Getting up to Speed

Back to Airstreaming again. We left Loreto and flew to San Diego where we picked up our Airstream trailer and visited friends and family. We visited my mother in Arizona, showed Allie the Grand Canyon and Four Corners, and now we are set up in Durango, Colorado where we'll ride the train to Silverton and back just for fun before continuing on towards home.

Finally we are in temperatures below 100F. Our last stop was in Cameron, AZ near the Canyon where the wind blows like a furnace and we run the A/C runs continuously or risk roasting in our tin can. Once we passed through Cortez, Colorado and entered into the San Juan mountain range the world turned green again. Pines and ponderosa, creeks and rivers replaced the stony plains of Navajo country, beautiful in it's own way, but untouchable. The occasional monument of weathered stone was awe-inspiring looking like sculpture or an emergent ancient skyscraper. Traveling on Highway 160 we just skimmed the edge of the valley. I know we missed a lot by scooting past, but we were weary of our days of heat and driving. We did make an obligatory stop at the site of the Four Corners and took the obligatory photo on the cement slab marking the four states' touching border: Arizona, New Mexico, Utah, Colorado.

Of course, the Grand Canyon was incredulous if not predictable as Robert and I have seen it several times. We again, took photos at the exact spot behind the Tovar Hotel that we took on our honeymoon, and at later dates with our sons. But this time our souvenir purchase wasn't an Indian craft or tee-shirt, but a book titled, "Death in the Grand Canyon," a compilation of tales of stupidity really; as in people falling off ledges while showing off or taking photos. I read the best parts out loud from Cameron to Kayenta until I finally tired of the grim subject.

The past two weeks have been a blur of geography, climate, and activities. Many mornings I awoke in confusion as to where I was. Usually, the shock of re-entering American culture after many months in Mexico is something I get to ruminate over, but this rapid sprint leaves no time to process anything. I'm functioning from memory: Grocery carts, drive-throughs, stop-lights, mall traffic, American currency, GPS programming, wi-fi hotspots, Starbucks blends, paper or plastic?, I'm regaining my fluency. But like riding a bike, it all comes back to you.

Airstream Storytelling

It's our turn to be the interesting party guests. While everyone else our age has been busy at work this year, we've been on a leisurely land cruise through North America pulling that great mid-century icon of American adventure and wanderlust--an Airstream trailer. That's a story that piques everyone's interest. Quitting work before age 50 to travel America with a grade-school daughter: How do you do that? People hardly know where to begin with their questions. Generally, the questions fall into the categories of:

1. How can you afford to do this?
2. What's it like living/traveling in a trailer?
3. How do you school Allison?
4. What have you seen so far?
5. How long do you plan to do this?

They want to know everything: the how, why, and where. I realize in my answers that the whole adventure is not a complicated thing. Everyone seems to have a sense for what it means. Almost everyone has taken a road trip. Almost everyone has experienced the thrill of a summer excursion to a national park or beautiful place in the U.S. All we are doing is taking a full immersion into the experience. We are on an extended road trip, one that is awesome because we don't have a deadline. It's not us that is interesting--it is the adventure. We are just the characters in a story that any listener can easily replace with themselves. Seeing America by road is an easy dream to comprehend.

In a way our adventure is so American, so democratic, that I feel compelled to share, especially when the interest from others is so sincere. I believe a recounting of a safari in Kenya or rafting down the Amazon couldn't draw the sincere and absolute fascination people exhibit when listening to our kind of story. We are sharing something so uniquely American and so guaranteed to elicit nostalgia or childhood memories that we feel like preservers of an American cultural ritual. And that's just the road trip aspect. The other is the Airstream factor. I've never met a person yet who didn't think Airstreams are just super cool.

I've enjoyed a holiday season homecoming. We're home at the right time to gather with friends for dinners or parties. We had two social occasions in two nights. I spoke so much that l lost my voice. Apparently, I haven't used it that much on the road. Now I was suddenly called to report on a version of: "How I spent my summer vacation." Instead of being the kid who had to go to summer school I'm the kid who got to see Mt. Rushmore, Buffalo Bill's wild west, the Canadian Rockies, the California coast. I rode ferries in Puget Sound, picked pumpkins in Oregon, hiked the mountains and redwoods of California.

It's a story I like telling.

Made in America

I pulled our Christmas tree up from the basement tonight. It's plastic but surprisingly real-looking and it was incredibly cheap two years ago when I grudgingly made the jump from real to fake. Naturally, it was made in China. Those Chinese are great with fake floral goods. The truth is a lot of good stuff comes out of China and it is always dirt cheap.

This new Hallmark ornament is also made in China. However, the actual Airstreams are made in America--in Jackson, Ohio. Probably every ornament on my tree is made in China. The Chinese must love Christmas, but not this Christmas. They must be in a panic with the exposure and recall of their lead poisoned toys. Nobody's buying toys made in China. I say, good. I hate toys anyway. My kids always had too many. I don't know where half of them came from. But once a year I found myself cleaning my house of Rubbermaid containers full of stupid plastic toys, most complements of McDonald's Happy Meals. About the time Allison came around I had made a habit of requesting the toy be omitted from the Happy Meal much to her disgruntlement. (Interestingly, McNuggets eventually lost their appeal to her appetite.) I say buy kids books for Christmas. They still make books in America don't they?

Life in the Canyon

This neglected Airstream belongs to my dear friend, Denise, and sits on her acreage in the canyons outside Arroyo Grande. It has served them well, first as the "wagon" that took them to their new life in Montana years ago and now to California where they raise their four sons in a remote rural setting. I try to convince Denise that she should renovate this 1966 cutie into a studio or guest apartment, but she looks at me like I'm crazy--she's had enough renovation projects in her life. And where would she find the time? So it sits like a pretty piece of yard art and maybe a reminder of their strenuous migrations from Missouri, to ranch life in Montana, to rural life on the outskirts of wine country on the central California coast.

The weather is near perfect 365 days a year. Of all the places we've been so far, I could see Robert's radar turning. He really liked the area. Mark took us on a little tour that included San Luis Obispo and a stop at the Tally vineyards. San Luis, or Slow-town, is just right. Not too big, just enough culture (the home of Cal-Poly,) and again, perfect climate. I caught Robert looking online at real estate later, so that says something. Allison loved that she got to feed the horses which amounted to Mark driving the pick-up down the drive and letting the kids divide a bale of hay among them.


Besides all of that, it was especially nice to reunite with an old friend. Denise and I were college room-mates. We both married young and had a handful of kids. And from what our men say, we are still the loves of their lives. Oh, yes, and that they married up and don't deserve us. We're both still falling for it, apparently. Robert and Mark hit it off well. They did not know each other in college, but had lots of mutual friends. They're pretty good guys.

It looks like a pretty nice life to me. They remodeled an old ranch home, added a swimming pool and a top-notch outdoor kitchen. Old red oaks stand in the yard and their horses ramble freely on their acreage along with the deer and Arnold, the English bull terrier. The nearest neighboring property belongs to a Boy Scout Camp. The winding road to the village of Arroyo Grande is dotted with orchards and wineries. Denise works part time in a cute store in the village to provide her a "girly fix." I'm not sure how to categorize Mark's work except that it affords him the freedom to wear flip-flops instead of dress loafers everyday. He invests in property. I'd say he has the knack.


Our time was short. They have busy lives with four school-aged boys. Plus, with the Thanksgiving holiday approaching they had family visiting. We came in like a whirlwind and left two days later on the road to our next stop--Santa Barbara.

Where's the Bears?

We awoke to another beautiful unseasonably mild morning in Yosemite, yet Rich and Eleanor had decided to leave for new adventures south. We could have tagged along, but we are enjoying Yosemite too much. We're sure we'll meet up again somewhere down the road soon.

Having another Airstreaming couple to hang with was certainly fun and educational. You can't help but bond with people who are similarly engaged in such a unique quest. The fact that they had a daughter Allison's age was a special bonus and made for a tug-of-war farewell this morning between the girls.

We managed to distract Allison with the pursuit of earning her Junior Ranger badge which she did. The rangers made a little show of it with Allison raising her right hand in pledge followed by a loud announcement to onlookers that there is a new ranger in town. Later, we took another ranger walk. The subject was bears, though good luck if you ever see one. The days when rangers actually fed local garbage to the bears as spectators crowded to watch are long gone. Again, born to late, missed all the fun. Now, conservation and protection are the norm and understandably so. We must protect the bears from us and us from the bears. Still, who wouldn't like to see a bear in Yosemite.

Tonight, I am again loitering at the Ahwahnee Lodge to tap into their internet connection. There is a big crowd tonight, a wedding party. I left Robert at "home" with a book I bought today: Death in Yosemite. I know he'll enjoy it for he likes the macabre--well, don't we all? The book documents the many sad outcomes of people who made wrong choices or were simply in the wrong place, wrong time and paid for it with their lives. There are numerous accounts of people going over cliffs and steep waterfalls in the pursuit of a better photograph. You know, "Honey, back up just a little.. a little more..." It happens more than you'd think.

It's dark now and generator hours are over so I'll be returning to a trailer lit by a Coleman lantern and probably a couple of candles. Robert's probably up to his eyeballs in scary tales of death. I should hurry home, but I'll make him wait a bit. He's quick to tease others, so I have to get my licks in when I can.

Souvenirs

I nixed the Ansel Adams photography walk in order to spend the day on a series of hikes with Rich and Eleanor. We all left the campsite around 10:00 am to drive to several points in Yosemite Park starting with Sentinel Dome. From there--Glacier Point, then Mariposa Grove. We didn't return to camp till after 6:00 pm. A long day, and a lot of driving, but worth the effort.

The views from Glacier Point were panoramic and dizzying. It overlooks the Yosemite valley some 3200 feet below. We could make out the little silver slivers that were our Airstreams deep in the pines below. Conditions for viewing weren't perfect even though it was a sunny day: There were some controlled forest fires that clouded the valley in a yellow smoke that made our photos kind of hazy.


The sequoias at Mariposa Grove were impressive though overall I wasn't as moved by them as the coastal redwoods. I like the wet, lush understory of the redwood groves. The perpetual foggy mist adds a mystery and ethereal quality I like. However, the sequoias are grand just for their immense size. The base of their trunks make me think of giant, gnarled elephant hooves.

Of course, I wanted to snatch up as many cones from the sugar pines as I could, but it is a no-no and it's hard to escape notice when you're lugging a 12-inch cone in your vest. I admit to getting away with one. Dammit, I want at least one. I hate kitchy gift shop souvenirs. I prefer my knick-knacks to be organic and found. Since there's no room for my stolen cone in the Airstream, I was thinking I'd mail it home. But, goodness, for all I know, that might be a felony or something.

Sharing the Gleam

We left the Ashland area (reluctantly) to head to Valley of the Rogue State Park a bit west on I-5. We want to camp alongside Rich and Eleanor and firm up our plans to visit Yosemite together. The drive over was gorgeous passing through valleys full of orchards tucked between rolling foothills. I kept thinking about how migrating pioneers must have shouted "Hallelujah" at the sight of such beauty. It must have seemed like a fitting reward for such a miserable journey west.

We made a quick stop in Jacksonville primarily to visit the museum. I couldn't pry Allison out of the Children's Museum. It was stuffed with artifacts of days past when kids went to one-room schoolhouses and moms churned butter and laundered clothes with a washboard. There were stations set up that featured different activities common to pioneer life. Everything was touchable, hands-on, which is rare for history museums. She absolutely loved it. We may try to sneak back for another run-through.

We only had a few moments to walk the main street in Jacksonville. I'm told there are 60 historical buildings standing in the town. It seems things are well-preserved. Once, long ago, Jacksonville hoped to see the railroad come through, but Medford got it instead and the course of Jacksonville was altered forever. Good thing. Medford is a little metropolis while Jacksonville is a quaint, pastoral hamlet overflowing with charm. I feel a tinge of worry for the place as I stroll downtown under the frontier-style architecture of the shops. I also feel greed. How can I get a piece of this before everyone else grabs it all? Is that not human nature? I'm as bad as the next guy, or the next home-equity rich Californian. We passed a few trophy houses on the hills and I'm muttering, "Damn Californians. They're going to ruin everything."

Robert went to look for a hardware store to get a wrench for Rich while Allison and I ducked into a couple of shops. I tried on a long skirt in one that I liked immediately. Allison, my fashionista, brought a knitted scarf to the dressing room, saying, "Mom, you must try this."
"No, it looks itchy," I replied, but wrapped it around my neck anyway to please her. Surprisingly, it was soft and happened to match the skirt so well I decided to buy both. Now I'm one step closer to being a gentle Oregonian now that I own a hemp skirt!

Tonight we are set up in the park next to Rich and Eleanor. I must say our rigs look mighty handsome in the backdrop of this lush green setting. There is something so elegant about the smooth curves of the Airstream and the reflective gleam of the aluminum at dusk. That we are the only two beauties here--well, don't we feel special? I feel like I have a Thoroughbred in a pasture full of cart horses. Emma and Allie scrambled off to play in our Airstream while we adults gathered in the other. I tried to restrain myself from grilling Rich with too many questions. He and Eleanor are a living data source for all things Airstream. They are pioneers we've caught up with on the trail. They have insight and knowledge of the conditions ahead. So, naturally we want to know everything.

Eleanor prepared a nice dinner for us all before we separated to turn in. I found that there was wi-fi access for a small fee here so of course I got online to write. Meanwhile, I'm sure Rich is doing the same. Besides publishing the Airstream magazine, he keeps a blog too. Since we are spending time together we'll naturally be writing about one another which adds an unusual dimension to a new friendship. So, when I finish writing this you know I'll be heading to his website to see what he writes about us, those damn Airstream newbies!

Everybody go, Boo!

Trick or treat, Ashland, Oregon. You can don your scariest get-ups, but you don't spook us. Your people are just too mellow, too good-natured, too organically fortified to be threatening. I shouldn't be surprised at the great effort you go to; you are a town well practiced in theatre.

What a treat to parade downtown with your babies in bumblebee costumes, your dogs in tutus. Okay, maybe a few paraders were a little scary, but cuteness ruled the day.



Allison had a buddy to trick-or-treat with. We met up with Rich and Eleanor Luhr and their daughter, Emma, who is Allison's age. Rich publishes Airstream Life and travels the U.S. in their Airstream Safari. We all hit it off right away having the Airstream experience in common--as well as the road-schooled daughter thing. It was just good fortune that we happened to be in southern Oregon at the same time. We may buddy-up and travel the road together for awhile. That would certainly please Allison who's thrilled to have made a new friend.