A record heat wave has enveloped the region. Spokane has recorded over 100° for four days in a row, and it is expected to continue all weekend. The air is palpable: pressing you down, making the slightest movement difficult.

Normally, I’m miserable in the heat, but by now I’ve either adjusted or become resigned. The dogs and I conserve our energy: they lie sprawled out on the cool pavement under the camper, flat on their sides, mouths open, tongues hanging out. I move only enough to keep my chair in the shade, first one side of the camper, then the other

Finally by early afternoon I can no longer bear it, and I put on my swimsuit and slip-slide down the steep, sandy bank to the edge of the lake. Every time, I tell myself I will be bold, will plunge into the cool water, will take the shock all at once. Every time, I sidle into the water, first to the knees, then the thighs, the waist, and then, after a long period of internal struggle, I push off from the bottom into deeper water. How to describe the joy, the enveloping, silken coolness, the sheer RELIEF of not being hot? One good thing about being overweight: you float like a champ. I lie on my back and gaze at the small clouds floating by; I dive into the cold green depths and pop back up like a cork. They say there are huge pickerel here; I’ve not seen any (yet). Sometimes I bring the dogs, and force them to swim for a bit. They hate it, but stop panting after that. Scooby especially, with his thick fur, seems energized after a good dunking. I have to find some way of tethering them, or Moe disappears up the hill and returns to the campsite. I must follow, as he has taken to defending my campsite with all the fury of a small dog. So mostly I leave the dogs with plenty of water and take my time in the water.

It’s so hot that I can’t even think of moving inside my trailer until nearly dark. I turn on the fan for a bit; that helps, but mostly we just have to wait out the transition. Unfortunately, there’s an hour or two between when the mosquitoes come out and when it is bearable to be inside. As with the heat, I put up with it until I can’t anymore.

Russ is delayed, too, because of the weather. He tried to do his normal (60+ miles) one day and nearly died, so he’s taken to riding short days, starting near dawn and stopping by early afternoon. I’ve revised my camp reservations to stay here an additional two days, and have put off the Idaho campground until Weds. He’ll take a rest day or two before moving on in, hopefully, cooler conditions.

A young girl made several loops past my campsite on her bicycle before she gathered up the courage to say “Your dogs are cute.” This is a common opening gambit for kids when my dogs are around. “Thanks,” I said. “Would you like to meet them?” Why, yes, she would. We started a conversation that continued on and off all day, with breaks for cooling off in the lake, as she rode her bike around camp. Each time, she would stop to pet the dogs and to chat, and then was off again.

Late in the day, she stopped by and shyly handed me a folded piece of paper. “This is for you,” she said. I opened it to find this delightful artwork:

“Wow! Thanks!” I replied. “I really like it!” (who wouldn’t?) She scurried off, beaming.

I came across her mom and older sister later that evening, as I was taking the dogs for their evening walk. I told her mom what a sweet daughter she had, and said she was welcome to visit me as long as they were staying. Unfortunately, they were leaving the next day, so the next morning, I returned (with the dogs, of course) to say goodbye and to ask if it would be OK to take a selfie with the girl, so I could tell her story here. Mom was cool with that. Here’s my new friend!

After saying goodbye, I headed out on the trail which runs past the campground and marina, along the lake to the Colville River. I didn’t leave early enough to beat the heat, but at least the trail was mostly shady, and my reward at the end was a cooling dip in the lake. 

Back to camp, and another afternoon of the slow migration in my camp chair following the moving patches of shade. (If you were wondering; yes, I have an air conditioner, but it requires an electrical hookup, which this campground does not have.) I was hoping the maintenance men would have returned to fix the broken water faucet next to my campsite by now; maybe after lunch? It would be nice not to have to make the long trek to the next loop to refill my water tank, which is running low. 

Tuesday morning, we left Anacortes heading east, and almost immediately headed into blistering heat. The dogs were panting madly, so I had to keep stopping to water them (and me)—my Outback will run air conditioning, or tow my camper, but it won’t do both.  Even up in the northern Cascades, the heat was a sweltering 100°. 

The scenery, however, was spectacular, and the Skagit River was the most unearthly shade of sea glass green. 

Lots of little waterfalls tumble down beside the road.

Coming out of the Cascades, I went back into the dry central part of the state. You would not think that this area would be a huge fruit producing area, but (thanks to massive irrigation) it is.

On and on, through the heat we drove. Finally, we reached Lake Roosevelt and the Kettle Falls Campground, and that’s when I discovered that the lakeside campsite I’d chosen had NO SHADE. Fortunately, it was evening by then. The next morning, I moved to a shadier site. Good thing, too, because this heat is supposed to continue at least until Sunday. 

I will be checking out the swimming beach soon.

So we never got to Olympic National Park, but Washington Park turned out to be just as good, in my opinion. We hiked the rocky coast of Fidalgo Island, saw otters, bald eagles, seals, and ospreys, took a sea kayak trip around some nearby islands, and generally relaxed prior to starting back east. Oregon Juncos and Mountain Chickadees fluttered in and out of the campsite, and we spotted several deer.

Our guide for the kayaking, Jake, was a Washington native that was soon to head off to college in Plymouth, NH. As we were the only people on this tour, we enjoyed his full attention, and he was eager to hear about New England and our trip. He pointed out seals, explained about the different kinds of kelp (we even got to taste some—tastes salty, FYI), found a kelp crab to show us, and helped me identify some seabirds along the way. He even invited us to come see him play soccer at Plymouth State! We had a beautiful day and a great time. 

Russ met a fellow camper—a cabinetmaker—who had completely customized a Mercedes van into a camper for himself and his wife. Russ was entranced—not only by the gorgeous cabinetry, but also at the fittings and systems, which were very well thought out. (When Russ admires someone’s woodworking skills, you know they are top-notch.) Even I had to admit, it was a work of art.

We were delighted, when on our third evening, another T@b pulled into the spot behind us! Sally had a slightly more beefed-up, ‘off-road’ version of our T@b 320. We started comparing campers right away, and even helped her with a problem she’d been having with her refrigerator propane setting. She and Russ have been having long bicycling discussions, as she loves to mountain bike. 

I will be sorry to leave this place, with its bright coastal light, sea air, and towering evergreens, but more adventures await!

I think I’ve mentioned how hard it is to find a campsite anywhere along the northwest coast. I’d struggled for over a week to find a spot in Olympic National Park, our intended destination before heading back home, with no luck. Finally, Russ said, “Why don’t we go to Anacortes?” 

So, relying on his good luck (he does have the most ridiculously good luck), we drove to Port Townsend, took the ferry across to Whidbey Island, and then drove north to Washington Park in Anacortes. Washington Park is VERY popular, and I hadn’t been able to make a reservation, so we were hoping to snag one of the first-come first-served sites. On our first drive-through, we could not find anything. Then, Russ started checking the calendars on reserved sites—and promptly found one (with hookups for electricity and water) that was empty for five days! Like I say, some people have all the luck.

Astoria, and the end of our westbound odyssey! I went ahead and set up our campground on the Washington shore, just across the bridge from Oregon,

then returned to await Russ’s arrival at the Columbia River Maritime Museum, on the Riverwalk in Astoria. Of course, I let everyone know that he was arriving. I even approached one of the two Coast Guard cutters that were docked there, and asked the seaman on watch if they might blow their horn when Russ came in. He said that he would need to contact his commanding officer, but returned a couple of minutes later to say that they could do that. 

Russ had texted ahead to let me know when he was getting close, so by the time he came in sight, there were people all up and down the riverwalk that were clapping and cheering, and a good-sized crowd outside the museum. And as soon as they saw him, the Coast Guard horns went off! Russ was delighted, especially when many people came over to shake his hand, congratulate him, and ask about his trip. Even some of the Coast Guard crewmen came down to the dock to talk to him! (And let me tell you, these Coast Guard seamen were serious dudes! This particular ship was known along the west coast all the way down to Central America for its success in intercepting drugs.)

Russ celebrated with a “wee drop” of Redbreast, his favorite Irish whiskey, and then we walked into town for a nice dinner. 

A fine end to the Trans-America Bike Route!

I really thought Russ would beat me to the campsite—he was already three + hours on the road when I left the RV park in Lincoln City, and I stopped at two wildlife areas along the way (without much sighting of wildlife). But it was when I decided to take the Three Capes scenic route (only an extra four minutes, according to Apple Maps) that I really got delayed. Halfway around the loop, I came across emergency crews dealing with a downed power line. I had to backtrack eight miles or so, then take the inland road to Tillamook.

As it was, I had just set up camp in the dreary, featureless RV park when Russ pulled in. I was primed for a seafood dinner—last night I was so tired out by my fruitless search for a camping site in Olympic National Park that I gave up hopes of dinner out, and ordered a pizza delivery. So I told Russ to hurry up his shower, and we headed back into town to the Old Oregon Smokehouse, an unassuming, counter service fish and chips place that I’d been assured was THE place for seafood in Tillamook. It did not disappoint. We both had the most delicious, fresh prawns and fries, and had a great conversation with the cook afterwards (they were about to close). He even gave us free samples of their famous clam chowder, and I can tell you, that fame is well deserved!

After that, it was time for the highlight of any trip to Tillamook:

The Tillamook Creamery!

You can tour their facilities, where they make cheese, ice cream, and other dairy products, but we headed straight for the ice cream stand. It took a little convincing to make the young woman at the counter understand that Russ wanted TWO three-scoop dishes of Oregon Black Cherry ice cream (because they wouldn’t just sell him a half gallon container), but we finally got our orders and went outside to enjoy (yes, I got some too).

Like I say, enjoy what the day hands you!

I had no idea it would be so hard to find a place to stay on the Oregon coast. Luckily, the day I left McKenzie, I got a call from an RV park in Lincoln City—they had just had a cancellation, and had one spot open. It was a bit south of where I planned to meet Russ, but it would get me through the weekend. In fact, it was a very nice RV park, with an ocean view, and close to a public beach access, which we immediately took advantage of.

I gotta say, driving to the Oregon coast is NOTHING like driving to the Jersey shore! You have no idea you are getting near the shore until, suddenly, there it is! The mountains and forests go right to the ocean.

The next morning, there were free bagels and donuts in the main building (they even had a spa with a hot tub!). There, I met a very nice lady who told me I should visit the beach that morning, as they were having an unusually low tide. The beach is known for its tidepools, and for its abundance of agates, which can be found at low tide. So I gathered up the doggies and off we went!

There were lots of people looking for agates. I found a small, nearly all white one, and gave it to a little girl who was way more excited about it than I was. Moe doesn’t like the water much, but he LOVED running on the beach!

And then it was off to meet Russ in Tillamook, for his last leg to Astoria and the end of his western trip.

The transition from dry central Oregon to the coastal rainforests is pretty abrupt:

You climb over a mountain, and BAM! everything is covered in moss! I lucked out again, and got one of the first-come, first-served sites at McKenzie Bridge Campground, in the Willamette National Forest. The campground is primitive, but lovely—right on the McKenzie River.

Russ met me there, and that night at dinner, we met the owner of one of the many rafting companies in the area. We’d enjoyed our first rafting trip in Colorado so much that we signed up on the spot for a three-hour rafting trip down the McKenzie the next day.

No pictures, because my iphone… But we had a blast! Our guide came up with lots of nifty maneuvers to make the rapids more fun, and I was introduced to a new river ’tradition’—making lots of noise every time you go under a bridge. He also pointed out some of the quirky things people along the river do—like the guy who ties cold beers to a rope suspended over the river for rafters and kayakers to snag as they go by. Shoutout to Oregon Whitewater Adventures and our guide ’Tater’ for a great time!

Leaving McKenzie, we were reminded again of how devastating western wildfires can be. In 2020, the Holiday Farm fire, started when high winds downed power lines, burned over 173,000 acres and destroyed the town of Blue Lake.

The date should have warned me. Today was a day of getting lost, and found, and getting lost again.  In the morning, I took the dogs for a hike up the mountain, through mixed evergreen forest. Every firest has its own distinctive smell: this one has a woody, warm, caramel scent, with just a slight resin-y tang. We’ve not yet hit the coastal rainforests, and these woods are open, with many small, flowery meadows. One trail joined another, and another, and then another. I took to marking my turns with arrows made of broken sticks. Still, when I headed back, I managed to miss one turn and walked quite a distance until I realized my mistake and backtracked to the right trail. Relieved, I set off—and missed another turn. By now, it was nearly three hours on the trail, and I was getting tired and annoyed. In the nick of time, I found the last turn and my campsite.

After lunch, I decided that I really should go see the Painted Hills, back in Mitchell. My camp neighbors assured me that there was a much quicker way there following one of the gravel forest roads, and although they were a bit sketchy on directions, I figured I could find it without too much trouble. That was my first mistake.  My second mistake was trying to find my way without any cell service. After THREE HOURS of wrong turns, including a few miles on a closed road and a very confusing detour, I finally found my way back to Mitchell, and tired, grumpy, thirsty, and hungry, I decided to have dinner at the same restaurant where Russ had eaten the night before. Thank goodness they had an outside dining area, and were very dog friendly, as the boys were with me. I also filled the car with gas, which I was worried about. 

After dinner, in a somewhat better mood, I decided not to waste all that driving, and set out to see the painted hills as the sun was setting.  That, at least, was worth all the bother. See for yourself. 

However, I was not about to chance a repeat of the afternoon, so I drove back to camp the way I’d originally come: 38 miles west of Mitchell, then 16 miles back toward Mitchell on the only paved road to Walton Lake. 

Hopefully, I will have an easier time driving to my next campsite at McKenzie Bridge!