“If it don’t rhyme with America, I don’t even Careica.”
'A Statement of Freedom' from Gus Johnson’s youtube channel found by Frederick; "Subscribe unless you hate freedom."
Greetings latte liberals!
I am writing to you from an RV park by a river about 90 minutes east of Ashland Oregon via Route 66. The river is beautiful and cold (we dipped in) even though behind us is the freeway- so we are sandwiched between two sounds of rushing- ness.
RV parks are not to be confused with trailer parks. Trailer parks are (and I speak from experience stumping for Obama in Nevada) permanent housing with a strong whiff of guns and leashed pit bulls. An RV park however is filled with retirees who seem to be fly fishing and reading books on butterflies. I was pleasantly surprised by the clientele.
We have been on this adventure about one day and I can say that I will probably not be buying one of these Mercedes Sprinters. I had visions of owning a car that would allow me to see the nooks and crannies of the country without having to go into a bathroom meant for truckers. Indeed these vans are cool…but it feels smaller than a boat. The shower is in the same tiny cubby as the head, and it’s just a little too close to my own bed. The bed is a dream though- king sized and made with our crispy Peninou ironed sheets.
The first night we were in Shasta which was so beautiful. We had a little hike up the actual volcano and then settled in to a camp site with a view of the mountain. Being a city girl, I fear no meth heads on the streets of San Francisco, but am highly suspicious (and frankly terrified) of any hippie campers. I kept calling them ‘grifters’ and told Frederick who slept in a tent next to our van to bring a knife. It was surreal….there were all these attractive young people who had just dropped out and were sleeping in tents around the land. Shasta of course with its crystals and astrologers, is a big draw. The campsite wasn’t crowded because it was so big, but there were a lot of happy greetings of fellow drop out/rainbow clad travelers. One guy had long, rich kid dreadlocks and was draped in a rainbow blanket with short rainbow socks. Rather stylish actually. When they saw us they all - to a one-shouted: “welcome to sand flats camp ground”….as if we were moving in. One guy had been there for 18 days due to some snafu with free lodging he was promised in Sedona, but told us he had had the best 18 days of his life here in this meadow at the foot of Mount Shasta. He wasn’t really up to speed on the whole fires ravaging the state thing. Hadn’t heard of it.
The trouble with camping is it is so much work….the dinner, the fire, the beds, the tent, the clean up…not a lot of time to relax. Also on our first night we had (unwisely) chosen a camp site at 7,000 feet elevation, so the sun went down and we literally froze all night. F was ok in his sleeping bag, but we had been too afraid of the heat to bring eiderdown, so there we were in short pajamas under a little blanket. It wasn’t until the morning that we realized there was a heater we could have used without the whole thing being turned on.
Rough night.
I am obsessed with something called “black water” on board. There is gray water - the water from the shower and the sink, and then there is black water…I won’t connect the dots for you. So here we are cranking Willie Nelson and Don McLean ( I am DJ and I am crushing it) cruising through lovely, long-suffering California, heading up to beautiful Oregon, and I am filled with love for the land and love for the goofballs that inhabit it. I actually think if we can sing American Pie really loudly together with the red staters, all will be healed, and I want to buy a Mercedes Sprinter!! Then it dawns on me that we are carrying around what is in essence an extra large toilet. I then spend the next few hours wondering if we are adventuresome kids with the wind in our hair, free men who can control their destinies, or are we simply middle aged people with a Mercedes toilet sloshing down route 66. The sound of all the undrunk wine bottles clinking doesn’t help the visual (we are drinking practically nothing but brought a ton). Clink clink slosh slosh are not exactly the sounds of Jack Kerouac.
To combat this, I fully embraced our plan for the second night- to sleep in an actual park with other large RVs where one can have a shower outside of one’s van, and best of all remove the dark water from the camper. Very refreshing. When we arrived, we had a lot of interest in the sprinter. People approached and oohed. said they wanted one, but gosh they were so expensive….we assured them we were renters.
Today we go to Crater Lake; we found lamb shanks frozen in the bottom of the cooler so we will be grilling lamb shanks I suppose. First night we had marinated chicken (ginger lime); second night marinated flank steak (teriyaki). Thomas says due to my skill at marinating while driving, I may just have real latent camping skills. More on that later…
Many photos to upload as soon as I can...but precious time and wifi. Must rush.
Now leaving Ochoco National Forest after a coffee in Prineville where love for Trump is on full display. Heading back towards my home state after place called Wagon Tire Oregon. Much to tell, but Ill get this up now.
