… time to post a web update and time to move on. Our wheels didn’t roll much in the last couple of months while we checked back in with old haunts, friends and family in Santa Cruz. The prime motivator to be here was, of course, Westi, Mike, and the grandbabies—still inside—that they are nurturing. The Universe must have agreed that we needed to be near them since a Camp Host position at Seacliff State Beach was offered almost immediately upon receipt of our application. It can take years to get in here so that is nothing short of miraculous, though indeed there was a catch. The Park Service was looking to add a second Host site. Without hook-ups. “Hmmm…”, we thought, “do we really want to that?” “Yes”, we decided, “We do. That’s why we spent the bucks for solar, no?”

It was great. Mostly. Piloting a new program made for some hiccups. Logistics weren’t really figured out so confusion reigned at first. Campers return to this beach year after year after year. Sometimes month after month. Day users (and their dogs) walked/ran/biked past us on the “Promenade Trail” day after day after day. We were different. We weren’t in the right spot. Sometimes we were in their favorite spot. The other hosts, veterans of 18 seasons here, weren’t thrilled about the change either. Warm and fuzzy they were not. On the other hand, the weather has been truly fine. We slept with the ramp door open to cool sea air and the sound of crashing waves almost every night. The sunsets were glorious. Sunrises too. Passerbys exclaimed over how cool our rig is all day long. Grayson had his own fan club. A walk on the beach was mere steps away. Dolphins, whales, seals, otters, pelicans, and a local Peregrine Falcon reminded us of the magic and mystery of the world. As did the 3 million year old fossils embedded in the cliff walls and beach rocks. And more people appreciated us than not. We put a lot of energy into our “job” and we made a difference to folks. I think we were born to be Campground Hosts.

Nicole arrived in California shortly after we did. Accommodations were in short supply so she spent most of her time with her good friend, Jodee, before heading home to Texas. As road trips go, the first leg of her trip was quick and uneventful. The return… not so much. We dub it the “roadtrip from hell”. A belt broke near the California/Arizona line, cracking her radiator in the bargain. Days and many dollars later, she was back on the road but New Mexico brought, not one, but two blow-outs in quick succession. Thankfully, she was not hurt and another day and some more dollars, she was driving again. The final straw was outside El Paso when she stopped at a rest area and, afterwards, her car wouldn’t start. The tow truck driver told her that the brand new radiator was low on coolant and her engine had “seized”. Nicole was near the end of her rope and we felt ultimately helpless. In desperation, I called my dad. “Is there ANY chance you know someone in the El Paso area?” Amazingly, going through his address book, within a short time he had located a woman who agreed to drive 50 miles out of her way to pick up Nicole and her little dog, Ranger, and get them to the bus station. By morning, he had done even better, having found a man who knew a mechanic. They towed Nicole’s car to the garage, diagnosed the problem as a faulty battery connection, and within hours, had Nicole back on the road, asking only $25 for their trouble. We are eternally grateful for the kindness of strangers who not only came to Nicole’s rescue, but who also renewed our faith in the essential goodness of humankind.

Coming back to Santa Cruz was interesting. In some ways it is still home. It felt wonderful to know where to get my hair cut, what aisle in the grocery store to find things in, which roads to take to avoid a traffic jam … the little things that you take for granted living someplace for a long time and which take a lot of effort travelling. It was good to come full circle and check in with the life that we left … great to see people … a bit humbling to see how well everyone has survived without us. Leaving our respective workplaces provided opportunities for others to step up and excel. And they have. And they are. Despite the grim economic realities that make us grateful that we made the choices that we did.

Of course the raison d’être for our extended stay are the grand-babies-to-be, and our wish to be of assistance during Westi’s pregnancy. In this we hope we achieved some measure of success, though not as much as we had hoped. Life has a way of filling in and we were constantly busy. Still, Steve cooked and took dogs to the park. I shopped and did laundry. Balancing being helpful with wanting to stay out of their way was tricky. It will be an ongoing challenge when we return though the balance point is a moving target as needs will evolve through delivery and life with newborns. Over five months pregnant with twins, Westi is still tiny and cute. Baby Grace and her brother (name tba) aren’t quite as cute yet but they are indeed tiny, weighing in at just over a pound as of the last week’s sonograms. We are hoping for February birthdays, preparing for January ones and praying they don’t come in December. As I write, the prospective parents are celebrating their last anniversary as just a twosome in Oregon. Tomorrow they’ll share Thanksgiving with our dear friends, Helen and Bob. I wonder where we’ll be?

For now, we’re in southern California, Texas-bound. Leaving the campground was miserable. The rains finally came and everything was covered in sand. We had to hitch and move our little cargo trailer. Then unhitch it to hitch up “Twyla”, our home on wheels, in order to put her in storage (yikes!) Then unhitch Twyla and re-hitch the little trailer. Soggy and chilled, we finally got on the road. Despite the rain, it felt good to be on the move again. As we prepare for bed, we are parked outside the Bakersfield Camping World. (Steve is outside acting as unofficial campground host even here!) It’s beyond cramped in the camper with 2 adults, three dogs and a cat but we’re safe and dry. Bellies are full, we have an internet connection and a DVD to watch. Life could be much worse.

We arrived at Ennis Riffle, which is a huge gravel bar next to the Rogue River late Friday afternoon. We’ve camped here before a few times, but never with this rig. To our surprise, there was no one else there. This is an undeveloped area that allows dispersed camping and is “operated” by Josephine County parks. In the past, there was a porta-potty and a trash can or two. We recall there being a campground host as well. Not this time. Since we had a pretty good idea of the conditions we’d be facing, as soon as we got down off the steep driveway onto some hard packed gravel, we got out to explore on foot, deciding where we might set up, so that we didn’t stray into deep, loose gravel or sand. A very lovely sandy beach with an unobstructed view of the river was right next to an almost level path that had obviously seen quite a bit of vehicle usage. Set up went without incident, and what had been planned as an overnight grew into two. For the first time in months, Laura took time to read for pleasure. We spent hours just sitting by (or in) the river. Low chairs, given to us by Brian and Liz while they were cleaning out their garage in Lyons, Colorado were just the perfect thing. No matter how hot the day was, you could control your comfort by moving a little more in or out of the water. No cell signal here, but the satellite dish served us well, providing access to the internet. Some of our best times have been in places just like this.

We considered staying longer, but staying longer here meant that we would have less time on the Klamath, another long-time favorite spot to be one with the water. After a fine Sunday brunch of bacon, eggs, English muffins and orange juice (if I’d thought to pick up champagne, it could have been mimosas…), we packed it up. Getting out didn’t turn out to be quite as easy as getting in. We had to climb up from our riverside site through some loose rock to get onto compacted rock, in order to turn around and get back to the road. Once again, the decision to have 4-wheel drive was validated. As soon as we returned to I-5, we noticed the air quality. Visibility was significantly reduced, especially noticeable as we drove through Grants Pass. It stayed that way the rest of the way through Southern Oregon and as we crossed into Northern California. Months of wildfires burning in numerous places are keeping a brown tint in the air.

Back in the late ‘80’s and early ‘90’s, Sarah Totten Campground outside of Hamburg, CA was the base camp for kayaking trips for novice boaters that we led down this section of river. Long after we stopped bringing others here, we continued to visit when we could. A combination of cooler night time temperatures, hot afternoons, 72 degree water, an area of swimmable river with “Jacuzzi rocks”, wildlife viewing, and very fond memories kept us coming back. Of all of the places that we’ve spent time, Sarah Totten had been the best place to disconnect from the stresses and worries of day-to-day life. No cell, no internet, no TV, no radio. Just the soothing background sound of water washing over a gravel bar, interrupted from time to time by logging trucks engaging their “jake brake” as they go by. Driving in along Highway 96, we noticed that the river seemed “bony” (meaning that the water appeared shallow and more rocks than normal were exposed) and there was visible algae growth that we had never seen before. Arriving at the campground, we found “our spot” taken by someone else. This was a place we expected to have to ourselves, pulling in Sunday afternoon past Labor Day. Not this time. In addition to the nice people in “our” site, there was also a class “A” motorhome in this loop of 11 sites. Not exactly crowded by California standards, but not the secluded getaway that we’d hoped for.

After getting settled, we put on our suits and headed down to pay homage to the river. Our swimming beach was gone. The area where Laura and Jennifer had done yoga at the river’s edge had been washed away, and now the shallow water was filled with excess plant growth and algae. We decided to take a detour back to the trailer before exploring further. We were joined instantly by the guy from the class “A”. He wanted to make sure that we were aware of the toxic blue-green algae bloom in the river. We hadn’t seen the sign posted on the campground bulletin board. Reading the official posting only added to our sense of loss. We felt as if a dear friend had died and knew that we wouldn’t be staying beyond the next morning. Being at the Klamath but unable to touch the water was too painful to endure. We crawled into the trailer, had a drink, and distracted ourselves with a movie we’d purchased earlier in the day. Broken-hearted, we bid Sarah Totten farewell.

We left the Klamath on Monday, with a scheduled service appointment less than 150 miles away in Redding on Wednesday. We stopped for fuel in Weed. We had been dreading California prices. Much to our surprise, diesel was $4.05! 14 cents a gallon cheaper than premium gasoline!

As we neared Lake Shasta, we began our search for a pleasant place to stay, convenient enough to Redding to make an early drop off at the service facility reasonable. We’d often noticed Castle Crags State Park as we drove through the area, with its dramatic spires towering above the highway. Let’s check it out. It might have been better for us to read the whiteboard at the entrance a little closer before driving through. They accept trailers up to 21 feet. Ours is 25 feet. Now we understand why they don’t accept anything longer. Life IS an adventure. We made through one loop of the campground without mishap… let’s just say that some of the corners were a bit snug for our size rig. Next, we got off to look at a campground featuring sites overlooking the lake. Never in all the years we’ve passed through have we seen such a bathtub ring. Entire arms of the lake were dry as a bone. We made our way all the way into Redding and located the dealer, stopping in to replace the drain line that disappeared somewhere along the highway. Asking for a recommendation for a place to park, we took their advice and ended up at Mountain Gate RV Park. Right next to the highway, they do a booming business. Not the usual place that we’d choose, but it served us well. It was great having full hookups (for the first time since leaving Rockport the first part of July), a swimming pool, and a fenced dog yard.

After the dealership replaced the dip tube in our fresh water tank (we hadn’t been able to access about the last 20 gallons, so we’d been hauling around a lot of weight for nothing), we made our way to the last stop before completing the first loop of our Journey: Brannon Island State Recreation Area. In addition to construction projects on highway 12, they had also installed pylons between the lanes, in order to reduce the number of head-on collisions. The result was feeling like we were riding on “Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride” at Disneyland, with a twisty, windy road, VERY narrow lanes with concrete barriers on the right and everybody trying to exceed the speed limit. We’d only stayed in the Delta during the spring and it had always been lush and green. This time it held little magic for us. It was as brown and dry as the rest of Northern California. We did have a “small world” experience while we were there… a man with three Mexican Hairless dogs that we had met at Tecopa Hot Springs on our way out of California was also camped there. Because they have no hair, and are used to living in the desert, he had them dressed in small children’s pajamas. He didn’t recognize us, but he, and his three dogs, are rather memorable. Pebbles, the 17-year-old, had been rescued from Mexico and given to him by Bonnie Raitt. Laura passed on a dog coat that we’d inherited from Nicole months earlier. The next day, one of the dogs looked very proud in that coat, which none of our dogs could, or would, wear.

Saturday morning came and it was time to move again. We had mixed feelings. What would we find back in Santa Cruz? What would it be like to stay in the same place for months, rather than days?