Thursday 6 October 2005 - ACROSS THE BORDER!
Manning Provincial Park, BC to Whitestone Lake, WA
MORNING: We leave Manning Park as early as possible. Somehow, between the rain and noise and prices, we almost feel like we're being chased out of BC. We'd have liked to stay longer but realistically we can't. Now we hear that Thanksgiving (Monday 10 October) is really the end of the season and everything stops after that. Shirley Jackson's eerie story, THE SUMMER PEOPLE, implies macabre fates or dooms for those who stay too long. We want to avoid that.
Maureen: [cackles] That was a creepy story. Everybody, you all should read it. Highly recommended.
And there you have it. Meanwhile, here's our take on BC Parks.
BC PARKS: It appears that BC Provincial Parks have no rangers, just private staff. They may be state-owned properties, but all we've seen are contracted out and run by Park Service Operators. These firms are probably efficient, but as visitors, we're not too happy.
Maureen notes that in BC Parks the pit toilets stink. We didn't notice this in Alberta or Yukon parks or the BC Forestry rec areas. There's something special about BC, eh? Maureen notes that lime should be thrown in every now and then to keep the smell down. OK, so it's a cost consideration — less lime, less expense. Save money, let it stink. And the flies will freeze eventually.
For all my badmouthing of BC Parks, I should note that they're still cheaper to visit or camp in than California State Parks. But from what we've seen, BC Parks have less to offer. Grumble grumble. [PS: The first Washington State Park we reached was even less appealing and more expensive. Bother.] Here are some guidelines for availing yourself of almost any fee-for-use parks:
- * Only go there if you must, and if you don't mind the cost.
- * Don't be surprised by intrusive park operators, early-morning power equipment, smelly toilets, trash-trolling bears, etc.
- * Accept that your campsite be beside a noisy highway.
- * You'd best drive a large, fully-self-contained, well-insulated mega-motorhome, to avoid experiencing your surroundings.
- * Don't set foot on the ground. Just look out your windows.
CHEAP RVing: A few days ago, Maureen suggested that we write a travel guide for ultra-cheap RV journeying. We think we could come up with some tips. For a start, see the new travel guide: ULTRA-CHEAP RVing - The Most Roading Bang For Your Finite Bucks.
Gosh, we're just FULL of handy hints, timely tips, generous guidance. Will our ever-flowing founts of intelligence ever run dry? Stay tuned and see.
EASTWARD: We drop out of those middle Cascade Mountain ranges into Princeton, a town descending sharp dry ridges to the Similkameen River. We cut through a steep slithery volcanic gorge following that river and head towards Canada's desert. In this deeper, greener valley, past the nearly vertical stone slopes, we see a dead bear by the roadside being pecked at by ravens, and a flock of wild mountain sheep chewing up somebody's pasture, and snowy mountains ahead. The adventure continues.
The Okanagan Valley ahead of us is renowned as Canada's wine-fruit-produce region. Just north of there is the Kamloops Desert, reputedly the northernmost extension of the Sonoran Desert, which is a long long way away. It's actually a tongue of the Great Basin — I wouldn't exactly call it Sonoran, like our Bisbee Arizona outskirts.
We roll into Keremeos in the truck-garden belt, produce stands littering the highway, full of veggies and tree fruits and bush fruits and local crafts and crap. This is more fresh roadside produce than we've seen in quite a while, like since Idaho maybe. Oh wow, fresh jalapeño peppers! My fix!
We take the high road towards Pentincton past stratified Yellow Lake, then into Canada's south Okanagan valley (which extends on into Washington state) and ride along a chain of long thin lakes. Without the lakes, this could be Sonoma County, but with steeper volcanic cliffs here. Pretty magnificent country; we'll come back sometime when it's open. We see many expensive houses along these lakes. A bare lakeside lot sells for $650,000 — it's a little cheaper than the Olympic Village territory of Whistler BC. This is the Canadian Riviera, almost as warm as Vancouver and much drier.
We drive through miles and miles of vineyards and orchards, going ever southward. The air is variously filled with sweet sage, or fruity scents, or spicy smoke. We would like to stay in Canada a little longer but our gas is low and we don't want to refill at Canadian prices, so we'll be smelling USAnian air again soon.
NOTE: I don't apologize for not providing more information about where we go and what we see. If I were a professional travel writer, you'd see all sorts of names and addresses and phone numbers to head off your questions: Where are the good eateries, hostelries, gift shops, attractions, sports and fern bars, golf courses? I couldn't answer such questions — we aren't going to such businesses and can't tell you how to contact them. You probably don't care just which markets we hit — in a small town, there may be only one. I'm not a pro, and frankly, I don't give a damn. [Maureen laughs.] I note what interests me, what grabs my attention, and ignore or delete all the rest. So there.
BORDER: We give up on Canada. We reach the border, sit in line for a couple minutes, answer a few questions, the undergo a brief inspection. Our frozen sandwich bologna is confiscated because it contains Canadian beef. The US doesn't want any traces of mad cows but seems unconcerned about mad Californians who've already consumed the stuff.
Maureen: Nobody is going to eat us, hopefully.
Right. Then a period of mucking about, trudging back and forth between customs posts. For a GST (Canadian federal tax) rebate, one needs to have receipts stamped and/or reviewed by Canadian Customs or the Duty-Free shop. To squeeze a few meager bucks from the Canucks, we get to exercise our legs and lungs. Get our currency exchanged too, but at worse-than-bank rates. Another tip: cash in all your gas-rebate coupons (if any) and do your currency exchanges BEFORE you reach the border. So we learn the hard way.
In Washington now and we're still in the great Okanagan Valley. Terrain here looks much like the Canadian side (funny 'bout that) except that here the valley's widening, opening out as it heads downhill towards the Columbia River. And it's much less densely populated than on the US side. That's probably because, unlike Canada, there are warmer places to live stateside. Hey, maybe we should sell Florida to Canada. eh?
We can tell we're back in the US: there's more trash by the road, we see cops on the highway, and nobody is passing us over double yellow lines. Did I mention that Mexicans seem to be better drivers than Canadians? 'Tis so. Insurance makes one reckless; it's lack encourages caution.
CAMPERED: We turn off the highway at signs for Many Lakes Recreation Area and find a spot under a tree by Whiteside Lake. Nothing fancy, it's not far off this two-lane blacktop, but it'll do for the night. Another stark long thin lake with loons and agricultural runoff. Is it safe to fish here?
Trash cans around here aren't bear-proof, so I guess we won't be devoured tonight. And in the distance we hear coyotes singing in their traditional polyphony. G'night.
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Friday 7 October 2005 - NAPOLEON RIDES AGAIN!
from Whitestone Lake to layover at Bonaparte Lake WA
Past agriculture and high dryish hills in Washington's northeast sector, till we see a sign pointing to a rec area. So we plopped at Bonaparte Lake in Okanagan National Forest — not as warm and dry as we'd like, but quiet. Hmm, is that bear scat? Stay inside. Nothing will happen today. We hope.
In fact the lake area stayed cool and moist all day, so late afternoon found us crawling up a nearby ridge to a sunny flat clear spot with only a few tons of cowpies scattered about. Should be fine so long as we don't walk around in the dark.
I forgot to mention yesterday about the latest Travel Guide: TO HELL AND BACK AND BEYOND. Nothing much. After a rest, we're assembling the above-mentioned ULTRA-CHEAP RVing travel guide. But now it's time for a brief overview of our Canadian 'adventure' eh?
SMELLS LIKE CANADA TO US
* As previously mentioned, the overall Canadian culture we saw was heavily USAanized. Differences include: more French, less Spanish; more First Nations / Native Americans; more diversity generally, with as many different accents and nationalities around Canadian towns and countryside as you'd find (often sectioned-off) in big US cities.
* There is much less of a visible police presence on Canadian streets and highways. Perhaps as a consequence of less highway patrolling, more Canadian drivers seem to ignore traffic laws (full stops, crossing over double lines, etc.)
* Less trash is visible on roadsides and in town vacant lots, although Canada isn't quite immaculate. And fewer trashy homes.
* As previously agonized mentioned, Canada suffers generally higher retail prices than the US, even factoring-in currency conversions.
* Canadian carrots in stores are much tastier than their US counterparts. Canadian mozzarella cheeze is better too. But most generic Canuck cheezes cost 50%-80% more that in the US.
* In shops and on the street, most everyone we met and talked to was friendly and helpful. We also noticed and appreciated this on our long-ago Nova Scotia trip.
* In Mexican retail outlets, music is often VERY LOUD! In USAnian stores, music may be loud enough to be annoying. In Canadian stores, music is minimal or absent. One can actually think about shopping. Except WalMart, of course.
* Along our route, we wanted to stay for several days each at Waterton Lakes National Park; Lake Laberge, Yukon; and the valley north of the Salmon Glacier (in BC) above Hyder, Alaska. The gnarliest views were besides the glaciers route to Hyder and beyond, and the Glacier Parkway in Jasper and Banff National Parks.
* Yukon Territorial Parks were overall more appealing than Alberta and Brutish Columbia Provincial Parks. Jasper and Banff National Parks were beautiful but crowded. Waterton Lakes National Park was fine.
* Much of the AlCan route was overcivilized, tedious. We hear that in the summer season, 1000 RVs head north through Dawson Creek BC every day. We fear it's hard finding campsites on the AlCan then.
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Saturday 8 October 2005 - DOWN WASHINGTON!
Bonaparte Lake to Grand Coulee, WA
MORNING: On the ridge above Lake Bonaparte, we have our coldest night and morning yet. At 7:00 AM it's 30°f outside, 44°f inside. We get plenty of condensation when the RV is sealed up; this morning, it's all frozen. All the cabin windows are glazed over. The little green fungus gardens in the window frames await the melt. The cowpies outside are frozen hockey pucks. Oh yeah, 'puck' is Canuck slang for turd. Could you have guessed that?
We get up, thaw out, turn on the cabin heater, start the coffee and pancakes. Maureen usually whops up a batch of pancakes every other morning, alternating with granola (or occasionally oatmeal). I'm sorry, this is NOT the Atkins Diet. Nor the South Beach Diet. More like the Cheap RVer Diet. Pass the raisins.
NOONISH we sputter down the cowpie ridge between Virginia Lily Trail and Bonaparte Lake and back to the lonely highway, rolling eastward slowly over ancient mountains of the Okanagan Highlands to Republic, Washington, another wild-west-looking gold rush town, tarted-up with its past. Nothing impels us to stop so it's south towards the Grand Coulee country.
The first few miles beyond Republic, we're engulfed by a narrow canyon with very steep igneous-rocky walls. The usual colorful vegetation, more matchstick conifers than frolicsome hardwoods. Haven't we seen something like this before. ["Yeah," sez Maureen.]
As we enter the large Colville Indian Reservation, the valley widens out but its sides are just as steep and stony. Lovely country, until the blizzards hit.
AFTERNOON: We pass through Keller, a rez town. Many new-looking houses, even those surrounded by fleets of old junky autos. A few miles beyond Keller, the land opens out more. The Sanpoil River is here a wide arm of the Columbia River and FD Roosevelt Lake, backed up behind the Grand Coulee Dam. And just before Keller Ferry we turn west towards Grand Coulee. We have a big sky with big clouds, few trees impeding the view — jackpines instead of those skinny lodgepoles back in the canyon.
We crawl over moderate dusty mountains through the first warm, dry forest we've seen in quite a while. And there, far below, we see the long lake-filled Columbia Gorge, perpendicular to a 50-mile-long gouge in Earth's surface, the Grand Coulee. Beyond are the Channeled Scablands of the Columbia Plateau, scraped down to bedrock by incredible ice-age floods. That's desert out there, high northern desert. And we think, MAYBE we've escaped the rain and cold. The rain, anyway. For now, anyway.
We drop off the highlands down STEEP grades into the dry upper basin, and it feels like The West. And then we hit bottom, a furrow in desert rocks with a river running through it. Looks familiar. Is this a Sonoran Desert, the Kamloops version or the Bisbee version or what? Latitude! Latitude! Ya can't tell which desert without the latitude!
The Columbia River as it outflows (trickles) from the dam is very tame, hardly recognizable as the cutting edge that opened up these rocks like slicing a chicken apart. The town of Grand Coulee is pretty tame too, a batch of well-maintained 1940s clapboard bungalows of many colors on tree-shaded streets. The fascinating (and free) Tribal Museum of the Colville Associated Tribes is well worth a visit; the dam's Visitor Center is more generic, but we learn of a cheap campground.
EVENING: We're ensconced at Spring Canyon, a few miles east of Grand Coulee, right above the water. The campground is quiet and cheap (US$5.00) and nearly empty, overlooking a small park and a big water. Sun! No evergreens! No rain! We might stay a while. Until boredom overcomes us. Or winter catches up.
Is anybody interested in the route details I've included? D'ya want more or less or none, or do you just ignore all this? I know, I know, there need to be more UFO and sasquatch reports, more accounts of wild parties, more excitement, more vivacity. I'm sorry, but 'excitement' here mostly consists of a few deer walking past the RV. Whoopsie-doopsie.
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Monday 10 October 2005 - GRAND COULEE, WASH.
Laying around the Lake FDR shore a bit more
Read, write, figure. Maureen continues her project. I write yet another travel guide, TRAVEL 4 VAMPIRES & WEREWOLVES & OTHERS of the UNDEAD. We smoke our last Cuban cigar, a Don Jose if I remember right. Clouds are moving in — we'll leave here tomorrow. We try to plot our future slow course. We have 35 days left.
As we drove beside Grand Coulee Dam on Sunday we identified several ways to breech security and destroy the dam. That makes us better citizens — we know what to watch out for, right? Yeah, you bet, sure.
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end of Dispatch #13
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Maureen's Final Report
Tribal Museum of the Colville Associated Tribes
One of the cultural highlights of this trip is the Tribal Museum of the Colville Associated Tribes in Grand Coulee, Washington. Though small, its one large room of vintage photographs and artifacts is attractively displayed.
The walls are covered with photographs of all these peoples, most in their magnificent tribal regalia and organized by tribe and family. I am going to write to the museum suggesting that a book of the photos be published and set for sale in the museum store. The collection is extraordinary.
On a central island are displayed an excellent and extensive collection of imbricated baskets, corn husk bags, beaded gloves, interspersed with more photos of the peoples.
Imbrix means tile and imbricated baskets have small 'tiles' of flat grasses woven over the coils in various designs simple and complex. This technique of basket making is unique to the tribes of north central Washington and south central British Columbia. Most are now in museums or private collections.
We have seen corn husk bags at the Indian Auctions, newly out of a collector's estate. Several of the museum photos showed the women holding the bags as part of their traditional costume. The bags are rectangular and finely woven from strips of natural and dyed corn husk. The patterns are either floral or geometric.
There are a few pairs of finely beaded gauntlet style gloves (they cover the forearm) made from home tanned hides and thousands of tiny beads all in perfect alignment. The designs are usually floral and in at least three colors of beads. So popular were beads to the native peoples that they would trade every non-essential possession for them. Many of the museum photos show the people wearing their magnificent beaded treasures.
We learned about the museum from John Grant, a Nez Pierce (Nimipoo) artist who had a small display of artifacts and his drawings in the Grand Coulee Dam Visitor Center. He had an amazing beaded vest which had belonged to his father and his grandfather, a turquoise background with red roses. The beads all very small. This was surely a labor of love and great honor.
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Tuesday 11 October 2005 - ACROSS WASHINGTON!
Grand Coulee WA to Echo OR
Tis the day after Canadian Thanksgiving and USA Columbus Day and we missed it all. We rolled out of our Grand Coulee lakeside camp fairly early; passed a roadside memorial with a nameplate, carved guitar and rough cross topped with antlers; went wardriving (WiFi sniffing) through town and found a hotspot! We spent a while communicating.
Alas. Information received makes it imperative that we alter our course and head directly (but not overly swiftly) to Bisbee. Why? Repairs needs to be made, sometime before the end of the month. Our agent can hire someone to do it for US$1600, or we can spend our last US$600 to get there (and back home to the Sierras by mid-November) and do it ourselves. Damn retaining walls!
But this means that we must skip our planned stop in southwest Oregon. I'll break my mother's heart. Sorry, Mom, we just can't afford the extra mileage to visit this time, not with gas around US$3.00 and the RV getting 9-10 MPG.
This also means that our Alaska-Yukon trip is effectively over. From here on we'll be in the Great Basin and Southwest; the route our software planner suggests is Pendleton and Burns OR, Winnemucca and Ely NV, Cedar City UT, Page AZ and down to Bisbee. We'll avoid high-speed roads (higher speeds mean more fuel consumption) and still have an adventure or something — it'll just have to be a cheap adventure and probably not worth reporting via newsletter.
NEWSLETTER READERS: This may be the final dispatch. I'll still keep a log. See the link below for all the latest. Whenever I get around to updating it, that is. Until we reach Bisbee and reconnect by landline, those updates may be rather sparse. Bother. And of course, stay tuned for the next trip, whenever we can afford one. Maybe we'll get as far as Pacoima. Ha.
FOR SALE: When we get back to California we're going to have to sell stuff, including a period pocket door, solid heavy wood (oak?), with hardware. (We have to measure it and estimate the weight.) Maybe our 13 tempered glass panels, 46"x76" each. And the Hans Bol prints — see the link below. And the old Currier & Ives AMERICAN PRIZE FRUIT. And 75 square feet of vintage Art Deco (Pomona) tiles. And hopefully a dozen 8-foot sections of a 300-year-old black oak, more suitable for classy woodworking than as firewood. And my soggy navel lint collection. [We'll flesh out the list later.]
LINKS -
Journey Log:
http://www.sonic.net/~ric/adventure/ne2/index.htm
Hand Bol prints:
http://www.klaxo.net/k0k0_99/pr/index.htm
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end of Dispatches
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NOONISH: We cruise south along the Upper Grand Coulee, its bottom filled with otherworldly Banks Lake. The contrast between the desert environment cut with vertical cliffs of sliced lava and the mirage-like water is surreal. The sheer canyon walls, straight up for hundreds of feet, look like extended southwestern mesas and canyons, Roadrunner and Coyote cartoon country, but surrealistically elongated, stretched by cyclopean funhouse mirrors.
Between Upper Grand Coulee and Lower Grand Coulee (the latter scattered with ponds and marshes) is Dry Falls, an immense curtain of vertical basalt, where a waterfall undercut its channel through twelve miles of immensely tough lava layers during gargantuan Ice Age floods. A stupendous spectacle. And further south, the canyons wear away to nothing and we're on the Channeled Scablands. The Columbia Plateau (a vast lava shield) is nearly flat as far as we can see. Definitely no forests. Yes, this marks the end of the Alaska-Yukon trip. And we know we're going in the right direction 'cause we had to turn on the air conditioner.
Out here on the flatlands. fuel prices have fallen to below US3.00 (but just slightly, and they waver up and down) for the first time in a long long time. This range and farmland of eastern Washington is flat and featureless and fenced-in. Boring... Even more boring than Kansas, which at least has a country seat every 30 miles and a few villages scattered in between.
LATE AFTERNOON: Beyond Pasco WA we cross the Snake River — there isn't very much left of it by the time it gets to the Columbia. There's even less of the Walla Walla River. And here's the Big Bend of the Columbia River, locus of Pasco-Richland-Kennewick, the Tri-Cities region. The Columbia gorge here is another immense slot in the lava layers, a U-turn 25 miles (40 klicks) across, the mile-wide river being hundreds of vertical feet below the scraped plateau. Back on the Snake, a large sternwheel paddleboat, probably a passenger river excursion; here, another old-style cruise boat, somewhat smaller and more modern.
We see Hat Rock (a round lava plug that indeed looks like a giant top hat) as we try to slide between & around the cities of Umatilla and Pendleton — hey, we're in Oregon. All the way across Washington state on one (expensive) tank of gas! We head directly west, into the sunset. My eyes! My eyes! [scream] And somehow we make it past major highways and find the Old Pendleton Road, traverse the sleepy farming village of Echo (Echo) (Echo) and find a wide spot against rolling sand hills, marked OREGON TRAIL SITE. And here we are for the night. A long drive. I'm too tired to cook. Maureen whomps up some cornbread, opens a can of chili. We feast like southwesterners. G'night.
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"A horse is a horse,
of course, of course
And nobody marries their horse,
of course
Unless your name's Caligula
and the horse is Mr. Ed."
horse voice: "Emperor! Emperor!"
falsetto voice: "Yes, darling?"
That's the theme/intro for an Early Roman Empire TV sitcom featuring humorous goings-on in the Imperial Palace and Colisseum and Roman Forum, etc. Oh, those wild and crazy Romans! Up Next: MY MOTHER THE CHARIOT
"Everybody's got the mania
To do the polka from Transylvania"
That's the title/end strophe for TRANSYLVANIA POLKA / LET'S STOMP THE VAMPYR which I composed years ago but have just finished the 2nd verse.
Me:
Those are just so I won't forget to update my notes.
Maureen:
Something's really pushed your buttons this morning!
Me:
Must have been those six cookies we each ate. Sugar rush!
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Wednesday 12 October 2005 - INTO OREGON
Echo to Dale OR - Umatilla River to (North) John Day River
MORNING: We parked overnight beside the Oregon Trail on Old Pendleton Road, near railroad tracks where undisturbing trains roll through the night. An owl softly cries who-who-who but we don't answer. The trains seem louder in the morning as we stroll up the Oregon Trail, rolling sagelands with ancient wagon tracks and new power lines. The air is clean and sweet and cool, almost Canadian but with more sagebrush.
The twisty old road runs along the Umatilla River through another scenic lava cut'n'gouge gorge, with farmed lush bottomlands and desolation up above. We skirt the edge of Pendleton and then head south on the Spokane-San Diego highway, crawling up the Columbia Plateau into the western flanks of the Blue Mountains. The landscape is short-grass prairie, low and summer-grassy golden and spotted with lava chunks. Scattered poles and shack remnants are sometimes topped with live hawks.
As elsewhere in this country, we see rock cairns. Such a cairn is a pile of rocks wrapped in chicken wire and maybe topped by a try stickwood triframe, a skinless tipi. These are used to mark boundaries and support barb-wire fences. Micro-vernacular architecture, eh?
AFTERNOON: We climb into a mountain valley to Ukiah village. A local business complex -- gas station, store, motel (shudder) -- is decorated with strange automata and signs decrying government. From here through John Day to Burns, another couple hundred miles, we retrace our path (in the opposite direction) of the STONEHENGE OR BUST! (click here) trip of spring 2000. The mushroom trade does not flourish here now. Wrong season, eh?
We're passed by a sleek pickup bearing a company logo: FLAT EARTH SURVEYING. I guess they specialize, eh? In imaginary worlds, eh? Slightly further, near Dale village, we stop across from Highway 395 along the North Fork John Day River in a quiet copse of warm trees to plop for a day. PLOP!! Ewwwww, don't step in it...
STATISTICS: This is day #69 of the trip. Our average cost per day is US$58.75. On day #69 on the Mexico+ trip we were in Copan Ruinas, Honduras (click here) and our average daily cost was US$61.65. What, Canada is cheaper than Mexico? No, we'd just spent 5 weeks plopped down in San Cristobal de las Casas, Chiapas, so we didn't have the same daily road expenses.
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