I’m sorry, sir, you may not leave Oregon at this time

I was headed south on 101, just outside Brookings, when traffic came to a stop. It was backed up for the quarter mile or so I could see ahead before a bend in the road. 

I waited. And waited.

I checked Google Maps. It showed a l-o-o-o-n-g red line. In both directions.

I shut off the engine. And waited.

I expected my fellow stopped drivers would soon break out the lawn chairs and barbecues.

No traffic had come from the other direction the whole time I was there. And it continued to back up behind me.

Had there been a nasty accident? A few years ago, also while heading south through Brookings, a diesel pusher RV had rear-ended another diesel pusher RV at the state line. Was it something like this?

I waited some more.

I decided if I was going to have to wait who knows how long (had a bridge collapsed?) I would rather do it at one of the scenic overlooks I had passed. So I made a U-turn into the still-empty oncoming lane and found a nice day use spot overlooking the ocean. And took a nap for a couple of hours. 

The trouble with 101 in this neck of the woods is that intersecting road on one side dead end at the ocean, and roads on the other side dead end in the mountains. There are no alternate through-routes.

There was no cell service there, so I couldn’t keep tabs on the traffic situation. But people were coming and going. I asked a guy how the traffic situation looked. “Oh, there’s a bit of construction with lanes narrowed and rerouted, but it’s not bad.”

Okay, I would give it a try.

Traffic was fine then. It didn’t even slow much for the construction diversion. Or for the California agriculture inspection station, which was closed. And there were no wrecked RVs.

What’s dark, wet, and smells like kelp?

How many times do I need to pass point of interest before I finally stop? How often do I get so fixated on reaching my destination that it never occurs to me to stop?

Well, I’ve driven north or south on US101 in Oregon at least a dozen times yet never stopped at Sea Lion Caves between Waldport and Florence. Why not? I like sea lions. I like caves. Sounds perfect, like chocolate and peanut butter. Uh, mostly because the parking lots always looked jammed.

But it was a slow travel type of day. Not far to go. No hurry. I had already spread out my chores with a few stops already. So I finally pulled in, found a parking spot on the upper lot I hadn’t known existed, then jostled my way through the gift shop to buy a ticket. (I commented to the young woman selling tickets that I liked how her hair color matched her maroon t-shirt. She said it wasn’t intentional.)

There were several sets of stairs, then a long paved walkway sloping halfway down the cliff face. That led to the elevator. When it arrived it was packed like sardines/anchovies/kippers. But I happened to be the only one waiting to descend at that particular time, so it was just me and the operator. There was a queue of about 30 people waiting at the bottom.

The area was dimly lit. There were artifacts and information boards. And there was the large viewing portal into the sea cave. Though signs had said there might not be sea lions in the cave where we were there, a couple dozen of them were draped on the rocks instead of being out in the ocean doing other sea lion things. 

Then there were more stairs and information boards up to an opening with a view north along the shore, with Heceta Head lighthouse in the distance (which I had visited several years ago).

It being the ocean, and the Pacific Northwest, and with the cave—and everything in it—being a cooler temperature that makes the abundant moisture condense, everything was a little wet. The floor, the steps, the handrails you want to use to keep from slipping…

After my own sardine/anchovy/kipper elevator ride, it was time to schlep my old self up the walkway, up the stairs (where there was a hand sanitizer dispenser), squirm back through the gift shop, dodge traffic crossing 101, and climb the hill to the upper parking lot. I felt like I had hiked half way up Everest. Man, I’m getting old. I envied the sea lions sleeping in the cave. So I slept a bit in my own cave.

Apparently people in northwest Oregon would steal to have clean laundry

I’ve seen locked up paint, firearms & ammunition, cosmetics, men’s trousers and even underwear, but detergent? And it’s not like you could hide one of those jugs under your coat.

A pause along the road

From US101 a little north of Manzanita, Oregon.

Where the air is drier, warmer, and filled with aircraft

The weather right along the coast had been fog from late afternoon to late morning, with some drizzle during the night. I and the interior of the Rolling Steel Tent had become humid. I wanted to dry out for a little while. That meant going inland, over the coastal hills/mountains and into the farm land.

So, where? I’m more familiar with the east side of the Cascades than the Willamette Valley. I didn’t want to go as far as Bend, and I wanted to avoid Portland, Eugene, and Salem. Where would be a Goldilocks place with some reason to go there—other than the weather?

Ah-ha! The Evergreen Aviation & Space Museum in McMinnville. That’s where the Spruce Goose now resides, among other things. And you can overnight in their parking lot. There’s a fee, but I haven’t paid for camping in a long time, so I’m okay with that.

The Spruce Goose is slightly shorter than a 747, but it's taller and has a much greater wingspan. And it floats.

Now, unlike Lou, who was a pilot and built wooden planes, I’m not heavily into flying things. But I like machinery. And carefully crafted intricate things, And polished metal. And cool shapes. And engines. Mmmmmm, engines. So that’s what I took the most photos of. Enjoy.

And they have a Space Shuttle to get those in need from one building to the other

Try this vanlife space saving hack. Or don’t.

I like to save space in my wastebasket so I need to find suitable places to dispose of my trash less often. I disassemble cartons and crush cans. But then there are jars — glass or plastic. My bright idea (to me) is to stuff them tight with used paper towels and other soft things. Like a little trash compactor.

Lost and (under the right conditions) found

When I was a Boy Scout I was taught moss grows on the north side of trees, and you could use that info for direction finding in case (though they always framed it as inevitable) one got lost in a forest. Because I lived in a temperate zone, the only moss I knew of grew on the ground, and the stuff was rather rare. Also, it being a highly suburbanized region, there weren’t many forests, just patches of undeveloped land too steep for buildings and that were small enough to see and hear the civilized world from any point within the woods. Anyway, I thought that stupidly lost me would need to check on the ground at the base of trees for any moss there might be.

But there I was in an actual forest in the Pacific Northwest. The drizzle had stopped so it was a good time to go for a walk. The trailhead sign said it had been a clearcut forest in a previous century, which is why there were so many stumps and no huge trees. It was still foresty.

And there was a lot of moss. Everywhere. On the ground and, oh look, on the trees. And it tended to be on one side more than another. 

Could it be? So I checked the compass app on my phone (something no one had ever imagined back in 1964) and, sure enough, the moss was on the north side of the trees. And it revealed my assumed orientation to the planet had been 90° off. That was irrelevant because I was on a very clear trail that looped back to the parking lot and the Rolling Steel Tent.

It would have been more accurate and less frustrating if my Scout education had been more specific, like, “If you’re in a damp region there might be moss growing right on the trees. If so, it’s probably (but not always) on the north side…” Maybe they figured that was too nuanced for young teens, or that it revealed the adventurous outdoor life it promoted was not universally available.

Well that’s something I haven’t seen before

I went back to the grocery because I had forgotten to get an item the last time. As I came out of the store I saw a car that was foreign to me. Actually it’s foreign to the US because they’re not sold here. The license plate was from British Columbia.

At first glance the slotted grill made me think it was a Jeep. But there were more than the trademarked seven. And then I saw there was a Mitsubishi star in the center. Ah, okay. A minivan. Maybe a crossover. An EV perhaps?

Then, when I got to the back, I learned it was a Delica. Wow, they’re certainly different than the older models I’ve seen in the wild, tricked out for overlanding and such. Those looked kind of cute and butch at the same time. This one was very plain. Is it even 4WD anymore? So I looked it up. Yes, it is. And it's still powered by a small turbodiesel. This one was a 2019.

Older Delica

Newer Delica (older Rolling Steel Tent in background)

My research led me to the current model. The front looks like an angry electric razor. Argh, more testosterone than what Mitsubishi sales material called the 2019 version’s “Dynamic Shield” front design with prominent vertical LED headlights and a bold grille. The 2019 is certainly more handsome and approachable than the current Delica. I guess the current look is supposed to keep the big trucks from bullying it. As much.

Nice guy

I was in line at the employee-owned grocery in Reedsport when I reached for my wallet and learned I had left it in the Rolling Steel Tent. So I stepped out of line and stowed my three small items out of the way.

A guy about my age with a pug and a quart of low fat milk asked if I had a problem. When I explained he offered to save my spot in line, seeing as how the store was busy with after-work shoppers. (I could have timed this better.) “Thanks, but don’t bother.”

He must have been watching me out the window as I walked to the van and back because he was retrieving my items form their hiding place as I walked up. I turned to get in line behind him and he said, “Go ahead. You were in front of me.”

“No, you go first. You have only one thing. No big deal.” After a little more you-first-no-you-first he finally acquiesced. 

The dog was sniffing around my feet so I bent over to pet it. “Yeah, he likes that,” said the man. “You have a dog?”

“Not anymore.”

“Ah, too bad. It’s sad when they pass. You should get another.”

I have a few reasons why not, but I shared the one he might accept. “I feel like it would be disloyal. Besides, I carry his ashes with me.” He nodded.

The cashier was as pleasant as the man had been, even though she was dealing with the rush. Maybe, as one of the employee owners she was thinking about how more customers mean greater profitability. 

A source of humor

A guy was already having his propane tank refilled when I approached with my mini tank. He was amused.

“Wow, that’s a tiny tank,” he chuckled. “How long does that little thing last ya?”

“I’ve seen ‘em smaller that,” remarked the attendant. “They fill in an instant. Gotta turn off the gas almost before I turn it on.”

Another man in need of propane—this time for an RV—arrived. “Aaah-ha-ha-ha-ha! It’s so dinky!”

I’m happy I don’t need much propane and that my dinky tank and I can spread a little cheer once in a while.

Farewell California, hello Oregon

Some people claim far northern California might as well be southern Oregon. Well, the line on the map is arbitrary, and I crossed the 42th parallel yesterday. If it weren’t for the California agricultural inspection station, the Welcome to Oregon sign, and the lower speed limit, it does, indeed, look the same.

And unlike California,there are the dozens and dozens of state parks, recreation areas, nature preserves and scenic lookouts along the Oregon coast, seemingly butting up to each other. Fifty-nine percent of the Oregon coast is publicly held, and public access to all beaches, including access easements through private property, is protected by law.

 

Umpqua lighthouse, Winchester Bay

Although I avoid driving on holidays, and particularly long holiday weekends, US-101 was smooth sailing. Maybe that was because they got an earlier start that I did. I had sort of planned stopping in Bandon, a little over two hours away. But by the time I got there I was still in the mood to drive. So I put in another hour and ended up in Reedsport.

I like Reedsport. I can overnight in the parking lot of the dog park. And there are good and cheap showers at the marina in nearby Manchester Bay. Furthermore I like playing with the name. Rather than the port being named after early settler Alfred W. Reed, I imagine a sport involving reeds, like the cestas in jai alai. Or a form of snorkeling. Or competitive basket weaving.

Sand dunes are a big tourist draw in this part of the coast, like from Coos Bay to Florence. The campgrounds hereabouts are packed with not only RVs but also dune buggies. So I’m glad there’s easy, free, and much quieter streetdocking in Reedsport.

Anyway, yesterday was about fireworks. The group that was setting them off near me were an odd bunch. They were silent. No chatting. No ooo’s or aaah’s. Simply standing around and setting off fireworks as if they were just doing a job. Even the kids seemed bored. They got big points, though, for cleaning up after themselves.

“Uh-yup. Fireworks.”

What? A view?

This was the Klamath River Overlook today. If you were to use your imagination you see the Klamath River emptying into the Pacific Ocean. This should not be confused with an inlet a few miles north named False Klamath, where I assume some early explorer got a little lost in fog like today’s. Anyway, for what it's worth, I’ve now been to both ends of the Klamath River, which is a happier river since its dams were removed.

I saw the light

I had spent the day out on the peninsula that separates Humboldt Bay from the Pacific. Fog had started forming by the time I left, so I drove with the headlights on even though the sun hadn’t set. 

I found a good place to park in town and climbed into the back of the Rolling Steel Tent to make dinner.

Then the van’s dome light blinked twice. Huh? What new electrical gremlin was that?

But the blinking triggered a thought: Did I forget to turn off the headlights?

Yup, I had.

So, did the van have a special reminder system other than the chime when you open the driver door? (I had climbed directly into the back, not using the door.) I checked the owners’ manual. There was no mention of such a thing. And I had already pushed the button that would keep the dome light off when the doors are open. So maybe a  mystical force was responsible. A Battery Saving Fairy, perhaps. Or maybe the Patron Saint of Those with Their Head Up Their Butt.

Alas, t'was but a dream

Last night I had a dream wherein I had an important, complex problem to solve. I was successful and felt much better. Yay! It worked!

I was carrying that positive feeling as I woke up, and for a few seconds I thought I had actually solved the problem. But then I realized not only had I not solved the problem, but also that the problem didn’t exist in the real world. Not actually having the problem felt better than having solved it.

Sight sea-ing

The professionals versus the amateurs

The tide is out