After much fuss and ado, I've finally uploaded a Google map with our waypoints to the blog! Check out the "Where in the World" tab above this post to see a map of all our sleeping spots and the odd point of interest.
It took hours of research and much swearing to finally get this all figured out, so I'd like to post a tutorial here to help any other people who would like to make it easy on themselves.
It may help to know that for this tutorial I used a Garmin Montana 600, and these directions may not be exactly the same from device to device.
NOTE: You will need three programs to make this work. Garmin Basecamp, Google Earth, and a KML conversion program. I used KMLCSV Converter, a free program you can download here: http://sourceforge.net/projects/kmlcsv/
There's a great tutorial for using it here: http://choonchernlim.com/kmlcsv/tutorials/using-kmlcsv-converter-with-google-earth/
Create a folder on your desktop titled "Garmin Conversions" or some other name that makes sense. You will need it in a moment.
1. Plug your GPS device into your computer and open Garmin Basecamp.
2. If your device does not automatically upload your most recent waypoints and tracks, do so manually.
3. Select the items you want to be in your Google map. This may include waypoints and tracks. I stuck with simple waypoints for my map.
4. Once the items are highlighted, select "view" from the upper menu bar, then "Google Earth", and "add selected".
5. Google Earth should open automatically. The "Places" window on the left of the screen will have two subcategories, "My Places" and "Temporary". There should now be a file titled "Basecamp" in the "Temporary" category.
6. Right click on "Basecamp" and select "Save Place as.."
7. Save the file to the folder you previously created on the desktop. Save the file as a .KML.
8. Close Google Earth and open up your desktop folder. There should now be a file inside called "Basecamp.KML"
9. Open KMLCSV Converter.
10. Select "File" from the upper menu bar, then "Configure". This will tell the program where it should look for KML files when it is opened.
11. Under the "File Management" header, select "Browse". Navigate to your folder on the desktop and select it. Select "OK"
12. On the left of the screen you should now see your "Basecamp" file under the KML header. Double click on this file.
13. All your waypoints and tracks will now appear in the window to the right. If it looks correct, select "Create File" below.
14. Now there will be a CSV file in your folder on the desktop!
15. Open maps.google.com and log in to your account.
16. At the bottom right of the screen will be a small icon shaped like a gear. Click it and select "My Places" then "Create Map".
17. Name your map whatever you fancy and add some notes.
18. Select "Import". Open the folder on your desktop, and drag and drop the CSV file onto the box in Google Maps. Make sure it's the CSV and not the KML!
19. You now have an awesome Google map you can share with your friends! Share on social media using the quick icons, or use an invite-only link. You can also embed the map into your website or blog.
I hope this helps you get through the process fairly painfully! Feel free to ask any questions you might have in the comments below.
Happy Travels!
Monday, December 30, 2013
Saturday, December 28, 2013
12-28-13 - Texas, part 2.
Dave and I finally arrived at his mother's house in Alvarado, Texas, exhausted and disheartened. His mother and brother live here, as well as 5 horses and 5 dogs. We spent Christmas together, and several days after.
Dave's mother loves horses dearly. She rides in and judges drill competitions and has even been published. She's an accomplished back country horse woman and teaches classes on the "leave no trace" camping techniques.
Their family was originally from Washington, and we watched some old family videos on our last night in Alvarado. The dark, mist coated pines and still lakes pierced me deeper than I ever thought possible, and left a single, lonely word echoing around my mind: home. Only a month on the road, and already homesick? Some world traveler I've turned out to be.
I find myself struggling for the right words here in Texas. It is a place within my own country, yet worlds apart from the one I have known, and I try to see the beauty that must lie here somewhere. For now I will leave you with pictures to speak more eloquently than I can, in the hopes that you can form your own impressions.
Dave's mother loves horses dearly. She rides in and judges drill competitions and has even been published. She's an accomplished back country horse woman and teaches classes on the "leave no trace" camping techniques.
Their family was originally from Washington, and we watched some old family videos on our last night in Alvarado. The dark, mist coated pines and still lakes pierced me deeper than I ever thought possible, and left a single, lonely word echoing around my mind: home. Only a month on the road, and already homesick? Some world traveler I've turned out to be.
I find myself struggling for the right words here in Texas. It is a place within my own country, yet worlds apart from the one I have known, and I try to see the beauty that must lie here somewhere. For now I will leave you with pictures to speak more eloquently than I can, in the hopes that you can form your own impressions.
Texas.
Don't mess with Texas.
In fact, unless you're a rancher, tin-hat wearing survivalist, or horse enthusiast don't even go to Texas. Leave it alone.
Sometimes travel opens our eyes to things we would rather not see, for better or worse, and once a thing resonates within the soul it cannot be unseen.
Texas is flat, ugly, and dry. The horizon line appears as a vast sea in all directions, flat and without any concept of distance or perspective. The only punctuations on this blank page are the tall natural gas towers that 'frac' the earth and lines of telephone poles stretching to nowhere. They are interspersed with oil rigs, odd looking teeter-totters on stilts that ceaselessly rock back and forth, back and forth, pulling that black life blood called oil out of the earth. When their well runs dry they are left to be consumed by rust and sand. The air is hazy and cold, and smells of rotten eggs. Everything is rusted, ugly without apology. Unlike other states we have seen, there are no rest stops on the highway. There are only 'picnic spots', obligatory pull outs with 3 or 4 parking spots and no restrooms, no place to sleep. Everywhere we stop, the trash bins are overflowing and plastic bottles are cast carelessly on the ground. On the road, guard rails have been destroyed by impact and instead of being repaired are simply marked with a sign that says 'Caution: guardrail damage." Several overpasses have masses of concrete blasted through the center from misjudged oversize loads slamming in to them. They are left as they are, with no repairs attempted, no apologies made.
I watch this flat, dry landscape roll by as I listen to tuneless hold music on repeat, interrupted by a cheery male voice reminding me that "My call is important! We'll be with you as soon as we can!". The reason for this bone-itchingly irritating music is that I am trying, with no avail, to get my insurance agency to follow through on a claim. We filed the paperwork on the 10th, and it should have been processed by now. Today I noticed to my dismay, that there is no number listed in the little "reference number" column on the form, just a mocking blank space. I've been holding for 10 minutes, with many more to come before an actual human being can be bothered to greet me and cheerily assure me that there's nothing they can do, have a lovely Christmas! I grit my teeth and begin to brood on the state of America.
My feelings on our country are conflicting. I love my equal rights as a woman, my freedom to pursue happiness as I see fit, and my comfortable upbringing. I hate the poisons in our food, our brainless obsession with vanity, the ever-turning cogs of selfish material gain that crush so many, and the never ending screaming advertisements on every surface. Money is king, money is everything. People from all over the world bring their families here for a chance at more of it, lured by the golden ideal of a better place. There are many beautiful things here, but they seem to be dying. The democracy that began our nation is all but gone, replaced by a paranoid government that spies on it's citizens and lies for private gain.
I have been reading 'The Jungle' by Upton Sinclair, a revolutionary book that exposed the horrors of the meat-packing industry in early America. The main character is a Lithuanian immigrant named Jurgis. He and his family were lured to America by the promise of high wages and opportunity to rise above. They moved here and quickly learned the harsh realities of capitalism. The wages were in fact higher, but the cost of living was disproportionately so, and so they could not afford to live even a poverty level existence. Spoiled meat had poisonous flavor and scent added, and was repackaged as fresh. Employees of the company on the working floor were sped up to the point of dying of exhaustion. Much like the spoiled canned meat, what had appeared shiny and new from a distance turned out to be a thin veneer over a festering reality.
I too, find myself becoming disillusioned. Although my own story is far less extreme, it carries similar undertones. I have worked for a company that spent countless thousands on advertising, carrying out tours and funding websites to tout their cutting-edge facilities, success and happy employees. That same company denied cost of living wage increases to every employee and refused to invest into an air quality system that would suck the atomized petroleum mist out of the air, providing relief to the employees that breathed it in deep gulps everyday, while the bosses sat plush in offices with filtered air. It would have cost less than 1% of their annual marketing budget. The same pattern is shown everywhere, in nearly every business. Profit rules all, at the expense of human life.
Capitalism is the focus point of my disgust at this point. In a place where corporations have the rights of people, where is the sanity? Where is the humanity? It has been swallowed by the vast expanse of greed, which turns green landscapes to barren oil fields and glimmering human hope to bitterness.
The many patriotic citizens of the United States would say to me, "If you don't like it, LEAVE." It is an idea that I am beginning to consider as we press on through the straight brown wastelands of Texas. Is there still a place untouched by this corruption, where the earth is valued without being raped, where a man's word is still his bond, where honesty is still assumed? Only time will tell. For now, we press on and on through ugly, dry nothingness.
In fact, unless you're a rancher, tin-hat wearing survivalist, or horse enthusiast don't even go to Texas. Leave it alone.
Sometimes travel opens our eyes to things we would rather not see, for better or worse, and once a thing resonates within the soul it cannot be unseen.
Texas is flat, ugly, and dry. The horizon line appears as a vast sea in all directions, flat and without any concept of distance or perspective. The only punctuations on this blank page are the tall natural gas towers that 'frac' the earth and lines of telephone poles stretching to nowhere. They are interspersed with oil rigs, odd looking teeter-totters on stilts that ceaselessly rock back and forth, back and forth, pulling that black life blood called oil out of the earth. When their well runs dry they are left to be consumed by rust and sand. The air is hazy and cold, and smells of rotten eggs. Everything is rusted, ugly without apology. Unlike other states we have seen, there are no rest stops on the highway. There are only 'picnic spots', obligatory pull outs with 3 or 4 parking spots and no restrooms, no place to sleep. Everywhere we stop, the trash bins are overflowing and plastic bottles are cast carelessly on the ground. On the road, guard rails have been destroyed by impact and instead of being repaired are simply marked with a sign that says 'Caution: guardrail damage." Several overpasses have masses of concrete blasted through the center from misjudged oversize loads slamming in to them. They are left as they are, with no repairs attempted, no apologies made.
I watch this flat, dry landscape roll by as I listen to tuneless hold music on repeat, interrupted by a cheery male voice reminding me that "My call is important! We'll be with you as soon as we can!". The reason for this bone-itchingly irritating music is that I am trying, with no avail, to get my insurance agency to follow through on a claim. We filed the paperwork on the 10th, and it should have been processed by now. Today I noticed to my dismay, that there is no number listed in the little "reference number" column on the form, just a mocking blank space. I've been holding for 10 minutes, with many more to come before an actual human being can be bothered to greet me and cheerily assure me that there's nothing they can do, have a lovely Christmas! I grit my teeth and begin to brood on the state of America.
My feelings on our country are conflicting. I love my equal rights as a woman, my freedom to pursue happiness as I see fit, and my comfortable upbringing. I hate the poisons in our food, our brainless obsession with vanity, the ever-turning cogs of selfish material gain that crush so many, and the never ending screaming advertisements on every surface. Money is king, money is everything. People from all over the world bring their families here for a chance at more of it, lured by the golden ideal of a better place. There are many beautiful things here, but they seem to be dying. The democracy that began our nation is all but gone, replaced by a paranoid government that spies on it's citizens and lies for private gain.
I have been reading 'The Jungle' by Upton Sinclair, a revolutionary book that exposed the horrors of the meat-packing industry in early America. The main character is a Lithuanian immigrant named Jurgis. He and his family were lured to America by the promise of high wages and opportunity to rise above. They moved here and quickly learned the harsh realities of capitalism. The wages were in fact higher, but the cost of living was disproportionately so, and so they could not afford to live even a poverty level existence. Spoiled meat had poisonous flavor and scent added, and was repackaged as fresh. Employees of the company on the working floor were sped up to the point of dying of exhaustion. Much like the spoiled canned meat, what had appeared shiny and new from a distance turned out to be a thin veneer over a festering reality.
I too, find myself becoming disillusioned. Although my own story is far less extreme, it carries similar undertones. I have worked for a company that spent countless thousands on advertising, carrying out tours and funding websites to tout their cutting-edge facilities, success and happy employees. That same company denied cost of living wage increases to every employee and refused to invest into an air quality system that would suck the atomized petroleum mist out of the air, providing relief to the employees that breathed it in deep gulps everyday, while the bosses sat plush in offices with filtered air. It would have cost less than 1% of their annual marketing budget. The same pattern is shown everywhere, in nearly every business. Profit rules all, at the expense of human life.
Capitalism is the focus point of my disgust at this point. In a place where corporations have the rights of people, where is the sanity? Where is the humanity? It has been swallowed by the vast expanse of greed, which turns green landscapes to barren oil fields and glimmering human hope to bitterness.
The many patriotic citizens of the United States would say to me, "If you don't like it, LEAVE." It is an idea that I am beginning to consider as we press on through the straight brown wastelands of Texas. Is there still a place untouched by this corruption, where the earth is valued without being raped, where a man's word is still his bond, where honesty is still assumed? Only time will tell. For now, we press on and on through ugly, dry nothingness.
Saturday, December 21, 2013
12-20-13 - The Big Nowhere
Quartzite is a barely on the map speck, a few houses and some small shops. We shot off into the desert nearby, on a road that was hardly a road, rough tire tracks in a sea of gravel and short bushes. All around us were stunningly huge rock formations straight out of a Western movie poster. Far, far off in the distance we could make out the white dots of small RV villages, most of them retirees who had come out to the desert for the winter. They do what is called "boondocking", which means camping without water or electrical connections. Many of them have solar panels, huge water tanks, and everything from flowered pop-up pagodas to small SUV's in tow. We feel small in Charlie, small in comparison to their wallowing leviathan bulk, small in comparison to the silent rock pillars that stand watch, small in comparison to the desert's unyielding harsh expanse.
Everything here is purpose built, from the smallest sprout hidden in the rocks to the pin-straight Seguaro cacti that stand over 8' tall. Nearly every plant defends it's life jealously. Some are coated in deceptively fine hair-like needles that stick in your skin and work deeper and deeper the more you worry at them. The large cacti have rows and columns of sewing needle sized spikes that curl cruelly at the ends to hook any careless passerby. Even harmless looking green shrubs that cast the only shade to be seen for miles hide a cruel secret, wickedly barbed spikes hidden perfectly by their delicate silvery green leaves. The heat parches and the rain floods, leaving a cracked and surreal landscape, a paradox of life and lifelessness. I find myself literally floored, pressed down to the earth by the weight of my own survival and the heavy gray clouds that roll in above. There is little room for mercy or errors out here in The Big Nowhere
We went for a short walk to an abandoned shack we spotted from camp. It's two small buildings, hand built. The insulation in the thick walls is made of empty glass beer bottles, covered in plaster and desert rocks on both sides. The windows and door frames, both of which are now empty, are lined with large quartz stones. The walls themselves have been made of large chunks of pink granite, green stone, quartz, and grey rock. It's strangely festive, although empty. Out back we found a small grave with two sticks tied together as a headstone. We debated for a while whether it's real or simply symbolic, and couldn't seem to pin down an answer. While we walked back to the van, I stopped and started playing cactus needles like one of those African finger instruments. The sound is uncannily similar.
Darkness fell abruptly and we could see huge flashes and beams of lightning breaking in the distance, backlighting a rock feature far off in the distance. We slept fitfully that night, worried the storm might approach and spark a wildfire. It started raining hard in the middle of the night, and I layed awake and listened to it splatter and drip off the roof of the van. I tried my best to stay away but fell asleep quickly, promising myself to wake up if I heard the running water of a flash flood.
Luckily, we did not get toasted by a fire or rinsed away like so much trash by a flash flood. We ate a leisurely hot breakfast and let ourselves be warmed by the sun, ready for another day, another adventure.
Everything here is purpose built, from the smallest sprout hidden in the rocks to the pin-straight Seguaro cacti that stand over 8' tall. Nearly every plant defends it's life jealously. Some are coated in deceptively fine hair-like needles that stick in your skin and work deeper and deeper the more you worry at them. The large cacti have rows and columns of sewing needle sized spikes that curl cruelly at the ends to hook any careless passerby. Even harmless looking green shrubs that cast the only shade to be seen for miles hide a cruel secret, wickedly barbed spikes hidden perfectly by their delicate silvery green leaves. The heat parches and the rain floods, leaving a cracked and surreal landscape, a paradox of life and lifelessness. I find myself literally floored, pressed down to the earth by the weight of my own survival and the heavy gray clouds that roll in above. There is little room for mercy or errors out here in The Big Nowhere
We went for a short walk to an abandoned shack we spotted from camp. It's two small buildings, hand built. The insulation in the thick walls is made of empty glass beer bottles, covered in plaster and desert rocks on both sides. The windows and door frames, both of which are now empty, are lined with large quartz stones. The walls themselves have been made of large chunks of pink granite, green stone, quartz, and grey rock. It's strangely festive, although empty. Out back we found a small grave with two sticks tied together as a headstone. We debated for a while whether it's real or simply symbolic, and couldn't seem to pin down an answer. While we walked back to the van, I stopped and started playing cactus needles like one of those African finger instruments. The sound is uncannily similar.
Darkness fell abruptly and we could see huge flashes and beams of lightning breaking in the distance, backlighting a rock feature far off in the distance. We slept fitfully that night, worried the storm might approach and spark a wildfire. It started raining hard in the middle of the night, and I layed awake and listened to it splatter and drip off the roof of the van. I tried my best to stay away but fell asleep quickly, promising myself to wake up if I heard the running water of a flash flood.
Luckily, we did not get toasted by a fire or rinsed away like so much trash by a flash flood. We ate a leisurely hot breakfast and let ourselves be warmed by the sun, ready for another day, another adventure.
Thursday, December 19, 2013
12-19-13 - Joshua Tree
Last night, I woke up to a strange sound, wild and yet familiar. It was a high chattering punctuated by excited yelps. I sat bolt upright in bed with excitement. Coyotes! I hadn't heard them since I was a little girl. My parents' house is on the edge of a massive tree farm where a pack used to live. They'd sing all night and drive the dogs crazy. I always loved the sound. These little fellows were within 10 feet of the van from the sound of it. We heard them a couple times throughout the night, making their rounds and investigating the strangers that had appeared in the middle of their territory. I walked outside to see if I could catch any glimpse of them but they had already moved on. The full moon shone down as bright as a streetlamp, casting clear shadows on the ground and giving the world an eerie, surreal feeling.
By the time we woke up the sun was fully risen and had begun chasing off the chill of night. My GPS read 3,200 feet, quite a gain from our mainly sea level adventures. We sliced up another of the grapefruit from the Salton Sea campsite. I stared out at the scrub brush, savoring the sun and sweet juice of the fruit. A movement caught my eye, a patch of brown moving against the sea of sand, yucca, and dead grass. I just managed to catch a glimpse of a bushy tail and four little legs. I pressed my nose up to the glass, thrilled. Not 10 yards out, a beautiful little coyote came in to view. He was a lovely soft scrub brown, mottled with gray and black, with delicate little paws that he floated on light as air. He stopped to sniff at a bush that Jax had staked out as his own, then suddenly threw both ears upright and stared directly at us. We met each others' gazes for a few fearless seconds, then he unhurriedly went on his way, clearly unconcerned by our bumbling presence in his endless, inhospitable home.
Our campsite is in Joshua Tree National Park, back on a Jeep trail. There's not a soul here but us and the coyotes. This is my first experience with a real desert, and it's truly lovely. We are parked on a flat dish filled with low-growing brush, dead grass, and yucca. In all directions we are ringed by dry, tan mountains made of crumbled rock and held together by more brush. The sky is flawless blue. Although it got slightly cold last night, temperatures here rise quickly and by 9 o'clock it's a comfortable 70 degrees.
I've been fighting off a cold, but it's nothing like in Washington. There, soggy days drag in to wet weeks, a constant damp drizzle that gets into your bones and slows the healing process to a miserable crawl. Here it's bone dry, warm, and I have unlimited sunshine and fresh grapefruit. Normally colds annihilate me, but here I'm already almost completely better three days later.
We should make Arizona today, we've had a tip from a couple people that Sedona is a great place to check out.
By the time we woke up the sun was fully risen and had begun chasing off the chill of night. My GPS read 3,200 feet, quite a gain from our mainly sea level adventures. We sliced up another of the grapefruit from the Salton Sea campsite. I stared out at the scrub brush, savoring the sun and sweet juice of the fruit. A movement caught my eye, a patch of brown moving against the sea of sand, yucca, and dead grass. I just managed to catch a glimpse of a bushy tail and four little legs. I pressed my nose up to the glass, thrilled. Not 10 yards out, a beautiful little coyote came in to view. He was a lovely soft scrub brown, mottled with gray and black, with delicate little paws that he floated on light as air. He stopped to sniff at a bush that Jax had staked out as his own, then suddenly threw both ears upright and stared directly at us. We met each others' gazes for a few fearless seconds, then he unhurriedly went on his way, clearly unconcerned by our bumbling presence in his endless, inhospitable home.
 |
| Charlie out in the big nowhere. |
Our campsite is in Joshua Tree National Park, back on a Jeep trail. There's not a soul here but us and the coyotes. This is my first experience with a real desert, and it's truly lovely. We are parked on a flat dish filled with low-growing brush, dead grass, and yucca. In all directions we are ringed by dry, tan mountains made of crumbled rock and held together by more brush. The sky is flawless blue. Although it got slightly cold last night, temperatures here rise quickly and by 9 o'clock it's a comfortable 70 degrees.
I've been fighting off a cold, but it's nothing like in Washington. There, soggy days drag in to wet weeks, a constant damp drizzle that gets into your bones and slows the healing process to a miserable crawl. Here it's bone dry, warm, and I have unlimited sunshine and fresh grapefruit. Normally colds annihilate me, but here I'm already almost completely better three days later.
12-16-13 - Salton Sea
Today we began our journey East! We'd spent the night being battered by the wind at a rest stop East of San Diego. In the morning we headed South East to El Centro to pick up some supplies, including a heavy duty galvanized chain and lock for my new bike. While traveling through Northern California and even Oregon we'd had some difficulty finding places to fill our water jugs. We currently have 9 1-gallon refillable jugs, as well as 2 1-liter water bottles, and a pressurized shower tank that holds 4 gallons. Luckily in Southern Cali, there are water dispensing stations everywhere where you can buy a gallon for 15 cents. We refill every time we can.
The weather got progressively hotter as we headed East, finally topping out at an even 80 degrees. For the first time in a long time, I changed into shorts! The land here is mostly agricultural, green fields that look out of place when framed by dry, dusty gravel heaps of mountains.
We decided to take highway 86 North from El Centro to the Salton Sea. I'd seen a documentary called "Bombay Beach" about the area a while back and was very interested to see the sea in person. We drove on the highway for a while, hands out the windows and the radio turned up. Suddenly we saw brake lights and abruptly stopped in a line of cars.
"What's going on?" I asked Dave nervously. He shrugged and tried to get a view of what was ahead. The moment I saw the Border Patrol cars and spotlights I knew: it was a drug or immigration checkpoint. We pulled forward, my heart beating a mile a minute and my face flush. I had a very small quantity of a substance that's quite legal where I'm from in my bag. Unfortunately, I had forgotten it was there until just this moment, and in California it is decidedly illegal. My heart beat faster and faster. I could see it now, calling home on bail for possession, everyone rolling their eyes, cold nights spent in the penitentiary. I just wasn't made for the criminal lifestyle! As we slowly rolled forward, an officer patroled with a large, keyed-up German Shepard. Two cars to go. Suddenly the dog whined, leapt forward, and barked at the trunk of a small red car in front of us. Two more officers quickly went to the car, and the K-9 officer praised his dog in a high voice. The bored looking man in the checkpoint box took one look at our license plate and waved us through. Neither Dave or I spoke for quite a while, waiting for our pulses to come back down from the jackhammer rate they had been at.
"Dave" I said sheepishly "Can we find a trashcan??"
A ways down the road we began to be able to see a glimpse of sunlight reflecting off water. The sun was setting so we started searching for a campsite. We saw an unposted dirt road jut off to the right, and took it. All around us was flat sand and patches of scrub brush. We followed the cracked and sometimes sand covered track as far as we could, until it dead ended in a large sand dune.
On one side of the road was an unfenced fruit plantation with large, round, yellow fruits hanging thick on the trees. In a blatant continuation of my crime-ridden lifestyle, I hopped out of the car and picked three of them, still warm from the sun. We sliced one open, and it turned out to be the juiciest, most delicious deep red grapefruit I'd ever had. We ate burritos and grapefruit until sticky juice ran down our arms and covered our faces.
By the time we finished cleaning up, the sun had gone down and been replaced by a gigantic neon-bright full moon. We stepped out into the sand and our bodies cast long shadows on the dunes. Full of happiness and sugary grapefruit, we took off running barefoot up one dune and down another, with Jax the dog joyously bounding along with us. He ran at full speed in huge circles, kicking up puffs of sand and sending bits of sagebrush flying. Eventually we all tired of our game and walked back to our little home on wheels together.
We stayed there two nights, soaking in the sun and devouring one grapefruit after another.
The weather got progressively hotter as we headed East, finally topping out at an even 80 degrees. For the first time in a long time, I changed into shorts! The land here is mostly agricultural, green fields that look out of place when framed by dry, dusty gravel heaps of mountains.
We decided to take highway 86 North from El Centro to the Salton Sea. I'd seen a documentary called "Bombay Beach" about the area a while back and was very interested to see the sea in person. We drove on the highway for a while, hands out the windows and the radio turned up. Suddenly we saw brake lights and abruptly stopped in a line of cars.
"What's going on?" I asked Dave nervously. He shrugged and tried to get a view of what was ahead. The moment I saw the Border Patrol cars and spotlights I knew: it was a drug or immigration checkpoint. We pulled forward, my heart beating a mile a minute and my face flush. I had a very small quantity of a substance that's quite legal where I'm from in my bag. Unfortunately, I had forgotten it was there until just this moment, and in California it is decidedly illegal. My heart beat faster and faster. I could see it now, calling home on bail for possession, everyone rolling their eyes, cold nights spent in the penitentiary. I just wasn't made for the criminal lifestyle! As we slowly rolled forward, an officer patroled with a large, keyed-up German Shepard. Two cars to go. Suddenly the dog whined, leapt forward, and barked at the trunk of a small red car in front of us. Two more officers quickly went to the car, and the K-9 officer praised his dog in a high voice. The bored looking man in the checkpoint box took one look at our license plate and waved us through. Neither Dave or I spoke for quite a while, waiting for our pulses to come back down from the jackhammer rate they had been at.
"Dave" I said sheepishly "Can we find a trashcan??"
A ways down the road we began to be able to see a glimpse of sunlight reflecting off water. The sun was setting so we started searching for a campsite. We saw an unposted dirt road jut off to the right, and took it. All around us was flat sand and patches of scrub brush. We followed the cracked and sometimes sand covered track as far as we could, until it dead ended in a large sand dune.
On one side of the road was an unfenced fruit plantation with large, round, yellow fruits hanging thick on the trees. In a blatant continuation of my crime-ridden lifestyle, I hopped out of the car and picked three of them, still warm from the sun. We sliced one open, and it turned out to be the juiciest, most delicious deep red grapefruit I'd ever had. We ate burritos and grapefruit until sticky juice ran down our arms and covered our faces.
By the time we finished cleaning up, the sun had gone down and been replaced by a gigantic neon-bright full moon. We stepped out into the sand and our bodies cast long shadows on the dunes. Full of happiness and sugary grapefruit, we took off running barefoot up one dune and down another, with Jax the dog joyously bounding along with us. He ran at full speed in huge circles, kicking up puffs of sand and sending bits of sagebrush flying. Eventually we all tired of our game and walked back to our little home on wheels together.
We stayed there two nights, soaking in the sun and devouring one grapefruit after another.
Sunday, December 15, 2013
12-14-13 - Old Friends in Los Angeles
We happened upon a Marine Educational center on the University of California Santa Cruz campus, and paid $6 to see the display. There were small leopard sharks in a tank. I touched one and it felt like sandpaper wrapped around jello. It didn't seem terribly impressed, and the volunteer told me he slept all day and became active at night. They had a really cool exhibit on Elephant Seals, and a massive reproduction of a female grey whale skeleton outside.
After a long stint on the beautiful Highway 1 coastal route, we had to make our way to Los Angeles. Neither of us were terribly excited for the city, but it was on our way to San Diego and were planning to visit the Getty Museum, a famous art museum in the area. I had been very excited to see this, and couldn't wait to get there. When we pulled up to the gate the security guard took one look at us, and said "Sorry, no dogs." The only parking available was in a parking garage, and we couldn't leave him in the car. He went on to tell us if we left Jax in the car on the street, it was likely someone would come along and break the window to "liberate" him from the heat.
I was furious and disappointed. I'd been looking forward to the museum since we left, and now we couldn't go. I understand the concern of dogs in vehicles suffering from heat exhaustion. However, it was 60 degrees out and our van has a built in fan and window shades. I only wish I could catch some "liberator" in the act and liberate their brain from their head.
On a related note, the entire state of California thus far has been the most dog-unfriendly place I've ever visited. Everywhere you go, from public places to remote locations, "NO DOG" signs are posted with abandon. Even leashed dogs can get a $250 ticket simply for walking along a beach. For me personally, this unwelcoming attitude put a real damper on my view of California as a whole. In Washington State, it's rare to unheard of to not be allowed to bring your dog along on a walk or hike, and there are more offleash friendly areas than I could possibly count.
With our plans of the Getty dashed, we decided to try and find a dog park to let Jax out to play. Astonishingly, in a city of 4 million people, there was one dog park within 30 miles. To me this is absolutely insane. Between the dog-hate and the insanity of rush hour traffic, we began to get discouraged.
We took a walk along the infamous Venice Beach, but the sun was setting and all the vendors were packing up. A man rolled in circles inside of a giant steel hula hoop, accompanied by a mandolin and guitar. A small group loudly made plans to buy some cocaine in the immediate future. A lone man sat with his Mac laptop and a microphone, singing reggae style Christmas carols to no one.
Disheartened by the culture and smog, we finally found our way at the doorstep of two old family friends, Dean and Judy. They were exactly the break we needed to regain our faith in humanity! Even though we hadn't seen each other in 15 years, they welcomed Dave and I with open arms and unquestioning hospitality. We caught up on life, and Dean, who spent several years on the island of Samoa, taught us a few words in Samoan.
The next morning we went out for breakfast on a pier and watched paddleboarders slowly move around the harbor, closely followed by swarms of tiny fish.
I'm so thankful to Dean and Judy for their hospitality and welcoming us into their home! We headed South to San Diego, and today we'll be seeing an old friend, and our Southward trip ends.
East we go!
 |
| At dawn, we ride!! |
After a long stint on the beautiful Highway 1 coastal route, we had to make our way to Los Angeles. Neither of us were terribly excited for the city, but it was on our way to San Diego and were planning to visit the Getty Museum, a famous art museum in the area. I had been very excited to see this, and couldn't wait to get there. When we pulled up to the gate the security guard took one look at us, and said "Sorry, no dogs." The only parking available was in a parking garage, and we couldn't leave him in the car. He went on to tell us if we left Jax in the car on the street, it was likely someone would come along and break the window to "liberate" him from the heat.
I was furious and disappointed. I'd been looking forward to the museum since we left, and now we couldn't go. I understand the concern of dogs in vehicles suffering from heat exhaustion. However, it was 60 degrees out and our van has a built in fan and window shades. I only wish I could catch some "liberator" in the act and liberate their brain from their head.
On a related note, the entire state of California thus far has been the most dog-unfriendly place I've ever visited. Everywhere you go, from public places to remote locations, "NO DOG" signs are posted with abandon. Even leashed dogs can get a $250 ticket simply for walking along a beach. For me personally, this unwelcoming attitude put a real damper on my view of California as a whole. In Washington State, it's rare to unheard of to not be allowed to bring your dog along on a walk or hike, and there are more offleash friendly areas than I could possibly count.
With our plans of the Getty dashed, we decided to try and find a dog park to let Jax out to play. Astonishingly, in a city of 4 million people, there was one dog park within 30 miles. To me this is absolutely insane. Between the dog-hate and the insanity of rush hour traffic, we began to get discouraged.
We took a walk along the infamous Venice Beach, but the sun was setting and all the vendors were packing up. A man rolled in circles inside of a giant steel hula hoop, accompanied by a mandolin and guitar. A small group loudly made plans to buy some cocaine in the immediate future. A lone man sat with his Mac laptop and a microphone, singing reggae style Christmas carols to no one.
Disheartened by the culture and smog, we finally found our way at the doorstep of two old family friends, Dean and Judy. They were exactly the break we needed to regain our faith in humanity! Even though we hadn't seen each other in 15 years, they welcomed Dave and I with open arms and unquestioning hospitality. We caught up on life, and Dean, who spent several years on the island of Samoa, taught us a few words in Samoan.
The next morning we went out for breakfast on a pier and watched paddleboarders slowly move around the harbor, closely followed by swarms of tiny fish.
I'm so thankful to Dean and Judy for their hospitality and welcoming us into their home! We headed South to San Diego, and today we'll be seeing an old friend, and our Southward trip ends.
East we go!
12-12-13 - Beautiful Dreams
Today I woke up to warm silence and the taste of the sea. There wasn't any light shining through the cracks in the window coverings, so I knew it had to be early. I rolled out of bed, strapped on my hiking boots and a jacket and stepped outside. From the hillside vantage point we had parked on I could see 180 degrees of black cliff coastline meeting open ocean, punctuated with small islands of jagged black rock. Behind us were dry brown hills covered in scrub brush and low trees. I hiked up a small rocky hill nearby to get a better vantage point of the sunrise. On top was a flat patch of earth covered with dry pine needles and dead grass. I planted myself on the ground, took a deep breath, and took it all in.
As the sun slowly filled the sky with waves of pink and purple, the world around me began to break its hush. Small brown birds in the scrub began to sleepily call to each other in short chirps and whistles. Far below, where the waves hissed on the rocks, sea lions began shouting their indignations at each other. The males sound similar to howler monkeys, sending unbelievably loud and low roars booming out in all directions, while the females sound like disgruntled people in an argument, yelping and protesting their innocence. Their calls have become a soundtrack to the California coast for me, always present. Farther out to sea an occasional puff of vapor would go blasting up from the surface of the water, accompanied seconds later by the loud popping breath of the gray whale that made it. It was so quiet and still I could hear each breath before they dove back below to feed in the rich coastal waters. Even farther out I saw a commotion of sea birds closely followed by a pack of black fins, slicing and diving at amazing speed through the water. It was a pod of Orca whales hunting the same glut of fish that the gray whales pursued.
I stared at the beauty of the scene for a long time before going back down to the van. I had never in my life seen such a concentration of wildlife in one area. It was incredibly beautiful and precious to me. I went back into our cozy van and made a pot of French press coffee for Dave and I, followed by fried potatoes and fresh fruit. We quietly ate, sipped our coffee, and relaxed in the long awaited warmth of the sun.
We continued South down the coast on Highway 1, enjoying rugged beauty and nice weather. Suddenly, while glancing at a beach as we drove by, I gasped. There were massive forms sprawled all over, like haphazardly scattered giant, smooth, gray boulders. We pulled over quickly to get a second look. Upon examination, they weren't boulders. They were Elephant Seals! Not 5 feet away from us their massive bulk speckled a sandy swatch of beach. They all appeared to be dead, bellies up to the sun, cast up on shore to rot. Then one of them would let out a snuffling cough and heave itself into a new position or lazily scratch at a flipper, and the illusion of death was erased. The three small females in the picture below were fussing and coughing at each other like grumpy old women. The males are massive, like huge cattle without legs. They look as though they would be too fat to even move, until they lazily itch their face with a flipper, or awkwardly try to roll their bulk around. The seals had just arrived and the huge males were preparing to spend the next three months fighting and fasting, building a harem of lovely seal wenches and battling other males for the right to a prime patch of rock and sand. By the time the breeding season is over, they'll be a tiny shadow of their former bulk. Their size belies their ferocity, and the massive males will rear up and strike each other over and over with deadly sharp teeth. Nearly all of them bear white scars from these battles. For short distances, they can even outpace a human on land! For now there is peace, but the breeding season soon starts. The seals are wise to enjoy the sun on the beach for now, as there are great white sharks and orcas out at sea that patrol the water leading to the beach with ferocious intent. We spoke to a volunteer who told us that just last week a 17 foot great white had been spotted just off the beach by a bouy camera.
Later we found ourselves out in agricultural land, little patchwork squares of fields bordered by green mountains. We stopped at a farm stand where we bought some of the best and cheapest produce I've ever seen! Avocados, grapefruit, onions, potatoes, and beautiful oranges brimmed over in the crates, and the owner handed out slices for us to sample.
We ended up staying at a truck stop that night, where massive 18 wheelers rumbled in the dark next to us, making me feel very small indeed. Luckily, the memories of the coast lulled me to sleep.
As the sun slowly filled the sky with waves of pink and purple, the world around me began to break its hush. Small brown birds in the scrub began to sleepily call to each other in short chirps and whistles. Far below, where the waves hissed on the rocks, sea lions began shouting their indignations at each other. The males sound similar to howler monkeys, sending unbelievably loud and low roars booming out in all directions, while the females sound like disgruntled people in an argument, yelping and protesting their innocence. Their calls have become a soundtrack to the California coast for me, always present. Farther out to sea an occasional puff of vapor would go blasting up from the surface of the water, accompanied seconds later by the loud popping breath of the gray whale that made it. It was so quiet and still I could hear each breath before they dove back below to feed in the rich coastal waters. Even farther out I saw a commotion of sea birds closely followed by a pack of black fins, slicing and diving at amazing speed through the water. It was a pod of Orca whales hunting the same glut of fish that the gray whales pursued.
I stared at the beauty of the scene for a long time before going back down to the van. I had never in my life seen such a concentration of wildlife in one area. It was incredibly beautiful and precious to me. I went back into our cozy van and made a pot of French press coffee for Dave and I, followed by fried potatoes and fresh fruit. We quietly ate, sipped our coffee, and relaxed in the long awaited warmth of the sun.
We continued South down the coast on Highway 1, enjoying rugged beauty and nice weather. Suddenly, while glancing at a beach as we drove by, I gasped. There were massive forms sprawled all over, like haphazardly scattered giant, smooth, gray boulders. We pulled over quickly to get a second look. Upon examination, they weren't boulders. They were Elephant Seals! Not 5 feet away from us their massive bulk speckled a sandy swatch of beach. They all appeared to be dead, bellies up to the sun, cast up on shore to rot. Then one of them would let out a snuffling cough and heave itself into a new position or lazily scratch at a flipper, and the illusion of death was erased. The three small females in the picture below were fussing and coughing at each other like grumpy old women. The males are massive, like huge cattle without legs. They look as though they would be too fat to even move, until they lazily itch their face with a flipper, or awkwardly try to roll their bulk around. The seals had just arrived and the huge males were preparing to spend the next three months fighting and fasting, building a harem of lovely seal wenches and battling other males for the right to a prime patch of rock and sand. By the time the breeding season is over, they'll be a tiny shadow of their former bulk. Their size belies their ferocity, and the massive males will rear up and strike each other over and over with deadly sharp teeth. Nearly all of them bear white scars from these battles. For short distances, they can even outpace a human on land! For now there is peace, but the breeding season soon starts. The seals are wise to enjoy the sun on the beach for now, as there are great white sharks and orcas out at sea that patrol the water leading to the beach with ferocious intent. We spoke to a volunteer who told us that just last week a 17 foot great white had been spotted just off the beach by a bouy camera.
Later we found ourselves out in agricultural land, little patchwork squares of fields bordered by green mountains. We stopped at a farm stand where we bought some of the best and cheapest produce I've ever seen! Avocados, grapefruit, onions, potatoes, and beautiful oranges brimmed over in the crates, and the owner handed out slices for us to sample.
We ended up staying at a truck stop that night, where massive 18 wheelers rumbled in the dark next to us, making me feel very small indeed. Luckily, the memories of the coast lulled me to sleep.
Sunday, December 8, 2013
12-8-13 - Sea Critters and Drugged Dogs
Morning broke clear and sunny today, with no lingering traces of rain. Tired of gorging on pizza and beer, Dave and I decided to get out of the hotel. Unfortunately, the city we're in is incredibly dog unfriendly. Jax the Dog has a bark like a foghorn, so we couldn't leave him unattended. We finally crafted a nefarious plot to drug him, using dramamine cleverly wrapped in pizza crust. He fell victim without a suspicious glance, and within 20 minutes he was snoring away on the bed.
We headed out to the Seymour Marine Discovery center, on the University of California Santa Cruz campus. We toured the small facility, which had some interesting local marine animal displays. One tank held a massive spiny lobster that looked like an alien invader with googly eyes. Another was a "petting tank" containing two beautiful swell sharks. They were roughly 3 feet long, light tan with mottled black markings, and piercing golden eyes. I lowered my hand into the 52 degree water and gingerly touched the sleeping female's back. Her skin felt like sandpaper, rough and cold.
We headed back to the hotel to check on the dog, who greeted us with sleepy, wobbly legged wiggles. Looking slightly cross eyed, he wandered back to the bed and slipped back into a deep sleep.
We left him to finish sleeping off the drugs and headed to Malabar, a semi-gourmet Indian food restaurant. We feasted on Lebanese naan bread, dosas, coconut roti, and a stunning chocolate strawberry mousse for dessert. Tomorrow, van repairs permitting, we finally get out of Santa Cruz!
We left him to finish sleeping off the drugs and headed to Malabar, a semi-gourmet Indian food restaurant. We feasted on Lebanese naan bread, dosas, coconut roti, and a stunning chocolate strawberry mousse for dessert. Tomorrow, van repairs permitting, we finally get out of Santa Cruz!
Picture Update!
From now on, the bulk of the pictures can be found on Dave Stowers' blog, Dave's Point of View.
The address is:
The address is:
Just click the link above to get to the new photo location. Please check back often for lots of cool photo updates!
Thanks everyone!
12-8-13 - Santa Cruz Sucks.
We are still currently stuck in Santa Cruz while waiting for the auto repair shop to open on Monday. Yesterday we went for a walk down the famous boardwalk and down to the lighthouse. I can't shake the bad vibe that this city gives.
It's odd, because I was excited to get here. On the map, it looked lovely, and all the brochours touted it as a premier surf spot and scenic destination. In reality, it's somewhat sketchy, dirty, and unwelcoming. I have never seen so many "Do not" and "No" signs in my entire life. This was at the entrance to the beach:
And this was just one of many! We were asked to leave the boardwalk (which was completely closed down in the daytime) by a security officer, because there were no dogs allowed. The same signs were posted all over, in various forms.
We stopped at the Santa Cruz Museum of Natural History on the way back to the hotel. Outside is a giant steel cast of a beached gray whale. It was a small museum, but well presented and interesting! They had some beautifully taxidermied examples of the local wildlife, including some coyotes, various hawks, and a truly intimidating Golden Eagle with a 7 foot wingspan. There was a father and his young daughter there. She was maybe about 6 years old, and full of questions that he patiently answered one after another. It really brought me a glimmer of hope for the future to see that curious minds are still being brought into the world, and that some parents still put in the time to teach our next generation about our precious and rapidly disappearing natural world.
We walked back to the hotel and decided to grab a couple things out of the van. This is where things went south.
On the back of the van, where our two bikes had been, was an empty rack and two slashed cables. We had the bikes mounted on a Yakima swing away bike rack, with the stock locking cable and a secondary locking steel cable as well. The thieves cut right through both of them in broad daylight, and made off with our bikes.
I was pretty devastated. I bought my bike for $150, and put another $200 into fixing it right before leaving. When you're living on a beans-and-rice budget, this is the kind of money that really hits hard. I'd really been looking forward to exploring little towns on the bike and getting some exercise. I suppose it was foolish to think that we could have something nice out in the open, even if it was locked up.
We filed a police report and went through the motions, but if you've ever had a bike stolen you know it's gone forever. Dave looked up the crime rate on the internet, and apparently Santa Cruz has the highest property crime rate amongst all California cities. What a place to be stuck.
It's odd, because I was excited to get here. On the map, it looked lovely, and all the brochours touted it as a premier surf spot and scenic destination. In reality, it's somewhat sketchy, dirty, and unwelcoming. I have never seen so many "Do not" and "No" signs in my entire life. This was at the entrance to the beach:
( Subliminal Message: F off and go away. )
And this was just one of many! We were asked to leave the boardwalk (which was completely closed down in the daytime) by a security officer, because there were no dogs allowed. The same signs were posted all over, in various forms.
We stopped at the Santa Cruz Museum of Natural History on the way back to the hotel. Outside is a giant steel cast of a beached gray whale. It was a small museum, but well presented and interesting! They had some beautifully taxidermied examples of the local wildlife, including some coyotes, various hawks, and a truly intimidating Golden Eagle with a 7 foot wingspan. There was a father and his young daughter there. She was maybe about 6 years old, and full of questions that he patiently answered one after another. It really brought me a glimmer of hope for the future to see that curious minds are still being brought into the world, and that some parents still put in the time to teach our next generation about our precious and rapidly disappearing natural world.
We walked back to the hotel and decided to grab a couple things out of the van. This is where things went south.
On the back of the van, where our two bikes had been, was an empty rack and two slashed cables. We had the bikes mounted on a Yakima swing away bike rack, with the stock locking cable and a secondary locking steel cable as well. The thieves cut right through both of them in broad daylight, and made off with our bikes.
I was pretty devastated. I bought my bike for $150, and put another $200 into fixing it right before leaving. When you're living on a beans-and-rice budget, this is the kind of money that really hits hard. I'd really been looking forward to exploring little towns on the bike and getting some exercise. I suppose it was foolish to think that we could have something nice out in the open, even if it was locked up.
We filed a police report and went through the motions, but if you've ever had a bike stolen you know it's gone forever. Dave looked up the crime rate on the internet, and apparently Santa Cruz has the highest property crime rate amongst all California cities. What a place to be stuck.
Saturday, December 7, 2013
12-6-13 - Catastrophic Brake Failure
We woke up early to clear, blue skies and breaking waves. We lounged in bed for a while just taking it all in and enjoying the warm sanctuary of the bed. Jax the Dog now sleeps in the bed on Dave's side, due to it being too cold on the floor. He let out contented sighs and snuggled deeper in to the blankets every time we tried to move him.
We eventually all got up to make breakfast. Jax hopped outside and got busy terrorizing the local field mouse population, digging and pouncing with wild abandon. We ate some juevos rancheros, packed up, and headed out.
After a short while, Dave started noticing the brakes were fading pretty badly. When pulling over to let them cool down didn't do the trick, he made the call to stop at a mechanic in the next town, Santa Cruz. He got right to work, and after a while we had some pretty bad news to handle. The driver's side front caliper was completely seized, the rear drums were leaking, the master cylinder was toast, and the rear rotors were beyond repair. We had essentially been stopping our heavy van slash tank with 1/5 of the braking power. I thought back to the winding, steep hills we had been jaunting up and down and felt a little nauseous.
Because it was Friday the parts we needed wouldn't be in until Monday. Luckily, on my parents' urging, I had signed up for AAA before leaving for our trip. I got the premier RV coverage, which includes trip interruption for up to $1,500. We booked a room for 3 nights at the Days Inn. Although the cost of the repairs to the van isn't covered by our insurance our lodging and meals are on AAA, so for now we're living large. Hot showers and forced air heating really help soothe the wound. Our room even has two Queen size beds, so Jax the Dog gets his very own bed!
Today we are going to explore Santa Cruz and see what we can! As the saying goes, "Adventure starts when something goes wrong."
We eventually all got up to make breakfast. Jax hopped outside and got busy terrorizing the local field mouse population, digging and pouncing with wild abandon. We ate some juevos rancheros, packed up, and headed out.
After a short while, Dave started noticing the brakes were fading pretty badly. When pulling over to let them cool down didn't do the trick, he made the call to stop at a mechanic in the next town, Santa Cruz. He got right to work, and after a while we had some pretty bad news to handle. The driver's side front caliper was completely seized, the rear drums were leaking, the master cylinder was toast, and the rear rotors were beyond repair. We had essentially been stopping our heavy van slash tank with 1/5 of the braking power. I thought back to the winding, steep hills we had been jaunting up and down and felt a little nauseous.
Because it was Friday the parts we needed wouldn't be in until Monday. Luckily, on my parents' urging, I had signed up for AAA before leaving for our trip. I got the premier RV coverage, which includes trip interruption for up to $1,500. We booked a room for 3 nights at the Days Inn. Although the cost of the repairs to the van isn't covered by our insurance our lodging and meals are on AAA, so for now we're living large. Hot showers and forced air heating really help soothe the wound. Our room even has two Queen size beds, so Jax the Dog gets his very own bed!
Today we are going to explore Santa Cruz and see what we can! As the saying goes, "Adventure starts when something goes wrong."
12-5-13 - Coastal Contemplation
As I lay curled tightly in my bed, rubbing my cold feet and with
my even colder hands to try and bring some warmth back, I find myself
contemplating whether or not all this fuss is worth it. I mean, when
we planned this trip it all sounded so nice. Hop in a van, gallivant
down the coast to warmer climes, laugh in the sunshine, easy breezy.
However, as with all things, the execution is much more gritty.
The temperature since leaving Washington has been in the low 20's to 40's. We've continued to make modifications to Charlie to maximize our heating situation, but the idea of several more months of drippy noses and chilled bones makes it hard to imagine. As I am writing, I am wearing two pairs of pants, regular AND wool socks, two shirts, a fleece hoodie, a down jacket, fingerless wool gloves, and a hat. And I'm still cold.
Yesterday we woke up in the back lot of a Home Depot in Fremont, CA. It was a bitter 27 degrees outside that night, and I hadn't slept well. Fortunately Dave got the wiring on our fan hooked up, so our heating system inside the van works much better and kept us toasty warm. The sun brings some semblance of humanity to the world, and after a hot breakfast we headed to the Golden Gate Bridge. This is the first time I had ever been truly awed by a piece of man made architecture. Because we live in a culture that constantly sells violence and bad news in the media, it's humbling to see that so many worked together to create such a beautiful and structurally unique feature. People aren't all bad, after all. We have an amazing capacity to build, to create, and to cooperate. It really brought me a feeling of comfort. I won't include the obligatory picture of the bridge here, simply because I don't think it does it justice.
After spending some time at the bridge, we headed over to Haight-Ashbury street. I personally had never heard of it, but Dave knew it's history and wanted to go. I am so glad we did. Tiny shops are packed in one against another, all competing blends of hippy, modern, and far-out funk. Tibetan Gift Shops clamor against brightly painted smoke shop logos of bleary-eyed cartoon skunks smoking weed. Dreadlocks are alive and well on this street. Casualties of acid and other substances wandered by us with unfocused smiles and slurred words. One man, not much older than myself, walked by us with single minded purpose, carefully holding a large bud of weed in front of him, as though to escort it somewhere safe. Everywhere you look graffiti artists have taken over walls, roofs, and the sidewalk in an outdoor exhibition of every style imaginable. I saw several pieces by one of my favorite artists, Sofle, and snapped some pictures. We wandered around, then walked our dog Jax to the park across the street. I had never seen so many homeless people together before, but not a single one of them was unfriendly or confrontational. We got several compliments from people about Jax looking like a lovely dog, including one young man rolling a blunt as thick as a cigar. The sun brought out the best in everyone, and we left the city with a smile.
.JPG)
After leaving San Francisco we headed West to the coast, and Santa Cruz. We made it as far as Pigeon Point Lighthouse when the sun started to go down. We were out of water, and the people we had asked had all turned us down. We stopped at a gas station nearby and the attendant smiled and let us fill our bottles. We ended up parking in an empty dirt lot perched on a cliff directly adjacent to the lighthouse. We cracked open a couple beers, sat on the hood of the van, and watched the sun dissolve downwards into the sea like molten gold.
For dinner we made beans and rice with chipotle peppers in adobo sauce, salsa, and fried platanos. Everything thus far has been a challenge, and yet I can't help but look forward to what tomorrow will bring. The future is open ended, a blank page without words written, and I can't wait to see what will come. So in answer to my question earlier...yes, it is all worth it.
The temperature since leaving Washington has been in the low 20's to 40's. We've continued to make modifications to Charlie to maximize our heating situation, but the idea of several more months of drippy noses and chilled bones makes it hard to imagine. As I am writing, I am wearing two pairs of pants, regular AND wool socks, two shirts, a fleece hoodie, a down jacket, fingerless wool gloves, and a hat. And I'm still cold.
Yesterday we woke up in the back lot of a Home Depot in Fremont, CA. It was a bitter 27 degrees outside that night, and I hadn't slept well. Fortunately Dave got the wiring on our fan hooked up, so our heating system inside the van works much better and kept us toasty warm. The sun brings some semblance of humanity to the world, and after a hot breakfast we headed to the Golden Gate Bridge. This is the first time I had ever been truly awed by a piece of man made architecture. Because we live in a culture that constantly sells violence and bad news in the media, it's humbling to see that so many worked together to create such a beautiful and structurally unique feature. People aren't all bad, after all. We have an amazing capacity to build, to create, and to cooperate. It really brought me a feeling of comfort. I won't include the obligatory picture of the bridge here, simply because I don't think it does it justice.
After spending some time at the bridge, we headed over to Haight-Ashbury street. I personally had never heard of it, but Dave knew it's history and wanted to go. I am so glad we did. Tiny shops are packed in one against another, all competing blends of hippy, modern, and far-out funk. Tibetan Gift Shops clamor against brightly painted smoke shop logos of bleary-eyed cartoon skunks smoking weed. Dreadlocks are alive and well on this street. Casualties of acid and other substances wandered by us with unfocused smiles and slurred words. One man, not much older than myself, walked by us with single minded purpose, carefully holding a large bud of weed in front of him, as though to escort it somewhere safe. Everywhere you look graffiti artists have taken over walls, roofs, and the sidewalk in an outdoor exhibition of every style imaginable. I saw several pieces by one of my favorite artists, Sofle, and snapped some pictures. We wandered around, then walked our dog Jax to the park across the street. I had never seen so many homeless people together before, but not a single one of them was unfriendly or confrontational. We got several compliments from people about Jax looking like a lovely dog, including one young man rolling a blunt as thick as a cigar. The sun brought out the best in everyone, and we left the city with a smile.
.JPG)
After leaving San Francisco we headed West to the coast, and Santa Cruz. We made it as far as Pigeon Point Lighthouse when the sun started to go down. We were out of water, and the people we had asked had all turned us down. We stopped at a gas station nearby and the attendant smiled and let us fill our bottles. We ended up parking in an empty dirt lot perched on a cliff directly adjacent to the lighthouse. We cracked open a couple beers, sat on the hood of the van, and watched the sun dissolve downwards into the sea like molten gold.
For dinner we made beans and rice with chipotle peppers in adobo sauce, salsa, and fried platanos. Everything thus far has been a challenge, and yet I can't help but look forward to what tomorrow will bring. The future is open ended, a blank page without words written, and I can't wait to see what will come. So in answer to my question earlier...yes, it is all worth it.
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
12/3/13 - Coastin'
We drove South all day today to Tomales Bay. We passsed through
beautiful, dry rolling grass hills scattered with herds of sheep and
woolly black cattle. The land here is mostly empty, and incredibly
lovely. We finally found the sun! Although the temperatures are in
the low 50's during the daytime, it isn't raining. Word from home
says it's snowing in Bellingham.
Some of the roads we passed made my heart ache for my KTM Supermoto. Tight twisties, smooth asphalt and hardly another soul in sight are enough to get the pulse of any motorcycle rider going. I marked the point on my GPS for further exploration of the two wheeled kind! We pulled off the road at one point so Dave could take some pictures. I walked over to an old, abandoned shed and kicked some grass piles, one of which contained the perfectly preserved skeleton of a coyote. Coyote was always my favorite character in the old American Indian fables we read. He was a trickster, clever, always laughing and on the move. I kept a tooth for good luck, then we got back on the road.
We pulled off the road between Tomales Bay and Marshall, and are parked right on a strip of beach protected from the wind by green hills thick with Madrona and pine. A seal popped his head out when we pulled in, eyeing us with puzzlement. He must have been unimpressed, because after a few minutes he snuffed heavily and sunk below once more. Some pelicans were squawking and fighting in their odd, slow motion way on the pier, but they have turned in for the night. Dave is cooking cajun beans and rice to make wraps, which will serve us well on a cold night like tonight. Tomorrow we should make San Francisco, and see the Golden Gate Bridge!
Some of the roads we passed made my heart ache for my KTM Supermoto. Tight twisties, smooth asphalt and hardly another soul in sight are enough to get the pulse of any motorcycle rider going. I marked the point on my GPS for further exploration of the two wheeled kind! We pulled off the road at one point so Dave could take some pictures. I walked over to an old, abandoned shed and kicked some grass piles, one of which contained the perfectly preserved skeleton of a coyote. Coyote was always my favorite character in the old American Indian fables we read. He was a trickster, clever, always laughing and on the move. I kept a tooth for good luck, then we got back on the road.
We pulled off the road between Tomales Bay and Marshall, and are parked right on a strip of beach protected from the wind by green hills thick with Madrona and pine. A seal popped his head out when we pulled in, eyeing us with puzzlement. He must have been unimpressed, because after a few minutes he snuffed heavily and sunk below once more. Some pelicans were squawking and fighting in their odd, slow motion way on the pier, but they have turned in for the night. Dave is cooking cajun beans and rice to make wraps, which will serve us well on a cold night like tonight. Tomorrow we should make San Francisco, and see the Golden Gate Bridge!
12/2/13 - Dazed and Confused
After spending a surprisingly restful night sleeping in the back
lot of a rest stop, we woke up to a steady drizzle of rain on the
roof. We lazed about the van until 10AM, when we finally decided to
make a break South.
We stopped at a hardware store on 101 to pick up some odds and ends for mods on the van. We got a small strip of steel to cut up and glue in different places, so that we could have more options of locations for placing the magnetic lights. We also got a magnetic knife strip to store our cutlery, to cut down on drawer items. I made some repairs to the Reflectix window coverings as well. It turns out that the sticky back velcro interacted with the adhesive I used, and consequently didn't form a tight bond. I replaced it with regular sew-on type velcro.
We met up with my friend Zee in Garberville, CA. It's a tiny town in Humboldt county, which is pretty obviously is centered around a very specific cash crop. The numerous head shops and tye-die clothing items gives you a pretty clear idea what this crop might be. Zee is currently serving a term as an agricultural worker in this particular industry, and making a fair penny at it to boot. We met up for beers at a local cafe, then were invited to camp at the bottom of a remote mountain road that lead to the farm. If the rutted and winding gravel road wasn't enough to deter most passerby, the heavy, padlocked steel gate and multiple warning signs should have done the trick. I didn't need to be told to understand that more “heavy duty” security measures undoubtedly lay in store beyond, should someone perchance stray their way with foul intentions. Zee laughed and said “Look, this isn't Scarface. It's a simple business, good people with families. We take care of each other.”
In the morning, we woke up to cold noses and our breath hanging in the air. Just as we had finished packing up and were preparing to leave, a truck pulled up to the gate and a man got out and stared, then started walking directly towards us. I got out to say hello with a big smile, which he did not return. “ Hey, man, you can't just stay here without permission you know, this is private property and that's not really cool.” He scowled threateningly and folded his arms. I apologized and told him we were guests of Zee's, the ones she told him about last night, didn't he remember? I tried to look as innocent and non-drug-stealing as possible. He instantly changed demeanor and smiled and introduced himself. He was the owner of one of the largest farms on the mountain, a rough spoken but incredibly generous soul. He apologized for his gruff manor, saying “You can't be too careful here man, lots of deadbeat pieces of shit hangin' around.” He offered to let us stay up on his property for safety, and to give us keys to his house in town so that we could shower. He insisted we take his phone number in case we needed anything at all while we were in town. I was shaken by his instant, unquestioning generosity and hospitality. This was not the image of a drug lord that I had been sold since kindergarten. He was genuinely kind, warm, giving person. We thanked him profusely and headed on our way, thoughts of the lost art of hospitality heavy in our minds.
We stopped at a hardware store on 101 to pick up some odds and ends for mods on the van. We got a small strip of steel to cut up and glue in different places, so that we could have more options of locations for placing the magnetic lights. We also got a magnetic knife strip to store our cutlery, to cut down on drawer items. I made some repairs to the Reflectix window coverings as well. It turns out that the sticky back velcro interacted with the adhesive I used, and consequently didn't form a tight bond. I replaced it with regular sew-on type velcro.
We met up with my friend Zee in Garberville, CA. It's a tiny town in Humboldt county, which is pretty obviously is centered around a very specific cash crop. The numerous head shops and tye-die clothing items gives you a pretty clear idea what this crop might be. Zee is currently serving a term as an agricultural worker in this particular industry, and making a fair penny at it to boot. We met up for beers at a local cafe, then were invited to camp at the bottom of a remote mountain road that lead to the farm. If the rutted and winding gravel road wasn't enough to deter most passerby, the heavy, padlocked steel gate and multiple warning signs should have done the trick. I didn't need to be told to understand that more “heavy duty” security measures undoubtedly lay in store beyond, should someone perchance stray their way with foul intentions. Zee laughed and said “Look, this isn't Scarface. It's a simple business, good people with families. We take care of each other.”
In the morning, we woke up to cold noses and our breath hanging in the air. Just as we had finished packing up and were preparing to leave, a truck pulled up to the gate and a man got out and stared, then started walking directly towards us. I got out to say hello with a big smile, which he did not return. “ Hey, man, you can't just stay here without permission you know, this is private property and that's not really cool.” He scowled threateningly and folded his arms. I apologized and told him we were guests of Zee's, the ones she told him about last night, didn't he remember? I tried to look as innocent and non-drug-stealing as possible. He instantly changed demeanor and smiled and introduced himself. He was the owner of one of the largest farms on the mountain, a rough spoken but incredibly generous soul. He apologized for his gruff manor, saying “You can't be too careful here man, lots of deadbeat pieces of shit hangin' around.” He offered to let us stay up on his property for safety, and to give us keys to his house in town so that we could shower. He insisted we take his phone number in case we needed anything at all while we were in town. I was shaken by his instant, unquestioning generosity and hospitality. This was not the image of a drug lord that I had been sold since kindergarten. He was genuinely kind, warm, giving person. We thanked him profusely and headed on our way, thoughts of the lost art of hospitality heavy in our minds.
Sunday, December 1, 2013
12/1/13 - Bandon, OR
12/1/13
Last night we camped at Hall Lake in Oregon, inside of Oregon Dunes National Park. We got to our campsite at night and couldn't really see the surroundings. The van, once again, kept us toasty warm and dry as a thick fog rolled in for the night. We woke up to scattered drips and drops on the roof, falling from the pines around us. After firing up the stove and making some breakfast burritos, we headed out to check out the area.
It turned out we had camped right on Hall Lake! It is a small lake surrounded by wild green forest on one side, and looming sand dunes on the other. I spotted a red bellied salamander skittering through the leaves. He came to rest under an ominous green, slimy looking mushroom. I left him alone and followed Dave up the trail.
We hiked through the woods and suddenly were on another planet. The forest ends abruptly in towering sand dunes that look as though they were a chunk of land dropped from another planet. We scrambled up the largest one that dropped into the lake, and as soon as we reached the crest were blasted with an ocean wind carrying thick fog.
Jax the Dog loved the dunes. He opened up full throttle and went launching from valley to peak, over and over. Dave and I walked in the fine, damp sand until the wind had stripped all feeling from our hands and noses. We headed back down to the van with a happy, exhausted dog in tow, ready for more adventure!
We stopped in Bandon, OR at about 2:00 PM to get some coffee and scones, and use the internet to catch up on things. Tonight we are headed towards Arcata, CA, and then the Valley of the Giants! I spoke to a friend in the area who said the weather is sunny and beautiful, so we are on our way!
Last night we camped at Hall Lake in Oregon, inside of Oregon Dunes National Park. We got to our campsite at night and couldn't really see the surroundings. The van, once again, kept us toasty warm and dry as a thick fog rolled in for the night. We woke up to scattered drips and drops on the roof, falling from the pines around us. After firing up the stove and making some breakfast burritos, we headed out to check out the area.
It turned out we had camped right on Hall Lake! It is a small lake surrounded by wild green forest on one side, and looming sand dunes on the other. I spotted a red bellied salamander skittering through the leaves. He came to rest under an ominous green, slimy looking mushroom. I left him alone and followed Dave up the trail.
We hiked through the woods and suddenly were on another planet. The forest ends abruptly in towering sand dunes that look as though they were a chunk of land dropped from another planet. We scrambled up the largest one that dropped into the lake, and as soon as we reached the crest were blasted with an ocean wind carrying thick fog.
Jax the Dog loved the dunes. He opened up full throttle and went launching from valley to peak, over and over. Dave and I walked in the fine, damp sand until the wind had stripped all feeling from our hands and noses. We headed back down to the van with a happy, exhausted dog in tow, ready for more adventure!
We stopped in Bandon, OR at about 2:00 PM to get some coffee and scones, and use the internet to catch up on things. Tonight we are headed towards Arcata, CA, and then the Valley of the Giants! I spoke to a friend in the area who said the weather is sunny and beautiful, so we are on our way!
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