Human Interactions On The Road

Note: As we publish this blog we are actually back in Olympia.  Since then, we're dealing with "you know what" just like everyone else.  No matter, let's get back to our journey..........................

Over the last month, I had been boat shopping online and trying to arrange appointments to see boats I had found in Mexico and southern California.  We were excited about making the run down to San Carlos to see a Cooper 41 sloop.  As we approached Arizona we found that someone had just made an offer on it.  That would have been a great boat for us.  At a very reasonable price of ~37k, she has two separate staterooms and all the gear we have on Traveler.  Well, we missed out on that one. The lesson learned is that if you find a boat you are interested in and it is a good price then you’d better get there fast and take a look.

I was also chasing a 1986 C&C Landfall sloop in San Diego for 39K, a Bob Perry designed Polaris 43 in Long Beach for 39K, and a 1980 Cheoy Lee Offshore in San Pedro for 29K.  Over the course of a week, the Polaris got an offer, the Cheoy Lee got an offer, and the agent selling the C&C Landfall could not seem to commit to an appointment with us.  

Colonel Allensworth Park.  Note the leaning shelter supports.

All this was happening as we drove across the country.  The coronavirus outbreak was getting more and more serious and the stock market was starting to tank.  Switching gears again, we decided that it was not in the cards for us to be boat shopping in an uncertain market.  In fact, it was time to go home.  We headed north through the central California valley.

At Colonel Allensworth State Historic Park we found an interesting campground ($18) at the site of one of the first black American settlements.   Surrounded by endless flat farmland, we slept to the sounds of coyotes and freight trains.  Half of the camp/picnic sites were roped off because the prairie dogs were busily digging holes around the shelter posts and paved drives.  The shelters were leaning and the pavement was collapsing.  Those little dogs were taking back the park!

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From Allensworth, we ran north to the town of Colusa a few miles east of I-5 and grabbed a night at the city campground there ($34), taking advantage of their electrical to charge our house battery.   An hour west of Colusa we drove the beautiful highway 20 into the hills, the same highway we used to drive to get over to Potter Valley where we helped out with the seasonal marijuana harvest.   

Off of highway 20 is highway 16 and the free camping area of Cowboy Camp.  As we drove in, we found the south camping area closed until April 1^st.  On the north loop we found a pitched tent and two camping vans so we decided that camping here was allowed.  While we pondered where to park the rig we saw a hunter appear from the direction of the river.  He was a youngish man in full camouflage brown and green pants and jacket, knee high waders, and a small backpack.  He was carrying a big rifle. Scraggly bearded and curly haired, he had a fierce look about him and we kept our distance.   He opened his truck and sat on the tailgate eating an apple, staring out into the distance, paying us no mind.

There was a great spot there at the edge of the turnaround that would give us a good view of the valley below.  The trouble was, this fellow’s big truck was blocking our way.  I hitched up my courage and approached the ruffian.  “Find anything?” I asked.  “Saw some sign down below, but no deer.” he said.  “Hmm”  “What a beautiful spot, huh?”  I said.  Then he told me about coming over a ridge and finding 20 or so Tule Elk staring him in the face.  We had a wonderful conversation about his work with the California Fish and Wildlife Services and his job prospects working on his uncle’s tuna boat out of some place on the east coast.  This crazy looking hunter turned out to be a complete sweetheart.  I asked him over for dinner but he had places to go and people to see. Don’t judge a book by its cover…right?

We set up our rig looking out to the west across the river.  At sunset we saw the herd of Tule Elk settling down across the way in the shelter of some oaks.    

The next day we hiked around and tried to cross the little river.  Each time we found a narrow spot that looked like we could jump across we hesitated.  Would we be able to jump back?  Off in the distance the golden hills and oaks beckoned but we were stymied so we settled in at our campsite.  I watched a couple in the tent and wondered if they were homeless.  The man loaded the family (him, her, infant, and three year old) into the car and off they went.  Later he came back with the kids.   After being buoyed by the conversation with the hunter, I ambled over to talk to the man and found him speaking Russian to his small children and his service dog.  We talked about camping on BLM land, which he kept referring to as BML land and he told me about their most recent month long stint on land just outside of Las Vegas.  I asked if they were living in the tent. “Yes.”  I asked if he needed anything and for a moment he looked sad, then he told me they were OK.  Then he asked ME if we needed anything, which I thought was very sweet.

Later that afternoon, he piled the kids back into the car and I presume he was making the drive down to the nearest town of Williams to pick up his spouse.  Soon, a white forest service truck pulled up and yet another scraggly bearded young man got out.  He put on some bright blue surgical gloves and approached the tent, knocking on the frame and announcing himself.  Getting no answer, he unzipped the fly and looked inside.  He then got a camera from the truck and took some pictures before writing some notes.  The ranger drove up to us and I approached the vehicle to talk to him through the passenger window.  “I’m sorry sir, but you cannot camp here.”  he said.  We discussed why and where and had a short pleasant conversation the gist of which was that Connie and I were going to have to pack up the rig and move on.

Then I told him about my conversation with the man with the kids and what I thought might be their situation.  His face brightened up when he heard that the tent was occupied and thanked me for telling me the situation.  He had seen the tent one week ago with no one around and seeing it vacant now, assumed it was abandoned.  He was preparing to take it down and cart it away.  I asked him where the family could legally camp and he figured that they could park the car in the upper lot and walk into the lower campground which was closed to vehicles  but not to camping.  I then asked if he was going to leave them a note.  “I think I’ll do that.”

Later, after we had our rig all packed up and ready to go, I asked Connie if we should leave the homeless couple something.  At first she said no, that we didn’t know what their real situation was and that we would not want to assume anything or potentially enable a bad situation… A few minutes later she came up to me, put her arm around my waist and said, “If you want to leave something then you should go right ahead.”   I dropped a twenty into an envelope with our boat card and a short note and placed it inside their tent next to the note from the forest service guy’s.  His note kindly explained how they should move their tent down to the lower campground.  Good people abound.

As we got into our truck ready to drive away, a car with two women pulled up.  The driver rolled down her window and asked if we could get our rig out if she pulled into the handicap parking space.  “No Problem.”  As we drove out I shouted out, “Look across the valley and see if the Elk are there.”  She replied, “That’s where they usually are, but usually at sunset or sunrise.”  We smiled, they waved.  She pulled herself out of her car, grabbed her walker and proceeded to the overlook.   Evidently she’d been coming here for years.  We’d come back here.  It’s a good place.

After getting skunked out of our site at Cowboy Camp we drove north to provision at Orland then headed west to the Buckhorn / Black Butte recreation area.  Being a national rec area, we qualified for half price camping at $10 per night.  At the end of the loop we found the best campsite ever, overlooking the water to the south.  We set up the rig, paid for three nights, and set out our solar panels to catch the last bit of energy from the sun.  Above us, across the drive, a large couple sat at their picnic table outside their trailer.  As we settled in we could hear the rock music station they were listening to, much too loud.  They were blessing all the other campers with their music selection as the sun was heading toward the horizon.  After a long time of putting up with it, I finally, went around our rig and looked up at them.  I pointed to my ears, made a gesture like I was turning down a very large dial, and then raised my hands asking WHY?  We stared at each other for a few minutes then the lady went to the trailer and turned the music off. 

Connie was playing the ukulele while I started the coals on the grill to make dinner. One of our favorite things to do in camps with built in grills is to start a small wood fire, get the coals going, then lay in some charcoal.  Once the wood burns down, the charcoal is lit and we can grill corn, veggies, and chicken.  After dinner, we toss more sticks onto the glowing charcoal and we've got a nice fire to cozy up to.  

We had the wine in the glass and the flame to the fire when the man in a camper to our east started up his generator; a loud generator.  Connie switched to the accordion so as to drown out the sound as I grumbled, and started to make the lamb patties.  Two hours later, after dinner, as we were trying to watch the remaining sunset, I could not take it any more so I approached the man’s RV and could see him sitting inside watching television.  I knocked on his door. He answered and I asked him if he could turn off his generator. I had to shout over the din of the machine which he had covered with a blanket to muffle the sound.  His immediate reply was that the campground rules said he could run his generator until 10 PM, 30 minutes away.  When I protested, his reluctant reply was just, “OK, I’ll turn it off.”   That’s when I had more words to say about just how long it should take to charge a battery, was he leaving tomorrow, and other such niceties.  He kept repeating, “We’re done talking now, good night.”  As I walked away part of me felt that I should not have said anything at all and should have just waited for him to turn his generator off at 10 PM.

All the lakes, everywhere in Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, and California are low now.

Back at our campsite we watched the moon rise and then cleaned up the dishes.  After stoking the fire we settled into our folding chairs.  Just then a car pulled into the lower lot between us and the water.  The car radio was up full blast and we could hear them scanning through the stations; car idling, lights on, radio blaring.  That’s the final straw.  I’ve had enough.  I start to march down the hillside.  Connie comes with me.  Blocking our way is an older couple out walking their dog and as we start to converse, the little car down below drives away.  The Vancouver couple thanked me for talking to the generator guy.  “I wish I’d had the balls to say something.” he said.  Well now I’m feeling better about my rash actions.  We talked about camping on BLM land (a common subject) and about boats in general.  The full moon rose, the clear sky brought in cold air and we retired for the night.  I lay awake for a long time thinking about all the people we’d recently met and had interactions with.   Off in the distance I could hear the coyotes yipping and yapping.

At 7 AM we heard the first generator start up, coming from somewhere up the hill far away.  At 8 AM the rock music people camped above us started up their generator and we spent our breakfast hours grumbling about things.  But then by ten o’clock the only sound in the campground was from Connie playing away on the accordion. 

Connie playing accordion in our Magical, Mobile, Monkey Palace.