Wednesday morning, I woke in a panic. Despite setting my alarm last night, it didn’t go off, and I was already half an hour late to get my car fixed. I threw on my clothes, threw the dogs and their leashes in the car, and drove like a bat out of hell for Libby.

At Twinkle Welding, Trapper was calm, as usual, and brushed aside my abject apologies. He and his crew set right to work, and in less than three hours had a new hitch installed and my broken frame welded. And he charged me less than his quote! I could not resist giving him a hug, and promised to share my great experience on the web. If you are ever in the area of Libby, MT, and need welding or hitch services, call Twinkle Welding and tell Trapper I sent you!

Next on my agenda was breakfast—I was starving! At the nearest place, I waited in line with a nice couple. We hit it off and they invited me to join them at their table. Butch and Josie and I had a great time talking about our travels and interests, and we lingered quite a while, swapping stories over our meal. Finally, I said goodbye with reluctance, and headed back to the car and my two very impatient dogs. 

I decided that, since I was already in town, I would see if someone would look at my exhaust system, since I’d been hearing a concerning rattle. However, after a quick check, I was told that there was nothing wrong with my exhaust—the rattle was only a heat shield (notorious for coming loose on Subarus). But had I noticed the rhythmic thump from my rear end?

Ugh. Back the other way on route 2 through Libby, this time to a Les Schwab, the chain that had replaced my front brakes on our first leg through Montana. I thought they would tell me there was a problem with one of my rear tires. I was not prepared to be told that both rear brakes needed replacing, and they MIGHT fit me in on Friday. I told them I’d have to stop at the next Les Schwab heading east, upon which they decided that they could, in fact, fix my brakes right now. I didn’t mind paying $500 to get my hitch and frame fixed, not so happy about having to unexpectedly pay $900 to replace both rear brakes, when I didn’t even realize there was a problem. 

So that was my Wednesday. By the end, I was exhausted, the dogs were bored out of their little minds, and my wallet was a great deal lighter. It was all I could do to pick up a few groceries, drive back to camp, eat, and fall into bed. 

SAM OWEN CAMPGROUND, IDAHO

Sam Owen Campground in Idaho was my third boondocking site in a row, after Washington Park and Roosevelt Lake, and I began to notice that my battery was losing its charge faster than before. Was it not charging fully from my car between campgrounds? I hoped there wasn’t a short somewhere. Meanwhile, i enjoyed the lake, where the dock was the only place to get cell service

I’d planned to go from Sam Owen to a National Park campground somewhere in Montana next, but when there was no place for me to stay an extra night at Sam Owen, I had to find another campground on short notice—and on a Saturday! I was lucky if I could get minimal pgone service at Sam Owen, so a thorough internet search was out of the question. I found Koocanusa Resort and Marina, and was told they did have an opening that night. I grabbed it. I expected a busy, crowded RV park.

KOOCANUSA LAKE CAMPGROUND, MONTANA

I wasn’t expecting a quiet, shady, full hookup, private site on a gorgeous lake! They even had showers, laundry, and a bar and restaurant. Koocanusa Lake is just east of Libby, MT, and was created by another one of those Army Corps of Engineers projects, the Libby Dam across the Koote ai River. It’s surrounded by ponderosa pine-covered mountains and miles of federal lands, and is well stocked with fish, making it a popular destination for fishermen. No building is allowed within 300 yards of the lake shore, which means all the views are of unspoiled mountains (except for logging cuts). For some reason, it’s very popular with people from Alberta (I saw lots of Alberta license plates in the campground). And with an electric hookup, I wouldn’t have to worry about my battery draining again.

I took advantage of the kayaks for rent, and spent most of one day paddling across the lake and around two islands, where there are boat-access only campgrounds. Along the shore, I found a floating cooler of beer, and then found the owner, camped on one of the islands! He was most grateful for its return.

Then Russ noticed that my hitch was ‘drooping’. He pulled up on it, and it was clearly loose. So much for leaving the next day: I was going nowhere until I could get that hitch looked at. Craig, the campground owner, suggested Twinkle Welding back in Libby, so I called them first thing Monday morning. Over the owner’s protests that he was already ‘double booked,’ I pleaded with him until he at least agreed to take a look at it, and I raced the 20 miles to Libby.

As promised, he slid under the bumper to look at the hitch—and came out with a grim look on his face. “It’s not your hitch,” he said. “Your frame is broken.” There would be no fixing that, he told me, since no one could—or would—weld that back to like-new condition. Under no circumstances should I try to pull my camper. I asked him to give me a moment, turned around—and burst into tears. Now what? I envisioned being stuck in rural Montana, with no car, and no way to move our camper.

I did what any sensible person would do under the circumstances: I called my sister and sobbed out the situation to her. After consoling me, Sue—ever practical—commented “Well, at least you’re someplace where there will be a lot of used trucks and SUVs for sale.” Then I texted Russ, who responded, somewhat less helpfully, “Yikes!”

Meanwhile, the owner of the business, between customers, asked me to wait while he tried to find another solution. One customer, who had pulled in while I was being given the bad news, and who heard me say I was following a through-bicyclist, told me he was real sorry to hear about my predicament, but maybe I should buy another bicycle instead! That made me laugh, even through tears. 

Finally, the owner—everyone calls him Trapper—came back with a solution: a different type of hitch, which would mount on the main frame of the car (the one I have mounts on something called the bumper cross bar). And, even though they were booked out at least a month, he was willing to come in at 6 am that Wednesday (after waiting a day to get the parts) to fix it for me. He somewhat apologetically told me the cost would be $500-600. I was so grateful, I nearly kissed him! Instead of buying a new car, I would only have to get a new hitch installed, and have the broken frame bar re-welded. He reassured me that it would be fine, as long as I didn’t try to tow anything with the bumper crossbar again.

Back at camp, there was no problem with me staying another couple of nights. I released Russ to continue on his journey on Tuesday morning, and watched a deer stroll through the campground. Think I’ll take a leisurely stroll with the dogs after I finish my chai. Inhale. Exhale. Sigh. 

Echo Chambers

Social Divisions

Wedge Issues

Polarization

On my mind this morning, as I’m reading an article in The New York Times about book banning, and how it has gone from a family or community issue to a political one, thanks largely to social media.

I’ve had other discussions with fellow campers over the last 3+ months or so about the deep divisions I see in today’s society. Some felt that it was an “us versus them” issue, others pointed to this or that party, to the media, to the internet. 

I, having grown up without the ripple effects of social media, feel that the internet, with its infinite, deep rabbit holes, has created a new society, one thwt is dangerously anonymous. It’s like that old cartoon by New Yorker cartoonist Peter Steiner:

This cartoon inspired the play Nobody Knows I’m a Dog by Alan David Perkins. The play revolves around six individuals, unable to communicate effectively with people in their lives, who nonetheless find the courage to socialize anonymously on the Internet. 

Which illustrates my anxiety: On line, the only identity you have is the one you choose, and the friends you have are the ones who agree with you. You need never interact with others with different ideas. What results are people living in deeply divided echo chambers, some very radical and some very dangerous. 

A young man from California I spoke with yesterday admitted that the internet had, in many ways, become an echo chamber (“Just because they agree with you doesn’t necessarily make them good people to hang out with,” he said.), but also pointed out that for many young people, like the characters in the play, it was a source of support, a space for the ‘different’ (or just socially awkward) to find others like them. We both agreed that there was little or no place for a middle ground: politically or socially, and he told me of his experiences in the early gaming community (he was from Silicon Valley, after all), where to be a fan of one game meant disparaging those who played another game; there was no place for someone who would ‘cross the lines.’ 

And yet, as I meet individuals in my travels, this is seldom an issue. We talk about our homes and families, our travels, we compare campers and gadgets, we complain about or exult in the weather. Occasionally, we go deeper. Some exchanges don’t go so well, as in Montana, where I started a conversation about the January 6th hearings with a man in line with me. He blames a Democratic plot. Somehow, we moved on to religion. This Christian told me I had to accept the Bible as the inerrant word of God, written by God. I kept thinking that as Christians, the same things should upset us, but that was not the case. He was upset about liberals, abortion, immigrants taking jobs and ‘government handouts’; I was upset about poverty, racism, gun violence, and womens’ lack of control over their own bodies. No doubt, he was convinced I was going to hell; I told him that his tattoos were specifically forbidden in his Bible. It did not end well.

In Oregon, sitting around a campfire with shots of Irish whiskey, Russ and I got into a political discussion with a man who had voted for Trump, and who thought that Trump and the Republicans had done good things for the country. We spoke of our concerns; about poverty and racism, about the high cost of medical care. He was not a hard-liner: he disagreed with the overturn of Roe v. Wade, and he listened as I gave my viewpoint on the ‘good’ that Republicans have brought to this country. I conceded that he could keep his guns, as long as we could find a workable solution to gun violence. Russ said something brilliant, which we all heartily agreed with: the media presents the ‘news’ so as to divide us and create fighting, which creates great news. And so the cycle goes. We parted the next day, thanking them for the exchange.

So where is the middle ground, where people can agree on goals and work out their ideas about how to achieve them? Where are the safe spaces for the ’different’, the shy, the ones who are struggling to be connected? Where can dangerous ideas be heard and alternate ideas be presented, or help given?

I don’t know. I think our church is doing a pretty great job of being a middle ground, allowing everyone to be themselves, to be heard and accepted, but not everyone will accept the forum of organized religion. Maybe we all need to sit together around a campfire once in a while. Whiskey optional. S’mores might help. 

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!