Portland (a stone's throw from the Pacific)

Mt Hood with Lost Lake

Sixteen days on the road, more than 1,900 miles… and yesterday we encountered our first major city along the way.  Portland is lovely (and, I’ll admit, a bit confusing).  Divided into pieces by rivers, it seemed like we were constantly either on a bridge or in a tunnel.  Probably just my perception; Diane and I had a sort of plan not to drive through cities except during times of little traffic; Los Angeles is exempt because times of little traffic don’t happen there.  Well, we entered the stream; which, like salmon here, all travel close and in one direction.  The morning commute is familiar to everyone with one person per car lining up to see how much gas the car needs to sit idling on the highway for an indeterminate time.  Every now and then a car would zoom and swerve by, I think the driver’s coffee (or bladder) had kicked in.  One advantage with pulling an RV at such a time is you have your fully functional bathroom nearby; with traffic at a standstill, simply get out, walk a few yards back, open the trailer and return.  With luck, you won’t even miss the scenery.

Multnomah Falls

We spent the past week along the beautiful Columbia River, reliving Lewis and Clark’s adventure and seeing some of the most wonderful mountains and waterfalls one can imagine.  We capped the week by visiting Mt St Helens in Washington before settling in Portland for the weekend.  Remember when St Helens erupted in 1980 with the mud flows, winds that mowed down huge forests like a front lawn hit by a Toro and the dust cloud that circled the earth?  Well, it’s much different now, having gotten over that tantrum.  We visited there in 2000 with our kids and wanted to see the continued changes; green woods have returned over much of the landscape and we were able to see literally hundreds of elk grazing in the open.  If you’re near southwestern Washington, don’t miss this place…

Mt St Helens from Johnston Ridge Observatory

The next few days will be with our great friends, Tom and Marty.  Our friendship goes back to San Diego and several decades.  We’ll be visiting Astoria and Cannon Beach along the Oregon coast together; thanks, Lord, for the “unseasonably” perfect weather right now.  We’re told the blue skies we’ve had are not the norm for Oregon in September.  That’s OK, we Minnesotans hear far too often, “If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes… it’ll change”.  I know that cliché is repeated endlessly in every part of our country.  Me, I hope it rains a bit this afternoon.  I’ll do the “RV Shuffle”, get out the long handled brush and swim trunks to wash our “Whealhouse” and entertain the neighborhood. 

On the Lewis and Clark Trail

The past week we meandered from Theodore Roosevelt National Park in North Dakota through Montana and Idaho into Washington state.  Our intention was to visit Glacier National Park, but these two Minnesota “weenies” decided a forecast of snow and colder weather was not to our liking.  After spending two wonderful days at Fort Peck Dam (no, I’d never heard of it either) we headed south and west, linking up again with good old Highway 12 (that would be 395 for you twin city folks).  We’ve seen a moose, hundreds of bison, lots of deer and plenty of snakes in the road; those yellow and black warning signs about curvy roads.  You know you’re in for a thrill when a sign tells you “Winding Road next 99 miles”.  Not lying, it’s right there by the Visitor Center at the top of Lolo Pass on the Montana / Idaho border.  We stayed in a National Forest campground along a wonderful, bubbling stream in a rain (but NOT snow).  We met a trucker stuck at a rest stop with no cell service (and the rest area had no emergency phone).  His rig had blown a rear tire and torn up a bit of the frame of the trailer carrying a 40,000 pound girder for a road project.  I noticed his truck cab was from a company in St Cloud, MN; he said he’d never been there but was hoping to make it eventually, as a bridge being built somewhere in northern Minnesota needed this girder.  He refused a ride offer and said he’d wait until a Highway Patrol or someone else showed up.  Ed from Louisiana, I hope you packed winter clothes; you’ll need them by the time you get there…

While we’re driving, Diane and I are listening to an audio book entitled “Undaunted Courage”; it’s the story of the Lewis and Clark Expedition of 1805.  The route we’re taking (Highway 12) is nearly identical to their own, except we have paved roads, a heated trailer and 350 horses pulling it.  I’d recommend the book to anyone who thinks traveling is a struggle.  Once you get off the road here, it’s easier to visualize the trek they made through the Bitterroot Mountains; several of the men on the expedition called this the most scenic and worst terrain they’d ever known.  Steep hills soar above you, covered with thick pines a hundred feet tall.  Rushing streams, filled with boulders make the valleys no less hazardous.  Each time you get past one mountain, three more rise up in front.  This area is the densest forest we’ve ever experienced.  It’s a beautiful drive with the windows open, smelling the wonderful aroma of cedars; don’t think I’d ever enjoy it as much on foot, except, perhaps, for a half mile hike to a hot spring.  Roughing it these days, for us, is dropping a phone call or not having internet access to check Facebook.  Oh yeah, we’ve had one bigger problem… our shower handle drips whenever the water pump runs (but it’s under warranty and can wait until we reach Portland).  We live in an amazing country, blessed with beauty and timelessness.

Our stay in Idaho, along the Lolo River, brought one other exciting moment; twice during the night we had a bear try to get in the front of our trailer (though we thought it was raccoons at first).  Flashlights through the window and a few shouts, in my loudest and gruffest voice (as Diane says) and he was gone.  Now our tiny home “bears” a few claw marks.  We cannot believe how much beauty we’ve witnessed in the miles covered since we began.

On the Road...

Our inaugural day of travel brought us across the increasingly unfamiliar landscape of western Minnesota.  Roads were nearly devoid of traffic, the sun was shining, crops ripening in the fields; altogether a picture perfect drive to Big Stone Lake State Park on the border with South Dakota.  Along the way we passed many sites of historical importance to the early days of our state and the war we fought with the Dakota back in the 1860’s; Mankato, New Ulm, the Upper Sioux Agency were among them.  Did I mention I like history?  Our first evening out, Earl and Marsha from Michigan introduced themselves in the campground (there were three sites occupied out of 37 available… nice problem choosing the right one).  They had been drenched by rains the day before, in Wisconsin, and were drying out their tent as they set up camp.  Earl’s ancestors had lived in nearby Ortonville and they were hoping to find the former homestead the next day.  We spent a very few minutes speaking with them before they were gone and we resumed our first evening’s fire.  Next morning we were getting things put away in “The Wheal House” (the new name of our trailer… think Elmer Fudd saying “It’s a wheal house… uh, uh, uh, uh uhhhh), when it started to rain.  Diane noticed Earl and Marsha sitting in their small car at their campsite.  She mentioned it to me and preparations to leave ceased; the coffee pot was put on and I walked to their site under the umbrella to invite them in for coffee.  We felt it was God’s prompting to encourage them.  The next hour brought out the laptop as we investigated the area on Google maps; with the information Earl knew, we located their family homestead just a few miles away.  The rain stopped, the sun came out and they excitedly left us and the still warm coffee to drive out to see it.  We’ve said the people we meet will be better than the landscapes… it’s true.  Good luck and blessings to Earl and Marsha as they search their past together (did I mention I like history).

We’re in Theodore Roosevelt National Park this morning, after driving across the fields, rivers and buttes of South Dakota.  Yesterday I mentioned my desire to see a pronghorn antelope in the wild… a couple hours later we crested another in the numerous uphill parts of the drive and there, in the corner of a green grassy field, was a large pronghorn buck. I woohooed and exclaimed, “That’s it, I’m done, I can go home now… (pause) wait, I am home.”  Funniest moment of the day.  We’ve also seen prairie dogs by the colony, white tail and mule deer and several bison.  I took a series of photos of Diane and a large bull buffalo… the one in today’s blog is after I said to her, “Hold still and keep looking at the camera, he’s coming closer and looks pretty mad.”  She erased the best ones.  We’ll continue to share about people and places we meet; you continue to do what you do and stay connected.

End of the shakedown cruise

I was watching the silent progress of time go by, marked by the swirls and riffles on the surface of the slowly flowing river. Sitting on a weather beaten wooden bench overlooking the water I imagined, or tried to, the changes witnessed by the silent sentinels; large oaks, maples and cottonwoods that grew on the banks and stretched out over the water. Their upper branches seemed to want to meet their neighbors on the far bank. Every so often the water is disturbed by fish rising to snatch some morsel that’s floating by. A nice breeze tries to keep the late summer heat and humidity away; it’s not working very well. Diane and I are spending the weekend at a farm belonging to our granddaughter’s other side. Sandra and Ron are her father’s grandparents and live in east central Iowa; a beautiful flat land of corn, small towns and family. We've met several, spending time together picking grapes and raspberries, riding ATV’s around endless fields along the river, searching out old bridges, trestles and town sites that have grown and died over the past century and a half. Todd, the other grandfather, and I were joined on our four wheeling journey by a great horned owl; it flew alongside for hundreds of yards before perching in a tall hardwood, peering down, large eyes following us as we continued on. An hour later I was standing knee deep in the river, casting a line laden with a large gob of freshly dug worms. The water was cool, not the jarring cold of a mountain stream. Not ten feet away a woodchuck came down the bank, navigating through a jumble of large maple roots. He looked straight at me before getting into the water and swam by, three feet from my own motionless wonder. I think I’ve found a “top ten” happy place. The past few days have been filled with campfire food and fellowship, laughter at the antics of a nine month old and nights filled with the sound of crickets and cicadas. Tomorrow we travel a couple of hours north to join friends in southern Minnesota for a day before heading west on our first extended trip in the new tiny home. I’m sure we’ll have countless adventures ahead, but it’s not easy to leave the Midwest.