Days 1-10, UT, AZ, CA – From the snow to the sea.

More pictures here!

It felt like forever for our day of departure to arrive; when it did it brought snow.  But that is one good thing about having some sort of plan—you get up and get out no matter what just to keep your three day reservation, encompassing a weekend, in California.  An eventful first nine days with friends and family, hiking, driving within three states, and a perfect day that started with a dead baby rabbit and ended with Opus frothing at the mouth.

Our first stop was the Moab area in Utah.  It being so close to home, we had only ever driven by quickly—always anxious to return to our little cabin in Evergreen.  So heading out for six months this seemed like a great way to start:  Two nights at Hittle Bottom Campground, a BLM campground nestled between the Colorado River and the Fisher Towers.  This was the first time we decided to stop for two nights on the first night out and it was a treat.  The hassle of packing up Salt and leaving the house for six months melted away as we relaxed with a full day of hiking and reading in the sunny, warm, dry air.

Then we began the family and friends portion of the tour; first stop, Prescott, Arizona to visit with my Mom and Step-Father while staying at Lynx Lake.  A great camping area with few sites, lots of trees and hiking trails that begin right from the campground.   Already our new portable solar panels came in handy:  I managed to direct the parking of Salt to just the right spot so our roof-mounted solar panel was under a large pine branch.  Alan hooked up the portable panels, moved them into the bright sunshine and they worked their magic.

Our one full day there was lovely, starting with a 4.8 mile hike in the forest with views down into Prescott Valley followed by Alan and I working our lists:  Mine was focused on making my life prettier (everyday earrings and sandals) while enjoying some Mobom time and his was focused on making our lives easier (a third tie-down for the dogs and wiper blades that didn’t risk falling off) while enjoying the Prescott area traffic routes. 

Next stop the California beaches!  Our primary goal was to get south enough to visit Alan’s daughter and a couple of my dear, don’t you dare say old, friends.  (But since “old” describes over 30 years of friendship, old has never looked so good.)

We camped at San Mateo Campground, part of the San Onofre State Park, just on the other side of Interstate 5 at San Onofre.  An ok camping spot…Campendium asks if you would stay there again “Yes” or “No”, and this is one time I would need a Maybe.  Not the greatest campground and the “1.5 mile nature walk to the ocean” runs across the I-5 (only southern Californians would consider this a nature walk) but it was quiet and peaceful and where we wanted to be.

Odd as it might sound, this spot brought me an absolutely perfect day despite an auspicious beginning and end.

Opus tends to be shy about his toileting, often heading as far away as he can into bushes for a little privacy.  So when I was walking him and he dove under a bush, I didn’t think anything of it (other than, of course, “How am I going to get that bagged?”)  But Opus had other bagging ideas; I heard a loud squeak and out pops Opus with a present for me.

Then there was another loud squeak, ok, truth be told, more of a scream.  I thought I was going to vomit.  Opus was proudly presenting a baby rabbit, delicately draped around his jaw. 

Tragically, the baby rabbit was still moving--requiring action of the non-vomiting variety.  So I got it out of Opus’ mouth only to see that its right shoulder was crushed; he could only slightly crawl.   Not left with a lot of options, I let Opus have it again to finish the job in the fastest way possible.  It took but a second and, since Opus didn’t have any use for the non-animated version, I bagged the bunny. 

After my crying spell, we set out to find the San Onofre Bluffs Hike.  We asked multiple State Park representatives how to get to the trailhead and the third person was able to direct us (given the blank looks when asking about hiking I surmised that this is a surf-centric area, hiking is only done as a means to get the board into the water.) 

Once we found the trail, or what we thought was the trail (at the end of the Bluffs Campground, Trail #6 allows dogs)  we were delighted to find miles and miles of gorgeous beach, high bluffs and only a few people.  The dogs ran around like crazy, even Scrunch got into the water.   I could have spent all day down there just smelling the salt air and listening to the waves but our skin is as white as the snow we left behind so we thought it best to leave after a few hours.  (Although not before taking off the hiking boots and dashing through the shallows with the Noses.)

A quick clean-up and then we headed to La Jolla to have dinner with friends—I still can’t believe we didn’t take a picture!  But a great time at Puesto’s.  There is something so easy about having friends for that long in life; for friendships to last like that you have to either have a lot in common or a lot of respect, I have enjoyed over 30 years of both.

Back at camp, Alan, coming in from Opus’ evening constitutional, said “Something is wrong with Opus.” 

I guess so:  Gobs and gobs of frothing spit was flowing out of his tiny mouth.  Apparently his second foray under a bush allowed him to meet, and attempt a bunny, on a frog.  Having no cell service at the site, we bundled him up and drove up the hill.  By the time we got the number for pet poison control (recommended by the 24-hour vet service) and waited on hold for a few minutes, the frothing had subsided to the point where we thought he might live.  So we brought him back and, as usual, he did not disappoint. 

Morning brought me a breakfast with my BF at a 50’s diner off the I-5; the inverse of the day before, this was a lovely start to a pretty hideous day.

We had about 240 miles to go to Oceano Dunes.  If any of you have read the blog from the beginning, you know that this is the spot two software executives decided to take their brand-spanking new Airstream for their first night out.  A great area where you can camp right on the sand--our main blog photo is the shot from that first night about five years ago.  We earned that picture by first getting stuck in the sand, attempting to dig ourselves out, being hauled out (Pepper, our Cayenne and pull vehicle back in the day, and Salt being pulled out together by a nice couple in a Dodge Ram) trying not to hyperventilate about the rising tide, building a fire and collapsing into the chairs.  (Note that I am balancing a beer on top of my head.)

Do we learn?  No.  But to our credit, this time we have Shaker, Pepper’s replacement, a Tundra with nice big tires and four-wheel drive.  We thought we had this down.  It was only 3:00, we were cruising down the beach in the afternoon sunshine.  Then our tires began to spin.  And spin.  And then spin and dig.  And we were stuck.  Local lore said to lower the tire pressure, dig out around the tires (as well as our hitch which was also buried) and just pull ourselves up.  We did all that except for the last part.

Second local lore stopped in a Jeep to offer assistance; two great guys.  They hooked up their Jeep and, backing up, pulled us up to a harder area.  Yep.  One Jeep pulled up a fully-loaded Tundra, a 19’ Airstream, two chagrined people and three disgusted dogs.  (At this point we had been on the beach for over an hour yet there was no sand on their paws.)

The guys unhooked us, and the following conversation ensued:

               I said, “Hey, we would like to give you something for helping us, your choice; beer, cash or, if it is not too weird, pot--you might have noticed we are from Colorado.”

               John replied, “Well, you might have noticed we are from LA.”  Much laughter ensued.

They tried to refuse everything, but I plopped some cash into the driver’s hand so at least we could buy them a cocktail or two.

Then we drove away.  For a second.  And got stuck again.  Oh ya baby.

Thankfully, John and friend had not gone far.  This time they hooked us up so they could drive forward and we drove like that for a good mile before we could finally get the rest of the way out ourselves.  And out we got.  $10 camping fee, $30 towing tip, learning a lesson twice?  Priceless.

Never again.  That is my title for the Campendium review of Oceano Dunes.

We spent the night at the North Pismo Beach State Campground.  Perfectly delightful, asphalt pull-through spot (having been towed twice by a Jeep within the last two hours, the last thing either of us wanted to do was to look at our hitch.)   The pitches are nicely spaced with a short walk over small dunes to the beach. 

Woke to rain and followed it right up the coast into the Big Sur area.  Stopped along the way for a 4.8 mile hike (delightful way to travel with three dogs—a mid-day hike) up Salmon Creek before pulling into Plaskett Creek Campground, site #19A.  Beautiful, small campground right across the street from the ocean and one of the few dog-friendly beaches.  It being the weekend, we booked three nights well in advance and settled in to keep a wary eye on our solar panel (no electric, no sun and no threaded water spigots—very close to boondocking except for the abundance of kids.)

Day two at camp we hiked 5.5 miles up to Villa Creek and did enough fishing to catch the bug again.  Finally a spot of sunshine in the afternoon which lead to a few hours of light cleaning (Salt was a mud-pit following all that rain on dirty paws) and reading in the sunshine. 

Day three we woke to rain which made for a delightful morning of writing this blog.  At around 11:30 I mentioned it might be time for lunch and Alan suggested we drive 30 miles up the coast to Nepenthe, a restaurant recommended by a friend of ours.

Every once in awhile you get to know someone who is always right.  I don’t mean they think they are always right like an obnoxious party guest, simply that they are just always, simply, quietly, right.  Our friend, who wouldn’t want to be named so let’s call him Joy, is such a guy.  We have learned that when Joy suggests something, it is likely something we will enJoy.  So when Joy heard we were traveling up Highway 1, he suggested a campsite (sadly, Salt wouldn’t have fit down the road to the site) and a lunch stop at Nepenthe, a restaurant hanging on the edge of the cliffs.

For us, stopping while towing Salt for lunch almost never happens:  First you have to find a parking area able to hold 40’ of living and driving machines and then you have to want to sit again for an hour or more.  So we knew stopping with Salt on the way out of the coast was not likely to happen.   The rainy day and lazy morning, however, gave us the perfect excuse to head up in a Salt-less Shaker.

What a delight!  We were sorry to miss what was obviously a stunning view in less socked-in weather, but thrilled to enjoy the grilled shrimp BLT with fries and two glasses of delicious red wine.  The ambiance was so relaxed I only had a brief feeling of inferiority around all those northern Californians.  (When Northern California was only the street-chic capital of America I could hold my own, I do, after all, own a black leather jacket, but when they added all the brain power of Silicon Valley I had to respectfully bow out of the competition; thick black plastic glasses only get you so far.)

After our delightful lunch, with the rain still socked in, we opted to leave Plaskett Creek one night early and drive 60 miles further up our route.  If you are going to sit around, you might as well sit around behind the wheel.  Camped for the night at Marina RV Park, full hook-up spot #49 (clean-out! clean-up!), less than 40 yards from the entrance to the dog-allowed state beach.  Perfect for a rainy night.

-K

PS:  What Opus has learned so far:  Some days the only way to stretch your legs is laying upside down in your car bed; other days the best way to stretch your legs is to clear the creek by a good two feet; most days frogs don’t want to be kissed and every day rabbits are more fun when alive.

The Infamous Mrs. Dash - Dec. 22, 2010 - Jan. 4, 2011 - Part One

In my posting, "How We Got Here", I alluded to the many (many, many) hours of research we had done on trailers and, I hope, the very (very, very) high learning curve we rode on our way to selecting Salt.  All of this led us to think, just before the final Airstream decision, "Hmm, we've never really driven (or camped, or backed-up) with a trailer before, perhaps we should give it a shot before we buy one."  


So over Christmas break in 2010, we did just that.  We rented a 19' Wildwood and thought we would just head out of town.  However, Pepper had different ideas - or at least the Porsche dealership did.  A few weeks prior to departure, we had taken the Pepper in to get it snow tires, a hitch installed and to have them check out the air compressor as it didn't seem to be functioning.  (Our Porsche dealer doesn't install break controllers, so we had that done via a friendly U-Haul dealer in Newport.)  The repairs/installation took longer than we thought and we retrieved the Pepper just one day before we were scheduled to leave.  But leave we did, and headed over to pick up Mrs. Dash.  (We had already decided to call the trailer "Salt", but wanted to reserve that name for the real thing.  So clever Alan came up with Mrs. Dash, the salt substitute.)  


Being new to trailer-ing (and hitching, and driving, and backing-up), it took us quite a long time working with the rental agent to feel comfortable with everything.  All the switches, pumps, what hooks-up where.  I am not sure I have told you all this before, but when we first started looking at trailers, someone had to tell me the difference between a black and a grey water tank.  That's how steep the curve was.  This rental agent actually looked at me when we were practicing hitching up and said, "Someday you will do it yourself."  I thought that was hysterical and laughed out loud.  He got the last laugh a mere five months later--but that's another story.


We finally got Mrs. Dash hooked up but the trailer lights weren't working.  The helpful rental agent methodically went through all of the Pepper's fuses to no avail.  We had no choice but to disconnect and take Pepper back to Porsche, but it was too late that day so we drove home.  (Incidentally, this was the week of the "100 year rain" in Laguna.  We drove back into a town that was completely flooded out.  Thank goodness not our house.)


Bright and early the next morning we head back to Porsche.  On the way, we see that Pepper's automatic leveling device is not functioning -- this would be a function of the air compressor we had them check out before.  But clearly they did not fix it and, since this was needed in order for the Pepper to hook up to Mrs. Dash at the appropriate height, we added this to our repair list.  


We filled in the Porsche technician on the two items (albeit with more than just a little frustration in our voices) and they quickly figured out the problem with the lights:  Pepper's computer needed to be reset when we added the brake controller so it could recognize the new hardware.  The compressor was a different story, it needed to be replaced (ahem, why didn't it get replaced last week?) so we waited (and waited, and waited.)  But what else were we going to do?  The house was packed up for a two-week vacation, the Pepper was packed to the gills, the dogs were ready.  Four hours later, we were able to get out of there and headed back to pick up Mrs. Dash.  And may I just add, that there is nothing quite like sitting in the Newport Beach Porsche Dealership, dressed for camping with two panting dogs, to make you feel like you really don't belong.


We hooked up Mrs. Dash (this time by ourselves) and drove two blocks, yes, two blocks, into a parking lot so that we could practice turning and backing up.  Alan did a great job with the backing up (although he claims he didn't know what he was doing) but I (as usual) was anxious to get on the road, so we headed out to our first night.


Our first night was at the KOA in Yermo, just outside of Barstow, about half the way to Las Vegas.  We pulled in and pulled through (having reserved a pull through spot in advance--two months prior we didn't even know what "pull through" meant), made the bed, unpacked the groceries, took the dogs for a walk and poured the sun-downers.  We sat outside in the parking area with all the other rv'ers and pinched ourselves--we felt so lucky to be so happy with so little.  For two people who have stayed in some of the best hotels in the world, this feeling of contentment really surprised us.


The next three nights were in Las Vegas at the Oasis RV Resort, a fine place with paved roads and cement pitches, two things I have learned to appreciate.  Although these "resort" stops are not our favorite, they do have their uses with the clean bathrooms, laundry facilities, full hook-ups, (incidentally, am I the only one who sees the conundrum here?  The places with the nice bathrooms also have full hook-ups, the places without the nice bathrooms often have no hook-ups), and the Oasis adds a lovely pool to the mix.  (Although December in Las Vegas is not the time to swim--brrrr!)


After that we hit the road toward the Grand Canyon and our first night without a reservation anywhere.  A little panic along the "what happens if we have to back in to a spot?" kept the adrenalin flowing on the road.  


We found a spot to stop along Route 66, in Peach Springs, Arizona, at a non-hook up campground.  My diary says for dinner we had salmon and curried lentils on fresh spinach (one of my favorite Kit Creations), I am amazed at myself for making this in a trailer.  What was I thinking?  My diary also lists Revelation #1 here:  "Do not leave for the day's driving without cleaning the trailer!  You don't know how long the driving will be nor how tired you will be -- it is heavenly to arrive and open the door to a clean, organized trailer.  Can't wait for Salt!"  Lordy, what kind of a mess did I leave the trailer in that morning?  


Following our walk the next morning, Alan went into the Caverns and enjoyed the tour.  With my claustrophobia, there was no way I was going to go down 200 feet in an elevator to underground caverns.  Hopefully I can get him to write about that experience soon.


We arrived at the Grand Canyon's south rim later that day.  No snow yet, but oh so cold.  Pulled into our site, where we had water and electricity and a ton of Airstream envy flowing toward the gorgeous 23' International at the end of our row.  (Did I mention how beat up Mrs. Dash was?  Plus a giant "R NT ME" sign plastered across the front.  The Charming Mrs. Dash.  No one would ever call her shy.)


We awoke to 3 inches of snow the next morning and 2 feet the next day.  But the sun came out and, although it was frigid, we enjoyed the snow and the gorgeous views.  (It was about a half mile walk from our site to the rim on the nicely plowed roads.)  On day three our fresh water tank had frozen despite our multiple trips to the convenience store and purchases of mini-heaters (2) and anti-freeze (gallons.)  It had now been close or below zero for three nights, we needed to get moving before more damage was done.  (Also on Day 3 we awoke thinking our front door was frozen shut -- two dogs and a Kloml who needed to get out -- it was a little bit of a panic.  Until Alan realized that the door was just locked.)


This leads us to Friday, December 31st, which seems like a good point to stop this posting.  I'll pick up the rest of the trip in the Part Deux - our first pulling in snow, melting tanks and ultimately, Death Valley National Park!  I have a lot of trips to get in here before The Day arrives!  Have you checked out the Countdown to Aventure App?  Look to the left . . . and don't forget to check out the slide-show of Mrs. Dash (right-mouse-click on the title above and opt to open in a new window.)


-K