It was time to move on. I started out driving that morning not feeling really into it. Some days are like that. We crossed over into Oregon where I planned to stop in Klamath Falls for some groceries. My GPS showed a Safeway store in town and that would do fine rather than deal with another Walmart. A nice parking spot waited for me on the street providing an easy in and out. I sat there debating on wearing my bandana mask or not. Watching people go and out of the store not many were wearing masks so I opted not. Inside there weren’t many shoppers so I could easily maintain a respectable social distance. With my few items in a basket I approached the checkout lady standing behind a Plexiglas barrier. As she rung up my purchases the credit card machine never prompted me for my Safeway card. I asked “When do I slide my Safeway card?” The girl replied “We’re not a Safeway. This is a Holiday Market. It hasn’t been a Safeway for years now.” That’s what I get for using a GPS that hasn’t been updated in fourteen years.
We were headed for a forest service campground twenty miles north of Klamath Falls. It sat on the Williamson River near Collier State Park. I had been to Collier long ago, August 8, 1974 to be exact. I remember the day for hearing over the radio that Richard M. Nixon had resigned his presidency. All the while I was driving I was wondering if we’d find a campsite or not. I do worry about that some when going to an established campground with designated spots. Nearing the turnoff which was the same one for the state park campground a sign for Collier read CAMPGROUND CLOSED. Just another victim of COVID-19. Now I really worried. All those travelers wanting the state park will now go to the forest service campground. “We’re screwed Beans.” After a slow mile and a half of washboard road I pulled in and you can imagine my surprise to find the campground empty save for the camp host and only one other camper. Nineteen of the twenty sites were open for my picking. Oh happy day! We had covered a hundred miles for the day and I didn’t want to drive a single mile further.
The fee was ten dollars a night to camp, half price if you have the Senior Pass card for National Parks which I call my old person’s card. At five dollars a night I thought we might stay a few days. Now this would be the first time I have had to pay to sleep since going back to Oct. 3, 2018. That’s how to save money on the road. Outside of fuel, paying to camp is the next biggest expense. I did give money twice in 2019 but did so as a donation to a city park in Montana and a private park in Idaho. True, I paid the $180 in Quartzite for six months so that can count but I don’t look at it that way since that is wide open dispersed boondocking unlike the established individual campsites normally found elsewhere. I have a policy of only paying for one day at a time when staying in pay-to-sleep campgrounds. Too many times I have paid for multiple days in advance only to regret it later when neighbors with barking dogs, screaming kids or annoying generators move in nearby.
I met Chris the campground host one day as I was dropping my camp fee into the pipe. We got to visiting which resulted on more talking I had done in months. Bushy bearded Chris was a few of years younger than I and this was his third year hosting at Williamson River. I mentioned how I’ve thought about if I could do something like that but mainly felt I couldn’t for I didn’t want to deal with people and their petty little problems. He said he never really had any issues where I responded that that has seemed to be a common theme with most campground hosts I’ve talked with. They have always said if there’s a problem just a call on the radio brings in the ranger and he deals with it. Chris agreed and then told me about his first day on the job three years back. Two ladies were camped with their little dogs when a young man moved in nearby. He had a very large Great Dane which he immediately allowed to run loose. The women politely reminded him that dogs had to be on leash. The man grew indignant literally getting in the women’s faces yelling at them spittle flying from his mouth. The women backed off and went to report the incident to Chris. “Good grief! My first day as a camphost and now this. What have I got myself into?” He called it in on his radio and within minutes the ranger arrived on the scene and took care of the issue. A bit later the Sheriff arrived. Sometime after that another law enforcement official showed up. “I learned right away they had my back. I’ve not ever had to use my radio to report any trouble in the last two years.”
The first day I went for a short walk down the trail to the slowly flowing Williamson River. The area was thick with lush vegetation, sweet smelling piney woods, no biting bugs (always a plus) and generally peaceful and quiet with the air filled with birdsong. I had noticed a branching trail leading to Collier State Park a mile plus distant. I thought that would make for a nice bicycle ride without the probability of having to call in an EVAC. The next day I took down the bicycle and headed off on a nice flat level dirt path towards Collier. A camp host and his trailer were there plus a maintenance worker operating a skip loader. They were working on gathering up all the fallen pine needles in each campsite which appeared to be enough to fill the back of the large dump truck several times. I assumed they were preparing to open the park soon when the COVID-19 shutdown was lifted. I can imagine having these state parks closed was a tremendous loss of revenue at a twenty-nine dollar a day rate fee. It was a surreal experience riding through a vacant campground. Years ago as I was passing over the Sierras when I stopped in at Yosemite Valley. The Valley had been evacuated of all campers due to a forest fire raging nearby. I drove around and parked at a few of the camps where I had once stayed with family in my teen years. Absolute quietness all around surrounded me everywhere. I knew I would never again experience Yosemite Valley crowd-free like I did that afternoon.
I was enjoying our stay at Williamson and as the weekend approached with rain forecasted I decided to stay even longer. I was concerned about weekenders showing up so we moved out from our shade free campsite #19 over one to the end campsite #20 where no chance of anyone could move in near us. Feeling safe I paid for two nights at once. Sometimes you just gotta live on the edge to really feel alive. Regardless of the precautions I took later in the day two families moved in down the way. The screaming kids, unleashed barking dogs (only thing missing was the annoying generator) sounds carried through the campground destroying the peace and tranquility that once was. Sunday morning I surprised myself and decided to move on.
The distance to Bend, Oregon was further than I thought which led me to think I might be arriving running on fumes. I would need to buy fuel and should have done so back in Klamath Falls. There weren’t many towns between the two cities, a hundred and five mile stretch and we had eighty-five miles to travel. I pulled in to a Chevron station in Chemult. Now Oregon is one of only two states in the county that mandates an attendant must fill your gas tank. New Jersey is the other state and there you can receive a hefty fine if you pump your own gas. Oregon is a bit more relaxed. In fact they recently amended their gas pumping act to exclude counties with a population of forty thousand or less. We were not in one of those counties. The nice friendly mask wearing young lady attendant said hello and asked if I was buying diesel. I said I was. She then said I could pump it myself or I could have her do so if I wanted. Of course I wanted to do it myself. I asked if this was something new for it had been years since I was last in Oregon. She explained to me that if the diesel pump is separate on its own and not shared with a gasoline pump the customer was permitted to pump his own fuel. Well I didn’t know that. Very strange. We continued on stopping for a boondocking site twenty miles short of Bend. It wasn’t all that great all lumpy bumpy terrain due to the logging going on and then there was the noise from the highway less than a mile away. I’ve stayed at rest stops that were quieter.
The next morning we motored on into Bend to resupply food stuffs. I had researched online before and chose a Fred Meyer over going into the Walmart thinking that would be a better option. Well it might have been in the sense of less people. Wearing my bandana I walked in the front doors and was surrounded by clothing and housewares. Fred Meyer was a mini version of Walmart. I thought that was the name of the grocery store I shopped in Yuma a couple years back but was wrong. Since I was here I made the best of it not able to find everything I wanted. Back in the RV after putting items away I had the second part of my breakfast. Looking out the window while eating I noticed the Fred Meyer gas station sold propane. That was next on my list to do. Well this is convenient. I drove on over and waited for the attendant who came over right away after finishing pumping gas for the last customer. As he was attaching the propane line he asked “Is there anyone inside?”
I said “Just my pussycat” then added “Why do you ask?”
He shot back with “I can’t fill the tank if there are people inside.”
I inquired “Is that an Oregon thing?”
“No. It’s a Federal law.”
Now I have had this RV since 2007 and have filled the propane tank countless times. I have never been asked if there were people inside. I have been asked if all appliances inside are turned off and with that only about half the time. I shared this with the guy adding “But you didn’t ask me if the appliances were turned off though.”
“Well it will just blow up then” he said.
“Taking you and me with it too. I’d think you’d be more concerned about your own well being than if there were people inside or not.” He didn’t say anymore.
Smart ass tourists!
The Great Hunkering
Our sights were set on some forest service land boondocking outside of the town of Sisters. I passed it on by to go into town to the post office. Sisters is a nice little town of 2700 happy souls so named for the three snow capped volcanic peaks nearby. Its main avenue is lined with tourist shops, galleries, fancy eateries and the like. After purchasing a money order for the vehicle license renewals on the RV and the Honda we backtracked a few miles to the forest service road turnoff. On the way a large agricultural sprinkler was overshooting onto the roadway. When we drove through the water spray the sudden sound of all that water hitting the windshield scared Beans who was peacefully lying in my lap. She launched herself straight up a foot or so high landing on her feet between the seats. I laughed so hard (still do as I write this). She stared at me. Not funny Dad! and jumped back up in my lap.
The twisty dirt road was lined with juniper trees at times branches scraping the sides and roof of the RV. I was in a similar but worse situation in Colorado last year which caused a bit of damage. Most of those scrape marks I was able to clean off. This wasn’t that bad and I took it slow and easy thinking back as to how the reviews for this place mentioned nothing about one should not bring in a trailer or a large class A motor home to the area. I eventually stopped in a clearing and shut off the engine. I wanted to walk on up ahead and scope out what it was like further on. About a hundred yards away was a little cul-de-sac off the dirt road. It looked much better and back I jogged to the RV. Where did you go Dad? Why didn’t you let me out? Hang on Beans. I swung in to our new home site positioning the cab of the RV between two tall Ponderosa pines for shade leaving the hind end out to catch solar.
After two days with only two people on bicycles and one pickup truck passing by, our camp looked more and more inviting to stay at for a spell. I could hear the highway off in the distance so it wasn’t all that quiet but overall it could have been worse. The wind rushing through the tall ponderosa pines helped mask the highway noise. I did go for a little walk through the woods and finally spotted another RV way off in the distance. On the third day I took the bicycle down and went for a ride. It was then that I discovered that Claire (my GPS girl) could have sent me another mile or so down the highway and turn in on the broad flat gravel-packed Harrington Loop Road which was only a quarter mile east from our camp. Grrr…that girl! All along this road on the opposite side from us were campers in trailers, fifth wheels and large class A’s. Now I understood the reviews. I tooled around on the bicycle for six miles on our side of the loop road and never came upon another camper nor a site that was any better than what we had. This further instilled in me to just stay put.
There wasn’t much to see or explore in the forest yet the days just moved right along. I’m never bored. One day near camp while taking Beans for her walk I found a pair of needle nose pliers with rubber covered handles. They were not rusty but they were stuck shut, impossible to open. I didn’t need another pair of pliers but welcomed the challenge to get them restored and in working order. It took pounding a screw driver in between to wedge the jaws apart some and then I had to resort to a tire iron. Soaking in oil and coming back to it several times and with a couple of pipes slipped over the handles for leverage the pliers finally opened little by little much to my amazement. More soaking and more working them back a forth I was finally able to do so without the assistance of the two long pipes. In the end the pliers were working very freely just like when new. There were no MADE IN CHINA markings on them either. I’d keep them.
I always have my hiking sticks to work on. I found a nice straight stick at the Williamson camp. It didn’t require as much work as some other hiking sticks I’ve made and had it finished ready to oil in an hour and a half. I had two more sticks to work on and would oil all three at once. I enjoy making the hiking sticks but have a hard time getting rid of them. I make them to give away, not sell, which of course means being around people to give them away to. And then there was this isolation thing going on with the coronavirus so that complicated matters in getting rid of the sticks.
There was no wildlife to speak of except chipmunks and ground squirrels that thankfully showed no interest in getting into the engine compartment tearing up things and making homes. There were no bugs either. Not even flies. Remarkable. I could leave the screen door open for Beans. With temperatures in the mid-seventies, no people and bug free, Sisters looked more and more each day as the place to stay, away from the plague and all the civil unrest going on due to the recent George Floyd death at the hand of a Minneapolis police officer.
Thinking we would stay for an indefinite time I looked on Google Maps to figure out how I could ride into town on the Honda 90 using dirt roads and back roads thus staying off the highway so I didn’t get squashed like a squirrel. I figured out a route which was only five and a half miles away to the market for groceries. This meant I didn’t have to break camp and take the RV. Knowing this encouraged me to stay. It would be unlikely I could improve upon a camp site further on up the road towards Washington where guaranteed there would be mosquitoes, that’s if the campgrounds were even open.
It finally happened and there was a twenty-degree drop for temperature down to the mid-fifties for a weekend. I woke at 5:30 AM and just didn’t want to get out of the warm sleeping bag. I knew the sun would not clear the tall pines until 8:30. With morning inside duties done I braved going outside only so that I could walk around to the back and stand in the sun. Doing so I got to looking at these little foil packets scattered about by the wind. They had been bothering me since we arrived. Upon closer inspection they were wrappers for Pokémon cards whatever they are. I knew where they came from. Off up the hill behind us was a pile of crap left behind by some dirt bag camper. It appeared the trash had been there since at least this time last year. Besides other paper items of trash were two pairs of jeans, a pair of short pants, a heavy coat of some type that may have been insulated, two KISS cd’s, headphones, and a syringe. You can well imagine. I’ve come across this sort of thing in other places. It just befuddles me that these losers who have so little to begin with that when they move on they leave their clothing and possessions behind. So with something do to keep warm in the sun I dug out my grabber tongs and started picking up those Pokémon foil packets and other bits of trash putting it all into a couple of piles. My plan was to burn it in the nice fire ring at camp. I went back to the RV and retrieved the large paper bag the groceries were packed in from the Fred Meyer shopping trip and with my gloves scooped up the piles of litter into the bag. Back at the fire ring I dumped the lot in the pit, added my own trash and topped it off with some pine needles and bits of wood debris from wood chopping by previous campers. The previous day I had scooped up a lot of the wood chopping debris around camp just to tidy it up some and when I burned my trash it too easily caught fire leaving behind a nice bed of coals. Since that burned so well was why I added more for this fire making sure all the crap burned. I lit my paper plates and everything started burning nicely including what must have been nearly a hundred of those Pokémon wrappers. Much to my surprise the wrappers melted away like plastic; they were not metal foil as I thought. The fire was going good. I wondered about all that other trash up the hill in needle camp. Would those clothes burn? Making three trips I gathered it all up (wearing my gloves) and added a pair of jeans to the fire. They started to burn. Hmm…this might work. Then another pair of pants, the shorts, a gym bag, the at one time a very nice jacket, the KISS cd’s, headphones...everything, it all went up in a dense black cloud of toxic smoke which blew into the RV. Damn, I should have shut the door! After the flames died down I enjoyed my lunch of chicken liver spread on a brioche bun with cheese and a cup of hot tea while an incense stick burned inside trying to erase the toxic smell. But hey, the area was much cleaner now and that made me happy. Plus I wasn’t so cold anymore. I dug out Mr. Buddy Heater for the next morning. First week of June and I was having to use the heater. Nope, Washington could wait.
It had now been over three months since I had had the blood sugar scare while at Quartszite. Ever since drastically reducing my sugar intake I had been feeling much better. There had been a few times though I did experience a slight bit of dizziness that soon passed. After one of these hit me while camped at Sisters I thought back to the other episodes. I realized it always happened while I was doing something on the computer or iPad. Was there some sort of connection there? I Googled it and much to my surprise discovered there is this affliction called Computer Vision Syndrome otherwise known as CVS. It isn’t one specific problem but a whole range of issues including eye strain, headaches, neck pain, fatigue, dry eyes, irritated eyes, double vision and lastly vertigo/dizziness which was stated not as common but there it was nevertheless. CVS usually occurs from hours in front of a computer screen. I hardly spend even one hour but leave it to me to be affected by an uncommon issue with minimal exposure. I was sure the sugar intake was the main culprit but now I could ignore any other little dizzy spells that I may associate with my slipping a bit on my sugar abandonment program.
As time ground on at Sisters I more and more began losing the motivation to move on, to travel like I always did. The COVID-19 situation was bad enough but at the beginning of June civil unrest broke out and rapidly spread from Minneapolis after a police action arrest led to the death of a black man. Major cities not only in America but all around the globe were experiencing anarchy coming out from peaceful demonstrations for racial equality under what now was labeled the Black Lives Matter movement. I most always avoided big cities in my travels if at all possible. And I always try to avoid reading mainstream news but just to look for some other news item of interest the main headlines could not be ignored. I was just not seeing the purpose anymore to move on. Everywhere I went I was faced with the question “Do I wear a mask or don’t I?” Now I had to be concerned about coming upon rioters, looters, anarchists. If I had to be wary of people all the time due to a pandemic virus or expose myself and my property to wanton behavior, why even bother being around people in the first place? Being outside of Sisters was peaceful and safe. Rarely did a car pass by camp. The town of two thousand plus in population was isolated in itself being over twenty miles away from the nearest town of Bend. I began to wonder. If I stayed six months in the desert at Quartzsite, Arizona would I be finding myself staying all summer in the Deschutes National Forest at Sisters, Oregon? Was this to be what my travels had come to?
One evening as I laid in bed reading a severe weather warning alert came in over the iPhone. An intense storm cell would pass through the Sisters area around 10 PM with sixty-five mile per hour winds and inch and a half sized hail. “Seek shelter in your basement or center of your house.” Seriously? I booted up the radar app and sure enough, this ugly orange blob was heading right for us. I squirmed out from my warm sleeping bag, went outside in the dark and secured everything away. Nothing happened. The storm cell fizzled out on top of us.
The following morning was overcast and cool. While Beans was outside scampering about I sat on the step to supervise while eating my bowl of Life cereal. Oh geez! The milk’s gone off. I finished my sour breakfast and dumped out the rest of the milk from the half gallon jug, only about an inch and half worth loss. I decided to go to the store that day instead of putting it off as I had planned. I took Gracie the Honda Trail 90 down off the rack and was happy to see the battery wasn’t dead. She started right up after several kicks. Yippee as it had been since I was at the house several weeks ago the last time I rode it. What a great reliable little motorbike. Back inside I made a complete wardrobe change for riding. I have to dress warm to stave off the wind chill factor. Heavy black jeans, long sleeve t-shirt, long sleeve shirt over that, a vest, heavy socks and shoes, gloves, helmet and my COVID-19 bandana.
I had my route planned out through the forest that would take me into town avoiding my having to ride on the highway. I had made notes. I had distances written down. And I still got confused trying to just get out to this long straight logging road. Mind you I never get lost but I do get momentarily confused at times. I eventually came out on a straight line road that was south of us, not the logging road I wanted to be on that lay to the west. At least I knew which way to turn from there. This road led to the sought after logging road which eventually met up with a paved road leading into town. Still I had to stop several times along the way and look at the satellite map image on my phone just to verify I was heading in the right direction. I made it to town and again got confused among the streets in town several times. After a couple stops for checks I finally made it to Ray’s Market.
I hogged a parking spot with my little trail bike and prepared to go inside all the while looking at the people coming and going. It appeared that very few wore masks. Hmm. I took off my helmet, put on a ratty ball cap, pulled up my COVID-19 approved bandana and went on inside. It was a very nice store. I have to be careful and not buy more than I can carry in my back pack and a stuff sack which I secure to the rear carrier on the bike. With that done I was ready to head back to camp eight plus miles away (I had traveled eight miles instead of the five and a half I had mapped out). Yes, I got confused a few more times in just getting out of town. Finally I was on that straight paved road heading south and sure enough passed up the turn onto the straight logging road I wanted. Things didn’t look right so I turn around and rode a mile back to the junction. From there I stayed on the well graded dirt logging road which took me to Harrington Road which was another straight shot north passing within a half a mile from camp. It was a roundabout way but much less confusing than following a spider web of dirt roads through the woods. After over seventeen overall confusing miles I was back at camp and stunned to see it was past 1 PM. Geez, the day is shot. Beans was happy to see me and did her usual inspection of groceries. I put the groceries away and made a tuna sandwich. After a cup of hot tea I looked at the satellite image again. I mapped out a new route which showed to be six and half miles and much less confusing, or so it appeared, all on straight shot roads. Nevertheless the next time I planned to take the RV. With the Honda down I could lock it up to a tree and leave my tables and chair out which would secure my site for sure. I would have to go in town to the post office and pick up my license tags for the RV and motorbike, go by an investment place to sign some papers that were faxed there, check out a thrift shop that was supposed to have a great selection of books, hit up Dollar General and then do Rays again to really load up on foodstuffs thus avoid having to ride the motorbike into town again for awhile.
There were several days of cold mornings and dribbly days which kept us cooped up inside for most of t