July 10, 1993

First full day on the road. We're at a campground in Mendocino, California. Not a campground really, an RV park... Concrete slabs spaced about 30 feet apart receding into the hazy distance. But not really so bad—there's a deep, sandy beach just a hundred feet from the office—a small sheltered bay, where the water I'm sure isn't below 50 degrees.

About three miles south is Mendocino, a cutesy mini-Carmel of a town. It's on a beautiful spot, overlooking dramatic cliffs on the Pacific. You can see why they built it where they did. First houses date from around 1850. It has a New England look to it, Robbin tells me. We rode there around noon on our bikes. The ride was fun, although part of the route was a busy highway with narrow bridges. I'd go nuts if I had to ride a bike on Highway 1 all day long, as a lot of people seem to do based on the trip up here yesterday.

Here are facts from July 9—the first day of the trip:

We turned left at Mission and in a minute or two were riding past artichoke fields on Highway 1.

We stopped for gas at the ultra-tacky "Cheaper" store in Half Moon Bay. I nervously approached the pump island and at one point almost dragged the back of the RV against them.

The RV just drinks gas—190 miles, 24-something gallons. Not something to brag about to your environmentally correct friends. Maybe it'll get better. The smart folks at Cheaper have figured out the most awkward way yet devised by man for dispensing gas and making sure that you pay for it. You go into the store, give them some money, and they give you a little cheap magnetic strip credit card with that amount programmed into it. Then you go outside, swipe the card by the pump, and try to listen for instructions from the ultra-tinny little speaker that comes to life. Anyway, I think the Cheaper folks got taken to the cleaners on this one. I predict it drives away customers. And you really don't want to do that.

The bikes and lawn chairs we had hung on the back an hour earlier were still there. Hooray!

We pulled away from the pumps and parked for a bit. First experience with the incredible convenience of RV traveling [I can't believe I wrote this!—what ebullience! I sound like a perky spokesman for the RV industry.]. Robbin made sandwiches and we sat and ate them at a table. Candy was jumping around a lot, jumping up against every window in sight and looking out. But she didn't meow that much, and only when we were moving. We cut right through SF, negotiating the traffic and narrow lanes of 19th Avenue. We did the Golden Gate Bridge in the right hand lane, and pulled off into the viewing area—it was foggy and incredibly crowded (damn tourists—Robbin and I of course consider ourselves near SF natives).

It was windy north of the city on 101—once in a while the RV would rock from side to side—not a good feeling, but once I figured out the wind was causing it I didn't worry.

Later we cut back to Hwy 1—on some smaller road. We had a near disaster on a very narrow bridge—I was too close and hit the right-hand mirror on a post of the bridge. Incredibly, no damage was done... Just a scuffed-up, out of position side mirror.

When we got out to 1, it was a curvy Hwy 1, steep with some turns we were taking at 20 miles an hour. But by then I was comfortable at the wheel, and it wasn't that hard... Stopped in Gualala (Gwal-al-la) for a beer and some stuff at the store. The Giants were kicking butt on the Phillies—It was four to nothing in the first when we left the RV, and 11 to nothing by the time we got to this little locals bar 15 minutes later—seven run second inning. Final score was 15-8—those guys are just pounding the ball right now.

The bar was happening—a lot of people in work clothes smiling and having fun at the long bar (TV up high at either end with the game on).

We drank a beer each (I probably shouldn't have, because it was another hour to Mendocino, and I was getting a little pooped by that point—It's a strain going into tight curves and narrow bridges—beautiful scenery—high cliffs, spectacular scenery really, but I couldn't look at it for more than a second now and then.

We found the RV park without incident, and hooked up for the first time without much trouble, although I did soak my sweatshirt when the water hose popped out of its quick disconnect fitting and did the water-wiggle number in my face—Robbin saw the whole thing...

It was about 8:00 when we got here. She made turkey burgers for dinner, fried them up on the stove. They were good...We talked for a while, probably went to bed at 10:30 or so.  

Mornings are tough. In the morning, the RV feels less like a house and more like a tent. It's cold. It's cramped. I ran the heat and Robbin made coffee and after an hour or two and hot showers (in the tiny shower) I was feeling pretty Charlie-like. We took our time getting together for the bike ride down to Mendocino... Beautiful ride—you approach the city from the west, coming in through this beautiful grassy park, Headlands State Park that's right on the ocean. Mendocino itself was a mix of tourist-trappy and California elegant—from T-shirt shops to galleries selling $8000 wooden bowls. On the way back, we hiked out to some cliffs just in front of the town—sheer drops of 50 feet or more down to rocky beaches.

Candy is playing with venetian blind cords and crying. Speaking of Candy, she gave us a scare this afternoon—she got out of the RV—snuck out through a storage compartment and was missing for 45 minutes. Robbin found her, heard her voice when we were calling her—she was hiding up on a giant Class C motor home's right rear tire. Close call! We'll have to be more careful, and maybe get her used to going out more.

Our total outlay today has been 2+18+11, about $30—not bad for a day in an expensive resort area. Tomorrow we'll be on the go and it will cost more—I need gas already...

We had chicken tonight—It was hard getting a hot enough fire using the grill in our RV space—too high above the coals, and too windy.

We haven't watched TV yet—36 hours into the trip... That's a good sign—also, no cigarettes have been smoked. We're both wearing nicotine patches...

The stuff we packed! Robbin brought a half-dozen exercise videos and second hand books including Jane Eyre and The Philosophy of Andy Warhol. I brought *two* computers (the low-end but battery powered Toshiba laptop and my good-old Compaq 386 portable). That's the computer (at least virtually it's the same computer) that Adam had in Budapest, and which I've had since 1988-through Earthquakes, airports, and various spreadsheet development cycles. Making more mistakes than usual typing on this machine. It's keyboard will take some getting used to. We've also brought:

So far we haven't really needed anything we didn't bring—which is not to say that everything we *did* bring is going to be used...

Things have been great between us the first two days. No problems. We're not driving each other crazy... At least I'm feeling good about things. Robbin went up to the "bedroom" early tonight to read—that's okay.

Amazing fact: Since the little weather shop downtown has been keeping records (since 1980) the highest temperature ever recorded in Mendocino was 86! He said that nearby Eureka had the lowest high for the contiguous 48 states—for over a hundred years, since they've been keeping records, It Has Never Gotten Above 85 Degrees! I find that amazing. Houston can do 85 standing on its head Christmas day.

Tomorrow we should probably check our messages, and maybe find a reservation in the Shasta area—I need to research how to do General Delivery Mail, so Paul can send our stuff to us.

Well, this ain't literature, but it's writing, and that's a start—about three and a half pages of words. Been writing about an hour. It's quiet here. I hear a hum from the battery charger and the occasional car going by. Now a dog barking— woof woof woof woooof! Sounded like a big dog.

My throat was acting weird yesterday—it hurt when I swallowed, and I would sometimes feel some bile coming up—but Nurse Soucy put me on Maalox and that seems to have helped.

I finished Pelican Brief yesterday. Not that good. That guy's stuff is way too cloak and dagger for my taste. Just doesn't read believable. This one is better than The Firm though. Two good titles—you gotta give the guy credit. He's always talking about the bucks lawyers make. Hell, I made a lot more as a programmer the last two years. But now I'm not working. Hope my stocks do well...Robbin was willing to make this trip with a lot less in reserve than me, so I should be able to just not worry about it..

I hear the clock ticking—it's just over my right shoulder.

The refrigerator doesn't make a sound...

I'm outta here for now....

July 11, 1993

It's early today as I write this. About 9:00. We've been up for about an hour. Robbin made coffee, and I went to buy a copy of the SF paper down at the store. They didn't have the SF paper, so I bought a three-day old Ft. Bragg paper. Someone in there was advertising a one month old male goat for $20. He also wanted to buy a male turkey. No suggested price.

Robbin was going to take her shower but we hadn't turned on the hot water heater, so now she has to wait until the tank heats up. We're having a hard time figuring out how full our various holding tanks are, and how fast each fills up. According to the indicator lights, tank one is either 1/2 or completely full...

Our plan is to drive to Eureka today, taking our time, maybe stopping to buy that goat as we pass through Ft. Bragg, staying today in Eureka and then heading to the Shasta area. We don't have reservations in any of these places... Robbin is going to make some calls after her shower while I break camp. Breaking camp isn't too hard. You:

It ain't hard. It's the very antithesis of Keith Palmquist camping, where we'd take two hours of heavy effort to make a camp out of thousands of separate items like tent poles and air mattresses and ice chests—and just about as long to take it down, which we did most every day. On this trip we're going to be breaking camp less often, and doing it a lot faster. Which leaves more time for doing nothing, which is what camping is really all about.

Big RVs are moving about in the RV park today. On the road behind me and the road I see through the windshield, big, beige road yachts moving slowly down to the exit. Ours is pretty much in the middle as RVs in this park go. There are a lot smaller, and there are several much bigger... Naturally, I notice RVs a lot more than I used to.

Robbin is making the bed now while she waits for the water to heat up. We have to remember to turn on the water heater when we wake up...Or else, just leave it on. It probably doesn't use all that much propane...

July 12, 1993

A sunny, windy, cold day in the redwoods of northern California. We spent last night in Patrick's Point, a beautiful Monterey Peninsula-like area north of Eureka. We were originally only going to spend the night, but liked it enough to stay on through today. Last night we were once again shut out at the state park system—but found a very nice RV park just down the road. This RV park is much more campground-like than the previous one—we are in a campsite, with trees and dirt and campfire rocks just like a tent camper. Last night we went without hookups (au naturel) and it cost just $12—this morning we hooked up after almost completely draining the coach battery...

We had a great evening last night. First we checked into this great place. Then I decided to hook up the TV while Robbin cooked. We had lights, refrigerator, stove, TV ("media," as Robbin said), some nice wine—all completely self-contained—no wires, no plumbing, no nothing. When I got the TV hooked up to the inverter and the antenna and started to pick up the CBS evening news clear as a bell, I felt like the king of the earth. After a very nice spaghetti and meatballs dinner, we walked down to the state park that had locked us out—it's a beautiful place, with nice trails, dense redwoods, and a view of the ocean from 100 feet up or so—by the time we finally got to the ocean, the sun was low in the sky directly across from us—it was beautiful. We made quick time getting there and back thanks to a shortcut path discovered by moi.

This morning we sort of accidentally found ourselves walking to Trinidad, the closest place approaching a town around these parts. The guy said it was four miles, "not walkable," but we'd had such good luck walking yesterday we went for it. More like five miles it turned out—when we got to Trinidad, population 410, it looked like El Dorado, the fabled city of gold sought by Coronado. I'm trying to say, it looked good, and we were glad to be there.

We ate at a one-of-a-kind hamburger joint, bought stamps at the post office, left Paul a message on his office voice mail (did I mention that the remote message recall feature on the phone at home didn't seem to be working?), bought groceries and a Chronicle, and then we went walking... Trinidad has beautiful views—ordinary small town houses overlooking cliffs and the pounding surf. I couldn't have faced the thought of walking back, but we decided to try hitchhiking—and we were on a van headed back within 30 seconds of sticking out our thumbs. The driver was delivering beer and had lived in Santa Cruz—said he'd live there now if he could get a job. Said it was colder, wetter, windier, and foggier here than in SC—now since SC is basically a chilly, windy, foggy place, you can imagine what this part of the coast is like. Very windy, Very foggy. Very chilly.

We got back here around 1:30—haven't done a thing all afternoon. Robbin is curled up in two sweatshirts and Lonesome Dove. I got out the Compaq and entered my most recent stack of receipts. I have $315 in cash and $2700 in checking and $50,000 in savings. So we're doing okay for money on this trip. Today we'll spend a total of something like

$19 wood and RV campground rental $ 3 coffee and sweet roll $ 9 lunch at hamburger joint $ 9 groceries

That's $41 for two grown people—this is definitely a cheap way to spend time. If we could average $60 a day on this trip we'd get off for 150*60=$9000, of which my half is $4500. Not too shabby.

I'm not cheap, but since I started keeping track of what I spend two or three months ago, I have spent less.

Tonight the plan is to roast weenies out on the campfire—there is no grill. Hot dogs, beans, that's about it. Plus we'll have enough to eat the same thing tomorrow. Robbin won't be happy about that diet though—she's in a careful mode when it comes to eating...

On diary entries... What did I see? How did I feel?

Tomorrow we're pulling up stakes early and heading to Shasta—another place I've never been. Then up into Oregon—Klamath Falls, Crater Lake, and Bend. Then up to the Seattle area. Then to Victoria Island. Then into Vancouver. Then Banf National Park. Then Glacier national park. Then where? Do we scoot down into Yellowstone, and Colorado, and across Kansas? Or do we stay up in the north country and swing down through Minnesota? Don't know at this point.

After Chicago, it's Detroit, Toronto, Montreal, and then into CT. Mid October or so, we're down the coast into Washington DC, VA, NC, SC, Atlanta, and Florida. Have to do Cape Canaveral and the Orlando stuff. Don't know about Miami—don't really feel like getting killed on this trip. Then across the south into New Orleans—then Houston, Fayetteville, and Wichita Falls. Robbin wants to see her friend in Missouri. We need to see Ruby in Tulsa. Then across the desert to Grand Canyon. And back into the golden state.

Sounds like a lot of traveling—can all this be done in five months? Assume the trip is 12,000 miles. Traveling 200 miles a day, that's 60 traveling days. 90 non-traveling days.

July 14 Late Evening

Don't have time to write much—I suppose I have time but not the will to do this for too long tonight. Anyway, short notes on where we've been and what we've done the past two eventful days.

July 13: Left Patrick's Point early, backtracked to Eureka, then four hours to Redding—but a very easy four hours. Stopped early and often. Best and longest in Weaverville, a quaint, but still real little town about 2/3 of the way there. Bought a book, went into a fishing store, and bought some groceries.

Lunch was hot dogs in a rest stop parking lot, even though a woman did park in a funny place.

Holding tanks too full—truck did some side-to-side rocking on this leg—or maybe it was the road.

Hit Redding—no big deal, never really even slowed down. First glimpses of Mt. Shasta.

At 1:30 we found our first space in a state campground, Castle Crags state park. They treat RVs just like campers—14 bucks... We set up camp quick (needed leveling), then took a very strenuous hike to the Crags—went about 3.7 miles, of which .7 (3000 feet or so) was straight up. We're talking steep.

Beautiful rocks, supposedly shaped like castles, with Mt. Shasta, a beautiful mountain standing alone in the not-too-distance. Felt good to get back (my toes and other feet components really get worn out hiking, especially on long downhills.

Tried to pick up the ball game (All-Star game from Baltimore). Found the game on about three channels—none good enough to watch. But heard the game on the radio.

July 13: Woke up and went to shower at the campground restroom; surprise—no showers therein. So took two quick showers in the RV and filled up the gray water tank. No big deal, just doesn't drain out of the shower. [Not exactly fun, either, mopping it up, Mr. RV Pollyanna—Ed]

First stop on moving was therefore to buy propane and dump tanks. Funky place server the bikers of Shasta County; one of those RV places with lots of "permanent" residents. At least they have permanent tattoos.

Then up I5 to Yreka, passing Mt. Shasta on the right. It's as good a looking Mountain as you're going to see. Also saw Lake Shasta—the houseboat lake people talk about.

Bought gas in Weed, CA—more bad mileage. Think this next tankfull might improve a bit.

In Yreka at 11:30 or so, tried to recreate the scene when Jimmy Zawadski and I were hitchhiking from Tacoma to San Diego during Spring Break 1972. I had the scene pictured, but couldn't find the right on-ramp or the right Denny's. *I* think Yreka grew up some and the freeway interchanges got changed—couldn't be *me* remembering wrong.

Then, back onto Interstate 5—in twenty minutes we were crossing the Oregon border. Stopped at the tourist info booth—pulled off at the second Ashland exit, found the local KOA-cheap! at $15. Got set up. I went to play 9 holes at Oak Knoll Funky Nine Hole Course Just Minutes From the RV Park—I shot poorly, didn't feel like myself out there. Course was kind of long, very angled fairways—the whole course is built on the side of a hill. Tight, lots of duffers out there. I parred at least one hole, had several fives. Greens were tough to putt, but I was two putting and scaring the hole on my first putt pretty much all day. I like that new putter.

Let me try to remember the round: First hole—long (450 yard) par four. Green is down below the fairway. Didn't see the green until I'd: Hit drive off the toe and slicing out of bounds (hit the porch of a house hard) Hit next drive slightly less off the toe and into the trees on right. Hit seven iron semi hard but left. Somehow got eight. I duffed one in there someplace, and two putt.

Second hole: Straightaway, 300-something yard par four. Hit a nice 5 iron about 160 yards but slicing; hit another five iron through some trees to just in front of green; pitched on, two putt for a five.

Third hole: Long par five. The second nine tees (which I was playing because they put me with a group that had already played the "front nine") are behind a road; this hole was 500 plus yards. Like #1, you can't see the green until you are practically on it because the fairway slopes down. Makes it hard to hit an approach when you're playing an unfamiliar course laid out like that, let me tell you. Anyway, I hit a nice drive, walked it off at 240 yards. Then a terrible, pulled worm burner to the left. Then a nice four iron that would've made it to the green where guys were still putting except I was aiming left, not knowing where the green was. Then I pitched on, took two putts for a six.

Fourth hole: Played about 135 from the "back nine" tees. I hit a nice nine iron right at it, came up about 30 feet short. Green was a wicked thing with a ridge running across it, and the hole was right at the top of the ridge. My putt walked across the ridge, almost went in a for a birdie; I had about two feet coming back but didn't play the break, hit it easy and it went right out of the hole. Bogey four.

Fifth hole: Long fucking par five. I hit a driver, then a five iron, then a little wedge from about 70 yards. It walked around the collar above the hole. I had a fast 10 foot putt coming down. Almost made it, made the comebacker for a par.

Sixth hole: downhill, 175 yard par five. Water in front of the green. It looked a lot longer than 175 yards. But at least I could see the green, which was more than you could say for most of the holes out there. I rolled it in the little creek on the right with a weak, pushed shot. Dropped out, chipped on, two putts, double bogey, next hole.

Seventh hole: Claimed to be a 228 yard par 3, and it looked it. I hit a half decent three wood; the hole slopes dramatically from right to left. My ball ended up pin high between some trees. I hit a funky chip to above the hole, the first putt rolled twenty feet by (nasty, nasty green), I got a five.

Eighth hole. Radically sloping par 4 from left to right (like I said, the whole course is built on the side of a hill). I almost whiffed my drive, only hit it about 30 yards dead left. I hit a presentable six iron to where the drive should've been. I then hit the best shot of the day: from about 160 yards out, with a crazy sloping mound in front of me and not really knowing what the green looked like, but guessing it sloped like crazy left to right like everything else—I whipped a six iron hard and straight, started way left of the flag. When I got up there I found a huge green, slanted left-to-right as hell and the pin on the extreme right and my ball just off the green on the front right. I Texas-wedged to a foot and took a proud 5.

Ninth hole. Dogleg right. Huge grassy gully. I pushed my tee shot into trees on the right on the hillside. Hit a low four iron to the gully and a little beyond. My pitch up was a bit short. I hit onto the green and took two putts for a six.

So I had 8 + 5 + 6 + 4 + 5 + 5 + 5 + 6 = 44. Felt worse. [It should have: you only listed 8 holes here.]

Robbin took a long bike trip and located downtown Ashland—which is very nice—beautiful small town, lovely parks, cappuccino booths, people walking about.

We found a beautiful field in a park with a friendly black cat. I told Robbin I was going to do a somersault, but I couldn't get it together. As soon as I get to some soft grass, I'm going to try again. She did some nice somersaults and even cartwheels. Maybe I'm not the athlete I think I am...

We were going to see a movie but happened to come across the Shakespeare complex just as a play was starting, so did that instead—Shakespeare clone "The White Devil" was playing. Just like Shakespeare, you couldn't tell what the hell was happening, but everything about the staging of the play was first rank—a beautiful outdoor Globe-style theatre—wonderful lighting and costumes and sets and music—trumpets and tympanis.

We spit at the intermission anyway, because: 1. My butt was major sore 2. I made reservations for an all-day raft trip the next day 3. I didn't know what the hell was happening anyway.

Candy spent some time today outside on the leash—she's a little strung out this evening...But on balance the cat experiment is going well, I would have to say. What else is happening...

July 16, 1993 Friday

Coffee not quite ready. Was going to shower, but the pilot for the water heater wasn't on. So that'll have to wait until it heats up. Robbin was so impressed by the Ashland KOA's shower room yesterday, she's there again this morning.

One full week now out here. Yesterday—White Water Rafting:

On our blue boat its two men, friends from Reno and Vancouver, Washington, in the front seat. They get wetter than anyone, wet as hell, splashed over and over. In the next seat it's me and the older one's wife—in the back, where Robbin says it bounces a lot, are the Pride of Windsor Locks and the younger one's wife. Behind all of us, in an elevated chair, with two large oars in locks, is Zack the guide.

We saw a bald eagle high in a tree; he didn't fly, but still, what a spectacle. I never expected to see a bald eagle in my lifetime. They spread a nice deli-lunch for us on the side of the river—guides turned chefs.

At one point I jumped in the river on purpose to body-raft, or whatever they call it. Big mistake, instantly I was in trouble, taking on water. I floundered onto the side of the boat and one of the big guys in the front row dragged me in. Felt good. Stupid move, but I'm glad I did it. At least I will be in a day or two, when I stop feeling stupid about it.

4:00 The ride ended at Copco Lake, a peculiar little resort just across the California border—way, way, way, off the beaten track. It was an hour drive or more back to Ashland, where we still needed to ride the bikes back to the KOA.

A highlight of the trip back were mountains that looked like Alfred Hitchcock's portrait—face and belly. They looked exactly like it, too. Why isn't *that* a national park, or at least a national monument? And thanks to one wrong turn and one bad guess, we doubled our ride and threw in a couple of tough hills. We are getting to be better bikers, though.

The KOA people were waiting for us to show up, because they had reserved our spot for that night for some other people, i.e., we had to move. So instead of passing out as soon as we got back, we were packing up and moving to another slot—luckily that's easy to do in this RV.

Last night I woke up and didn't have a clue where I was—I finally figured out the RV part (the ceiling two feet over my face), but it took forever to remember Ashland, OR—I guess that's life on the road.

Robbin just got back from her shower—coffee's made—soon there'll be hot water and I'll take my shower and then we'll pull out and head north a little bit. Here are the places we've stayed so far:'

Mendocino (Caspar beach campground) nights of July 9 and 10 Eureka/Trinidad (campground unknown but nice) July 11 and 12 Shasta Area (Castle Crags state park) July 13 Ashland (KOA) July 14 and 15 [Crater Lake July 16 and 17 Bend, OR—Tupe-something state park, July 18 and 19 South of Mt. Hood—July 20 Just East of Portland—July 21 Portland—July 22 Quinault Lake—July 23 Port Angeles—July 24 and 25 Mt. Ranier—July 26 and 27—ED]

It's already getting hard to remember, so I better keep writing in this document. As I write this, I'm sitting in the very back of the RV, in the little U-Shaped area facing forward. The computer is on my lap. Candy's litter box is out right now, just to my right. The sink and stove where coffee is on is just to my left. Sun is over my right shoulder. Candy is just over my left shoulder. The dinette area is cluttered—a big guitar case is there, and some pills, and a stack of dirty clothes—much of that stuff is stowed in the shower, which I'm about to take/use. Robbin is in and out of the bathroom suffering with her contacts. Candy keeps wanting to be on my lap. All the curtains are open. I see mostly trees and a few white trailers and RVs. Robbin brought me an Oregonian. Signing off...

Later the same day...

Right now I'm sitting in a cozy RV in a beautiful, secluded, pine forest—at Crater Lake National Park. They're tall, spindly, crowded pines—some like Norfolk pines you see as Christmas trees. The campsites are nicely spaced out—we have no immediate neighbors—no one within a hundred yards, probably. There's a little old snow on the ground, in piles here and there under the trees in the pine straw. It's raining slightly—every drop hits the roof of the RV and you hear it plainly. I like that. Earlier I was reading Huckleberry Finn in the "bedroom" over the cab, listening to the rain fall, smelling the cool high-altitude wet air—I liked that. Even earlier the two of us were up there making love. She came on top of me; then a few seconds later, I came into her; while it was raining and cozy in our little RV.

It looks like we might be getting some neighbors—a minivan pulling a Coleman popup trailer is taking a hard look at the site next to us. But if we put up our curtains in front, we'll never see them.

The drive up was easy and quick. We got $40 worth of groceries in a big supermarket in Ashland—meat for me and fish for Robbin and diet Pepsis for both of us and cat litter and in general $40 worth of stuff. $40 worth of groceries is just about all that fits in the refrigerator. But it's fun to go out and buy food once in a while anyway, so that's no big deal. We drove and video-d our way through Ashland, then in ten minutes you're in Medford.

Medford, the part of it we saw, is tacky—we drove for a long time on a wide four lane highway, with lots of businesses and red lights and RV places and big piles of wood. Wood is definitely a big deal in Medford, Oregon. Building a house with bricks there is probably like owning a Toyota in Dearborn, MI. Out of Medford, you turn to the Northeast and wind up a narrow, being-worked-on-highway that parallels the Rogue River (what a great name for a river).

Soon you hit a big reservoir and the road gets better. We stopped and ate lunch in a little state park showcasing the "Rogue Gorge." Not that spectacular (the Rogue is only about 20 feet wide there, and the gorge can't be 30 feet deep) but a nice nature trail had been set up with self-guiding signs about living stumps and lava plugs and so on. Easily worth the fifteen minutes we spent there. We were thinking about camping in that area (Union Creek, I think it was called), but since it was so early I thought we'd take a chance on getting a campground at Crater Lake, since that was where we really wanted to be. Some chance! The campground is 80% empty.

While we were signing up, a backpacking couple (with large dog) was there. I asked them if they were on the Pacific Crest Trail—which supposedly goes from Canada to Mexico by the most scenic, walkable route. They said they had, and that they'd been walking in a lot of snow. They had to pay just like us—didn't seem right, having to pay just to set up camp off your back. They've been walking for two weeks and started at the Oregon/California border (I assume they're going north).

Here's our expenses today: $38 groceries $25 Golden Eagle pass (good to December) $11 campsite fee $ 1 cup of coffee.

What's that, $75? Expensive—but if we stay here tomorrow, I think we can do better (like $11 for the campsite fee, and that's it).

No one has taken the spot next to us yet. Earlier I went over there and scammed their wood—our spot didn't have any.

Robbin is reading her book (Lonesome Dove) quietly. Earlier she was working with her weights—she has a lot of drive; I'm lucky to have answered her ad.

The system here for registering your campground is, they give you a little wooden tag, and you drive around looking for a campground that floats your boat. When you find it, you tag the campground as in use (there's a nail under the number on the sign) and then later come back and pay up as you sign in. At $12, it's a much better campsite than we've had before, even if we don't have water and electric. We have the RV's water and electric, plus there's water nearby and a dump station if we need it. About all we can't do is make microwave popcorn...

It's stopped raining. I'm going to charge this computer before it craps out on me...

Next Day (Saturday, I think)

8:00 AM... Just ate a breakfast of bacon and eggs—not excellent cook Robbin Soucy's specialty, I'm afraid. Well, the eggs were not really eggs, but some healthy stuff out of a milk carton. And the bacon was done by someone who's basically disgusted with the whole notion of bacon. But by and large, the eating on this trip has been outstanding. I have no complaints—in fact, I feel guilty the way I'm being waited on at meal-times. Robbin does everything, cooks the food, serves it, and cleans up afterwards. She said she was going to do that as her share since I paid for the RV, but I'm uncomfortable "buying" her services this way. But as long as it doesn't bother her, I suppose I should just enjoy it.

Last night we cooked over a very average outdoor fire. We did steak, fish and ears of corn (the latter wrapped in foil) over a wood fire—it's hard to cook over a wood fire—especially when the wood is wet as it was last night. But the final result was definitely edible.

It got cold here last night, down to 40 degrees. That's chillier than I've been since last winter.

Did I mention there is still snow here one the ground in Crater Lake? Low white mounds, like old-fashioned marble graves, are everywhere—we're at 6,000 feet, I know, but still—snow in mid-July?

Paul got the answering machine working correctly, so we can now call up and get our messages. There were three or four. Robbin 's hospital is closing down, something she's seen coming for some time. Linda called, I think just to say hello. Eunie called and left what Paul described as a long message. I think I can believe that.

So from now on, we can get our messages daily or every other day with just a phone call. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to call a few people, like Alex, Paul, and Mom and Dad and Eunie one of these days. Also, I'd like to get Sidekick running correctly on the RAM disk of this machine. That would involve transferring some files from the Compaq to here. Gotta do that next time we're hooked up to power. At this campsite, we're strictly on our own water and power—so since we're here for a couple of days, I'm giving the battery a break and not running anything off the inverter.

We took a beautiful, heartbreaking hike yesterday evening, to Annie's Creek Canyon—just the prettiest little creek running through a green meadow—with snow dotted here and there. I'm glad Robbin was there to share it with me—it means so much more when you share experiences with someone. She is wonderful.

Today we can't figure out whether we're doing a long bike ride or a long hike... It's one or the other. Robbin's bike needs a few things tightened/adjusted and I don't have the moxie, or especially the tools, to do it. But if we walk, it's probably 18 miles round trip to the top. I don't think my feet can take that.

Candy won't take no for an answer... She insists on getting into my lap as I type. I have put her down with stern "no no no"'s at least 10 times...

Our neighbors are lesbians, Robbin tells me. They came over and wanted to borrow an axe yesterday, which I didn't have. Now there are reports of fondling activity.

Robbin is doing her tooth-cleaning thing now. She sits slack jawed and looks off into space while working a weird dental tool all over her teeth.

Well, got to decide what we're doing today...

Sunday, July 18

It's 7:30 AM. The gray tank is full. We're out of fresh water. Must be time to leave.

Had a fine stay in Crater Lake—a very Teddy Roosevelt-feeling park—proud of the fact that it's the sixth park in the system. Fine, competent rangers. Place is clean as a whistle.

What snow this place has! Like 55 feet last year—And it starts coming in early October—and still isn't gone off most of the hiking trails in the camp.

We drove around the Crater Lake yesterday; saw the small, gentle depression at the tip of Wizard Island—the cutest little volcanic cone you'd ever want to see.

Saw a presentation by a lady-Ranger at the main village up on the rim. She said, it's easy to understand how Crater Lake was formed:

"It Grew. It Blew. It Fell. It Filled."

We walked down to the boat dock on the other side of the lake; there's a 1.1 mile, 700 foot vertical trail leading down to the river, and a tour boat to take you around for ten bucks. We didn't take the trip—just looked at the clear water near shore.

Highlight for me was eating lunch in the RV, backed up almost over the edge of a scenic turnout. Sat there in the back of the RV, seeing blue everywhere. Drank a diet Pepsi and snoozed for a few minutes afterward—our own private dining room overlooking the blue-blue lake.

There really isn't *that* much to see at Crater Lake National Park. They have the lake, which is pretty and blue, and has remarkable origins, but really isn't that amazing. It's just a good sized blue lake. The fact that it's so deep doesn't come across, and it isn't *that* much bluer than Lake Conroe, for instance. Most of the attractions are different views of the same lake.

The rim drive still had snow banks piled up to maybe eight feet in places. Also saw some "pinnacles," weird randomly shaped towers that look like nests put up by exotic, huge African insects.

Last night, we got a good fire going using wood we picked up by the Pinnacles—that's legal here. It was dry and we had a major bonfire going in about twenty minutes—this morning I look behind me (I'm at the picnic table now) and I see nothing but white ashes.

A ranger put on a nice show about bears...They don't feed them, or allow them to be fed anymore, and that has caused lots of problems with bears going after camper food. They look fuzzy and cute, but apparently it wasn't doing the bears any good eating in national park dumps.

Now I'm hearing "Ode To Joy" coming from the amphitheater—I guess they're having a generic church service. Can't make out the words, just the tune. The stage of the amphitheater can't be 200 feet from this campground, but last night I turned it into a quarter mile. Got to remember to carry flashlights after dark. It gets *black* around here. You can't see your feet on the road, even.

After Robbin finishes her workout, we'll be loading up, dumping tanks, taking on fresh water ("domestic water," they call it here), and heading for Bend, Oregon. Who knows what we'll find there. I'm ready...

July 19, 1993

It's been one of those "Are we having fun yet?" days. We got to Bend, in plenty of time yesterday. maybe 2:00. Found a decent camping spot in a state park, Tupelo State Park or something to that effect—but since then, haven't hit our stride in having fun.

I was going to play golf, but we're too far from town to play golf. Just to buy a couple of trivial items (e.g., an Allen wrench and some nineteen cent stamps) is a hassle. It takes ten minutes of fiddling around to get the RV ready to travel. You've got lines to disconnect, TV antennas to crank down, steps to put away, and on the inside, stuff in the kitchen, bathroom, and dining room table needs to get put into some posture that'll keep it from moving around as you drive.

Anyway, Robbin was giving me flack about which way we turned to get to town, and we had a hard time finding downtown Bend, and when we did, the hardware store couldn't help us with either the part for the bike or a fishing license, and when we tried to follow their instructions to a place that sold fishing licenses, we couldn't, and then we were able to cut back clear across town to a bike shop, where we got what we needed for $8.95 (no sales tax whatsoever, incidentally).

Then we got on the big, crowded highway, I dropped Robbin off at a drug store (Candy, have I mentioned, is trying furiously to get out at every opportunity) to buy the license and stamps, went to get gas (no self-serve gas in the state of Oregon for some reason), it cost $38!!!, I went back to pick her up, lots of traffic to be negotiated in the big, creaking RV, then it starts raining, then I realize I'm not going to play golf (something of a relief, at this point, because it's too cold and rainy), and then about two miles from the park, the refrigerator door bangs open and about three pounds of potato salad fixings hit the floor. We creep into the park and realize that the stuff we left at the campsite is getting wet!

And we have to back in ever so carefully and vacuum up the potato crap in the rug but the vacuum doesn't work because it runs on AC, and we're not on AC because we pulled in forwards and the hookup is on the wrong side, so we pull out and back in (a pain in the ass and accident risk every time you do it) and I go out in the light rain and hook us up.

Ah, the RV life! I don't sound like a poster boy for the RV industry anymore, eh?

I think we need a car to tow around... None of this would have happened with a car—

How to buy a car on the road? How to get cash? —cash advance against credit card! How to register? How to get tow-ready? —RV place would know... All Nissan 5-speeds safe to tow? How to buy and register? How to *find* a car for sale?

A pick-up with a camper back would be nice. A four door small car, like a Tercel or Civic would also work. Can you tow a front wheel drive car? Or Nissan Sentra—whatever their low-end car is called...

Towing a car, we could conquer the world.

I need to start reading the Portland paper, the Oregonian, looking for cars for sale... We can buy one up there.

I'm drinking too much. Probably shouldn't be drinking wine at 12:30, but it seemed like a good idea, today.

7-20-93 Tuesday Morning

We're going to be pulling out of this state park just north of Bend, OR in another hour or so.

It's a clear, chilly morning, and coffee is perking and steam collecting on the windows. Robbin is out for a run; I'll be reading the paper when I'm done with this.

Bend has been not that great a stop. It's not that cute a town; I didn't play any golf, because of rain and transportation hassles. We've been here two days and did a little shopping yesterday morning and saw a movie last night. Other than that, I've spent 48 hours fiddling with this computer (getting it configured just *so*), drinking wine, and not much else. Oops, the battery is beeping. Better get this guy hooked in.

Back. Got my coffee. The movie was "Sleepless in Seattle." For some reason, we got in for three bucks each—what a deal—even though it was no matinee—just another small town bargain.

I think I have my configuration fairly well perfected now. I've got my Compaq Sidekick files set up—plus the most common DOS utilities—and Microstar, and all the text files I'd written before, and it all fits into the 2.4 MB ram disk on this think. So everything is snappy. Probably need to get rid of a couple of things to build a little legroom. I could restore the works in five minutes if I had to...

Robbin fished a bit yesterday, in the Deschutes River, which winds alongside the park—she didn't catch anything. It cost $5 for the day's permit... It rained a little yesterday—real rain for half an hour or so and drizzling for two hours. Oregon is a real rainy mess this summer. And every winter, they say.

Speaking of money, today we're going to try to have a no-expenses day. To not spend anything—not $100, not $50, not $2. The only dispensation came to buy a paper. We have a tankfull of gas, and food in the refrigerator, so it's doable, as long as we can find a place to camp for free. We decided at the last minute to head NW out of Bend, through Redmond and up into Bagwan country—then to hit Mt. Hood and Portland coming from the East. I think we decided to get a car to tow also.

I like these "pulling out" mornings. No reason to stay anywhere for more than a day, unless we see something we really like in the town. Plan on going the next morning, that should be the new motto.

6:15 that same evening—at a National Forest campsite just south of Mt. Hood in northern Oregon. So far we've met our goal of not spending a dime. Robbin scrounged up change and bought some post cards. I bought a paper before breakfast. Other than that, we've spent nada.

Drove a bunch today, probably 190 miles. Seem to be getting better mileage than on prior days, although I won't know the figures until we fill up again. Probably have ten gallons or so left and have already done 210 miles on that tank. I've gone super-easy on the accelerator today.

So, what did we see and do?

We drove through Redmond, and Madras, two vanilla working towns in the 3-5000 population class. Then took a spur route through Antelope—the tiny town alleged to be closest to the Bagwan's empire. One city limits sign said there were 115 people there; one coming from another way said 44. I'd say 44 was closer. We didn't see any evidence of the Bagwan's ranch, which wasn't hard to believe given that it's on the end of an 18 mile dirt road.

So we kept going, and went to a small National Monument devoted to fossils, of all things. Tiny little park with space for about six cars, and two self-guiding trails that led you up around the rocks and pointed out the images of leaves and twigs imprinted in the boulders that had fallen down over the ages from the spectacular cliffs above. Took some effort, but we saw leaves and limbs from trees that were soaked in volcanic mud 40,000,000 years ago and since turned into rock. Also, a scenic hike to the base of the cliffs, where there were mud bird nests and a natural arch. This part of Oregon looks more like Arizona—not a lot of trees, instead, sweeping vistas of canyons and rock formations. A pleasing change after all the trees we've been in lately.

We shared the parking lot at the FP (fossil place) with a bizarre RV from Austria—the Adventure Mobil, it called itself—a cross between an RV and a jeep. Looked at first glance like a high-tech dump truck, and later like the $300,000 giant-wheeled, tiny-windowed, off-road, German-made motor home it really is. Driven by people who signed the guest book at the park as being from Switzerland. Easy to believe, they had two little blonde haired boys on the trail and they were all speaking German. Looked like something Jacques Cousteau would use on one of his pseudo-scientific missions.

After the fossil side trip, it was on to Shaniko, the Ghost Town. Actually, a few people lived there and were trying the tourist attraction route—there were a half dozen antique stores, and a hotel had been redone in the center of town. Plenty of buildings not in use anymore, that's for sure.

I took a quick nap while we boiled some coffee and Robbin got her post cards. The coffee got me going and we headed north across Kansas-like plains of wheat or cultivated grasses, with Mt. Hood looming to the west covered by clouds. More or less accidentally, we ended up on a really scenic small highway, so small it didn't even have a number, hooking up with the Mt. Hood forests where we hoped we could find a campground. We drove across the plains and into a spectacular canyon...

After a while, the trees started and we got into a pine forest-camping situation, and found a sign to a campground on the main road—two miles, it said—and after one mile the road became gravel and after 1.5 miles, all we were seeing were flat areas next to the creek that wound alongside the road. Gradually, I realized that these *were* the campgrounds—no water, no bathrooms, of course we don't need any of that stuff, self-sufficient as we are.

We parked and walked down the road a bit; Robbin picked tiny, sweet strawberries from tiny, weed-like plants along the road. At the end of the road was a fence, and ten black-and-white cows. So we decided to stay—drove off the road down into one of the "campsites." It's cool and woodsy and the creek is running noisily.

And I think it's free. We sure haven't paid any money yet. We got here twenty minutes ago, and supper is well under way. Refrigerator running on gas mode.

Tomorrow I want to ride the slide down Mt. Hood. Maybe that's the only thing we'll spend money on tomorrow.

Rice a Roni for supper. Plus I walked Candy on a leash for the first time.

Till later...

July 21, 1993

In a campground off Interstate 84 30 miles or so east of Portland.

We had a spot of trouble pulling out of the campsite this morning. I didn't sleep that well, had dreams of Borland people, Lars, and George Work at some party—visions of bikers pulling up alongside the RV and hassling us kept me awake a little. Robbin was up at 5:40 AM; I followed soon after, because she had messed my covers, and I had to pee also. We almost didn't get out, because of the steep driveway. But we turned around in tight quarters and found a shallow way up that didn't drag the back of this huge vehicle.

Then we went looking for Government Camp. Plenty of signs, but no town. Even went back and couldn't find it. So we bought gas, two coffees, and a blueberry muffin at a combination Chevron/General store. And since gas was so high, we only bought a little. Then we hit scenic loop 35, a drive east of Mt. Hood up to the Columbia—we were sort of looking for the big slide down the mountain the people on our whitewater rafting trip had told us about, but couldn't find it—didn't really look that hard. What we did find, after asking, was a nice 5-6 mile hike to a waterfall just off hwy 35; when we got there, we drank our water and ate our fruit watched by an audience of golden mantled ground squirrels. They were running around in the rocks like crazy.

After lunch, we drove north to the Columbia river—we looked at a view spot called Panorama Point, then went to a Safeway. Had a little spat when I lost my cool (just a little) over mailing arrangements. Then I couldn't hold of Paul, and that freaked me out. But what else is new—you can *never* get hold of Paul. We bought a lot of groceries—$60 worth—so we're not having another no money day today, that's for sure. In fact, we bought $46 worth of gas, $60 groceries, and are about to pay $11 camping fees (or is it $14?)...

I got pooped all of a sudden driving out of the Safeway, and we stopped early—we were in a very unlevel space at 4:00 and I was taking a nap. Right now it's incredibly humid, maybe even raining a little. Robbin hooked us up, all three (electric, water, and sewer). The "Check" light on the refrigerator is coming on. Some kind of problem with the LP gas operation.

Robbin is writing postcards.

Candy is looking out the window at a pop-up camper with kids and a dog.

A Land Yacht just lighted on a spot just right of ours, put out its hydraulic levelers... so cool! Robbin thinks I want a bigger RV. I really don't for now. I just want her....

And a new used car to tow behind us so we can tour areas better.

Thursday, July 22 Jantzen Beach RV Park Portland, Oregon 7:00 PM

I'm watching a syndicated Roseanne on Channel 12. Star Trek just ended. And no, we're not back in SC—we're at a very city-like RV park on the northern outskirts of Portland, Oregon.

They were pumping redwood chips into the flower beds with a giant truck/compressor rig, and making a whole lot of noise, when we first pulled up around 4:00. Robbin and I each took a short nap—surprisingly, I got up first and walked to the huge, sadly empty mall across the street to look for a used pick-up truck. Not to look there, but to let my fingers do the walking while I look through ads in the daily Oregonian. As it turned out, there aren't as many king cab, 4 cylinder, 5 speed, Toyota pickups WITH AIR CONDITIONING as I had hoped. Didn't find anything that exactly filled the bill. But I can get it anytime; no pressure to get one today.

It rained all last night—gentle rain, although it sure sounds loud from inside. Today it's rained on and off all day. We saw a couple of waterfalls coming in—and drove straight into downtown for a little sightseeing. Took a nice walking tour of downtown, thanks to a map from the tourist center, which we just happened to park right behind. Got started on the Buying the Second Car problem—took out $5,000 on my Fidelity Visa.

It was incredibly easy—I just walked into the first bank I came to, and ten minutes later walked out with a wad of bills in my wallet—it was too thick to fold, really. Would have happened even quicker, but they had to scramble to find $5,000 worth of $100 bills. All the tellers were women and they were very friendly, in retrospect. But my heart belongs to the Robbin-Meister. Saw some cool mall-shops, re-energized old parts of town, a funky little china town, and a cool-looking square by the Nordstrom's downtown. Robbin bought something at Nordstrom's Rack—a Nordstrom's outlet store. They have a little music program in a square in the center of town on Tuesdays and Thursdays; today it was Middle Eastern Rock (I'm not making this up). That's exactly how it sounded, too, and we left a few bars into the first number.

Boy, when you get up early like we've been doing it seems like noon happens late in the day. I wasted a major appetite/restaurant opportunity—could've eaten most anywhere in downtown Portland, but settled for a funky deli and a very average (that's being kind) Chicken Parmigana going under a fancy description.

Then we walked back to the RV (taking two spaces)...it had gotten a lot more crowded in that lot. I went off to the OMSI museum (Oregon Museum of Science and Industry), Robbin stayed put. It was about a mile walk there, but what a mile—over a big draw bridge on the Wilamette river. OMSI is a cross between the Chicago Museum of Science and Industry and the Exploratorium. I was hoping for more Chicago like, but it was still cool. The problem with these hands-on museums is that most exhibits are hogged with kids turning every wheel as fast as they can, or maniacally pushing buttons to see lights flash—kids that couldn't care less what is being demonstrated. People bring kids to these museums and they don't know or care what's going on—they just go crazy. Which isn't bad in itself—but it does make it hard to absorb what the exhibits are about. It's also a battle to keep the exhibits working against the daily onslaught of "field trip crazy" ten year olds. I put together a bucky ball from
white hexagons and black pentagons—just like a soccer ball.

I realized I still know a lot about electronics—even analog electronics...I could bias a transistor (NPN 222) and make a little amplifier (even though people use op amps for that nowadays). And I was hot in digital at one time too. All that is just going to waste right now. I remember when I first started programming I thought of it as "Circuit design without the soldering, wire stripping, and close work."

I ended up leaving Robbin for about two hours—she was reading an Agatha Christie novel with Candy rolled up asleep on her lap. Weird to come back to your house in a parking lot in downtown Portland. We wound our way through some heavy city traffic, sloshing dishes left and right, and I tried to use a Toyota dealership as an information source on towing pickups—and while I did get some good information (you *can* tow a five-speed Toyota pickup), I pad the price of dealing with a car salesman. He kept wanting to get me to settle on one of his new or used pick ups right then and there so we could have something to talk about when we got back to the office. Their stuff was a little too late model (i.e., expensive) for me.

Portland isn't near as busy or big downtown as I thought it would be. More like Corpus Christi-sized. Not near as many people walking around as I thought there would be.

Today's been cheap. $2 to park. $11 for lunch. $9 at the museum. $18 to stay at this lovely RV park. $6 for cookies, a double "latte"—a coffee with heavy milk. And $1 for a pack of cheap push button ball point pens at the Everything's $1 store. They didn't even have any change in the registers at the Everything's $1. With no tax in Oregon, they just count the items, and that's what you owe them.

I called Paul this morning—he's supposed to be Fed-Exing two week's worth of mail to us here at the lovely Jantzen Beach RV park. Jantzen Beach, it develops, isn't really in Portland proper but on an island in the Columbia River halfway between Oregon and Washington. And only half a mile from each.

Where to tomorrow? Unless we find a great buy on a pick-up, we're getting our mail and getting out of here. Probably drive down the river to Astoria, Oregon, and heading up the coast from there. It's a weekend, so we probably need to get someplace early to make sure we get a spot.

Hope Paul gets our mail done.

Friday, July 23, 1993

We got our mail; Federal Express and Paul came through and our mail was ready as we drove out at 10:00.

It felt great to get the mail—not that many personal letters, but just to hook up with some magazines and Fidelity and various companies I do business with was nice. Mom sent me pictures or her and Lynn at the Star Trek convention they went to on her birthday. Lynn said it was the best birthday of her life. I'm glad I started keeping in closer touch with her. She is my sister Lynn, after all. She'll always be my sister Lynn.

We've been out for two weeks now; still going strong, I would have to say.

Today we cruised back down through downtown Portland, caught US 26 to the northwest and went 75 miles (mostly through light rain) to Portland's Santa Cruz, a little place called Seaside. It has Boardwalk-style attractions and junk food; I never did see the beach, but I suppose it's there. We parked and ate in front of someone's house on a residential street (that made me uncomfortable), then walked around town a bit. Did some very minimal wine tasting with a garrulous fellow behind the bar. Didn't buy anything, of course. Drank some Espresso/Gourmet Coffee and then split.

From Seaside to Astoria, the town at the extreme NW corner of Oregon is only about 15 miles, and before I knew it we had paid the toll and were climbing up a big high metal bridge to the Washington side of the Columbia River. The Columbia is probably two/three miles wide at that point, although only half a mile of the bridge is high; the rest is a causeway, Port Lavaca-style.

Washington seems poorer and less together than Oregon so far. You see the sometimes ugly effects of timbering right from the highway, although the industry does their PR thing; signs in front of good-looking woods state that such and such was clear cut in 1962 and replanted in 1964, etc.; it does seem that the woods can recreate themselves in short order.

We bought gas at a convenience store in X (even *Robbin* can't remember the name, oops, she just came up with it, Aberdeen), Washington. It was a sad, past-its-prime town of 5-10 thousand; I couldn't tell. No cutesy downtown with expensive galleries here, no sir. Aberdeen seemed poor and forlorn—the little houses needed paint, and sat right down at ground level. Don't they use foundations in Washington?

Our plan was to find an inexpensive campground at Olympia National Park; we didn't make it all the way to the park, only to Wallabye campground in the Olympia National Forest—but we found a nice space for $12 right by a lake; it was threatening rain, but didn't (unlike the last two days). We had dinner, and I spent a very efficient hour with my Compaq running on the inverter, balancing checkbooks and writing bills like mad. Everything seemed to balance, despite the wine I drank (our Glen Ellen 1.5 liter Red Table House Wine).

After a chicken dinner, we went for a walk; I thought we'd just circle the campground. But we found the best trail through the most incredible woods I have ever been in. And I have been in a lot of woods over the last forty years. You can't tell when you're just driving in, but this campground is in a temperate rain forest-a spectacular, verdant, lush, garden. It gets 130 inches of rain a year; it's warmer than other spots on the coast because of a warm current in the Pacific. This forest—which had beautiful, custom-painted trail markers, wound its way through a *lush* forest of thick, tall 225 foot trees, with ferns and moss thick at the base—and around a running creek with rapids. What a beautiful place—I can never remember, even in Hawaii even in California, seeing woods this dramatic. Hawaii doesn't have trees this size, and the redwood forest doesn't have the wet, pregnant-with-life quality that this forest does.

And it's not crowded at all—campsites will go begging tonight, even though it's Friday. I figured that outdoorsy Seattle-ites would be all over this place on weekends. But not so. Tomorrow we'll walk some more. I expect the only downside of this park is the rain. It hasn't rained yet, but at 130 inches a year, that can't last. And it was cloudy earlier.

Unless we end up hiking all day (and that could happen; this place is *that* spectacular, we'll probably shoot tomorrow for Port Angeles, a jumping off point for the ferry to Vancouver Island and the city of Victoria. We don't know yet if we'll ride or walk.

This computer is about to complain about its battery; so I'm signing off before it gets that pleasure...

Robbin drove a bit today.

July 25, 1993

10:00 PM

I hear the Port Angeles/Victoria ferry booming its horn in the distance as I write this...we just got off it ourselves not twenty minutes ago. But I'll get to that after touching on yesterday:

We got up fully intending to walk some trails in southern Olympic National Park—but I started having problems with my left contact lens (the extended wear eye). So we pulled in at a wonderful, 1920-s style lodge, Teddy Roosevelt-style lodge about three miles out.

We stole free coffee they had put out for their guests. I got them to give me a seventy-five cent newspaper for a quarter.

Then we sat down at one of their chairs, looking over their fabulous lawn and the Lake Quinalult (I think) watching people canoe and reading the Seattle paper.

Then we had a nice brain-picking session with a lady forest ranger at the office next door. She turned us on to a place called the Hoh Rain Forest, up inside the park a bit.

Then we walked back to the RV, about a mile away using a trail right next to the water (While I'm at it, a definition: National Forest: A piece of real estate as nice as a national parks, but where private property owners got their first somehow, and they're still there.)

I took out the lens: diagnosis: mild cornea infection, and put on my glasses. I could see okay, but knew that bright light, or driving at night would be a problem.

So we took off for what I thought would be a short drive (15 miles to the Hoh River trails—another 15 to Port Angeles. Robbin said it was more like a hundred and twenty miles to Port Angeles and sixty to the Hoh River. I'm not usually that far off, but in this case, I was—turns out Olympic National Park is BIG—it takes up virtually the whole Olympic Peninsula, which is the whole northwestern part of the large state of Washington.

We ate on the way to the Hoh River at some campgrounds on the beach that were very crowded and unappealing; nuff said about that.

The Hoh River hiking area is, like Lake Quinault, all about the rain forest angle. It rains a lot, I mean, a tremendous amount there—like 140 inches a year. We did two short trails there, the first, the "Hall of Mosses" (I shit you not). Lots of moss here. Moss covered everything, like the whole bottom thirty feet had been dipped in liquid moss and removed.

Anyway, like the Lake Quinault area better, and around 5:00 we headed out figuring on finding a campground maybe halfway between where we were at Hoh River and Port Angeles—so that we could make a good ferry connection the next day at 8:20 (more info from the lady ranger at Lake Quinault).

But A., it's farther than we thought from the Hoh River to PA, and B., the camping spaces we do come to are full. Finally, we decide to go for broke all the way to Port Angeles—drove alongside a beautiful lake for a long time on the way. Port Angeles had a funky RV park just outside of town, but it seemed like a hassle, so I took a chance on looking for one downtown—and in one of the good breaks we've had on this trip, found a park literally four blocks from the ferry dock. Nothing fancy, but serviceable. Robbin doesn't like the looks of our neighbors—they're in a school bus, and it cost $16—which is a little more than we like to spend—and each space is as wide as an RV plus about two feet on each side. But it's plenty good.

So we got up early this morning and walked down to the ferry. Robbin called her mom on the way. All seems to be well there. Cars were already lined up—we bought tickets (cost us $12.50 each for round trip—taking the RV it would have been around $45). We stood in the cold for a while—and then boarded...

Big ship. Not an ocean liner, but bigger than the Port Boliver ferry in Galveston. And a good-sized trip, too. Took about 90 minutes to start turning into the Victoria Harbor.

Victoria is absolutely, positively, a fairy tale city. It is beautiful, enchanting. I was in one of my pissy moods—but what a city. European, as I imaging European cities to be, having never seen one. The Parliament Building and the Empress Hotel, two impressive, ivy/dome covered buildings with green, manicured lawns come to mind immediately.

We had to go through a quick customs check:

Customs Agent: Do you plan to commit murder and/or mayhem while here in Canada?

Charlie and Robbin: No.

Customs Agent: Are you carrying an nectarines, peaches, apples or bananas?

Charlie and Robbin: No.

Customs Agent: You can pass.

Quick synopsis, I'll fill in details later: —skip chance to see Butchart Gardens via Gray Line Tour. Robbin thought we could do it cheaper some other way, which turned out to be true. ($26 vs. $15, although it did entail some hassle (but isn't that expected when you save some money?))

Eye bugging me. Better shut down for the evening. Thinking about heading to an eye clinic this morning to get something for it.

Monday July 26, 1993 7:00 PM

I'm writing this at our campsite's picnic table. We're at the very first campsite, in the very first campground you come to, in Mt. Ranier National Park. I got pooped from driving today—it was a longer drive than normal.

Wrote a bunch of postcards; that's kind of fun.

Candy is on her leash; it barely reaches to this table, where she can torment me.

An hour ago an ordinary Dodge van pulled up and no fewer than 13 kids (10-13 range) and three counselors got out. Best guess is, it was some kind of inner city group. They were just here for a pit stop, thank goodness, because they were really raising hell, rattling the porta potties and making a lot of racket close to the campsite. It can't be legal to put that many kids in one van. Kind of reminds me of Houston and taking black kids around in various vehicles, packed tight. We probably had 15 smaller kids in a VW bus at one time or another.

Still not wearing my contacts. The infection is better today, and I bought some sunglasses; they help. It's only at night when I do *really* bad in glasses. Then I shouldn't drive, period.

Today's activities:

Broke camp at around 10, with full fresh water and empty bad water tanks. And a full tank of gas.

Shopped a bit for a pick-up at the Port Angeles Toyota Dealer. Couldn't find what I'm looking for: A used, 2 wheel drive, Toyota Extra Cab pickup with 5 speed, AC, and camper shell. Will keep looking.

Bought another magic burner lighter tool at a little hardware store (had to look one other place).

Lots of highway construction going on today. Robbin pointed out that the probably like to do it in the summer.

My thoughts drifted to some kinky places today while driving. [snip]

Got to Tacoma around 2:30. Sure didn't look like what I remembered from the time Jimmy Zawadski and I hitchhiked out here in 1972 to visit Jack Bitterly. Just another Safeway/Pay Less Drug Store. We stocked up on provisions, including our typical big bottle of wine and 12 pack of beer. We'll go through that in three days. Are we alkies? Marginal ones, I suppose...

It's two hours from Tacoma to the extreme, southeastern edge of Mt. Ranier National Park; we ducked into the first campsite; it's a bargain tonight—$2.50 if they believe Robbin's story about our Senior Golden Card Number; $5 is the regular price.

We probably wouldn't have come here at all if Robbin's girlfriend were in town; her Seattle friend is out on vacation until Wednesday or Thursday. So we'll take the chance to see the mountain (talk about sticking straight out of the ground: Ranier is 14,400 feet high, and the plain around it is maybe 2000 feet. That's substantially taller than Haleakala. Looks it, too. We're talking a major peak. Volcanic, wouldn't you know.

Made love after setting up camp. Was quick but nice. Doing it brings us closer together; not doing it pushes us apart. I've been a bit touchy and critical of her today. What would my "mythical best friend" do in this situation?

He'd say,

"This trip is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see the country. To not work for a year. To try something different. Don't let your perfectionist impulses spoil that trip. How happy would you be had you never met Robbin and were back at Borland looking at Joe A. every day? Now, what I would do is just tune her out once in a while; make sure you have your own space, and that you're doing what you want to do. There are plenty of things to keep you occupied at happy out here. When I get my tow-car, I'll want to be playing some golf, every other day or so."

Or something like that.

Candy is all wound up on a rock...

July 27, 1993 9:30 AM

We're up, fed, and watered, and at least Robbin is clean. I had another bad fire-making experience this morning. Got to take it seriously, I suppose, or get out of the business. I don't know if it's wet wood, or technique, or what, but we've had some mediocre wood fires so far on this trip.

Candy is becoming a better camper. I just took her on a walk around this particular campground, maybe 1/8 mile—and she walked (trotted) along behind me the whole way. She would stop and stare at fellow campers. She likes to go outside—she eagerly hops up on the table when you put her harness out, because she knows that's step one of going outside. She doesn't always do well attached to the leash—she gets all tangled up, and/or gets afraid. Then it's kind of sad.

She's put on weight; you can tell by lifting her, and her face looks fuller. People back at Crater Lake told me she looks like a mountain lion; I don't know about that—but she does seem to have a different look that attracts people.

Today—we're going to do a five mile hike, and beyond that, I don't know. I'd like to spend some time alone, quietly.

(Later, 5:48 PM)

I'm feeling very precise at the moment. And why not?

I just entered a week's worth of transactions into the various databases I maintain in CHECKS.WB1 on the Compaq. Running off battery power, using the 400 watt inverter I ingeniously installed, almost like a factory-installed option. And everything balanced, and the program didn't crash, despite me sorting each database (most of the time I don't bother to enter things in date order). At the end of the month, I need to crank out some statistics—that show:

This will require spending some time with the @dsum function, I think. Which I don't know shit about.

We spent the day, as planned, hiking up in the Paradise area of Mt. Ranier. We got what looked, visually, to be close to the summit—it's just a big, white hump *right there* in front of you from where we climbed to. We passed a couple of groups of hiker/climbers who appeared to be going all the way to the top. That would be a rush—maybe if we get in good enough shape someday we can try that.

I've been in a sour mood now for a couple of days. Maybe I have a flu coming on. I've had just the edges of a sore throat working now for what seems like ever since we left SC—and today it feels worse. I'm taking vitamin C—don't know what else I can do for it. I know that this trip and Robbin are good for me—but I've been grouchy. But she's not complaining.

Today's Hike

From the lodge at Paradise Meadow, just south of Mt. Ranier itself. The lodge is at 5000 feet, and we took a trail that took us to Panorama Point at 6800 feet in about 2.5 miles. We didn't bargain for snow—but we got some—at four or five points on the trail you have to hoof it across slushy snow—the longest passage is about 400 yards. My HiTec hiking boots held up well—my feet didn't get at all wet.

We actually went a little higher than 6800 feet, because to make a loop hike out of it you have to go *above* Panorama Point—thanks to the snow. I would guess we went another 200 or so feet up—call it 7000 feet total. The first part of the trail—the one that everyone encounters even if they think they're just going for an easy thirty minute walk—is *straight fucking up*. It's an asphalt trail that just cranks straight up the hill, like the guy who put it in never heard of switchbacks. We were sucking wind after ten minutes of climbing, right out of the parking lot. But after that, it got easier.

At Panorama Point, with Mt. Ranier looking over your shoulder, you can see:

Mount Adams, a symmetrical peak to the Southeast Mount Hood, far away, but sharp and beautiful, due south Mount St. Helens—couldn't see the top for clouds.

Plus nameless mountains and ridges all the way around.

After the hike (we were on the trail for 3.5 hours), my feet felt a little better than usual—I was able to make it around the lodge for a sightseeing thing without the normal hobbling. The lodge is another one right out of The Overlook mold—big, lots of wood, huge furniture, furniture for giants, basically, and lots of them. There were more people about than I thought there'd be. This is one lodge that seems to be doing some business. The trailhead/lodge parking lot had maybe 30 cars in it when we arrived at 10—and 300 when we left at 2:30. Made me feel guilty about taking 4 spaces, RV-style—but it seemed like the spaces wouldn't be used. Probably pissed some people off.

I washed my face in the bathroom at the Lodge. Talk about cold water! This was cold water! I couldn't feel my hands after the first fifteen seconds. Then I stagger to the paper towel dispenser—and no paper towels. I hate when that happens. So I grabbed <n> sanitary toilet seat covers. They're crumbly, but they do the job.

We're camping tonight in Cougar Rock campground—a bit more expensive at $6 per night. No water, no hookups, but hey, who needs 'em? We're SELF-CONTAINED! At least for a couple of days at a time. Today's campsite is redwoody-shady, cool, dark—which is to say, like being in a cave. We pulled in at 3:00—I've been the classic RV camper so far. Haven't even left the RV yet. Took an hour nap. Balanced the books for an hour. Did this for an hour. I should at least go out and kick the giant felled snag that lines our campsite (which I think is known as 'Tick' in the colorful way that campgrounds create pet names for their various sites—like, "Cool Rest" or "Deer Glade." (This *could* be funnier.)

It might be fun to watch a little TV tonight. Wonder what we could pull in?

(Here's Robbin coming back from another hike of her own...)

Thursday, July 29 6:15 AM

18 hours in RV-trip hell. Seattle, through no fault of its own, has been a bummer. I'm trying to buy a car, and Robbin is trying to see her friend, but all we seemed to accomplish yesterday on either is to make a couple of phone calls and start drinking by 2:00. Somehow we ended up in a bizarre RV park. "Aqua Barn" RV park is a combination riding stables/indoor pool/day care center/RV park. (I'm not making this up.) The main complex of buildings appears to have been "designed" by Mrs. Winchester's architect. In the hodge-podge is the pool (someplace—it's an indoor pool), the check-in area, a very funky restaurant, a laundry room, a "movie theatre" (a giant screen TV running videos back-to-back—Batman when we got here, Mutant Ninja Turtles next), an arcade center. All sloppy and random-looking.

Outside, even weirder (like I said, it's called the Aqua Barn—how would you expect something called "The Aqua Barn" to look?). There are rabbits running loose. What appear to be inner city teenagers playing football on the lawn. Stables. A store selling second-hand merchandise. And all around, in various lots, in various levels of permanency, are RVs. We're in a narrow stretch reserved for short-timers. Ironically, we're almost at the center of the madness—people walk buy all the time.

Let's talk about something happier. Ken Griffey, Jr., the star of the Seattle Mariners, has a fabulous streak going. He's hit home runs in eight consecutive games. We've been around for the last couple—night before last, it was a grand slam—a big poke deep to center field. Last night, to tie the record, with 30,000 people in the stands, he hits a big shot down the line in his third at-bat. It would have been exciting to be there. Maybe tonight?

Anyway...

Later that Same Day (8:50 PM)

Gosh, the day turned around for me. What was bad became good. I had a moment of insight around 6:30. I decided that we should just leave Seattle—without staying more at Aqua Barn, without seeing Robbin's friend, without finding a car to buy, without researching towing, just to leave that place where I wasn't happy. *Now.*

So we did. Robbin didn't mind. So we threw things together, dumped the tanks (I dumped some gray water on the Aqua Barn just to be nasty). Their hookups were the worst I've seen: dirty, leaky, broken faucet handles—they were probably kicked out of Good Sam, not vice-versa.

Despite my earlier paranoia, the traffic getting to 405 and then north on 405 was miraculously light. We skirted the west of the city. I found myself trying to locate Microsoft in Bellevue/Redmond—and almost drove straight there. Did find the two different hotels I stayed at for my two visits. Did find the campus after asking for help at a gas station.

The Microsoft Campus is still underwhelming—the buildings they were putting up with the building cranes are very low-key. Lots of real estate—but no flashy buildings. Speaking of flashy buildings—Borland database people should be moving into the new Scotts Valley campus in another week or two. And I don't really give a shit.

Robbin and I actually had fun cruising aimlessly in Redmond. On the spur of the moment (the key to fun, I think), we pulled into an IHOP and had breakfast. Only $12 bought two coffees, Robbin's potato pancakes and apple sauce (I never know *what* that woman is going to order for breakfast), two sausage links, two bacon strips, two eggs over medium, and two very delicious Swedish pancakes—very much like the ones my Grandma used to make. Eating that food and drinking the coffee and looking over a copy of USA today and being out of the Aqua Barn was *great*.

Soon we were headed north on I5 again. At Everett, a few miles north of the city, I pulled into a gas station, completely on impulse, and asked where the Boeing factory was—I had heard that Everett is where they build the 747. Ten minutes later we were driving by the huge hangers—a lot like the large hangers at airports—where Boeing builds those huge planes. And I was there in person. They have a tourist center, for tourists to get tours, and while fairly well organized, it was mobbed. It would be a 1 1/2 hour wait—and maybe longer—to do the 90 minute tour. I was so high on coffee, that the wait was too long—unacceptable. So I came back to the van, cranky, and we drove away. We stopped on the way back to make a couple of phone calls at a Denny's (hot tip: Denny's have phones, and most of them are inside). By the time the phone calls were over, I had cooled down enough to realize that even if I had to wait, I wanted to take that tour. And Robbin said it was okay by her.

So we drove the ten minutes *back* to Boeing. This time it's even more crowded. I get into line at 11:20—they let people in 90 person chunks at 50 minutes after the hour. Didn't make the first one, of course. Seemed about 70 people back from the start of the line, though—probably in good shape for the 1:00 tour. But no—a few people were saving spaces for wives/kids/husbands, and before I know it, right in front of me a guy with a clicker is counting 1-2-3-4, and I'm am the first guy in line who doesn't get in! Ouch! But by this time, I had achieved a Zen-like calm. The first few people waiting have a bench to sit on, and I got a newspaper to read. If it hadn't gotten cold and rainy, it would've passed even more quickly. Anyway, ultimately, I got in.

The first 1/2 hour of the tour is movies in a (90 seat) theatre. Cool stuff, the history of Boeing—they started with a seaplane in 1918 or so, built the B-17s and B-29s in world war II, then the B-52 Stratofortress, then the 707—the first modern jetliner. Jets today don't look all that much different from the Boeing 707.

But the real tour was just starting. They piled 45 (exactly!) of us onto a bus (that held exactly 45 people) and took us to a small door in front of the massive assembly building. We walked down about 20 stairs (it was raining and cold)—that led to a long tunnel, with fluorescent lighting and big pipes right and left and overhead. Halfway down was an elevator, big enough for all 46 (including our tour guide) of us. When the elevator opened, we were *there*. On an observation deck looking out over a huge space (90+ acres, 100 feet tall) where several 747s in various stages of construction were scattered about. Six were mostly assembled; four were in the first two stages.

They buy a lot of the pieces—that surprised me. A lot more than just the motors ($6 million apiece/$165 million for the whole pane, including motors). They buy a key fuselage chunk from Northrop in LA. They buy the tail assembly, at least the main two pieces from a company in Texas. Boeing Wichita builds the nose cone modules and ships them in; wings come from another Seattle-area plant.

Anyway, they assemble the pieces in the big room, and then build the plane in 5 steps of 8 working days each:

So on the floor at any given time, are ten 747s, in two work groups. One plane comes off each line every four working days: they make 5 or so a month. The ones we saw being worked on were #1002, #1000, #998, #996, and #994.

Not much work is evident while you're standing there for twenty minutes—the guide said this was typical. Most of the work is subtle.

Then it was back down the elevator and tunnel to the bus, for a drive to the painting hanger—a tiny building in comparison, but large enough for a 747 to pull in. They had about 8 planes "on the line" ready to be delivered, already painted in the customer's colors. The wildest plane was an ANA (All-Nippon Airways)—a 580 seat commuter (not long distance) version of the 747. They had held a contest for art for the plane, and a 12 year old girl's scheme of a giant blue whale won—it was a fun, childlike, 130,000 pound airplane sitting on the runway there. All the while, various planes and helicopters are taking off and landing on the private airstrip there—a United 747 with their new look. The Whale 747 had evidently flown for the first time that very morning. What a sight that must have been!

Supposedly, Japan Air Lines has bought the most 747s—and United is Boeing's best overall customer.

With the long wait, we didn't leave their parking lot until 3:30. Robbin spent an hour or so making Lasagna—try doing that in a car next time you're in a parking lot all day.

Making this quick now:

I'm not going to drink any booze for seven days. Today is the first. Aqua Barn was my bottom. Too much beer and wine, too early in the day...

July 30, 1993

Low on propane, coach power, and fresh water. We'll have to do something about the former and the latter.

Well, I got through last night without a drink. Wasn't that hard—I was dog tired by 10:30, having gotten up at 5 at the Aqua Barn place yesterday. So I slept through the night. Today I have only a hint of the sore throat that's been going on and off.

Robbin tells me that this is Larabie State Park—right on the coast, overlooking some islands between us and the big Canadian island of Vancouver. We had to drive down a flaky little highway to get here—Robbin stayed back with the lasagna, cooking in the oven, the door to the over tied up with the same green nylon rope we use for Candy's leash.

The TV station we got Seinfeld on was Canadian, I believe. It was just like an American station except for a couple of commercials were talking about "BC Country" or some such. Close to the border, the segue between cultures (already pretty close) is subtle. I imagine that there are quite a few Canadian quarters in circulation in Bellingham, Washington, where we'll go today for one last ditch US effort at finding a pickup truck to tow.

Speaking of Canada (which has six letters, of which three are 'A'), I saw a news report that border crossing on I5 could sometimes take as much as 2 1/2 hours! Ouch! That'll keep down smuggling and illegal immigration.

A pickup truck should help me reduce the weight in the main coach and get better handling—to unload the axles, especially the front one.

We can move: Compaq 20 lbs. Weights 30 lbs. TV/VCR 20 lbs. Golf Clubs 20 lbs. Tent/Sl. Bags 10 lbs. Table Top 10 lbs. Books 50 lbs. Gas Grill 10 lbs. Leveling Boards 20 lbs. Winter Clothes 30 lbs.

Might be able to do as much as 300 lbs. I'm waiting for the water to heat up before I take a quick shower. One grim note: the shower water is Aqua Barn water, so, I may not come out alive.

Jumping around, again—did I mention here my theory that my itching is caused by the fabric on the rear "sofa"? I'm going to stay away from it for a couple of days and see if things get better. Course, there aren't that many alternatives... I can't exactly go sit in the dining room.

More factoids from the Boeing tour: Typical paint jobs weigh 800 lbs. Fancy ones weigh 2000 lbs. Some airlines leave the plane bare—just polished metal, and save the weight. Boeing makes helicopters; we saw a retractable landing gear single prop model and a huge, dual prop military job come in on the runway. You see a lot when you're waiting in line for 2 1/2 hours, which I did/was.

On the drive-through-the-flight-line phase of the tour, we passed a "small," tired-looking eight engine military jet—I knew it instantly as a B-52—the Stratofortress, key to our nuclear defense scheme for many years. They also bombed Vietnam with those planes. They are small and droopy-looking these days. Boeing had it around as storage before it goes into a museum.

There are about 15 cranes that maneuver on a system of east/west and north/south tracks that cover the ceiling. The cranes go anywhere in the mammoth building by riding and switching over these tracks.

The planes spend eight working days in each work station: But those are real working days—three shifts: I think 8000, 5000, and 1000 people on the various shifts.

They sure get a lot of visible work done on station 3. The plane goes from being just wings and 40 feet or so of fuselage, to something that looks like a 747: complete fuselage, horizontal and vertical stabilizers, cockpit area—and landing gear; they roll it station 4 on its own wheels. Moreover, most of the gross assembly happens in the first day, because the plane we saw at this point had only one day of work, and it looked pretty together.

The observation platform we watched from is about 50 feet off the floor of this building. Looking East you see the five "even numbered" stations, three of which contain full-sized 747s. Then there's some scaffolding and other stuff, and if you look closely, you can see the five "odd-numbered" stations, where there are five *more* 747s in construction. Beyond that, in the distance—yellow and white light bulbs are just twinkly pin-pricks—is another assembly area where they build 767s—a smaller wide body jet. And way beyond that, is a new assembly area, not quite set up yet—where they're going to build 777—a brand new plane that's supposed to fly for the first time in Spring '94.

The wings were engine-less in Station 3. Customers specify the type they want—You can get your Pratt and Whitney, or your GE, or your Rolls Royce. Maybe there are more. The wings have many control lines that pop out where the engines hang.... Each engine costs a cool six million bucks, which I think I already mentioned. Boeing has probably been tempted to get into the engine building business—they'd be a good customer—but I suppose they're doing the right thing, concentrating on the aircraft. You know, the engines aren't that big—what could be in them to make them worth six million bucks?

They definitely need a building to work in, because it rains a lot up there in Everett, WA. Today, there's a little blue here and there. Candy is going nuts—I'm going to take her outside for a bit.

Later in the day (8:30 PM)

Larrabee State Park was nice—a bit like the Trinidad, CA, area—coast and cliffs and trees. Wasn't raining, for a change, when we woke up this morning.

Fairly busy day:

Broke camp around 8:30, drove the flaky, under repair highway to Bellingham, WA. 10 minute drive and we were there. A cute town, much nicer than Port Washington, another Ferry-Claim-To-Fame town. The ferry from Bellingham goes to Alaska—that's said to be *the* way to get a car into Alaska. We followed an Alaskan Mazda MPV out of town.

I burned some time (that I had to burn) today looking for a tow vehicle. We didn't immediately find a car place in Bellingham, so we backtracked down I5 25 miles to an auto mall I had seen on the way up. Then I began a not-too-grueling, three salesman, five dealership car hunting saga. I'm back into pickups, and I looked at Fords, Nissans, Toyotas, and Mazdas. Liked my Ford salesman—but it was the Nissan guy who semi-convinced me to buy a new, stripped down truck—the used pickings are so slim.

Robbin sat patiently in the van for three hours while all this happened. The Toyota lady was an attractive Hungarian woman. The Nissan guy was Don. I would've bought the Nissan, but we couldn't find a place to make it tow-ready (to do the tow bar part). All the local "tow bar experts" were either unavailable (out fishing) or just couldn't get to it until Wednesday of next week. So finally, I just left—kind of a mean exit to a salesman, Don, who had been helpful. I told him I was going to lunch—which I did, eventually, in Chilliwack, BC, but that's getting ahead of myself a little.

Before leaving the auto mall town—whose name I never knew, we hit the cheap gas place—AM/PM Minimart/Chevron gas—a full ten cents cheaper than everyone else. The place was mobbed but we waited and gassed up. Also bought a 12-pack of cokes for $2.80. Can't say we didn't get a good deal at that place.

Then, back on I5, north to Bellingham. I5 angles NW to Vancouver, so we took a back road due north from Bellingham into Canada—and in about twenty minutes, were at a border crossing. The guy at the drive through asked us if we had any handguns, where we lived, where we were going, and how long we were going to stay. Then we had to park the truck, and answer the same questions inside to a friendly-looking official with a long, gray, pony tail. Then he gave us a sheet of paper that we took to a third person. She asked us, "Do you have any handguns?"

I took away from this that Canada doesn't like handguns.

All told it took five minutes, and then we were in Canada. First signs explained the differences between MPH and KPH. But, no radical differences. We stopped at a Safeway, and it was a Safeway. Plus McDonalds, etc., everywhere you look.

We got money, and ate our first Canadian meal in Chilliwack, Canada. Got $200 from a money machine, and ate at a Chinese/Canadian restaurant. Then ice-cream sandwiches, and we were out of there.

Places are far apart in Canada! From Chilliwack to Kamloops should've been only a couple of hours drive—but after two hours we were only as far as Merritt, Canada. The road was a nice, four lane freeway, The Trans Ca