Give me land, lots of land

Samoa Boat Ramp county campground, across the bay from Eureka, California, is a big parking lot. That's just fine after the crowd at Clam Beach. In fact, it's excellent. I only wish I really was the only one here.

This is far enough away, though, to satisfy my privacy and solitude requirements. Don't need no stinkin' picnic table or grill or place to pitch a tent.

He fishes, she reads

Making a marriage work

Odorless, colorless, tasteless

There was a puddle under the Rolling Steel Tent when I came out of the store. A liquid was dripping from the van, in about the same location and manner as condensation from the air conditioner. Except the AC hadn't been on in weeks, since I left Redmond.

Hmmmm.

I popped the hood. It's a lot harder to tell what's going on with a van engine since it's way back in there. But there was no steam, no smell of hot coolant, no chemical mist. The area under the windshield washer reservoir was dry (though the fluid was rather low). Everything looked dry.

Okay.

I got on my knees, reached under the van and caught a couple of drops. It moved and felt like water. No color, no smell, so it wasn't coolant, engine oil, transmission fluid or washer fluid. By now I was fairly certain it was just water, so I tasted it. Nothing.

Okay, it's water. But why is it dripping from the van?

Cool metal + fog = condensation.

Attack of the beach monster!

No so big, actually. It's body was only about an inch and a half across.

What's that noise?

There was a squeak, like plastic rubbing on plastic, like glass on styrofoam, like metal on glossy paint, like ee-ka-ee-ka-ee-ka-ee-ka-ee-ka-ee-ka-ee-ka-ee-ka-ee-ka-ee-ka-ee-ka-ee-ka-ee-ka-ee-ka-ee-ka-ee-ka-ee-ka-ee-ka-ee-ka-ee-ka-ee-ka-ee-ka-ee-ka-ee-ka as the Rolling Steel Tent rolled down the road. Probably not critical, but annoying as hell.

As I’ve written before, my partial hearing loss messes with my ability to locate sounds. Is it coming from behind me or from the right? Above my line of sight or below? Am I hearing it directly or is it reflecting off the wall? Then there’s the problem of the noise only happening while the van is in motion. I can’t drive and crawl around looking for the sound’s origin at the same time.

But something had changed very recently, causing the squeak. Something moved, or something wore down. I shuffled some things around. Was it the particular location of a water jug? Something in the door pocket? The contents of the fridge? The fridge against the insulation? A window not rolled all the way up? Was it the new stuff I’d built?

No luck. So I turned up the stereo to drown out the squeak.

Then, after about a week, it just stopped.

Something changed. Maybe it was the alignment of the planets. I don’t know. I probably never will. And some other noise will eventually take its place.

Good evening

Wait, that's not a clam

I'm at Clam Beach, between Trinidad and McKinleyville, California. The fog burned off and it was time for a walk by the water.

No one was digging clams, only surf casting

The campground at Clam Beach has seen better days, the location is great. The website tries to manage expectations:

Because of lack of financial resources, Humboldt County park facilities are considered to be more primitive than facilities managed by other agencies.  …[M]any visitors enjoy the more rustic setting offered by the Humboldt County Park System.

It's working for me. I love beaches. I'll be staying until Sunday.

Suggestions from the audience?

I have an independent nature. I'd rather figure things out myself than ask anyone else for answers. Thanks to the Internet, though, I can search around and get other people's answers without me needing to actually ask them. None of that awkward interpersonal stuff. No risk of me looking stupid or needy or less that super competent.

Argh! I am man! I can do it all! By myself!

Living like that has its drawbacks, the main one being that I can miss out on some good things because I didn't poke around in the right places or because (oh no) my intellect isn't as powerful as my ego believes it is.

So... here I am, in the northwest corner of California, hoping to make stops all down the coast. I've done a lot of research, but I suspect there's a lot more to know—things that Google can't or won't tell me.

So... I'm going to get off my loner guy high horse and ask my readers:

Where are some good/interesting/beautiful places to camp or just visit in California, more or less in the area west of I-5 and north of San Francisco?

I humbly await your answers.

Getting arty

Lighthouse in Crescent City, California

Bit of a water hazard on this hole

There's a frizbee golf course along the jetty in Crescent City, California. At low tide a bad throw will put you on the mud flats, annoying the gulls. At high tide, be prepared to swim.

Slipping out of Oregon unnoticed

After just shy of three months in Oregon I fell like it's time to move on. I got groceries in Brookings and now I'm hanging in the RV parking lot at the Lucky 7 Casino, just over the line in California. It's certainly nothing fancy or scenic, but it's a free place to be.

From here the van dwelling life gets more complicated and/or expensive. Wildfires make it a bad time to boondock in the National Forests. California state parks are crowded and pricey. Extreme heat makes it a bad time to get away from the coast, and the roads that go inland also pass through fire zones.

But I think I have some alternatives, at least until I approach the Bay Area, where the route options start to multiply. There are some county parks/campgrounds, and more casinos as well.

Here's my semi-irrational plan. I need to get to Mexico to replenish my medications. My current supply runs out the 27th. Since I no longer have a doctor, I no longer have valid prescriptions. I don't need prescriptions in Mexico. So I think I'll make my way down the coast to San Diego County. Then, rather than dealing with the border mess at Tijuana or Mexicali, I'll make a mad dash day trip into the withering heat of Yuma and go to good old Los Algodones. Then get the hell out of there and head north to more reasonable temperatures. Flagstaff? Northern New Mexico? We shall see.

Male Pattern Baldness Hill

Going Rogue

Today I'm at Huntley Park Riverside Campground, a county park east of Gold Beach, Oregon, on the Rogue River.

The river is broad and slow here, a few miles from the ocean. Once in a while a jet boat goes by, not as fast as one would expect for something with "jet" in the name. It gets more exciting farther up stream, though, when they reach the rapids.

The campground is a little long of tooth, but there are flush toilets, showers and a little store. Two sets of camp hosts are on duty, puttering around, trying to keep the place looking nice. The campground is half empty at 6:00 since it's a Tuesday. More might slip in later.

This morning I went looking for a laundromat in Gold Beach. I googled and the few hits I got were all for the same place. I drove to the address and, even though the sign was still up, the space was emptied with a for lease sign on the window. Did it move? If so, where? Oh well. I can make do until I get to Brookings or Crescent City. Or I can go down to the river, beat my clothes on the rocks and wave at the jet boats. Wait, I know! I can talk them into dragging my laundry behind the boat? Power wash!

UPDATE: The laundromat in Gold Beach has moved to the other side of the highway on a different block. My clothes are washing as I write this. All is right with the world.

Wait, it could be a trap

Port Orford, Oregon

Dinner straight from the source?

I've had better seafood and I've had much much worse