RETURN TO IDAHO
The following morning was cold. I again wanted some warmth and sunshine so we left Spring Gulch and its snakes early in the morning. The next two campgrounds on my list sat at over five thousand feet in elevation where at nine a.m. it was only thirty-five degrees. Why would I even consider? We stopped at the summit of Lost Pass for breakfast then cruised on down into Idaho once again. Dropping three thousand feet to Bobcat Gulch, a free dispersed camp, was a pleasantly warm change. We continued on seven miles to Tower Campground, a BLM camp with five spots all of which were occupied. I only went there for Tower had a weak cell signal. I sat there in the parking lot catching up computer stuff. I decided to return to Bobcat as it was quieter. We wound up having the place all to ourselves.
In the morning we returned to Tower then moved on a few more miles to the north edge of the town of Salmon. There was a fishing access with a wide parking area on Lemhi Road. This too was quiet, free and with a stronger cell signal. I was able to set up blog posts for the next eight days for after we would leave Salmon once again I would be in the land of no cell service, at least for AT&T. AT&T has worked well for me throughout the country but this corridor from Missoula on to I didn’t know how far (beyond Sun Valley/Ketchum?) was poor to nonexistent. The blog was now set up to September first. Then it hit me−Labor day weekend was coming. I had to start thinking about where to hole up for the final holiday weekend madness of the year.
I had a package waiting for me in tiny town Ellis, forty-one miles further south. I would have to be there at the post office before it closed at noon so I tried to get an early start. We stopped in Salmon to pick up a few items at the grocery store. There I tried my debit card that had failed me back in the last grocery store. It failed again. The chip appeared dirty. I spit on it, rubbed it with my thumb and tried again. It worked! “Well I’ll be. Amazing.” I went across the street to Family Dollar. Still no steaks. The cashier lady knew what I was talking about. She said they just don’t send them anymore. I hoped this wasn’t going to be something everywhere. The card worked again. Good. Across the street was a car wash where I bought ten dollars worth of quarters. I would need some more five dollar bills for camp fees but we had to get moving if I wanted to be in Ellis before noon.
One of the upcoming possible camp locations before Ellis was the site of Dugout Dick’s dugouts. I was familiar with Dugout Dick but hadn’t realized I was near where he lived. This I had to see. Born in 1916 Richard Zimmerman was one of the few Idaho hermits who lived along the Salmon River. He arrived in 1947 after living an early life riding the rails as a hobo in the 1930’s. He lived in a cabin for twenty years then began digging “dugouts” in the side of the Salmon River mountainside. He was quite ingenious in using junkyard scraps such as doors, windows, car tires and car windows. He grew an orchard on the flat between his dugouts and the river watered his garden by a water wheel then later a pump powered by a windmill. In the 1960’s he had by now built several log and stone cabins. He earned money by giving tours of his dugouts sometimes renting them out. He’d entertain visitors playing his guitar and singing his own folk songs. In the 1980’s, now in his seventies, he cut back on his building. As he grew older and more infirm he had to endure a number of stays in nursing homes. He was always agitated in getting back to his dugouts. Towards the end of his life he walked out of a care center then walked and hitchhiked back to his river home. There he died some days later on April 22, 2010. He was ninety-four years old.
Dugout Dick was essentially a squatter on public land but the BLM gave him a lifetime lease. After his death all of his dugouts were removed for public safety concerns. The main stone cabin below the county road was preserved in his memory. Fiercely independent he was proud of his life and was in many ways the last of a breed which I feel is seeing a growing way of life once again in these unsettling times.
We made it to Ellis, a mere flyspeck on my AAA map (the state of Idaho didn’t even bother putting it on their travel map) with thirty minutes to spare before closing for the day at noon. Postmistress Amanda had my package ready. Two miles further was the BLM campground of Cottonwood. This campground was like Spring Gulch−well cared for with manicured lawns of grass along the Salmon River. Several spots were available. I selected one on the end which would look to have to the most sun during the day. The camp fee was five dollars for us. At that rate we could stay for a few days comfortably, only once again, no cell service. I walked up to the pay station to get an envelope noticing on the bulletin board a photo of a grizzled old timer. His name was Duane Wilson, born June 24, 1935. He had passed away September 27, 2020. Underneath it said he was the BLM volunteer campground host at Cottonwood for twenty-two years. A large bronze plaque was affixed to the rock face nearby. It noted that Duane had won the 2011 U.S. Secretary of Interior’s Making a Difference Lifetime Achievement Award. “His love and care for the campground had made it the crown jewel of the recreational sites along the Salmon River.” I thought about this as I watched the current campground host out there mowing grass either on a riding lawn mower or a push mower. It was a daily enterprise for him in keeping the huge lawns in check. Add to that cleaning the pit toilets, fire rings and dealing with people. Twenty-two years mowing grass! My initial impression was no way. I don’t mean to belittle Duane any; obviously he loved what he was doing. Most likely he lived on a fixed limited income−social security, starting out as camp host at age sixty-five as he did. Many camp hosts are like that. They cannot afford to travel around a lot as we do. Camp hosting allows them to stay someplace for free all season and are given a stipend from the Forest Service or BLM in addition to electricity, water, sewage disposal, propane and firewood in most cases. It is cheap living.
Later I visited with the current camp host (when he wasn’t mowing grass) and asked him about Duane, wondering where he went during the winter. I learned that Duane was the camp host’s wife’s father. Duane had a home in Newbury Springs, east of Barstow in California desert country. He would go home each winter and tend to his rose garden then return to Idaho in the spring. I asked about his health thinking of Dugout Dick. He told me while looking at Beans lying at my feet patiently waiting for me to move on, that Duane was in good health and he too had a cat. He had got up in the middle of the night and tripped over the cat falling onto the corner of the counter injuring his ribs. This led to a trip to the hospital where then a bout with pneumonia set in. He eventually returned to the campground where his daughter was minding things for him while he recovered. He had planned on retiring at the end of the season. A retirement party was held. He was doing fine, sitting up that evening playing games on his computer. That evening he passed away in his sleep. I questioned the son-in-law on the lawn care and he affirmed what I suspected. He said when he first started in the spring it was a daily job getting it all back in shape and keeping it that way. Now he has it down usually having to devote about five days to grass mowing now.
We stayed four days at Cottonwood leaving on Monday. I needed to stop at the bank in Challis fifteen miles on to stock up on five dollar bills. Campground fees were nickel and dimeing me empty. The propane tank was at one third left. Not knowing availability further on or how long we would take getting to Ketchum, the next town of any significance one hundred twenty miles away, I thought it best to top off here. Challis wasn’t a large town (population barely over a thousand ) so I was happy to find a propane supply after finding the first location, an Exxon station, shut down out of business. Family Dollar was next (still no steaks). I was forced to buy one gallon bottles of Geyser Peak water as everyone I asked didn’t think there was a water machine in town. This was my first opportunity for cell service in days so I sat there catching up and doing camping research before going across the street to Lambs Grocery for a few items. Time now to get some money. An Idaho Credit Union was closest. After going through the procedure of pushing buttons to make a withdrawal from the outside ATM it finally informed me that there would be a three dollar charge to access my money. Outright thievery! “Do you wish to continue?” CANCEL. I drove the mile and a half through the center of town to a Wells Fargo bank where Mandy gladly gave me an envelope full of small bills at no extra charge. I had passed a thrift store on the way so that meant I had to stop. Well worth it. Three more books for a total of eighty cents.
We left town and soon hit the junction of Highway 75 going west. I looked at the fuel gauge−one third. One hundred twenty miles to the next town. Hmm… I think I’m good. Fuel was over four dollars a gallon in part of the remoteness of Challis on top of ramifications of our new President’s foolish executive orders. The station back at the junction was $3.99. Aw hell, I’ll just sweat it all the way if I don’t get fuel. I turned back to fill up. Seventy-five dollars for eighteen and a half gallons! I had less than eight gallons left in the tank−maybe okay for a hundred thirty some miles. Good call. There would be no sweating.
On down the road eight miles was the first campground on my list, Bayhorse Recreation Site, a BLM campground. It was now approaching two p.m. and I hadn’t had lunch yet. I had been thinking (dreading) about the upcoming holiday weekend, Labor Day weekend. I was concerned about finding a safe haven from all the merrymakers for the final three-day weekend of the year. I pulled in to an empty campground to eat. There were eleven sites with no one there except the camp host reclining in his shade tree swing lounge. I visited with him asking about how this place was for visitors. He told me it sometimes does fill but not often. I thought about it. What is there to do here? Nothing. Why would people travel from afar to come here for a three day weekend? Maybe we should stay right here for a week. Can I do so without going stir crazy? Heck, I spend months in the desert in one place. It was five dollars a night to stay, half price of course for us. Two-fifty a day. What a deal. I decided to stay for at least two days. I picked out site number five in full sun for the solar and then thought better of it moving over to number six for some late afternoon shade. Naturally of course, two hours later people with trailer come in and camp at the very next site over, number seven right next to us. Why?!! Ya got the whole damn campground and you have to be next to us? This has happened so many times. After a bit of stewing about it I went for a walk to scout out another spot. Number eleven, the last one on the end, which is what I should have selected from the beginning keeping in line with my usual operating procedure of picking safe sites in campgrounds. This would be our new spot. Good thing it is not a problem in the least in moving on a moment’s notice.
During our last evening back at Cottonwood Campground a bicyclist camped next door to us. A bicyclist I am okay with. That first afternoon at Bayhorse I noticed the cyclist had arrived. He set up camp down midway down. When I went out scouting for a new site he was relaxing reading his Kindle. I visited with him. He remembered us being his neighbor. It was thirty miles from Cottonwood to Bayhorse. I asked if that was his usual daily mileage. He said it was normally fifty miles but this day he had tried a short cut on a gravel road over the mountains. “It was steep. I spent too much time pushing the bike so I came back down.” The guy looked to be in his late fifties so I asked him his age. He was seventy-three, only a few months older than I! Well you can imagine how that set in with me. He was a nice pleasant guy, easy to talk with. He lived in Colorado and was married. I asked how his wife was with him gone for long periods of time cycling. He said she told him he had to be back before Halloween. He said the cycling was a life change for him. He once weighed well over two hundred pounds and then diabetes set in. That’s what did it. He hadn’t been an avid cyclist all his life, just the opposite. After a lengthily visit with him telling me ‘it’s never too late’ after my mentioning how I admired him and had always wanted to do what he was doing I went back to get the RV to make the move before it got dark.
I laid there in bed that night thinking, wishing I could do what he was doing, or at least had done it years ago. The responsibilities of life stood in my way. The more I thought about it the more I realized its okay. I just think it looks great. I watched him closely the next morning breaking camp. It’s cold. I’m cold inside my RV where it was ten degrees warmer than outside. Sleeping in a tent on the ground every night where it is cold and damp, that would get tiresome real quick. Imagine doing so in bad weather−wind, rain, hail. Some people it wouldn’t bother but me it would. I don’t know what he ate that morning; it looked like no more than some nuts out of a Ziploc bag and water. He was headed for Stanley, fifty-five miles away. There was nothing in the way of eateries along the way. I knew. I had already looked for gas stations along that route. I’d never make it on a handful of nuts. I need my coffee and a bagel first off in the morning, then some oranges and raisins in my bowl of yogurt. Follow that up with cereal with milk and a banana. Sometimes like that morning I have eggs, sausage and hash browns and that’s just my breakfast. I couldn’t carry that much food on a bicycle. I couldn’t carry enough food for me for even one day. Then what about my books? I have twelve books stacked up I’ve picked up at thrift stores lately. Just carrying along one paperback would be the limit. It’s all about weight when cycling and hiking. Yeah, I suppose I could have them all in my Kindle, but how would I recharge it? He had a Kindle. He has to find a place to plug in then sit and wait. What about my laptop? How could I write daily journal entries? Maybe people use a tablet for that but then again, there is the weight and charging to deal with. There were so many more things I thought of that I would have to do without. In the end of my thoughts I felt better knowing I would have never cut it cycling long distances for months on end, if not full time as I know a few do I have met. The biggest point though is I couldn’t have my cat with me on a bicycle. I’d be extremely lonely without my cat with me.
I also considered too that cycling would be too dangerous. I told him that’s why I quit riding on the roads twenty years ago. I had had too many close calls with motorists. I watched him take off that morning. Up the gravel road onto the Highway 75 that had about a one foot wide shoulder. His bike with bags hanging off each side front and rear was wider than one foot. Every car and especially big rig trucks would terrify me as they passed. I would not be enjoying it one bit. I’d be better off walking the roads if I wanted that type of life, but not at this stage in my life. I appreciate my comforts, and that was nothing to be ashamed of.
Our week at Bayhorse went quite well considering being in an organized campground leading into a three-day holiday weekend. At the most we had six additional campers come in (Friday and Saturday) and they all left the following mornings except for two. Those two stayed the four days. One was close to us in a large fancy fifth wheel toy hauler trailer a couple in their forties. They had all the toys−ATV, kayak, stand-up paddle boards plus fancy high-end camp chairs, chrome plated barbeque, you name it. They were good neighbors. The only problem though was the woman was most attractive. She looked like the actress Gwyneth Palthrow. I didn’t need that distraction so close by. They had a little long-haired dog (Beans was probably bigger) that never yapped one time. It followed the woman all around. Well I would too. They would be gone most of the day playing with their toys so it wasn’t all that terrible being next door to a movie star look alike.
There were no hiking trails nearby so I would walk the highway. I enjoy walking roads and small highways. I must have been a hobo in a previous life. There are all types of things to see besides the usual trash people tossed out car windows. There are lots of bits and pieces from cars, trucks and recreational vehicles that fly off as they go down the road. There were a fair number of bleached bones from road kills most being deer. Being as Bighorn Sheep inhabit this area and there were signs warning the drivers to be careful of them, some of the skeletons may have been sheep. There are never any skulls to be found so hard to tell. The best find was an old style round red gas can that was common back in the days when automobiles came on to the scene. The container was in good shape except for one dent probably where it made contact with the road after falling out from whatever it was riding in. These gas cans are now collector items. I would have kept it had I the room or even the need. I brought it up out from the ravine leaving it standing by a roadside sign. Someone would most likely stop and take it. Someone did. The gas can was gone the next day and this highway was very lightly traveled.
Monday, Labor Day itself finally arrived. We left Bayhorse in the morning. Beans was glad to leave. She was bored as there was nothing to hunt or chase, not even a grasshopper. I thought we’d be good leaving on Monday for people at campgrounds all over would be packing up to leave, go home back to their jobs. Stanley lay fifty some miles westward. A number of campgrounds sat along the way. Amazingly every campground appeared still filled with campers from what I could see driving by. I thought they’d be clearing out. Doesn’t anyone work anymore? It didn’t matter much anyway as I would not want to have stayed in any of them. The highway followed the Salmon River through a steep narrow canyon for most of the way at an altitude at sixty-five hundred feet and higher. Everything was in shadow and the temperatures were still in the thirties at mid-morning. This was not for me, plus the fact there was no cell service. I had enough of being without. When we reached the outskirts of Stanley the phone finally came alive. In Stanley there wasn’t even a grocery store of any significance. I had forgotten how small Stanley was the last time we came through here from the north a couple years ago. We stopped at a wide pullover to eat a bite and scout online for some new possible camps south of town. There were a dozen of them all close to the highway. We pulled out and soon lost cell service barely outside of town. I could see from the road many campers still in place. I pulled off to check a couple free dispersed areas only to find they were not suitable for a small home on wheels. The dirt road would be boulder laden knocking the RV and its contents all about. I gave up. Amanda had once stayed at nearby Redfish Lake and suggested I go to Redfish but I didn’t even bother. I knew I’d run into the same thing of no open camping available plus not having cell service. Our only recourse now was to continue on south for an hour to Ketchum/Sun Valley where we have stayed twice before in the past. Traffic was backed up to a standstill in the touristy town of Ketchum. It was a holiday, remember. Finally we got through the mess then made the left turn onto Trail Creek Road through Sun Valley. Five miles further on now in Forest Service land the broad open sun-filled valley lay ahead. I could see our old campsite off in the distance. It was open and waiting for us. I turned off the road and down into our familiar spot. There were only two other campers in sight far away. It was warm and so peacefully quiet. We were home.
My plan was to stay in Sun Valley for a couple of weeks. Since we’d be here for awhile I sent in an order for a new battery for the Honda 90. There are a lot of good riding opportunities along Trail Creek Road. The battery would arrive at the post office after the next weekend. No sooner had I placed the order than the weather prediction for the following week showed temperatures twenty degree less. What?! Several nights in a row it would be below freezing. We were here before twice during the same time period and always had pleasant temperatures. How could this be? I thought we’d have to leave sooner than I wanted. I checked other weather apps. They didn’t show figures that low. Why was the Weather Channel doing this to me? The next day they revised their numbers. I never knew who to trust but we would try to hang on at least until the battery arrived.
I got into cleaning out the battery compartment on the motorbike and thought it’d be nice to go to the car wash in town and give it a good clean well down inside the body and frame. The next day we went into town for a few items at the grocery store then over to the car wash. I backed in all ready to go. Four dollars−sixteen quarters! I had never seen a car wash so expensive. Everything is expensive in Ketchum. It is the home and playground for rich people. Many Hollywood personalities have homes in Ketchum. Ketchum doesn’t have one single fast food place, not even a McDonalds. There is one Starbucks−they somehow got a foothold in town. There are no dollar stores, no nothing for us lower class folk. I could not even find a water machine to fill up my drinking water jugs. I left the car wash with a dirty bike.
Nearby was the Ketchum Cemetery where Ernest Hemingway was buried. Hemingway lived in Ketchum and ended his life there. I had trouble finding the grave and enlisted the help of an older couple who lived in town. They took me right to it. Liquor bottles left behind by visitors decorated the cement slab in the shade of several tall pine trees. I had forgotten about that. Had I looked for bottles I probably would have seen it on my own. Some left behind cigars and cigarettes. I would have left a John Steinbeck book had I one with me. Hemingway and Steinbeck had met once but from all accounts the visit didn’t go too well. Steinbeck admired Hemingway but Hemingway felt threatened by Steinbeck due to his recent success of his novel The Grapes of Wrath and it having been made into a movie. Hemingway was a bit antagonistic during the evening. Next to Hemingway lay his fourth wife Mary Walsh. A few plots down was his granddaughter, the model and actress Margot Hemingway who also ended her own life. There have been five suicides within four generations of Hemingways.
Despite Ketchum not having stores and services geared towards riff-raft such as myself there was a thrift store where I scored another book. Back at camp I cleaned inside the battery compartment the best I could then cleaned and painted the battery holder itself. The bike was all ready for the new battery when it arrived, if I hadn’t frozen to death before.
Every morning was cold. It was a matter of waiting until the sun cleared the mountains and the warmth hit the RV. One night, like at two a.m., there was a bunch of commotion going on. I turned on the light. Beans was chasing a mouse. “Get it! Get the mouse Beans!” The mouse eventually got somewhere she couldn’t get to. This happens a lot when a rodent gets inside. I went back to bed. An hour later the game was on again. This time I whacked the mouse with my hiking stick, threw it outside and went back to bed. Beans never intentionally kills anything; she just likes to play and torment whatever she catches. I just want to sleep.
A couple days later when making a cup of tea the phone blared a weather warning at me. I picked it up to read and didn’t get past the first paragraph about an intense wind storm bearing down than it hit us with its full fury. All manner of debris blew by as the RV rocked side to side. Dirt swirled about while I hesitated too long before closing the door. Everything inside was filthy with a layer of dirt. And just as suddenly as it began, the wind stopped. My tea was now topped off with a film of dirt. I tossed it and made another cup. The inside was a mess. I wiped off the counter, the table and would deal with a complete clean-up the next day. That next morning I spent over two hours cleaning inside finally getting to a point I could live in. Beans had been chomping at the bit to go out. “Okay, let’s go.” As soon as she jumped out she rolled in the dirt. “Oh no you don’t! You’re not bringing in a cat full of dirt. I just cleaned everything.” She got a good brushing before allowed to go back in.
The battery arrived early at the post office on that same Friday afternoon but I already planned on going into town on Monday. It could wait. Monday I went to the other grocery store in town (there’s only two, both being fancy gourmet style stores) hoping to find a water machine. Nope. Not even new fresh one gallon jugs of bottle water. I picked up a few items and found they carried Amy’s tomato bisque soup that I like. I bought two cans at three seventy-nine each. I’ve seen them for a dollar less elsewhere. I went back over to the other grocery store. They had one gallon jugs of Crystal Geyser water at a $1.59, where they usually are a dollar even everywhere else in the world. I went down the soup aisle. Yep, they too had Amy’s soup−$4.99! Crooks! There was no waiting at the post office−always a nice treat. I filled the gallon gas can for the bike on the way back to camp. That afternoon I filled the battery with acid, charged it and installed it in the bike. Gracie fired right up. It was nice to have the little Honda 90 up and running again. I rode down to the pay-to-sleep Forest Service campground to get rid of the box the battery came in. I failed at filling my black one gallon bath water jug with water. The vandals took the handles! Well actually the Forest Service had removed the pump handle. Seems the last water test didn’t past standards. Hmm…just like at Trout Creek. On the way back to camp I got the bright idea of ordering another battery while at Quartzsite this year. That way I would have a spare on hand when this one fizzled out. I now planned to disconnect the battery every time I load up the bike and would see if the battery would last longer as this last one only held out for a year and a half.
I enjoyed the next four days riding around the area revisiting spots I explored in previous years. We were coming up on one week of being at Sun Valley. The weather forecast showed another cold front coming down from Canada. Temperatures would drop to below freezing at night. There was no way I could be happy with that. So we left on a Saturday a few days before our sixteen day limit came to be.
First stop was the town of Hailey several miles down the highway. There I was able to top off the onboard water tank at a free city dump site for RVers. The large Albertson’s grocery store in Hailey is always busy. I decided to grocery shop in the next town. I did check with them on a water purifying machine to fill my drinking water bottles. Nope, they didn’t have one. Next were two thrift store stops where no books of interest were to be found. Next was over to a pet store where I could get Beans another bag of her high priced grain-free kibble. I had to mask up before entering. It was a big place with no customers. It was impossible to not social distance while inside browsing around. We left Hailey for Bellevue ten miles further south. There finally was a Family Dollar store where I picked up a few items plus two one gallon bottles of Crystal Geyser drinking water at a dollar apiece, the way they should be priced. Next door was an Atkinson’s grocery store (same as one of the stores in Ketchum) where I’d do my grocery shopping being nowhere as busy as the previous Albertsons. I was now hungry for lunch and one should never grocery shop while hungry. It will only triple the cost. I walked over to a small nearby Mexican restaurant. No mask required. Social distancing was problematic. The place was popular. I picked up a carne asada burrito to go. The plan was to eat half and save the remainder for dinner. Well that didn’t happen; I ate the whole meal. That burrito was so good I couldn’t stop myself. Now fortified I bought some needed food items in the uncrowded grocery store. After one more fruitless thrift store stop we moved on south to our next camp spot.
This was an Idaho Land Management campground, Stanton Crossing, a few miles west of the junction of highways 75 and 20. First impression when we pulled in was a homeless encampment, which turned out to be unjustified. This was a free dispersed area with full shaded and full open in the sun sites to choose from. It had two long drops and no water. I found a spot off by ourselves…somewhat. The nearest neighbor was on the other side of a wire fence. He had a pit bull dog but at least the beast was tied up and didn’t bark menacingly at me. He stared at me with some serious intent though. As the afternoon wore on I realized this wasn’t a bad place after all. There were about a half a dozen other campers scattered about with most of them gone somewhere, having left their trailers behind. Thus the campground was basically quiet and peaceful.
That night the promised Canadian cold set in. It fell down to freezing but at least five degrees above what it was to be back in Sun Valley. I had Mr. Heater set up burning away inside, worrying if the little propane tank had enough in it to get us through this cold spell. Our first day there was overcast with rain for the first half of the day. We were trapped inside all day long. I went looking for something up in the overhead storage area and discovered things were wet by the small window on the driver’s side. Great! This had been a trouble area for water getting in at for years. I had finally resorted to block off the entire window on the outside with a panel of white plexiplastic. Well now water was getting in somehow. I’d have to deal with that when things dried out.
The next morning dawned clear but cold. When I was brave enough to step outside I realized how we were being shaded by the large cottonwood trees along the wire fence line. I took a little walk around the campground, exploring all there was to explore and appreciated how clean the place was. As mentioned there were ample sites in full sun. I decided we should move. I went back, informed Beans that we were moving. We drove a hundred yards over to a nice spot in the open where we would not be encroached upon, not that that seemed to be a threat. That afternoon I climbed up on the roof, hung over the side and straightaway I discovered the source of the leak. The silicone caulking along the top edge of the plastic panel had cracked open. How long had it been that way? Back up I went with a knife, cut away all the bad caulk and brushed it clean. I ran a new bead of proper caulking (better stuff) along the panel and felt confident the problem would be no more.
There wasn’t much to see or do at this campground. When we first pulled in I figured we’d stay a couple three days. We wound up staying an entire week, so nice to do nothing with no one around. On our way out I stopped to visit with the lady who was the campground host, interrupting her cleaning the long drop. I could see her across the way all week long but never went over to visit. She was in a fifth wheel trailer and appeared to be as ancient as I was. She stayed inside most of the time. So at least I could do is stop and say hello/goodbye and compliment her on this nice campground. She told me it isn’t always this peaceful. When hunting season opens it is packed. I timed it good, not knowing when hunting season was. She also mentioned how she had been in the hospital recently which explained why I never saw her doing much. She was still recovering from some sort of stomach issue. Ah geez, I know how that is going to a hospital while being a nomad. She said she was worse off having to stay in the facility. I cannot imagine. Who’d take care of Beans? Being an Idaho resident she too goes down to Quartzite, Arizona for the winter.
We stopped at the rest area at the junction of highways 20 and 75 only a couple miles down the road to drop off trash. I got into reading the informative boards about the history of the area. The immigrant trail passed through this land with the wagon trains having a rough go of it. The pioneers referred to the land as “the great American desert” when actually it is the Great Basin, an ocean of sagebrush. It would take the immigrants five months to cross traveling at only twelve miles a day. Everyone walked alongside the wagon except the young, the elderly and the sick. They were a tough lot our ancestors. We of this current era would never survive the ordeal.
I had been scouting out places to stay once we left Stanton Crossing. I discovered the town of Gooding had a city run RV park which included showers at the nearby fairgrounds. Well that would be a sure thing. When we left I already decided to not stay at the park since it was so close by yet the opportunity of a shower was tempting. I decided to go for it even though this meant an extra nineteen miles out of the way driving. Once I made the turnoff I kept questioning myself for those nineteen miles. This is stupid just for a shower!
At the park I had to ask how to get to the restroom/shower building. A scruffy guy camped there said “Just go up that dirt road” followed by a whole bunch of other instructions. I asked if I could get there driving this. He said sure, no problem. “There’s lots of room.” Well the dirt road was a short somewhat steep incline, off camber, which forced me take it faster than I wanted. All types of gear went flying about inside. Grrr! We made it and once in the fairgrounds I had no idea where the building was among all the other fair buildings. Where it was had been lost to me in that whole bunch of other instructions. One cinder block building looked like a restroom. I got out to check. The doors were locked. Great! Just great. I stopped a heavyset fairgrounds worker riding a lawn mowing tractor. He directed me over to a different whitewashed cinder block building. Whew! This one wasn’t it. I drove over, parked and went in to inspect. It was a typically heavily used fairgrounds restroom but the shower was wide and spacious. I pulled the knob. Instant hot water with some serious force behind it. This will do just fine. Back to the RV to get my shower backpack and slip into a pair of short pants. Oh that water felt wonderful. No more was this a stupid idea. I felt refreshed and rejuvenated. I dug out some fresh clothes, stowed away the smelly rags and made lunch.
On our way out of Gooding I stopped at a thrift store but no books were to be had. I noticed a propane dealer too at a hardware store on the way in. I thought it best to top off the tank and fill the little tank that runs the Mr. Heater. Best to be well supplied before taking off through the nothingness of Nevada the following week.
We drove on to Jerome now back on track heading south. I had a couple thrift stores lined up in Jerome. On the way I was stunned to see that regular gas was thirty to fifty cents HIGHER than diesel. What the hell had happened while we were off grid? Diesel had always been higher priced ever since I bought the RV back in 2007. It was one of the things that had irked me. Historically diesel was always cheaper until I go buy my first diesel powered vehicle.
Both thrift stores were void in my search for books. Frustrating. The second one was within walking distance from Walmart where I planned to resupply and stay for the night. It was still early in the day so I pushed myself to shop rather than in the morning as I usually do. When finished it was after four o’clock. I was $169 poorer. That was a big haul for me but I had loaded up on hard to find items to keep us going well on into our winter stay. I went over to the nearby Carl’s for a combo meal and went with their chicken sandwich and a shake. I best stick to their hamburgers from now on.
I was kind of worn out from the day. I crawled into bed at dark. At least I was clean.
We would be going into Twin Falls this new day only eleven miles away. More thrift stores were lined up. What else do I have to do? With a population over forty thousand I felt my chances were better. The first store was a huge Deseret store. There were a lot of books and not one Michael Connelly. Unbelievable. Next was a Goodwill. I had visions of that Goodwill store back in Missoula. This one had hardly any books. I had a couple more thrift store chances in town with a used bookstore lined up in between. That was next. Finally! This store dealt with used paperbacks only. It reminded me of a store I used to frequent back in my town of Santa Rosa, Ca. She had all I was looking for. I ended up buying twelve books which checked off all but one on my want list of Harry Bosch detective novels. Even though they were at half the cover price instead of the usual fifty cents or a dollar apiece I had been paying, at five dollars each it was worth it. I could cease the thrift store quest. I was now all set for the winter in the desert. One happy bookworm I was. We stayed at their Walmart Trailer Park near a sign that stated NO OVERNIGHT PARKING along with a few other travelers with no problem except for the early morning street sweeper waking me at four a.m. I went inside to shop for a few last items I was unable to get at the other Walmart. We were now set for the long haul through Nevada and on to our winter home in Arizona.