I have another follower! It’s so much fun to follow the wonderful conversations out there in blogland, especially those that have some link to the amazing world of RV life. Welcome! to Jeana, from the Seattle area. Right now she is flying off to Tucson to find some sunshine and after spending a very large chunk of my life in the northwest, I know how that feels!
Today I am working at home, a much nicer locale than the office in town with it’s dim, fluorescent lights. The cat is curled up in his favorite place while I am working. Can you tell that is a cat in there? I am in my pajamas, and at the moment it is lunchtime. Looking out my window I see huge pines and firs, and deep snow. Mo is again out trying to plow the deep, slushy stuff that is the result of warming temperatures. I’m having lunch, taking a break, and thinking about my upcoming trip to Florida. I am partly excited, and partly not so much. Flying isn’t what it used to be, and from what I have been reading lately, might be even less fun during this holiday season. Cheap fares seem to require several flight legs, and the old days where I could jump on a plane in Spokane and fly directly to Orlando are long gone. This time I will board in Medford just after 8am, and after three jumps, will land in Orlando at 10 PM. Ocala is still a good 90 minute drive from Orlando, so I will probably be lucky to get in at midnight after picking up the rental car. The trip home a week later will be even worse, with stops in Cincinnati and Salt Lake before finally arriving at Medford, again just before midnight. Big Sigh, the price of a cheap ticket.
Did you know that it’s not really ‘cool’ to love Florida if you are a Westerner? I think many of us out west think of Florida as that strange, flat place epitomized in Miami Vice, full of fast cars, fast boats, pastel high rises, and way too many people. I used to think that way, of course I had no experience with the state at all. In 2000, a very dear friend of mine went back to Florida to care for her elderly parents. During the first few years after she left, I traveled to Ocala several times to help her deal with all the logistics required, and I found out that Florida wasn’t anything like I imagined. I fell in love. I fell in love with skies that swirl in circles with big puffy white clouds, with rain that fell so hard you had to pull over to the roadside and then blink into brilliant hot sunlight minutes later. 
I fell in love with north central Florida, that world between the Emerald Coast and Gainesville, south to Ocala, on the limestone backbone of the state. I fell in love with the most gorgeous horse country in the US, with miles of black rail fences and grand estates. I fell in love with palms and oaks and pines in the same forest, with palmetto understory filled with snakes and alligators, with giant grasshoppers that looked like some sort of Technicolor cartoon, with springs so crystal clear you can see the gar 200 feet down among the swirling eelgrass. Yes, parts of Florida are horrendous, but the north-central limestone spine and the magical isolated northeast coast from Apalachicola to St Petersburg are an amazing wonderland of complex wilderness and beauty.
More storms are predicted here for the next few days, although it seems that it will bring lots of wind and rain to much of the area, and maybe not so much snow as we have had recently. The skies are becoming more gray by the minute, and the thought of velvet, warm Florida air is so seductive. Who knows, some of the bloggers that I follow down in the south say things aren’t really that warm and velvety right now, and my friend Bel sent a little text note saying, “Bring mittens”. Hmmm. I’m trying the carry-on only way of traveling this time as well, so we will see how that works out! If it’s really that cold, I think I will have to wear lots of layers on the plane. That could get interesting at the security checks. How many jackets and shirts, and scarves can I take off quickly while I am trying to get my shoes off and my computer out of my backpack? I’ll let you know.
Someone recently asked what what I was knitting, so here’s a shot of it. I bought this hand-dyed wool, thick and thin yarn in Silverton, Oregon when we camped near there last spring. There are so many sweet little yarn shops desperately trying to stay in business in these small towns, some of them truly wonderful. It requires that we take the time to purchase our goods directly from these little shops if we want to enjoy all they offer. I know how easy it is to buy online, but when traveling I always try to buy something special at the local yarn shop. I am a fairly new knitter, maybe the last 5 years or so, and sometimes I miss things I shouldn’t. In this case, the two skeins of very special hand dyed yarn looked identical until yesterday, when the bright light of day revealed that they weren’t exactly alike after all. So my project is now a bit weird, with one end of the scarf just enough different than the other end to look off. Sigh. I think my sister won’t mind too much, since she took one look at the hat at Thanksgiving and said, “I want that!” Hmmm. I hadn’t planned on giving it away, but how many wonderful yarn things do I really need anyway. Awful person that I am, the imperfection makes it a bit easier to give up.
When we left Fort Bragg yesterday, it was raining hard. Our route followed Highway 1 along the coast for several miles before we turned inland at the Navarre River on Highway 128. Gasoline was just 2.99 a gallon on the south end of Fort Bragg, so we put another 75 in the MoHo and hooked up the baby car right there in the gas station. We are both amazed at how quickly we can hook up that car. The Stow Master hitch works great if we hit it every now and then with a bit of silicone. I can just slide it onto the ball without any effort at all. 
Once we began ascending the mountains of the coast range however, the road got more and more narrow, and more winding even than Highway 1 was a few days ago. The last five miles before we reached 101 were probably the most harrowing so far on this trip. Mo handled it with aplomb, I wore my wristbands, and Jeremy only got sick once.
If we had known the route was this bad, we would have taken the more direct route straight south on Highway 1 along the coastline all the way to Jenner. Ah well, neither of us had been on this route before, so it was ok. Of course, Garmin Girl was still programmed for “shortest route”, so she took us along the even rougher “Westside Road” to get us into Forestville rather than going farther south on 101 and taking a major road back west. By the time we got to the campground in the dark pouring rain, Mo’s opinion of Garmin Girl was diminishing.
While I stood around looking helpless, the owner showed up saying, “Oh, I was just making a map for you”. He charged me the half price fee of 24 bucks a day, and then said, “Wi-Fi is free for one hour a day, otherwise there is a 6.00 charge” . What?? It didn’t say THAT on the internet. He proceeded to give me a huge spiel about the high cost of real estate in Sonoma County and how he didn’t let anyone else stay in his park for a measly 24.00, and didn’t I realize that there were 150 wineries within a fifteen minute drive and he wasn’t about to pay for free Wi-Fi for people who just abused it by downloading movies. Hmmm. It was also interesting reading the “rules”. My favorite was the one warning about going in the river intoxicated, and another one referred to no loud partying after 10PM. Interesting clientele, I think.
Our site was right on the river, a bit away from all the permanent residents, so that was a relief. I think we are the only people in the park who aren’t permanent. I decided to do some laundry, going back and forth in the rain, dealing with the dryers that quit when the power went out from all the rain, but of course the timers didn’t quit and I lost 4 bucks. 
I decided to read the “101 Things to Do Sonoma” for some ideas about the area. Unlike the Mendocino publication which was full of great information, this one had page after page of wineries and restaurants. I guess if you are in Sonoma, you are supposed to go wine tasting and then eat. Ha. Mo and I both love wine, but the wine tasting thing sometimes just seems way too expensive and pretentious for either of us. I’d rather go kayaking and buy my wine at Trader Joe’s or Costco. Maybe a nice wine tour would be a fun thing to do another time, but not this time.
Finally! It is Sunday and we are loading up the MoHo. Tomorrow we will be on the road again, certainly not another long jaunt, but almost two weeks of ambling down the California coast with our new kayaks. The snow melted, and even though it’s raining today, the snow level is above 6500 feet or so, higher even than our pass crossing to Medford tomorrow. Once over the pass (I can’t believe this pass doesn’t have a real name) we will be out of snow country. Of course, rain and fog are distinct possibilities, but with a cozy home, lots of fleece, and raincoats, that isn’t a problem either. The ocean is wonderful even in the rain, and fog just makes the redwoods more mysterious.
I guess you can tell who takes the most pictures around here. It looks like Mo does all the work, but not really. I am just the one with the camera. Mo has been raking and burning to hopefully get a head start on the pine needles that will accumulate in drifts by next spring when the snow melts. I worked all last week, but managed a few work days at home, which gives me a chance to run laundry loads in between uploading data. I also got the house all spiffy for our return in mid-November. 
Mo is checking the tires and the air shocks while I load up the food and clothes. She also did a bit of retrofit on the cubbyhole that holds the DVR so it would stay in place. The little wooden fence will keep the remotes from hitting the driver on the head when the road gets too curvy!
Our new kayaks are coming from Canada. It’s been a bit worrisome because of the bad weather this week, and the trucker was trapped in Montana for a couple of days. I have to say that the company has worked extra hard to get them to us in time for our trip. We are meeting the driver in Medford tomorrow (on our route) mid day to finally pick them up. It is pretty exciting. Of course, we could have taken our old trusty boats, but since we paid for these back in September, it sure will be nice to have them with us.
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It’s a gorgeous morning in Rocky Point, with 37 degrees and brilliant sunshine. The sprinklers are still all hooked up and going, a good thing since daytime temperatures still are in the 80’s. Sleeping in a big bed in a big house felt strange last night, but with the window open to the dark night, and an evening soak in the hot tub under the stars, I slept really well anyway. That first coming-home-night always feels a little bit strange after traveling, and even more so after so many weeks in our baby house. I get so comfortable in the small space, stepping two steps to the bathroom and three to the kitchen sink. 
I think I have the better job, judging from the dried bugs on the front of the rig. 
I looked around the house this morning, and what struck me first was all the photos and art on the walls. I am not sure what the difference is, because I look at photos online all the time, but the large format senior picture of my only granddaughter hangs in my bedroom, beside a restored photograph of my grandmother in 1927. As much as I would love a full time life style, I am not yet ready to give up the “stuff” of living in a stick house with walls. 
Chores completed, we headed north to Killdeer a little before noon, although we still aren’t sure if this place is in Mountain Time or Central Time because my phone keeps switching. The trip north was uneventful and a bit dreary with the low gray skies. Once in Killdeer, Mo drove around searching for old home sites and remembering some of the family stories associated with her birthplace. Mo was born in Killdeer, but her family left when she was three or so and moved to Oregon. She came back often later in life because her parents returned to their roots here in Killdeer after they retired. I looked around the very small quiet town, imagined the winters of North Dakota, and wondered aloud just why they felt they wanted to return. Did they still have family here? Did they miss these wide open skies and low rolling landscapes? 
Mo pointed out the building that once housed her uncle’s sweet shop, and the home where her father’s parents lived when he met her mother. We had no clue how to find the Oakdale Cemetery, with no address Garmin Girl was useless, and of course the phone had No Service. Being Sunday, everything was closed up tight, even the police station. I finally found a mechanic working in his shop on a back street and hopped out to ask him where the cemetery was located. In true North Dakota fashion, he said, “Well, it’s about 4 miles north on 22. I think there is a sign there, but I’m not sure. Let’s see…it’s past the Robert’s place, I think. Been there a lot, but can’t remember how I get there. You turn west, and go a ways.” I wish I could put that accent in writing because it was classic. Solid and true high north country man. 
We traveled north, and yes, there was a sign, so we went “a ways” and actually found the old cemetery. Mo thinks there was a small community there at one time, but no more. We tramped through the grass and weeds until we found her grandparents and their baby son, the Ross family, a common name in “these parts'”. By the time we drove back south through Killdeer it was after 3, or 2, depending on which time zone we accepted. The line goes through here somewhere, but by tomorrow we will definitely be in Central Time on our way to Minot.
We slept wonderfully last night in the quiet of the North Idaho forest, untroubled by any worries of intruders, lights, or noise. It cooled off to a pleasant 45 degrees overnight and sleeping with the down comforter and no fans was perfect. Chet stopped in around 7 on his way to his morning meeting just in time to catch us almost completely buttoned up, with the baby car attached. He said Georgette, (not a morning person) was already awake and waiting for us to come up to the house for breakfast. Once up there, we were treated to fresh eggs from her hens, some of the yummy roasted potatoes from last night sautéed with chicken basil apple sausages, homemade granola with honey and yogurt and fresh blueberries. I enjoyed having tea the way Georgette does it, strong and black with honey and milk. 
Not far from Troy, the road passed the Kootenai Falls Swinging Bridge Park, and we decided that it might be worth a turnaround. It was worth every bit of the effort, which actually wasn’t much since traffic on this road is almost nonexistent and the turnarounds are wide and long. The park is lovely, with clear paths leading to the river in two directions, one to the bridge and the other to the falls. Midway there is a span of stairs that crosses the railroad tracks, an excellent plan for the safety of all the people hiking to the falls, but a little bit tough for Abby in her bare feet and her fear of walking on something with holes in it that looked far down to the ground below!
The swinging bridge crossed the canyon over the river, was sturdy and well built, but swung just enough to feel a bit exciting over the rapids. The falls were wild and free, with many pools on the ledges and several runs between rocky cliffs. It was warm and a bit humid, but a perfectly lovely morning walk. 
About 35 miles west of Kalispell, we passed a lake district which appeared to created by dams on the river, but they looked like natural lakes, not reservoirs. We passed Thompson Lake State Park, and Mo said, “Gee, can we stop yet?” Tonight we are planning to go to the Williamson Park Campground near Shelby, but don’t have a reservation for this first-come first-served park. We can stop anywhere we want! Although 200 miles east of our destination might be a bit premature! Again we passed another lovely lake, called Macgregor, long, narrow and blue, without much sign of habitation on the perimeter. There are lots of fishing signs, and some cabins. The smoke thinned a bit as we traveled east. 
Sometime this morning, we had a brainstorm, although I am not sure just what started it. Our original plan was to travel north from Grand Forks and go into Canada through International Falls. However, reviewing the maps, and talking with Chet last night, we realized that Highway 2 extends as far east as Maine, and is a dotted, scenic route almost the entire distance. On the map, I saw the road leading to Duluth, then through Wisconsin and Upper Michigan to Sault St Marie. Recently some RV blogging friends have been traveling the area extensively and singing the praises of the UP. Once we get to Kalispell, I am going to cancel the two provincial parks we have reserved in Ontario and we are going to travel Highway 2 much farther east than we originally planned. During the planning process I was excited about seeing Thunder Bay and Northern Lake Superior, but now I am excited about the change in plans, and we can go to Pictured Rocks National Seashore. More importantly, however, we can add Wisconsin and Michigan to our state decal on the back of the MoHo! Yes, Laurie, I will watch the ships in the locks, even more meaningful for us since we just transited the Panama Canal last January!
Highway 2 follows the southern boundary of Glacier National Park, but there weren’t many places to pull over for photos of the peaks. Near West Glacier, the peaks appeared snow free and rocky, with fire smoke dulling the view somewhat. Once in the distance, I saw a patch of white that appeared to be a glacier, but that was all. The road, however, was lovely, with forest and rock, river and mountains all around us, I remembered that I found two forest service campgrounds along this road while internet searching a few months ago, but didn’t choose them because I thought they weren’t far enough along our route. It was so beautiful, however, that we decided to try to check them out to see if they might work for our evening stop. At the Continental Divide, stopping for photos of the monument there, was a campground entrance, with reasonably wide paved roads and only one other camper in sight. Driving through it didn’t take us long to agree to drive the extra 85 miles tomorrow to reach Fort Peck Dam where we had pre paid reservations. It was worth it to take advantage of this delightful campground. 
We left for the coast this morning at 9:15. What an amazing morning it was at Rocky Point, with the sun shining brilliantly and the temperatures warming up at last. A bit ironic to be heading for the cool coast when we have been waiting through such a long cold spring for some summer weather. Still, it was exciting to get the MoHo back on the road again. Diamond Lake Junction is just little over an hour north on 97 but there is a great little restaurant there that has probably the best breakfast in the world. From the outside you wouldn’t have a clue, with a big sign that says EAT. It looks like any dumpy little roadside greasy spoon. I do think that breakfast there is the best I ever found, and this morning we made it before the 11am breakfast cutoff time. Mo and I shared something called the “Bigfoot”; chicken fried steak, eggs, hash browns, and biscuits. Even with two people eating, we couldn’t finish the entire thing and took some with us in a box for a later snack. Something about that meal takes me back to a simpler time, like macaroni and cheese or fancy fruit jello salads. I love the new style of eating, with fresh food, lots of veggie choices, and ethnic seasonings and styles. Still, there is something of the south in me that melts for chicken fried steak, childhood food, southern food. Reading Laurie’s blog (Semi-True Tales of our Life on the Road) this year about their travels and eating adventures in the south made me want to go there just for the food!
We traveled to the coast via HWY 97, over Willamette Pass on HWY 58, I-5 to Corvallis to HWY 99 north into Dallas, turning west on HWY 22 to HWY 101 to Lincoln City. 
So many of Oregon’s beaches are gorgeous, but short, punctuated by cliffs and rocks and it is sometimes hard to walk any distance without being stopped by them. This beach is long and clear, and you can walk for miles in either direction. 
