DAY 3
Our next stop will be an interim point on our way to Yosemite National Park. Leaving Bend we drove through the Central Oregon High Desert. This desert is considerably different from our Sonoran desert that we have in Arizona. None the less it is a beautiful desert. We were driving through magnificent stands of juniper, pine and birch. The birch leaves once again provided us with a grand assortment of fall colors. The pale light green of its leaves were in staunch contrast to the darker green of the juniper and pine. There were also the more mature leaves of orange and yellow which added variety to the colors.
Oregon roads are among the better quality of roads we have traveled. This particular road, Highway 97, had recently been resurfaced so we had a nice smooth quite ride for the next hour or so. We were taking Hwy 97 instead of I-5, first of all so we could stop in at Bend and visit with our friend June; and secondly to follow the less traveled road. The repetition of traveling on I-5 all the time becomes a little tedious, and after all, this is The Year of Change.
Before we knew it we were at the border crossing going into California. We pulled into the check station and rolled down the window. A round little Mexican guard approached the truck and asked us if we were carrying any fruits or nuts. I paused for a moment, glanced over at Sharon, smiled, and then answered “No”. He then said “Have a nice day” and motioned us through. As we drove away we both could detect the pungent smell of baked pizza; his cooking lunch I suppose.
We continued on down the road, but the odor of the fresh baked pizza still lingered in the air and in our memories. We hadn’t stopped for lunch yet, and after all, it was ….pizzaaa. Well, we were out in the middle of nowhere now, so our appetites would just have to wait. But it wasn’t long before Sharon said “I can still smell the aroma of that pizza”. To prevent her from drooling all over the dogs, I rolled down the window, just a bit.
Before long we came to a long hill. Laboring up the hill we started to overtake a large truck carrying some of California’s fresh farm produce to market. Glancing over at the truck it was…..”Oh no; it’s a garlic truck”. Our visions of fresh baked pizza were dashed underneath the heady smell of garlic! There must have been four tons of garlic on that truck and we couldn’t even snag one little clove. We hurried on by and just shook our heads and laughed at each other. Where else but in California?
It was about 3:00 PM now and right on queue, Ms. Garmin instructed us to take the next exit to our selected campground for the night. Taking the exit and turning right again as instructed, we preceded the “nine-tenths of a mile to destination point on left” as instructed. We followed the narrow two lane road for the requested nine-tenths of a mile, but when she said “Turn left to destination point”, there was nothing there. There is also a map displayed on the Garmin so I could see that there would be a loop coming up soon where we could turn the rig around; in the mean time the road was getting narrower and going down, down, into the canyon by a series of switchbacks. As the turnoff arrived she said “Turn left”. Nice try, but the turn-around road was at an acute angle and too sharp for us to negotiate the turn. Preceding on down the road “Recalculating” was the only consolation we heard from the machine. Down, down, down we went, into the very depths of hell, followed by 12,000 pounds of 5th wheel trailer. “Curse you Garmin girl”!
Then, as I was ready to sink into despair and abandon myself to destruction – not to an imaginary ruin, but to the very power of this cursed road, there appeared before me a fork in the road. Not a large fork, but one with just enough room where I could go forward on one, then back up into the other, and by going forward very carefully I was able to turn around and retrace our steps. “Recalculating. Precede four-tenths of a mile to dest…” Click! “Take that you viper” I cried as I turned off the infernal device.
Finally we had retraced our route to an RV resort which we had seen on the way in; Trails End. Now here was a real RV park, with an easy access road to it. Turning onto the road we proceeded to the office in the direction indicated by the sign. Before we could go another twenty feet we found that the entrance had been blocked off with yellow caution tape and orange detour cones. I pulled the rig to an immediate stop, at which time I noticed a man running towards us frantically waving his arms. It turned out that three days ago they had had nineteen inches of rain in less than one and lone-half days and their road and a portion of their park had been washed out. Not to worry, we could take a back road and before we knew it we were snuggly resting in our home on wheels.
Once we got set up I went over to the office to pay for the nights stay. As I stepped up onto the office porch a toothless man with tattoos from wrist to elbow looked up from a table, grinned, and said hello. Three others looked up, grunted, gave a nod with their heads, and then went back to playing cards; a scruffy Pit bull managed a low growl.
When I returned to the RV Sharon expressed her feelings towards the day by showing me this unique shaped rock she had found while taking a walk with the dogs.
Our next stop will be an interim point on our way to Yosemite National Park. Leaving Bend we drove through the Central Oregon High Desert. This desert is considerably different from our Sonoran desert that we have in Arizona. None the less it is a beautiful desert. We were driving through magnificent stands of juniper, pine and birch. The birch leaves once again provided us with a grand assortment of fall colors. The pale light green of its leaves were in staunch contrast to the darker green of the juniper and pine. There were also the more mature leaves of orange and yellow which added variety to the colors.
Oregon roads are among the better quality of roads we have traveled. This particular road, Highway 97, had recently been resurfaced so we had a nice smooth quite ride for the next hour or so. We were taking Hwy 97 instead of I-5, first of all so we could stop in at Bend and visit with our friend June; and secondly to follow the less traveled road. The repetition of traveling on I-5 all the time becomes a little tedious, and after all, this is The Year of Change.
Before we knew it we were at the border crossing going into California. We pulled into the check station and rolled down the window. A round little Mexican guard approached the truck and asked us if we were carrying any fruits or nuts. I paused for a moment, glanced over at Sharon, smiled, and then answered “No”. He then said “Have a nice day” and motioned us through. As we drove away we both could detect the pungent smell of baked pizza; his cooking lunch I suppose.
We continued on down the road, but the odor of the fresh baked pizza still lingered in the air and in our memories. We hadn’t stopped for lunch yet, and after all, it was ….pizzaaa. Well, we were out in the middle of nowhere now, so our appetites would just have to wait. But it wasn’t long before Sharon said “I can still smell the aroma of that pizza”. To prevent her from drooling all over the dogs, I rolled down the window, just a bit.
Before long we came to a long hill. Laboring up the hill we started to overtake a large truck carrying some of California’s fresh farm produce to market. Glancing over at the truck it was…..”Oh no; it’s a garlic truck”. Our visions of fresh baked pizza were dashed underneath the heady smell of garlic! There must have been four tons of garlic on that truck and we couldn’t even snag one little clove. We hurried on by and just shook our heads and laughed at each other. Where else but in California?
It was about 3:00 PM now and right on queue, Ms. Garmin instructed us to take the next exit to our selected campground for the night. Taking the exit and turning right again as instructed, we preceded the “nine-tenths of a mile to destination point on left” as instructed. We followed the narrow two lane road for the requested nine-tenths of a mile, but when she said “Turn left to destination point”, there was nothing there. There is also a map displayed on the Garmin so I could see that there would be a loop coming up soon where we could turn the rig around; in the mean time the road was getting narrower and going down, down, into the canyon by a series of switchbacks. As the turnoff arrived she said “Turn left”. Nice try, but the turn-around road was at an acute angle and too sharp for us to negotiate the turn. Preceding on down the road “Recalculating” was the only consolation we heard from the machine. Down, down, down we went, into the very depths of hell, followed by 12,000 pounds of 5th wheel trailer. “Curse you Garmin girl”!
Then, as I was ready to sink into despair and abandon myself to destruction – not to an imaginary ruin, but to the very power of this cursed road, there appeared before me a fork in the road. Not a large fork, but one with just enough room where I could go forward on one, then back up into the other, and by going forward very carefully I was able to turn around and retrace our steps. “Recalculating. Precede four-tenths of a mile to dest…” Click! “Take that you viper” I cried as I turned off the infernal device.
Finally we had retraced our route to an RV resort which we had seen on the way in; Trails End. Now here was a real RV park, with an easy access road to it. Turning onto the road we proceeded to the office in the direction indicated by the sign. Before we could go another twenty feet we found that the entrance had been blocked off with yellow caution tape and orange detour cones. I pulled the rig to an immediate stop, at which time I noticed a man running towards us frantically waving his arms. It turned out that three days ago they had had nineteen inches of rain in less than one and lone-half days and their road and a portion of their park had been washed out. Not to worry, we could take a back road and before we knew it we were snuggly resting in our home on wheels.
Once we got set up I went over to the office to pay for the nights stay. As I stepped up onto the office porch a toothless man with tattoos from wrist to elbow looked up from a table, grinned, and said hello. Three others looked up, grunted, gave a nod with their heads, and then went back to playing cards; a scruffy Pit bull managed a low growl.
When I returned to the RV Sharon expressed her feelings towards the day by showing me this unique shaped rock she had found while taking a walk with the dogs.
Ah yes, the trials of travel. After a wonderful day, we were finally ready to turn in for the night; at the Bates Motel of RV parks.
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