Adventure 3: Harris Park, Umatilla County

Some Light Fare We call Thin Gruel.

Thirteen miles east of Milton-Freewater, Oregon at the end of a blind draw, the small but picturesque Harris RV park awaits. Spots can and should be reserved. The park has fifteen spots or so, a host of amenities mostly aimed at families, and a comfortable, friendly feeling. We visited in April, so access was easy, although the park was full by evening of our arrival on Friday. It was the first time I'd backed the trailer into a site. I was a little tight on one side, but I didn't scrape any of the aluminum off, so I kept the first try. We stayed two nights. The first morning, we enjoyed a leisurely breakfast and then rode forty miles in and around Milton-Freewater. To begin, we coasted the thirteen miles back into town and then meandered along flat roads among the fruit trees. The riding was pleasant. It was warm, little wind, and even the climb back to the campground was gentle. We packed up the next morning, parked the rigs in Waitsburg, WA. From there we rode a forty mile loop around the wheat fields. While beautiful, our springtime conditioning was suspect in terms of easily riding the sharply steep hills around Walla Walla. Nonetheless, the adventure proved to be exactly what we needed, if not exactly what we wanted. Regardless, in the end we all felt that life was good, especially today.

A tight fit and a little too far right, but it worked.

Our tandem buddies, the Ulmen's.

Adventure 2: Maryhill State Park

Ready for Gourmet Action.

Across the river from Biggs Junction, Oregon, nestled under the cliff on the north side of the Columbia River sits an exquisite state park with a circular layout that includes several pull through sites along with several spacious back in sites. Because it was early March, we had our choice of sites. During the peak season finding a spot on short notice would be impossible. We chose a pull through site, which was so level and spacious we didn't unhook. We spent two enjoyable nights. Each day we climbed aboard our tandem bicycle and stepped as lively as two sixty somethings could up the road to the edge of the cliff. Though short, the grade is steep and provided quite and early season challenge. We rode fifteen miles each day. Upon leaving we enjoyed our first ever dump station experience, which I/m happy to say emptied without incident.

Encouraged, we crossed the Columbia River, climbed the grade out of Biggs, and headed south down highway 97 toward Madras, Oregon to visit my parents. This was the first time we'd pulled the trailer any distance, and I was still nervous about the side clearance, the traveling speed, and a hundred other things any nervous nellie might fret over. We stopped in a little town at the top of the ridge called Grass Valley where we pulled off to the side right on the main road. We unloaded the tandem and rode a thirty mile loop on the local backroads. The cycling, while a bit hilly, was great in the fact that the traffic was light, the road was smooth, and my stoker (Judy) was strong and steady. The scenery included the scrub brown stubble of spring farmland and a spectacular view of Mt. Adams to the north. After about two hours and a little lunch, which we enjoyed at our table inside the trailer, we were off toward Madras.


Arriving at my dad's house presented my first backing challenge. His driveway was just long enough and two cars wide. After just two tries I managed to get over to one side enough to allow his car out of the garage. We unhooked the trailer and "camped" in his driveway. We spent two nights and on the second, we watched the NCAA championship baskteball game on the trailer TV using nothing but the antenna on the trailer. Fun. The excitement began the day we were to leave. When I unhooked, the stem of the trailer came to rest on the slant of the driveway. This caused the mechanism to bind a little. It also highlighted a defect in the lift mechanism. It turns out that our used trailer had a faulty lift switch. Because the tilt of the driveway put a little extra pressure on the stem, the foot wouldn't raise. "This would be a great time to read the owner's manual," I quipped in some version of stilted French. After that useless tirade, I began dissasembling the lift hood so I could lift the stem manually. Unfortunately, I discovered my tool chest didn't have the right size ratchet head. I needed a twelve point extra long 7/16 inch. I had a six point extra short 7/16 inch. Fortunately, my dad's tool box, a much more complete version, coming as it did from a generation when US steel was king, had the right part. Thankfully, we were then able to manually lift the stem. I learned some valuable lessons that day. The first thing I did when I got home was buy the exact extra long twelve point 7/16 inch fitting and added it to my tool chest. The second thing I did was buy two electric lifting switches. One I keep as a back up, and one I changed out to replaced the failed one. Lastly, I learned that it's not a good idea to rest the trailer on a slanted surface. Lessons learned.

On the way home we made our final stop at a fancy RV park in downtown Walla Walla. Again, because it was off season, we had our pick of sites. We chose a pull through, left the truck hooked up because of the failed lift, and thoroughly enjoyed our stay. The park, around $40 dolloars included power/water/sewer/cable/coin operated laundry/showers. Every site was fully paved. In fact, the place had no scenic ambience at all. What it did boast was location. We were able to ride our tandem right out of the driveway and do a forty mile loop north toward Waitsburg in some of the most beautiful wheat fields a person can see. The roads were paved, void  of cars, and while chilly, the day was bright and sunny. I'd stay at the RV park again just because it's so close to some spectacular bicycle country. In addition, it is walking distance from downtown Walla Walla, a very nice town to visit. In all, the second adventure of Fric and Frac, while not painless, proved once again that life is good, especially today.

Adventure 1: The Sprague Motel

Fric

Frac

Our very first adventure began when we pulled out of the Airstream lot towing our "new to us" 23' International, and headed West on I-90 toward Sprague.  We arrived about dusk and gently puled into one of a half dozen gravel slabs nestled behind the old Srague Motel in an area that doubles as a most inglorious RV park. Bordering one edge of the park was a row of tired single wides barely hidden behind a weathered fence as tired as the forgotten town. Beyond the opposite border was an expanse of dryland, which was part basalt heave and part scraggily wheat field. Had it been light, we'd probably have just turned around and driven home, but we were ready as children about to find excitement. I began connecting water and power to the trailer, the procedures still fresh in my mind from the two hour orientation we'd just been through. Happy enough, we had electric power and were just about to engage the propane furnace when I heard the sound of splashing water. Thinking I had hooked the water up incorrectly, I went out into the dark, flashlight in hand, to investigate. I soon realized the fresh water tank was spewing water out its bottom as fast as the Sprague city water came in. So there I was, wriggling on my back in the damp gravel, flashlight nestled under my chin, learning the newly obvious truth about the water tank's drain valve: it closes opposite to the lefty-loosy rule. Drenched but not forlorn, I finally solved the mystery, and we proceeded to spend a fitful night acclimating ourselves to the hums, clicks, and gurgles of our new home on wheels. Inauspicious as the first night may have been, the new morning reminded us that life is clearly good, especially today.