Adventure 616: Home Sweet Home Quarantine Edition

Salmon Chowder, last night out.

We made it home safely, and our place looks good. Kevin, our new favorite (according to our youngest daughter, Libby), had the place spiffed up, clorox wiped and everything. So now it's time for the tale of the tape. This adventure lasted 65 days, covered 2707 miles. We had 11 travel days, five weather days that kept us in the trailer, and 49 days split between hiking and riding. We rode the bike a total of 465 miles and we hiked (and or walked) for a total of 180 miles. We got to see some new territory such as the exquisite Jalama Beach and the way cool find of Folsom Lake Recreation Area. We got to spend quality time with good friends, and we were granted traveling mercies driving as we did across the northern side of Los Angeles and actually right down town through San Fransisco out and over the East Bay Bridge, and not to mention the very scary slippery ride we had yesterday on the high desert of Oregon. This is the completion of our sixth adventure in Frac. Clearly, we're blessed. We've returned home in time to "hunker down" with the rest of America for the next month or so. I predict that a domestic travel ban will be put in place very soon, which is actually a good idea if we Americans actually follow the directives, because from this localized quarantine we'll be able to see directly where the hot spots of the virus are, something an effective testing regimen would have helped. But that cat has left the bag, and despite Trump's denials, his administration deserves the lion's share of the blame for that failure  I'm still bothered by the incompetence, denial and deceit of his leadership, but it's pointless to throw flames now. I find it quite ironic that the solution to our collective problem is small "s" socialism because our only answer  I see now is to care for each other. Now that we're home, we'll begin that care now to the best of our ability. Regardless of what tomorrow brings, life is good, especially today.

 When we travel, we always clean the house before we leave so we return to no work, and when we return, always do our unpacking by using the adrenaline of the road. This meant I winterized the trailer since it's still WINTER here.

 Selfie of the day: Nothing more privileged than a smug guy soaking in his hot tub.

 Very soon we'll all be deciding what's truly important. Love is truly important.

And of course, Mimi, thinks we've returned home just in time.

Adventure 615: The Boardman Rush Addendum

What, no snow?

After our icy reception in the gray lady's  store, (Who knows her troubles?) we felt unwelcome in Shaniko, so when a weather window opened a few hours later we risked another push down the road. There were a few more icy moments, but none so scary as before, and then, by Providence, the road dried on our descent into Biggs Junction. From there it was smooth sailing to Boardman. We bought Vodka for the fresh water tank and antifreeze for the other holding tanks to mitigate the possibility of bursting  pipes in the trailer because it's till "freaking" freezing (Please, Judy, it's only a thousand miles to Lake Havasu! where it's 75 degrees). But you can just forget that, Timmy. So here we are tucked safely in the Boardman Marina RV Park, hoping to prevent the trailer breaking in the next two days before we can take it in to the shop for winterizing. I think it was Brando who moaned, "The Horror." But who cares. We just enjoyed a fabulous salmon chowder that Judy made, a game of crib that I won, and an incredible message we heard in a song played by a Northern California group called the Brother's Comatose. The song, Highway 120 East ,includes these lyrics: "...I traveled the spiral road to a place in my mind where i struggle with God and I'm talking with time, and feel that I can't do anything but wrong, and every choice I make is heavier than me ,and I can't remember my hopes and my dreams..."  Speaking of heavy choices, yesterday when Yamiche Alcindor asked President Trump if he accepted any responsibility for the dissolution of the CDC in 2018, he responded, "That's a nasty question."  Blah. Blah. It wasn't me. Tony, can you newer that question? We learned something about Trump, but then most of us knew it already. But who cares about that chump? I learned something about myself today when I was fishtailing on the icy roads of Highway 97. I didn't have time to point fingers, since I was concentrating on keeping my wheels not he road, but it did occur to me that my problems at that moment superseded the coronavirus. If we'd found ourselves upside down in the frozen tundra, we may not have cared about social distancing, we may not have cared about the next election, and maybe we wouldn't have concerned ourselves with anything but our own problems. So my question is, how will we react in the face of distress. Will we throw flames of deceit and distraction like our President, or will we engage our better angels to consider the plight of others. I can't say, but I can say this: I was concentrating on the road in front of me. To that end, maybe I'm no better than those I condemn. Just saying. Fortunately, none of that matters because we're here safe and sound, ready to point our wheels ever north ever thankful that life is good, especially today.

 The new view from our living room.

 My Bunny, who soon frowned in defeat, is smiling here because she served our new favorite salmon chowder.

Adventure 614: Madras, OR/Shaniko, OR/Post A

Jack and Rhonda

After a great overnight at Jack and Rhonda Pierson's in Madras, where we enjoyed taco soup, great company, and a soft sell for us to take one of their new puppies home, we headed for Boardman around ten in the morning. It had snowed a wet, then crusty snow over night, and the temperature had dropped to 24. But the local weather said it would warm to above freezing in the early afternoon. That was there. When we got up to the plateau, the temperature dropped to twenty, and the harsh wind scattered icy, drifts across the road. My white knuckles were just about the only calm thing on my body. The trailer, unsuited for winter driving, fish tailed a couple of times, adding much angst to my already frazzled nerves. I managed to keep it on the road after a few tense back and forths, and now we're holed up in Shaniko where the people are decidedly unfriendly and every much unsympathetic to our plight. The old gray lady at the store has more ice dripping from her than the eaves of her tired store. But so far, we have enough propane to keep us warm, enough gasoline to keep the batteries charged, and enough grace to keep us safe. We've decided that holing up here until the weather breaks is the prudent thing to do. Yesterday, I heckled Judy to have us head back South until she said, "Will you quit saying that?" No matter. We're here now in the frozen wasteland of Western Oregon and we're happy to have made it. Once again we've been blessed with traveling mercies. We could just as easily be crashed along side the road, dealing with much more serious problems. So life is good, especially today.

 Floyd, the Labra-Doodle we chose not to bring home. 

 The view from our bedroom.

 The view from our living room.

Fric and Frac, hunkered down in the ghost town.

Adventure 613: Friendly RV Park, Weed, CA

Liz, quite happy with her parting win.

Some tears flowed this morning when we parted ways with our buddy, Liz. We had a great time with her at Folsom. The rides were spectacular, and our time together was good. And not to worry. By this evening, Liz was back in the Bay Area at her son and daughter-in-law's home rocking her little darling, Emma, the tears long gone. As for us, we drove North on the back roads through California farm country: we passed nut trees by the thousands,  and scads of fruit trees blushing with the first blooms of spring. We stopped for lunch at a rest area when we merged with I-5. And then just as sudden as a rogue wave rushes the shore, we reached the Siskiyou's. The Shasta reservoir, while not quite full, glistened in the cool mountain air. We passed a burned patch going over the mountains that must have occurred last summer. Scorched trees stood on both sides of the highway like lonely wraiths, and here and there small patches of green stood tall like honorable soldiers spared for another fight. But most spectacular of all was the gleaming white face of Mt. Shasta. After hours of flat lands speckled with manicured food bearing trees, the wildness of the forest and the cold magnificence of the mountain caused Judy to say, "I can see how a person could live out here." We arrived safely at the Friendly RV Park, and most amazing, the proprietor greeted us at the check-in with our paper work already printed. She said, "Pick any open spot." In all of our travels, we've never been greeted by an already prepared host. Quite dazzling. We took a little walk around the area, fixed dinner, listened to the sad news that March Madness is cancelled, and continued to get our heads around the scope of this pandemic. But we have no crystal ball; rather, we have strong faith, real hope, and a ready resolve to face whatever may happen. In the meantime, life is good, especially today.

Miss Emily, our oldest grand daughter, and budding boat babe.

 Our site for the night at Friendly RV Park.

Miss Sarah, our second oldest grand daughter, grinning as usual.

Miss Emma, rocking in the motorized chair her dad, John, made. 

 There's Sarah, grinning again.

 Our view from the gas station in Weed.

And here's Emily again, and yes, she usually has an open book with her.

 And who can forget our youngest, grandson, Falcon. He's a grinner, too.

And last but not least is our oldest, young Master Sawyer. We've got quite the crew, and usually we are just fit to be tied we're so happy.

Adventure 612: Folsom Recreational Area/Post C

Folsom Prison

I know what Johnny Cash meant when he heard that train a comin' because some things are unavoidable. Liz and I couldn't avoid the massive presence of Folsom prison today as we ticked off fifty more miles along the trail. Meanwhile, my Bunny enjoyed herself on the veranda under the shade of the trailer's awning. She did walk the trail along the ridge of the dam above the prison. A good day was enjoyed by all. For Liz and I, the ride was eventful as it was full of power riders, stroller walkers, recumbent riders, ladies walking, and so many other eye catching spectacles that we hardly noticed the four hours we spent on our bikes. This trail, which begins at Old Sac and ends at Beale's point is surely one of the best rides in America, and since it follows the American River, it surely claims its place among the elite rail trails. It screams, "Hey, we're California. What are you?" and I must say, there's much to be said for this area. It's clearly a land of the well healed. Teslas are like Prius around here. But then I remember just before I get self-conscious. I live in paradise. A common ride for me is the Centennial trail. A normal ride for me is the Trail of the Coeurd Alenes. And if I want exotic, I merely ride the Hiawatha Trail, so forgive me, California, if I'm not Californicating all over your place. That being said, I really like it here, and I'm really glad I've been able to spend time here because the last few days here have proven that life is good, especially these days. However, I would be remiss if I didn't mention another irony. Now that we've kicked Bernie to to the side in favor of good Old Joe, and our current leadership continues to deflect and deceive, consider the irony of an under educated single mother raising four kids on waitress salary. She lives at the bottom of the barrel. She subsists of picking up quarters customers have left behind. Present, then, a pandemic capable of shaking even the most fortunate. Imagine them afraid to be served by the lowly. What then of the waitress? Who will pay her rent? Who will feed her kids? Will loans to businesses trickle down? Maybe. Maybe not. But the whole thing reeks of an irony that begs the question. What is best for all, and given that, are you willing to give your share for everyone's benefit?

The veranda.

 Happy hour: nuts, cheese, apples, bourbon, and beer. Clearly, life is good.

 A couple of happy "campfire" babes.

And off we go to the twilight of sweet dreams.

Adventure 611: Folsom Lake Recreation Area/Post B

Bare and shorts: In March!

Well, today the spirit led us to forty really pleasant miles. We waffled a little after descending five pretty steep miles to the edge of the American River, and decided not to ride the entire 64. At river's edge the terrain rolled through the flood plain and eventually ends in what they call "Old Sac". We stopped just short of the Sacramento State campus, where the trail becomes an urban lane much like the Burke Gilman in Seattle. Nonetheless, the part we rode is spectacular, as was today's unseasonably warm seventy degree weather. We treated ourselves to an In an' Out burger for a late lunch, and BBQ'd some artichokes to go with our steak salad for dinner while we watched the Zags pummel the St. Mary Gaels for another ho-hum WCC championship. Great fun. Tomorrow, Judy and I are going to Costco to begin building our emergency six month food supply in case the Covid-19 really does explode. We may not be able to find hand sanitizer or toilet paper, but I'm sure they will still have dried goods like rice, lentils, salt, sugar, nuts, and the like. When we get home, we're also going to begin drying fruit at a furious rate. None of this is too much out of the ordinary. It's all the same stuff we usually eat, and if, as Trump says, "The virus miraculously disappears", we'll donate our stores to the food bank. On a bizarre note, I've had "school" nightmares two of the last three nights. Although the scenes are not the same, the issue is always that I can't control the class. It's terrifying, and forces me awake in a cold, shivering sweat. I've decided my subconscious is working overtime in response to the uncertainty of these current events. In any event, I've almost decided to stop sleeping because the dreams are so horrifyingly real. It can't be any worse to walk around zombie like from sleep depravation. But enough of what I can't control. I really have few worries. Basically, I live as good a life as I can, gratefully enjoying my blessings, especially today.

 Selfie of the day: Forty miles, no worse for the wear.

 My Bunny enjoying the veranda.

In an' Out is what it's all about.

 A couple of biker babes.

 One of the many fishermen we saw. I talked to one who said right now they are fishing for steelhead; in a few weeks it will be Chad; in July the Salmon come up, but unfortunately they can't reach their original spawning ground due to the dams upriver.

A guy needs a good stoker. Not many better than this biker babe.

Adventure 610: Folsom Lake Recreation Area/Post A

Frac all decked out

We left Half Moon Bay under cool sunny skies with me glowing as shiny bright as the trophy I held for winning the half Moon Open. Judy exclaimed, "****" when I came from behind to rip her wiley heart out. From there, our trusty GPS unit, Susie, routed us right through downtown San Francisco out across the  East Bay Bridge  up the 80 to Sacramento and finally off East to Folsom. We had a little hiccup because of a poor address feed into Susie (She's only as good as her programmers). I had to do some tight reverse maneuvering to free Fric and Frac from the dead end street we found ourselves on. But, thanks to traveling mercies, we find ourselves safely nestled into site #58 for the next three nights. Tomorrow, we plan to ride a significant distance along the American River Trail, which according to the legend is a 32.8 mile one way. If we do the whole trail, the distance will be 65.6. We'll see. In the evening we nervously bit our nails as our beloved Zags narrowly beat the SF Dons. We hooted, groaned, and howled, depending on the game events. In the end, we wiped the sweat from our relieved brows. Liz, of course, joined us for both our dinner of sausage pasta and salad, and joined us with her own rabid cheering for the Zags. This campground is quite lovely, although the reservoir itself shows disturbing signs of the the perennial drought California suffers from. This place could use an extended period  of rain. So much to pray for these days. In the meantime we're thankful to enjoy whatever we're presented with, and happy to report that life is good, especially today.

 These two Wiley Cagers giving me their most conspiratorial smirks.

 Liz mobile right next door.

 Crossing the East Bay bridge, just going with the flow.

Last year the snow pack was at 200%. It's a mere 60% this year. It' been a while since the water lapped up against this life guard station.

 Art shot: Miss Kitty just waiting for a chance to ride.

Site #58: Quite bucolic.

We'll see how far we get. 

Adventure 609: Half Moon Bay/Redwood City/Post G

Those of you in the know, realize that travel is mostly about the food. Mark Twain said something about travel curing ignorance. We've been on this adventure for 59 days. After three more stops, God willing, we'll be home safe from the road by the Ides of March. On the way, we've cooked several fine home made meals, eaten a few satisfying restaurant meals, and dined exceptionally well at several food trucks. I can think of no better way to assuage any ignorance or prejudice that may linger in our mind, our eyes, our hands, or our souls than to enjoy the luscious pleasures of good food. To that end, enjoy the feast, if only for your eyes.

Falcon says, "Gimme a taste of that!"