Motoring o'er the Mountains

That song by Willie Nelson didn’t worm into my ear until I was firin’ up the ‘puter this evening. First out of the gate, we beat all our neighbors and workers down the road about 6 AM. That’s always a good thing when the guy behind you is a big white trailer that takes up the full road requiring reckless wide swings on the tight turns to keep out of his way.

We roll through the day with satellite assistance. DSR (digital satellite radio) plays 100+ channels of music and mouth stations uninterrupted by topography. GPS tells us where to turn and how far it still is. That makes it easy to answer that road-question, “Are we there yet?” We also get trivial data like how long we stopped, 37 minutes, and how long we rolled, 6 hrs 45 minutes as well as average speed, not very fast. The on-board computer supplies lots of other data including MPG, not too bad this day.

Expecting fewer RVs on the road probably influenced my observation that there seem to be fewer. Plenty of other traffic is out here on I-5. Happy Times RV Park in Dunnigan, as the heat follows the sun down is our night stop.

Seeing the changing colors of the California hills and grasslands says fall when the calendar reads not-quite-summer. Soft wheat-whites and muted reds spread over the miles to contrast with the occasional irrigated dark green orchard or crop field. Most natural green is gone or going fast now. Fire season has arrived whether we call it fall or summer.

Ashland for theater and food is just a treat! We ate with music of the stream behind the café. Carole spotted two kayakers bumping down the rocky channelized stream which I had just been thinking too shallow for boating. Limbs in the face, one man deftly paddled and swatted at the foliage to make his way through the tight spaces. Soon we were seated on the green listening to the tune up before the evening entertainment. Out before the theaters, the green is a long traditional location for dancing and music before the theater. An appreciative crowd matched the lively performers and it was sooner over than the want for good entertainment. Comedy of Errors was our evening fare creatively transplanted as a western musical. Great good fortune was ours to find tickets on the spur of the moment. Glenyan Camp provided our night’s rest.

A bullet-sized rock punched a north star in the windshield to guide us up the road. Expecting to face rocks in Alaska, this was an irony getting popped in California. A traveling glass man agreed to meet us at exit 48 to attempt a repair. He was prompt and put us right. Within the hour we were motoring over more mountains. Throughout these first days I was painfully aware of all the fine adventuresome spots we were simply passing by. I suspect we could have just a fine time in California without driving to Alaska. On we press.

At Sister Arleta’s we prepared for the rest the trip. We hunted down an extra spare for the trailer, supplies we felt in need of and visited with my niece’s family. Wendy’s two small children looked at us shyly and then began the dance of all children visiting the seldom-seen adult relatives. Time went rapidly and we pulled out of Sherwood bound for Alaska once again. We spotted a possible campsite on the map. Near Mount Vernon, WA, named for George W’s home, we came to rest for the night at Bay View. That George W would be the father of our country, not the current wacko in the Whitehouse. A small state park and research reserve are located there together.

Visiting the reserve was a busman’s holiday as we volunteer for a reserve in SB county. It was of interest to see the way this very different facility operates. The reserve is mostly in the bay itself, only 64 acres on land. A few activists in the 1930’s saved the bay from the fate of so many estuaries and today it is a wonderful edge environment for so many plants and animals. I looked for orcas but none were to be seen. Perhaps it’s too shallow for their visits, or lacking in the fare they desire. A bald eagle stood vigil over the meadow by the visitor’s center while we walked beneath his tree. Intermittent squawks kept us aware he was not amused with us.

Canadians filled our camp we discovered. The strong Loonie (CN dollar) and cheap gas at only $4.39 attracts them across the border we learned. La Conner, a small village, turned out to be a bonus early in our trip. Sometimes we scour the travel guides for interesting places to visit. Here we took the advice of the camp brochure and found a pleasant little village, a great lunch (Dulce’s) and a museum mounted on the most defensible knoll with views all around. Lost villages were the topic featured in the primary display. Several Scandinavian folks lost their way in creating longterm communities documented with a few lines of oral history and wonderful old pictures. The oversight of the museum is the Native Americans who were represented by such a small, mean display.

We slipped out of the camp, if chugging diesel sounds qualify for slipping, and headed for Whistler. Our Canadian relatives headed there for their summer vacation two years ago after we visited them. That sounded good enough for me. We read the Alaska Milepost, the venerable guide to the road north, that the road to Whistler suffered the vagaries of construction in preparation for the winter Olympics 2010. The Milepost went on to warn, in red letters, of narrow and steep, 14%, climbs and rollercoaster drops punctuated by “spectacular” hairpin turns and narrow, one-way bridges. Good fun I thought. The construction area was tedious, but more slow than difficult. The Sea to Sky highway was spectacular. The drive along the saltwater channels afforded thoughts of Norway with the plunging mountains dropping right into the water. I dreamed of water travel that would provide another view of this same geography. Another trip I suppose. Once in Whistler, we were surprised by the low 2000 feet elevation, so low for a major sky resort. On the other hand, its far north and collects a good deal of snow. Walking the streets with short-clad tourists were exhausted snowboarders still wearing their full snow gear and toting their boards. Snow is said to be available all year. More people were biking the slopes with springy mountain bikes hauled skyward by the chair lifts.
Somehow the village failed us while the backcountry provided a satisfying walk in the woods. A proprietor of mountain bikes saw us gawking at the multitude of trails and offered up a better map and advice on where to hike. Certainly the cross country trails are working over time now with all the bikers. Still most take the lift to avoid the hard pump uphill and then careen down the mountain all in a row. Hmmm, fun I suppose.

Completed that winding, narrow, steep, single lane bridged and rollercoaster highway. It was slow, but we managed fine. More troublesome was the many bumps in the oft-patched road. The views of high glaciers was inspiring, that means to breath in, and we took it literally. We camped by Lac la Hace on a cliff. Were it not for the highway between our site and the lake, things would be perfect. What percent of perfect is this? Quite high I think. Below my view, the diesel dans provide more sound than wanted. Between trucks its possible to imagine the highway is simply not there.

Incidentally: thanks for the comments posted here last time around.

Yours in Canada,
Dennis