yearly, after our long hot summers, we enjoy a period in September where the daytime temperatures warm to the mid seventies with clear skies and gentle breezes and the night time temperatures fall to the mid fifties. It's absolutely stunning to be in the woods this time of year to watch the last wisps of summer turn into orange and yellow as the chemical processes of dying leaves produce the beautiful fall colors. It's not as stunning as the East coast because we have more pines than deciduous trees, but nonetheless, our Larches, Aspens, and Bitter bushes put on a nice show. As always, life is good, especially today.

 The soft light of Indian Summer as seen from our front window.

 Our new Frac nestled safely in its first camping spot.

 Fric will carry just the tandem this year. We didn't really ride our singles last year.

 The rear windows provide the view from our bedroom.

 The Ulmen tandem eager to hit the trail.

 Mr. Ulmen setting up his trailer. Easy duty for an experienced hand like him.

 It is fitting that the best sites at Heyburn are the tent sites down by the lake.

 Summer beauty yet to fade into fall.

 Warm, calm, beautiful.

 And reflective: We've much to be thankful for.

 Dinner party one: guests are always welcome.

Sweet treats!

 It's getting dark: Good night, Cager.

Summary Map of 2013-14 Adventure

https://mapsengine.google.com/map/edit?hl=en&authuser=0&mid=zQEBrCrlt76I.kHokcULt5EVs

Adventure 145: Stumpy Celebrates Sixty-Eight on the Joe

Birthday Cedars

From last we met, life and cribbage have continued. We have enjoyed a glorious summer filled with gardening, biking, sailing, and general "laking". At one point, the Wily Cager, who remains a profoundly successful card shark, had a match with Douglissimo at Priest Lake. She was up to her usual tricks, and then some. After one deal, Douglissimo was over celebrating a fortuitous hand when amazingly, the Cager reached over and picked up his uncounted crib. What happened next should be cause for sending the children to safety. After much noise and confusion and at least one reloading, the Cager was a stumpy mess. All ten of her toes and eight of her fingers were picked off as Douglissimo expertly fired one round after another. When the smoke cleared and the acrid smell of gun powder settled, the scene was a bloody carnage of severed toes and fingers. The bottom line is that the Cager has a new name: Stumpy. Undaunted, Stumpy settled in for the beginning of birthday month in a little grove of cedars along the St. Joe river. Though damp the first night, the remainder of the stay was punctuated by clear skies and warm temps. The only other guests along the river were  fly fishermen and a lone bald eagle that flew upstream about twenty feet off the ground following the contours of the river. I don't imagine he had a catch and release policy in mind. During our three day stay, Stumpy was on fire (I'm not sure she even cheated) as she tallied one double figure hand after another. She was so cute, holding her cards between her thumbs and her single remaining digits. Cute quickly changed to killer as she spanked me 8-2. I'm as generous as the next guy on birthdays, but this is carrying it a bit far. The purpose of our trip to the Joe was to shake down Fric and Frac after a dormant summer in preparation for this winter's return to the wilds of the Southwest. Beginning mid October, we plan to travel for three weeks far enough to get below the snow line. We'll store the truck and trailer somewhere near San Jose until January. Mid November, Stumpy will have knee replacement surgery, and as soon after the new year that she is ready, we'll return to Fric and Frac to begin our second season of winter traveling. For now, remember that life is good, especially today.


 Stumpy can "hold" a book, but page turning is more difficult.

 Frac shedding water like a silver water bird.

 Damp and gray, but also fresh and clean.

 The first night we enjoyed the rain pecking steadily on the trailer.

 The next morning brought the sun.

 Frac in his glory.

 Not too bad after sixty-eight years.

 Frac's tailgate provided a nice painting spot.

 The shadowy St. Joe as interpreted in 2014.

 The gallery from inside the front window.

 Stumpy, her sly grin showing, but notice--no hands.

 Her weapon.

This gentleman said he has fished this spot for twenty years.

Adventure 144: Spring Training Ride: Harrington to St. John

Same Old Charm

We travelled a large total of thirty five miles (or so) to Sprague, where we stayed for three nights. In two days we rode eighty miles through the spring greening of the wheat and alfalfa.  The first day we rode toward St. John. The wind was stronger that the forecast promised, so we cut the ride short at just over thirty miles in a tour that included a visit to downtown Lamont, WA. The second day, we rode to Harrington and back for a grand total of fifty miles. We shared a BLT at the Harrington Golf and Country Club for lunch, and we averaged eleven and a half miles per hour, which at this stage of conditioning is quite pleasing. Nothing to report except a sore rear end and a tender hamstring, which always surfaces since I injured it in the 4.5 Club finals, which I lost to John Radcliffe in three sets. Sprague is a sleepy prairie town which sits on the edge of pot hole lake country. It's filled with basalt outcroppings, rolling terrain, and (usually) strong winds. The winds were nearly silent on the trip over and back to Harrington. For this we were grateful. I have been beating the Wily Cager quite regularly, but her sketchy play continues unabated. We're happy with our start to the training season for our summer bike tour with the Drouins'. Now, our goal is to continue on a daily basis. If we can do that, life will be good, especially today.

 Best looking truck and trailer in the park.

 The sights of downtown Sprague includes a parking lot full of venerable trucks basking on their former glory.

 Internationals.

 GMCs

 Soft light for a rusty life.

 My Honey Bunny just before our halibut dinner.

 Every two hours twenty four seven a train bellows by.

 The inhabitants need to be quite tough to make it around here.

 The marker to one of the family's (Millers) homes.

 One of the more recently used buildings in Lamont.

 My Bunny committed petty larceny to gather these lilacs.

 The road beckons.

 Moss green rock outcropping.

 You can meet all kinds of hot biker babes at the golf course.

 Big brown barn.

 Smaller brown barn.