Carpe Dory

So glad we went out! Richard really had to hustle to make this weekend happen, but he pulled it off. After our last excursion, as we were getting Dory back up the driveway, I noticed one of the tires did not look right. Like dangerously not right. Like I think we were lucky to have made it home without a blowout. So Richard spent the week doing research, calling about inventory, shipping times, calling local tire places, all of it. Impressively, he was able to get two new trailer tires put onto our rims and put them back on Dory, lugs tight and ready to roll, all by Friday. We are both extremely thankful we didn’t have to deal with changing a tire on top of the road to Fremont Peak. According to the tire guy, something delaminated on the inside, as in, the tire failed before its time. For our part, we really do not care about getting our “money’s worth” on tire longevity. We’d rather buy new tires frequently rather than ever ever have to deal with a blowout on the road. We have all the necessary parts and tools if need be, but yikes that would be no fun.

Dory and her new shoes were ready to roll on Friday, but something was keeping her from moving when we commenced launching procedures. It usually only takes a medium sized push to get her rolling, but this time, even an outright shove was not moving her. Something was up. Of course the first thing we did was to make sure she was not still on top of a jack, or jack stand, or that she was still chocked. Seems obvious, but worth checking. Nope, not it. So we figured it had to be that the brakes were engaged. We have an emergency brake safety cable installed, but it didn’t look as though it had been pulled or tripped. We’ve never done anything with it, so we weren’t even really sure how to test it. But we weren’t going anywhere without figuring this out, so Richard yanked the pin out and then pushed it back in. Sure enough, he heard a little click and her wheels were rolling again. We figure somehow in the tire changing process, some wire must have triggered the brakes to lock. Glad we got that sorted.

Home was forecast to be in the 90s, but it could not have been more lovely on the coast. Blue skies, temps in the 80s, what a glorious weekend. Richard rode for a while and I drove up the coast to meet him in Duncans Mills. On our way back south, we stopped at Goat’s Rock and hung out on the beach a little, trying to avoid the other fifty thousand people who had the same idea. The whole coast was really packed with Californians avoiding the inland heat. Richard was looking forward to stopping for a scone at Wild Flour Bakery, but he said the crowd made it way too Covidy to be worth it.

We planned to grab a picnic dinner from Pelican Plaza Market and Deli to take with us to the beach. We even called at 3 to ask how late we could order from the deli. The person on the phone said 6. We got there at 4 and the deli was closed. That’s a PR fail there. Giving them the benefit of the doubt, maybe there were so many people in that day, they ran out of food. It certainly seemed so because there was not much left in the case. I settled on a couple of pasta salads to go and some cookies. Oh also, I put a margarita to go into a thermos, so really, dinner food was not the most important item on the menu.

We did our favorite trail down the Pinnacle Gulch Trail to the tide pools. Low tide coincided perfectly with the sunset and we were super smart by parking our car at the exit point, on the street at the top of Shorttail Gulch Trail. That way, after having a margarita and walking back up a thousand feet, the car would be right there. We are sunset professionals and we do not mess around.

Sunday we planned to grab crab cakes for lunch at Spud Point Crab Co. We needed to go that way anyway to use the dump at Westside Campground because the dump at Bodega Dunes is closed for some reason. Driving past, we saw a loooong line of people who were kind of sort of distancing. But yeah, there were a lot of them. So we were faced with an existential crisis of trying to decide whether Spud Point crab cakes were worth risking possible death. When that did not provide a clear answer, we instead asked whether crab cakes were worth risking our daughter’s death. To that, we had to answer no. Dammit. Covid sucks. No crab cakes for us.

Instead, we had chips and salsa for lunch in Dory, parked in the day use area, and actively debated whether I should try to get my boat in the water, and if not, why not. Cutting to the chase: I did not. But also, didn’t need to. The weekend was perfect just as it was.

Total miles: 89.7, 15.0 mpg, 2 hours 35 min. Site 60. Great solar, no hookups. Dump closed. Dumped at Westside for $7. Good dump there. Pretty good LTE for both from the site, but service drops in and out in that area.

Weekend of information gathering: check. Fremont Peak State Park has long been a glaring omission from the list of local state parks visited. The primary reason for this was the description of the road getting there as being narrow, windy, and with steep dropoffs. This has never been my favorite kind of road, so I’ve avoided making reservations there. Then recently some fellow Altoistes checked it out and assured me it wasn’t that bad. Meanwhile, Richard has been itching to go there because climbing to the top is a Jay’s Essential Ride.

As the weekend approached, we were both keeping a close eye on fire status because this is definitely not a place that has an evacuation route. Things looked ok though, with much cooler and more humid weather moving in. Still, I was nervous. I have been consistently zombie-like following a day of zoom school. The idea of doing a scary climb on a Friday after work had me worried.

So we did what we thought was super clever by reserving a site at nearby Betabel RV Resort. We could stay there, avoid the scary drive at the end of a tiring week, and spend Saturday checking out the park without being hitched up. That way, I could get a sense of whether the road was doable with Dory for future trips. All good planning there.

We have driven past Betabel countless times without any reason to stop. It is literally right off Highway 101 near Gilroy, and from the road, looks like a parking lot for big rigs. But it gets a 5 star review and had a site, so we figured what the hell. And it turns out, it is in fact a parking lot for big rigs, but with well manicured lawns and attractive shrubberies; ones that look nice and not too expensive. I honestly don’t get what people do in places like this, but clearly it’s a popular spot for long timers to move in and set up porches and semi permanent patio areas next to their behemoth “mobil” homes. Due to no fault of the management, the people next to us made us very uncomfortable. They were spread out right up to our site, with lots of maskless family gathering going on. Even getting out of the driver’s side of the car, it was impossible to maintain 6′ distance. We sheltered inside with windows and curtains closed and pretended not to care.

Saturday we got outta dodge and drove to the bottom of San Juan Canyon Road to launch Richard. It’s an 11 mile drive up nearly three thousand feet of elevation gain. The description from Jay is spot on. Road conditions are pretty bad, but since you have to go slow anyway, the unfilled potholes are not jarring. The first half is a very easy woodsy drive through the valley, with not much climbing yet. The middle part gets more exciting as the grade kicks up and you have to navigate a couple of blind corners with a rock wall on one side, and a dropoff on the other. There were guard rails, of sorts, for each of these, but that provides more of a psychological assist than any real safety measure. Then you find yourself atop a ridge that goes for maybe half a mile. Then at last, you enter the woods again before arriving at the entrance to the park. I sagged Richard the whole way up and honestly, it wasn’t that bad.

We found the site we had let go and noticed it had not been claimed by anyone. We also noticed it had a spectacular view and tons of privacy. That led to pondering whether to ditch Betabel, eat the reservation fee for that night, and go get Dory. We decided to see how I felt on the descent, keeping tow worthiness in mind, and we could decide when we got back to her. We arrived back around 3 to find the family again spread out all over the place. “Pack up!”

It’s impressive how fast we can stow and tow when under the threat of fire or loud Covidy gatherings. Bruce got Dory up that road like a champ. I wasn’t even nervous. It might have been a case of situational bravery, considering the alternatives. But once we got settled in to our super private site with a glorious view down into the valley, there were repeated declarations of “this is so much better!” for the rest of the evening.

So, we have discovered a new-to-us state park that I look forward to visiting again. There are views up there of the entire Monterey Bay area. You can even see the twin smoke stacks marking the location of Elkhorn Slough. As the clouds rolled in below, we were treated to a sandwiched sunset, beaming through the stratus layers. In the morning, we got to enjoy our coffee under a magnificent blue sky with nothing but the sounds of birds and far off campers. We have nothing against the big rig lots, but it really is not our speed. And I’m sure none of the 40′ haulers would consider towing up that road as anything close to a good time. Everything has its place and it is nice to discover a new one.

Total miles to Betabel: 87.3, 17.9 mpg, 2 hours, 26 min. 107 to Fremont Peak, would probably be about 3 hours total. Site VV07, no hookups. LTE for both. Needed leveling blocks on passenger side, but not too bad. Water spigots. No dump. Toilets looked like vault, but we’re not using them anyway. Dumped at Betabel.

Well, shit. I was going to post this entry last night, but got tired, and left it another day. Now it looks as though this will be another campground obituary post. The Napa Valley fire that woke us up has spread so quickly that it looks like it will do some serious damage in this park too. I swear, as I’m taking pictures these days, there is a voice in my head wondering if these will end up being “before” shots. I’m sad to say that may be the case here. I’m leaving the rest of the post as I wrote it, but it takes on a different feeling now. I don’t know the words to capture it.

But here’s what I was going to post….

Now that’s the way to do a pandemic. Well done, Sonoma. Rather than risk the spread of the virus through shared bathroom facilities, this park stepped up the precautions by providing a porta potty to every single site. And at no extra charge. They call it Sugarloaf’s PPPP: Personal Porta Potty Program. This, after Sonoma has lost so much revenue from fire related campground closures. I liked this park before, but even better now. They are taking this whole thing seriously, and for anyone so inclined, they do accept donations to keep the park up and running.

Another thing the park has done to support the challenging times is to provide a strong paid wifi service for those who are working essential jobs online and have been displaced, or who can work from a much nicer place as long as they have strong internet. From our site, 42, we were just able to hit the free wifi. It was enough for occasional texts and emails to come through, but not enough for work, news, or doom scrolling. That gets a +2 on the rating scale.

Our site was lovely and well distanced from other campers. But even so, everyone was masked and following the rules. Saturday, Richard got in a nice ride with his fancy home bike while he awaits the arrival of his new trailer bike. How many bikes do we have, you ask? A bikie always answers: n + 1, where n equals the number of bikes your significant other will tolerate.

When he came back, we did the planet walk again. This time we did not make it to Neptune. But we did get past Uranus and noticed a new bridge had been built to replace the one that had fire damage. It was a lovely day, with minimal smoke in the air, gorgeous blue skies, and a huge Woodpecker banging on the oaks. Only later in the afternoon did the temperature start to kick up, along with the wind. That was predicted in the forecast and a Red Flag warning issued for Sunday and Monday.

Around 5am Sunday we both woke up. The trailer was rocking and, when you’re a Californian, you at least have to wonder if it’s an earthquake. In a trailer, it could simply be the person next to you getting up or shifting in bed. It was neither, and the sound of things hitting the roof told us it was the wind. We tried to go back to sleep but we both noticed the smell of smoke. Thanks to the barely connected wifi, I was able to check the fire maps and didn’t see anything in our immediate area. No one was coming around to evacuate us, so we went back to sleep, kind of. At dawn we saw a layer of smoke in the campground, which is the new normal here, but again smelled the smoke and noticed ash falling. That means an active fire somewhat close by. And by then, the Glass Fire over in Napa Valley was being reported. It posed no immediate threat. However, seeing as how it was a dead end drive on Adobe Canyon Road up to the campground, we wasted no time getting up. We weren’t panicked at all, but nevertheless were rolling down the road by 9am.

The last time we were here, we drove over to Calistoga to dump at the fairgrounds, but since that is a little too close to the new fire, we found a Shell station in Sonoma with a dump that charges only $10. That is handy information.

After that, we looked for ways to delay our arrival home and subsequent disappointment for our daughter, who loves us I’m sure, but relishes the weekends with two fewer people in the house. So we checked out Benicia State Recreation Area on our way home. We knew there were three en route sites out there but have never had a reason to stay there, since it is only about twenty miles from home. It’s a nice little park for runners, bikers, and walkers, not so much for campers. I guess in a pinch the small back in sites might offer a night’s respite in the middle of a long drive. But it’s not a destination camping spot. Good to know.

We send wet thoughts to the residents of Napa Valley, again under the threat of rapidly spreading fire. And selfishly, I am rooting big time for the survival of the Rombauer winery. Here we are in our new normal.

Total miles: 69.7, 2 hours 21 min, 15.2. Site 42, nice. No solar. Can just hit the visitor center wifi. Otherwise, no cell service. No dump. Nice bathroom in lower campground, but porta potties provided at individual sites in COVID times. Super fast paid wifi available at visitor center. Dumped at Shell station in Sonoma for $10.

Nice weekend. We even got some blue sky for a while there! It’s a longish drive out there, though navigation will say it’s three hours. But really, by the time we take the winding road down to the kiosk, find our site, and get set up, it’s a solid four hours for us. So it was verging on darkness when we got to #218. It was a very tight little backing job, and even in full daylight, and not tired, it would have been a challenge not to hit a tree or a car. I spent about twenty seconds mentally assessing the situation before declaring “Caravan Mover.” And once that statement is made, it’s all seriousness and no screwing around to get the maneuver completed and keep impact to the battery minimal.

It was interesting for me to notice what happens to my brain when I go into “super focused” mode (let’s not call it “stressed” necessarily. because the world has far more stressful things to offer than technical trailer parking). I’ve been a special educator for over a decade and the first piece of advice I give anyone when dealing with a child in a state of dysregulation is to lower the verbal language load (stop talking). And you know what? It is totally true. I wanted essential language exchange only until the task was complete, and I literally noticed my brain struggle when Richard either said things or asked things that required language processing. That’s probably why his allowed responses on the walkie talkie are single words only, stated once. It wasn’t until after a nice dinner inside that the language center of my brain had come back online so that I could explain all of that to him. And really, he did a pretty good job. I just found it kind of fascinating to be so physiologically aware of it in the moment.

Saturday Richard had a really nice bike ride planned, one of his favorite rides. I sort of figured I’d get my boat into the lake, but when I scoped out the approach from the site, I discovered a big huge drop down to the beach, over the top of tree roots and fallen trunks. It maybe could be done I suppose, except I’m really lazy right now. Zoom school is kind of slowly killing me. Unfortunately for Richard though, a show stopping mechanical failure happened on his bike. Poor sweetie has been keeping this bike cobbled together with parts that are over twenty years old. He’s been thinking about getting a new trailer bike for a while, but now that the sheltered in place world has discovered biking, it’s very hard to get something in the right size. And he’s been reluctant to spend the money. This was the final push to disregard cost because life is short and biking is his thing. He has ordered a new bike and is excited.

So we went for a walk around the campground, scoping out sites. Then we went over to the boat launch to check that out. My verdict, if I can’t reserve a lakeside site would be to use the Day Use area rather than the boat launch. It might be muddy, but seems like less hassle than parking and schlepping. Then we took a little trail and found a nice piece of shade to sit and watch the lake action.

The rest of the weekend was full relax mode. Luckily, service was spotty enough that I was not able to doom scroll on the internet, at least not too much. The only exciting event that took place was when someone’s floatie inner tube got loose in the campground and rolled all the way to the beach. Some kid was screaming, “TIRE! TIRE!” and that got everyone panicked looking for fire and smelling the air for smoke. Oh, also a boat sank on the lake, but we only know that because a sheriff came through the loop to check in on the people whose boat it was.

Last thing to report was that we gave the first Alto tour since the pandemic started on Sunday. We’ve been nice, but firm, in our decision not to have anyone inside. But an Altoiste who lives like right there in Nevada City, and who was looking to see our specific model, posted in the facebook group, it was too hard not to reach out and offer. They were great and did all the appropriate hand wiping and mask wearing, and they were inside for only a few minutes. So it felt pretty safe.

We will have to reserve a do over after Richard has his new bike. It’s a really nice campground, and besides the difficulty getting into the site, it had tons of shady space and a pretty view of the lake. All good stuff.

• 

• 

On the not so good front, during the drive through Vacaville, we skirted some of the area that got charred in the Lake Berryessa area fire. It is difficult to comprehend the vastness of some of these fires. But also nice to see the statement of solidarity written on the hillside: “Vaca Strong.”

Total miles: 144.3, 16.7 mpg, 3 hours 57 min. Site 218 no hookups. Tight turn to back in but spacious site with lake view. Minimal solar. In and out service, better for ATT than Verizon. Nice sites: 228, 230, 232, 234, 236, 238. Ok sites: 229, 226, 227, 231, 233, 235. Good dump.

This is camping determination at the edge of reason here. There is so much to process, way too much. I won’t lie, I’m down deep in the Pit of Despair and I can’t remember a time when I’ve felt less hopeful about the future. I’m sure we are all here at varying levels and periods of time these days. And just as the fires in the west are increasing in frequency and scale, so are the feelings of grief and dread for so many of us. Much has been lost, some of it won’t return in any recognizable form. And under the weight of all of it, even the gentle reassurance of the natural constants in life, like that the sky is blue, the Bay Area woke to a disorienting Mars-like atmosphere this week. Still, we went to work because, well, what else are you going to do? But the words of apocalypse and end days are getting bandied about in less funny ways, as though we all know it’s not quite a joke anymore.

So, the question of ‘do we go camping this weekend’ is followed by an assessment that goes something like this: 1. Is the campground currently on fire? 2. Is the area under evacuation? 3. Are there fires nearby? How near? 4. Are there active fires along the route? 5. Would we be in the way of first responders and/or evacuees? 6. Are there escape routes out of the campground, should it catch fire? 7. What is the AQI forecast for the area? What is the weather forecast? Any lightning or firenadoes predicted? Assuming the destination passes through all of those checkpoints without hitting a dead stop, we will still consider going out because that’s how bad we need it. And note that the question that used to carry the most weight (“Well how hot?”) isn’t even on the list anymore as a show stopper. No, we don’t yet have a replacement for the AC, so we increased our 12v fan collection by one and headed out into the smoke Friday afternoon.

Admittedly, this campground is not getting a fair chance in terms of our impression of it. After our last stay in the Basalt campground with 100º weather, we specifically reserved the side of the recreation area that had hookups so that we could try a do-over with AC, and maybe get my boat in the water. Neither of those things happened. With an AQI in the 150-170 range and ash collecting on everything outside, neither biking nor boating seemed like a sane idea. Instead, we did the only reasonable thing when living in a state of despair: we got in the car, with lovely AC and air filtration, and drove a hundred miles to the coast so that I could see an otter.

We chose the one place on earth where it was pretty damn likely I’d get to see at least one: Moss Landing. It wasn’t that the air quality was going to be that much better at the ocean, there is hardly any area on the west coast that is not under a cloud of smoke right now, but it sure felt better. The temperature dropped a full thirty degrees and you could sort of convince your eyes that all of the wispy stuff was fog.

And yes, I got my otter fix, like a life raft. In case of existential emergency, get to an otter. And it wasn’t the otters alone that pulled me up, though the bang banging of rocks on tummy goes pretty far in mood lifting. It was also the drive. We went a pretty way, along highway 152, through not-yet-burned forests. There, the smoke is hardly visible and the color green soothes the nervous system with the reminder that not everything is dead. And it was also the time to talk, and cry, and just bring out all of the dark thoughts. There may not be answers or soothing platitudes to make any of it go away, but it feels more real and rational than going about your daily business when the world has turned orange. And yes, I mean that in more ways than one.

We got take out from my favorite place and had an amazing ginger cake that was probably soaked in rum. I recommend that highly. And then, after watching the pelicans and otters for a while, we drove a hundred miles or so back to the campground. It was hot and smoky, but not so bad that I couldn’t cook outside. Richard did a short and low exertion scouting pedal, over to check out the access to the California Aquaduct Bike Trail, which he still wants to do on some future visit. We had a wonderful Blue Apron dinner, paired with a thoughtfully gifted bottle of Rombauer, followed by a couple episodes of “The Mandalorian.” And honestly? It was a great weekend.

I’m not under the impression things don’t suck, and are likely to get worse. I don’t have answers for how to process all of that. But I do know that otters help. It’s all about little breaks from the despair. Maybe that’s it. And maybe that’s enough.

Total Miles: 106.5, 2 hours 54 min, 18.0 mpg, site 22 hookups. Great dump. Bacteria problem in water seems to have been solved. LTE for ATT, but not good 3g for Verizon. To my consternation, campfires were allowed, even in these terrible air quality conditions.

This entry is past due. The trip took place on the weekend of the 15th, but with all of the fires raging, the painful damage done to some of our favorite parks, thoughts of evacuation, and the launch of a distant school year, I just was not feeling it. Plus, our current status is grounded for a while (I’ll explain), so it has been hard to muster the enthusiasm for blogging. However, I found myself looking back through pictures and posts from Big Basin, Butano, Lake Solano, and Lake Berryessa and was grateful to have a capture of the memories. So in that spirit, I will memorialize what was a joyful weekend against a turbulent backdrop.

This private campground is tough to reserve and pretty crowded. I must have spotted a cancellation in a nice shady site when I reserved the weekend. We later came to realize that our site was part of a massive multi-family gathering, and that made for some awkward moments. Right off the bat, the number of people in the campground was pushing the edge of our Covid comfort zone. But there was adequate space between sites to at least maintain distance from our neighbors. That is, until they started walking through our site, like really close to us, to go visit their cousins on the other side. I am personally improving in my ability to assert myself when people enter my distancing bubble. I stated politely when a couple of adults and four children were about to cross right in front of us, that we didn’t feel comfortable being so close. No “I’m sorry” or phrasing in the form of a question. Just a direct statement made calmly. They responded totally politely in return and said they would go around. Really, we would have offered to switch with them if we’d realized the situation when we arrived. As it was, they were all set up and it wasn’t likely any of us would want to tear everything down to move. After that, I got out a new set of solar string lights, purchased intentionally as a way to delineate territory lines. It’s a passive aggressive way of “decorating” while communicating visible boundaries and it seemed to work.

We knew the weekend was going to be a scorcher, with sustained temps above 100. We had hookups, shade trees, and a river, so we were set. Richard got in an early ride on Saturday and I spent the afternoon taking kitchen pictures for an Altoiste looking for ideas, and floating down the icy American River. There is a place to put in right from the campground and you can float for about 3 miles to a take out point at Henningsen Lotus Park. This was one of the funnest things I have ever done. In addition to being a total solution to the misery of a heat wave, it was peaceful and at times exhilarating to float the tiny rapids. I had utterly no control over the floatie, but that didn’t stop me from trying. In fact, the nonstop and largely pointless paddling I did with my arms left me with impressive bruises by the end of the two hour ride. In this case, I was glad of the company of other people because I kept reassuring myself that if they could float the rapids with beers in their hands, I would probably be ok. There were two spots where I got completely covered by water coming down a rapid, but I was never in danger of flipping over. Life jackets are required and I was glad I had in my old pair of hearing aides because that could have been an expensive casualty. OMG so much fun! I would absolutely do that again.

Heading into the evening on Saturday, we started noticing Dory’s AC was not keeping up. Richard was more convinced than I that something was amiss, but he turned out to be right. Sunday morning we were getting no cold air coming out so we packed up and got rolling before it got too hot. Randy is on speed dial on Richard’s phone, so that was obviously the first thing we did. Richard then started to do some research about the possible fixes. One thing was pretty certain though: we were not likely to go out the next weekend if the forecast held steady. So we ordered a capacitor and cancelled reservations. Meanwhile CA started to burn down at a ferocious pace from lightning storms Saturday night.

From then to now, we have still not gotten the AC fixed, but Randy has diagnosed it as deceased. So we will be grounded until after Labor Day at least. But then, we’d already decided not to go out on holiday weekends to avoid the crowds, so it’s not a total loss.

On a happier note, we have now completed the project of modding the garage so that Dory can open her roof completely INSIDE. This was a big deal for us. Randy put us in contact with people he trusts to do the work of engineering the rafters so there is space in the middle. We needed to also replace the door and get a side mounted door opener. The timing of this all sort of came together to coincide with taking Dory in for a diagnostic on the AC. It also got her out of the house during the weekend when more lightning storms were predicted and we had to be ready to evacuate if any of the open space behind our house started going up in flames. Thankfully, that storm did not prove to be as bad and it gave firefighters the chance to get some of the huge ones under control.

It has been a rough couple of weeks for California. I can’t think about Big Basin and not cry. I take heart in the articles coming out that assure us that most of the huge redwoods will be ok. Not all of them, but most are expected to recover. Of course, it won’t look the same. And the historic visitor center, along with all of the campground structures, is all gone. And Lake Berryessa… there are so many people who have lost homes and farms. I can’t even imagine the devastation there. This one hurts bad. We had only just begun to get to know that area. Putah Canyon Campground is close to my heart because that was the place where we first sheltered in place from Covid back in March. It represented peace, and safety, and calm when I was afraid. I think about all of the lush vegetation, the otters and ospreys, and cry thinking of it all engulfed in apocalyptic fury. I hope the animals found shelter. I hope the vegetation can heal and return some day. We won’t be able to see it, but maybe some day it will come back. As of this writing, I do not know if the campground survived, but photos of the area show massive flames all around the lake. If it did, what a different view there would be now. Butano got scorched as well, but the campground and structures were spared. Other places that had me worried survived: Costanoa, Fort Ross, Limekiln, McWay Falls, Memorial Park, New Horizons 5th grade camp … just squeaked by. Lake Solano campground appears to be gone, and I hope those peacocks found shelter. It’s all so much and my heart is heavy.

But then here comes Randy to cheer me right back up. We went to pick Dory up Saturday. The AC will have to wait until a new unit comes in. But in the meantime, we planned to bring her home and I was going to give her a long overdue bath. But what should I find on arrival? A beautiful, sparkly shiny Dory, with wheels and windows looking like new and a ceramic coating all over! Randy had a detailer in and asked Richard if that would be a nice surprise for me. Yes, Randy. That was a very nice surprise. He even put in a replacement for the CM dust cover that looks like it belongs there. We pulled her in and figured out how to position her so she can raise her roof. This will make it tons easier to get to things under the benches, pull out bedding to wash, and do maintenance jobs. Plus, the next time we have to shelter in place, Dory can revert to Emergency Learning Center without having to violate any ordinances. We celebrated by watching movies indoory in Dory Saturday night.

I think a lot about the Marbled Murrelet. When you camp in Big Basin, Butano, or any of the places in the Santa Cruz mountains, you are told in big bold signs and flyers that these are “crumb clean” campgrounds. That means you can be fined if you leave food out or leave remnants on the ground. This is to prevent predators, like raccoons and squirrels from moving into the area. You see, this silly little endangered bird only lays one egg per year per pair, and they often nest on the ground, up to 15 miles inland. The visitor centers show movies about protecting the little guys and we were always very conscientious about it. So my first thought on seeing the fire map cover the entire region was, “Well that damn bird is definitely extinct now.” I feel like that bird. Part of a species living in a way that is not at all sustainable. There are some who are making frantic efforts to save us all, and some not. And you try, and you clean up what you can, and you hope to keep hanging on, by a thread. Then lightning strikes and wipes everything out with a fire inferno. But I don’t know. Maybe they’re still ok out there. Be strong Marbled Murrelet! Everyone’s house is burning, so I feel you. Hang in there!

Total miles: 120.2, 16.0, 3 hours 10 min. Site 46. Nicer sites: 63*-67, 58-60, 56*, 41*-45*. Hate the dump. Ok cell, LTE in and out for both. Hookups.

Here are some “before” photos of Lake Berryessa, Lake Solano, & Big Basin. May there be healing in those scorched places.

Well that seemed almost like a normal weekend! For the first time since March, I came home from work (like I’m actually working at school, minus the kids) and we hitched up Friday afternoon, just like we always used to.

I have to say, being back in my school space, even if it’s really different and super sad without kids, feels so much better. It is normalizing, even though it’s still not normal. Coworkers are there, isolated in their rooms, sure, but we see each other and we can talk to each other in person outside. I put up a plastic doorway barrier between two of the rooms in Learning Center so that I can talk to my aide on the other side and pass materials under the divider. And even that feels normal. Ish. There’s still a terrible amount of planning and preparing that needs to happen, but the rooms don’t need to look nice for distance learning. Do mine? Yes. I had to put everything back the way it’s supposed to be, all ready for students, or I can’t concentrate. But having my Learning Center space back feels really good. There has been so much tragedy, and heaviness, both globally and locally, but feeling part of a community helps.

This is a repeat visit for Brannan, but I think it was my favorite. It was hot, but we had hookups. I had some work to do, but I also got my boat in the water. How lovely to just let my hands dangle in the cool, refreshing water of the San Joaquin River on a hot summer day. Richard went on a bike ride along the Delta Loop, like he does. The park did a nice job of distancing the sites by only allowing every other one to be reserved. So it felt safe, and refreshing, and replenishing, just like camping always used to feel after a work week.

We took a different route home on Sunday, mostly because the entrance to the park was so backed up with cars waiting to come in, we couldn’t see to make a safe left hand turn into traffic. So we turned right. And then figured, let’s just go a whole different way home via Highway 12. It was nice. Nothing remarkable, but lots of yellow delta plains and windmills.

It was kind of a same old, same old weekend. But these days, that feels pretty profound. And so needed.

Total miles: 39.2, 1 hour 22 min, 17.1 mpg. Site 113 hookups. LTE or 5g for both.

So whose idea was it to reserve a place smack dab in the Central Valley in the height of summer heat with no hookups? Before you judge me, let me explain. All of my reservations got cancelled in the spring and so I gave up reserving anything for many months. It wasn’t until a couple of weeks ago, when we decided camping was a reasonable thing to do during Covid times that I started trying to fill up our weekend calendar again. And by that time, all of the sane places you can go were booked. But I even accounted for the likeliness of it being really hot by checking weather for the area about a week and a half ago. At that time? The forecast said high of 86. No problem. Plus there’s a reservoir, so we could cool off in the water. See? Totally rational.

Shockingly, the weather report changed drastically as the weekend approached and we were looking at temps near the 3 digit threshold that separates “hot” from “ugh.” Still we camp.

The drive out indicated some kind of hold up on 580 over the Altamont Pass, like a big one. Google suggested an alternate route which it swore would save us an hour. Well, now we know that Patterson Pass Road is kind of an adventure. It is super narrow at its best, and single lane (for two directions of traffic) for several miles. This was a classic Google situation too, with tons of cars on this silly road, far more than I’m sure it’s ever seen, because Google decided to route everyone this way. To anyone who got stuck behind me, I think what you’re trying to say is: “Thank you for pacing us safely over that craziness so no one crashed.” You’re welcome.

Before we headed to our reserved site at Basalt Campground, we drove over to check out San Luis Creek campground, with hookups, down at O’Neil Forebay. Thank you to the guy at the kiosk for not directly laughing at me when I asked if there were free sites. We made a plan for me to go boating in the day use area there the next day and continued to Basalt. And really, the campground is lovely, it’s just that I liked it a lot more when we stayed there in December.

The next day, Richard got ready to go for a shortish ride and I got ready to go boating. The alert on the Acura let us know it was rather hot, like we didn’t already know that. And no sooner had we parted than I get a series of texts from Richard using naughty words and the information that he had flatted. So, I drove out to where he was, noting that the road conditions were seriously awful. It was jarring enough in a car to go over so many potholes, so it is no wonder he flatted. Plan B involved throwing his bike in the car and going over to the day use area together where I could assemble my boat and he could change his tire and regroup. We found a shady spot, past the campground loops, and away from other people. I thought this was all a really good plan. Then I rolled my boat over to where I thought the water was like right there by the path, only to find a steep, rocky bank, running all up and down the shore, between me and cooling happiness.

I stood there and assessed the situation for several minutes, finally landing on “Nope. Screw it,” and adding “Always check the launch first” to my list of lessons learned. I wasn’t going to roll my kayak up and down the shore looking for a safe launching point. I wasn’t going to heave my kayak over the ledge, hoping it landed in the water, and scramble down after it. And if I was going to have to disassemble it to move over to the other day use area, the one Richard said to go to, that definitely has a boat launch, I was going to be far too grumpy to put it back together. Plus there were way too many people having maskless, non distanced Covid parties over there. So we decided our collective plans were a bust and instead drove (AC full blast) to the local gas station where we could purchase extra drinking water because there was a sign in the campground indicating all the formerly potable water from the spigots needed boiling because there was bacteria. I realize I’m not doing a good job selling this campground.

So, FINE. We went back to the campground in a state of semi defeat. But we did see a big beautiful Elk on the way, so that was cool. And I pulled out the grill to make a Blue Apron. One of our background conversations has been how to better arrange the back of Bruce to make that grill more accessible, and this gave us the chance. Winning. Then, like immediately after we’d finished eating dinner, I got an email from Blue Apron saying not to eat that yellow onion due to the possibility it was full of salmonella. How quickly things can turn. But it’s been 24 hours now and we’re not barfing, so… winning!

Heading home Sunday, we carefully re-arranged everything in the back with least used items in the least accessible locations and less to move to get the grill out. I took a picture so we’d remember the perfect packing scenario. Then, when we got home and parked on the slanty driveway, everything fell out the back. Take 2. Now we’ve got it, new picture. This will work for sure.

So we are going with: “It’s worth it!!” in a yelling kind of way. No matter what, we get to enjoy our morning coffee and we get to watch our nighttime shows, and rock in our Nemo chairs in the evening breeze when it finally cooled off. Kicking us out of the house is an unanimously supported idea in our family. Stupid hot and no hookups? Still we camp. Biking and boating fails? Still we camp. Bacteria water and salmonella on the grill? Sure. And guess what. I have a reservation in September for one of those hookup sites in the other campground. We’ll see if we can have a more successful do over.

Oh, P.S. I can’t remember who gifted me this little car door organizer, but it is awesome. I also got little pockets that go in between the seats and the center console to catch dropped iPhones.

Total miles (the direct and non-adventure way): 105.0, 17.4 mpg, 3 hour 10 min there, 2 hours 17 min home. Site 32 Basalt, no hookups. Normally potable water in spigots, but come (better) prepared. Nicely spaced site with room between neighbors.

It’s hard to overstate the importance of a normal camping weekend. Besides the wafting scent of hooch based sanitizer, the presence of face masks hanging from various locations when un-donned, and the avoidance of camping bathrooms, everything seemed normal. Or as normal as it’s ever going to get in a global pandemic.

This was our fourth visit to this state park and I was able to get a site that was near, but not right by, the little beach everyone loves to go to, causing them to walk right through Premium site #58. Perhaps this pandemic will finally break me of my Premium-donna ways.

On the drive up, we passed an active brush fire a little too close for comfort. We could see the smoke from quite a distance as the road steadily took us right towards it. Low flames were visible, ranging from high up on the hillside all the way down to the highway shoulder. For a moment, we were completely engulfed in smoke and Richard, I think psychosomatically, had a coughing fit which didn’t subside until we were a couple of miles past it. We kept an eye on the Cal Fire website, but it was contained pretty quickly and never posed any danger. Still, a reminder of what summer (and fall and winter and late spring) in California can bring.

We stayed three nights and came home Monday. I’m not going to lie, it was awesome, but if it’s any consolation, also close to 100º. And we had no hookups. So I got out in my boat in the afternoons and Richard got in his riding time early. There was quite a bit of algae in the lake, so swimming was not an appealing idea. When we got desperate, we dumped cups of water on our heads. And the nights cooled off enough that it was comfortable to sleep.

The Aluminet and the Classic Awning both went up and we were grateful to have them. We had enough shade to stay comfortable and enough sun to keep the battery topped up, even when powering the fridge, set to 1. That is enough to make tiny ice cubes, keep wine and lemon waters cold, and keep frozen food frozen.

And speaking of frozen food, we got to try out a camp stove I bought a long time ago. Maybe after last summer. Its purpose was to provide an outdoor option for when it is too hot to cook in Dory. I bought it, put it in Bruce, and didn’t think about it again until the circumstances reminded me I had already solved that problem. Worked like a charm and now it’s Richard’s favorite way to heat up a frozen pan dinner.

Highlights of the weekend include spotting an otter on three separate occasions. So either I saw three, or the same one three times. They sure do move quickly through the water. That’s the giveaway for otter spotting. That, and their telltale curly bloops as they dive under. The best otter sighting came as I was enjoying a socially distanced, soul healing sunset on the beach. His/her little head appeared as a perfect punctuation mark to a you-know-what?-life-is-good-dammit kind of day.

About the rides, Richard says Seigler Canyon road and Hendricks were 5 stars. His ride from Clearlake to Cobb was interrupted by a flat, but it worked out because I was sagging him anyway (AC in the car was my secret motivation). He’d gotten in plenty of climbing at that point, so he felt no hesitation throwing the bike in the car and enjoying the AC back to Dory. He called a bike store in Lakeport and described what he suspected was a problem in the rim. Big shout out to Main Street Bicycle! They really didn’t want to sell him a new wheel if he didn’t need it and they were able to do an inspection and a fix, all with no physical contact. It felt good to support the local economy too. The second ride was a 20 mile section of the Konocti Challenge. No flats! I followed and we met up in Lakeport where I was sad to see so many of the restaurants closed, seemingly for good.

And we saw Neowise another couple of times, though it was very dim. Perfect weekend. Not exactly normal, but joyful nonetheless. And we were pleased to see overall good behavior in terms of masking and distancing from our fellow campers. No huge crowds or rowdy parties, just family units out together finding an upside.

Total miles: 166.8, 16.8 mpg, 3 hours 51 min. Site 60, no hookups. Sites nicely spaced and room between campers. Good solar, 2 bars of LTE for both of us. Water spigot nearby. Launch from beach close to site.