Surge

As I approached Challis, Idaho I figured I should top off my tank before making a southward run for the sun. There was a station at the junction of highways 75 and 93, but it was boarded up. Not a good sign.

I turned north into Challis proper and pulled into the next station I saw. The pump said to pay inside. "We're sorry, we had a big power surge a few moments ago and the pump billing is down." Okay.

I drove a couple of blocks to the next station. A man at the pumps said, "We're sorry, we had a big power surge a few moments ago and the pump billing is down." (Sheesh.) "But it should be back up in a moment." A Subaru with kayaks on top didn't believe the "in a moment" thing and took off for the next station. Hey, they had rivers to run and all that.

Within a few seconds, the guy said, "Okay, we're back up. What can I get for ya?" Oh, they pump gas for you? Hadn't encountered that in a long time, since I was in a state where self-serve was outlawed.

We chatted as he pumped gas. "We're glad to have this rain. It's been very dry."

I smiled. "It messes with my recreation plans, though. Different people have conflicting interests."

The kayakers came back from the other station. Guess those pumps were still down, too.

"Oh, what sort of plans?"

"I camp full time. I just came from Redfish Lake."

"I heard it's nice up there. I got married a couple of years ago—she's from Utah—and I've been meaning to take here there."

"It's gorgeous—when the clouds don't hide the mountains."

About 40 miles south I realized I should have gotten his name and taken his photo for this blog. But it would've held up the kayakers.

Wait for it... wait for it...

I woke up to overcast. Not a tragedy, just not happy-making. I packed up and headed north, toward Stanley, Idaho, a hub for Salmon River outdoor stuff.

The lady at the SNRA office had spoken highly of the lakes south of Stanley. I had lunch at a picnic area at Alturas Lake. The wind was cold and the lake choppy. I'm sure it's a much nicer place in better weather.

I skipped Pettit Lake (mostly because I saw the turn too late) but decided to try Redfish Lake. I was apprehensive. It had all the marking of campgrounds filled with big RVs and noisy people. But the mountain ahead was very dramatic.

See why they call them the Sawtooth Mountains?

Okay, I'd check things out. At least for future reference.

I drove to the last campground on the south shore. It looked brand new and spanking clean. And it was mostly empty. There was a parking area and a trail down to the "beach." I grabbed the camera and went for a walk, even though it wasn't beach weather.

Sort of fjord-like

It wasn't good photography weather, either, but the the geography was impressive. I decided to stay a night.

I returned to the Rolling Steel Tent and bundled up against the increasing chill. Then it started to rain. Oh great. I can take cool weather, but combine it with rain and I want to hightail it to better weather. I got online and checked the weather for the region. Three days of clouds and rain. Yikes, subfreezing nights! Must flee! What about further south? It looked like I had to get almost to Salt Lake City to get out of this front. Sigh. I'd make a strategic retreat in the morning then resume my northern Idaho expedition later in the week. A lot of driving, but better than freezing—in summer.

The rain stopped after about an hour and, surprise, a bit of sunlight peeked out. Oh look, it's clearing! I could get some better shots of the lake and mountains. But I had to wait about a half hour for the clouds to clear in an artistic way.

However, lack of cloud cover means it's going to get colder tonight. I can always come back.

Meanwhile, at Alturas Lake

The water from this tap (the only one) was COLD, as in one degree from slush.

Don't get too bold, kid

I went exploring again yesterday. The lady at the SNRA office had suggested Baker Creek Road. "There are a number of campsites along it, but the last one before the road closure gate is particularly nice."

Yes, the last one was a nice site, and it was occupied. But just opposite was East Fork of Baker Creek Road. Ooo, what's up there? I mean, it has a name and a sign, so it must go somewhere significant.

The road climbed and got narrower. And rougher. Walnut sized rocks in the road became lemon sized ones and then potato sized ones. I crawled and bounced along. There was the mountain on one side of the road and the cliff on the other. No places to turn around. Certainly no places to camp. Maybe further up.

I came to an open gate with signs telling snowmobilers to stay on the road. Snowmobilers must come up here for some reason. I pressed on, imagining the road would lead to an open area somewhere near the top of the mountain or would descend into the next canyon.

The road was getting very marginal. Another "road" forked off steeper up the side of the mountain. It was more like a mountain goat trail. No thanks.

The road started to descend. Ah, I thought, it's headed into a valley. No. It just made a hairpin turn and started up again.

Ah, man. Doing this in a Jeep, with someone following for backup, would be one thing. But alone in a big old van was probably foolish.

I eventually came to a spot wide enough to execute an eight- or nine-point turn. I got out to assess my progress and discovered my blind side was about an inch from scraping against a tree. Good thing I'd checked.

The return trip was only slightly less worrisome. I kept thinking about what would happen if I encountered someone coming the other way. It was a one-lane trail with absolutely no room to squeeze over and pass. And I suck at backing, even on wide paved streets. Backing up a mile or so on a winding narrow road would be impossible for me.

When I finally made it back to the turnoff, I pledged to myself I wouldn't do something like that again. At least not without a local who knew the road. But I'd had an adventure I could share. A stupid one, but still an adventure.

[If I'd had cell reception and could have checked Google Maps I would have learned that, indeed, the road eventually opened up into wide hilltop clearings suitable for camping or tearing around on snowmobiles. Should've pressed on.]

Off the beaten track

Armed with my Forest Service tips and maps, and the feeling of confidence that comes with having a little information, I set off exploring this morning. Oh look! A dirt road! Where does that lead? And off I'd go.

There were times when the "road" got rocky, rutted, steep and narrow and I wondered whether there would be someplace to turn around or whether I was driving myself into a dead end squeeze. There were times when those wide-ish spots would appear that I debated turning around or continuing forward. I chose the latter. And I was glad.

From the top of Galena Summit

Well, others have been this way, so...

Oh look, a nice creek!

I didn't get photos of the really bad parts of the road because I was too busy driving

Just when I thought I was in a terribly remote spot that only crazy people would go, I came across a street sign

And then a beautiful meadow

Along the way I saw several great camping spots, except they lacked sufficient sun, any cell signal, or both. Say, what about the areas behind the SNRA office they told me about? I checked it out and found a sunny spot by an abandoned corral, with 4G service. And no one else around. Pretty good luck for Friday the 13th.

I might be here a while

I went to the Forest Service's Sawtooth Nation Recreation Area information center this morning to get the full scoop on dispersed camping in the area. The simple answer was essentially, "Anywhere that isn't private property."

"So I can just pull off on any road in National Forest land?"

"As long as you're not blocking the way."

(Looking at a detailed map) "Wow, cool."

"We try to make it easy for people to get out and enjoy this beautiful area."

That means I have a lot of exploring to do.

Meanwhile, this is where I'm camped today. It's not far from Ketchum, a few steps from Trail Creek. And I have a few bars of 4G cell service.

Hemingway was here

I'm in Ketchum, Idaho, visiting a friend and hanging out. The local Forest Service office pointed me toward some nearby camping areas and I spent the afternoon scouting them out. The unpaved roads are in nice shape, and even though it hasn't been long since they were covered with snow, they're hard packed, dry and rather smooth. I picked out a nice spot on Warm Springs Road, steps from the river, with plenty of solar exposure and, surprisingly, a bit of cell reception. However, I spent the night on the other side of Ketchum, on Corral Creek Road, because it was easier to get to after dinner with my friend.

Leave your mark

At many high schools they haul in a big boulder, place it on the front lawn, and let each graduating class paint it up. Woot! Class of '14!!!

Well, they've topped that Arco, Idaho. They've been painting the side of a mountain since at least the 1920s.

I imagine the height to which you're willing to schlep your ladders and buckets of paint says something about the superiority of your class.

How do you feel about your boulder now?

Gazillions of holes

When I bought the Rolling Steel Tent the back windows were covered with perforated vinyl. That was good, because it helped keep thieving eyes off the contents of my van. Yet I could also see out.

But the vinyl was a little ratty, and in the past few months it had gotten worse. It was time to replace it. It took longer to deal with the guy in the sales office than to have it installed. Hey-presto, job done in ten minutes.

RST Renovation: The Edit

I've edited my possessions several times in the past nine months. There were things I thought I'd need that I didn't. Unlike some full time van dwellers, I didn't approach this adventure with the attitude I was creating a micro-apartment. I'd be camping. Even so, I overestimated my needs.

Here are the things I edited out today. Too many clothes and shoes, man. And I haven't needed eight forks, knives and spoons. Two of each is enough. Four towels? No, two. And look how many containers I don't need now that I've better sorted what I'm keeping. Until the next edit.

RST Renovation: Project 3

The original 12-volt electrical system I created worked okay, but it was a bit of a mess. And some outlets were hard to get to. So I got a proper fuse box and rewired everything. Vent fan, lights, fridge, etc.

That looks slightly more professional.

Because everyone keeps asking

I used to find myself in situations—dates, parties, lunches with coworkers—when the question was, "What's your favorite movie?" Since I didn't keep a mental ranking of every film I ever saw, I usually answered, "Oh, I don't know. There are so many, each with things I really like." That would throw a wet blanket on the conversation. Social interaction was never one of my strong points.

Finally, I decided I'd just pick a movie from my cluster of favorites to use as my standard answer. But it had to be one that others were unlikely to name, because I needed to be different, quirky. I had a personal image to maintain. So I picked Brazil. Problem solved. I had a ready reply. Conversation could continue, because I had to explain/defend why I liked a weird Orwellian dystopian tragic romance so much. (Because, duh, it's a weird Orwellian dystopian tragic romance.)

These days people ask me, "Of all the places you've been in your van dwelling wanderings, which did you like best?" Urgh, here we go again.

As with movies, I've decided to just pick one. It still needed to fit with my imagined self-image, though. It needed to be different and unexpected.

"I'd have to say Slab City."

And then I explain/defend why, continuing the conversation, enhancing my oddball image.

I know, people ask that question hoping I've found some secret Shangri-La they can go to. Sorry, not yet. I've had some sublime moments now and then. Some bits of excitement and fun. But no mind-blowingly awesome paradise of endless bliss overload. But I'll let you know if I ever find it.

RST Renovation: Project 2

It's great having a 12-volt refrigerator, even though it's the single largest drain on battery power. Following the lead of others, I added insulation to it. I taped some pieces of 1-inch foil-backed foamboard into a crude box and lid. That helped keep things cooler and reduced power usage a wee bit. It got me through the mild desert winter.

If a little insulation is good, then more is better, especially as winter turned rapidly into summer in Slab City. So I wrapped a couple of layers of Reflectix around the foamboard box. Good. But I knew I could make something better if I had access to a table saw and mitre saw. My brother-in-law in Oakley, Utah, has those.

After too many runs to Ace Hardware in Kamas and Home Depot in Park City, behold that better thing.

Two-inch foil-backed foamboard contained in a wood box (for durability), with a little Reflectix on the outside to reflect sunlight and make it look all techie. (Why, yes, that is a flux capacitor in my van.) I can add more Reflectix if I need to.

The odd notch in the back of the box is to allow air circulation to the compressor.

It's not quite done. I'm going to mount a fuse block on the side to centralize all my wiring. Notice the two 12-volt sockets? (Front and side.) One is to plug in the fridge and the other is for whatever else might need power.

The fridge used to live between the driver seat and the cabinet that was where the passenger seat used to be. Now the fridge will be going where the cabinet used to be, and the cabinet is going to the county dump. The things that were in the cabinet will be redistributed, and some things will be discarded/donated to allow the redistribution.

Next up: cleaning up the wiring.

Living with less

Can you fit your life into 60 square feet? That's the area of the standard cargo van. Can you fit your life into 60 square feet and not have the rest of your possessions stuffed in a storage facility or a friend's attic? The totality of your stuff in the back of a van, with room left for yourself to move around and to sleep? And if you could, would you be happier?

This video covers some of the same well-trod ground of the Less Is More message we've been hearing for the last half century or more. But it absolutely applies to this van dwelling life I've chosen to live. In fact, we van dwellers are way ahead of what's said here.

Besides the huge edit I had to do to go from living in a house to living in a van, I've edited several times more along the way. I'm about to do another edit. The goal is to get rid of one 58 quart container's worth of things. Because I've learned greater empty space in the van is worth more than many of the things occupying it. It will make me happier than owning stuff.

The most violent thing I've ever experienced on purpose

I haven't been an adventure seeker. Except scuba diving, a couple of bungee jumps and a moderate river rafting trip. That's about it. The last time I was on a roller coaster was the early '80s, before they got extreme.

When I learned they were offering bobsled rides down the track used in the 2002 Olympics, I had to do it. Because whenever I'd watch the winter games, I'd wish I could go down a bobsled run. Without a sled. Since there's very little chance of that ever happening, I jumped at this.

These specially made sleds have wheels. And roll bars. And seatbelts. And straps to hold onto. (Not as sleek looking as their ice counterparts.) They provide the driver.

You go about 60 miles an hour and it takes about a minute. You shake, bounce, get whipped from side to side. Your helmet knocks against the roll bar. You experience up to 4 Gs. You forget everything they told you about how to brace yourself. And you want it to last longer. WOOOOOOOOO!

We're Number 3! We're Number 3!

The most violent thing I ever experienced? I was rear-ended while on my motorcycle. I didn't want that to last longer.