When we left Burlington, VT knowing we would have to come back through the state after visiting Bar Harbor, we specifically chose a route that would allow me to fish the Battenkill. Having heard this was a world-class fly fishing river, and having not done nearly enough fishing on this trip, our destination was decided for us when we saw the ad for Camping on the Battenkill in our Woodall’s Campground Directory.
After spending almost $50 on a three-day license, some tippet and a few flies. I set out the next morning to give dad’s old fly rod a work out. After just a few casts of the recommended nymph down a deep riffle right by the campground, I hooked a nice Brook Trout. And that was it.
Last fall, our beloved dog Jerry was diagnosed with bone cancer, had his leg removed and became a tripod dog. The vet told us that he would only survive about 4 months after the surgery. We moved quickly to sell our house and business so we could hit the road and give Jerry the life he always deserved. This trip was our way of making up for all those long hours we worked, and devoting 100% of our time to playing and romping with him, while he still can. Every day with Jerry is precious to us; we are so grateful that 10 months later, he’s still happy and healthy.
Today was a milestone. We made it to the Atlantic Ocean, at Acadia National Park in Maine, and got to watch Jerry play in the ocean once again, just like he did for so many years at Samoa Beach in our old hometown of Eureka, California. He made it with us, all the way across the country, and dipped his three paws in the Atlantic. What a beautiful day this was.
When we embarked on this trip, I often imagined kicking back in my hammock with my Powerbook and enjoying my new office. Well, the first couple times that I have actually strung up the thing I ended up not spending any time in it at all. If my hammock time wasn’t called on account of rain, there was either too much on my RV honey do list or simply too much of the outdoors to go enjoy.
I am now happy to say that my vision has finally come true. The view from my new office is well worth the wait. The only thing missing is our internet connection.
In campgrounds across the nation, at dusk when the light is just right, if one listens carefully, the chirp of the Twilight Honker can be heard announcing nightfall and the paranoia of fellow campers. With a scientific name like Honkalarmus Paranoiac, one can imagine frail little birds taking flight at the slightest hint of danger. The truth is, these annoying beasts are the result of discourteous, mistrustful campers everywhere.
It is inevitable that you will hear someone setting their car alarm as night falls in any campground. What’s funny is to hear the next few car alarms being set by others who heard the call. What’s not so funny is when someone sets off their alarm disrupting the relative peace and quiet of evenings and mornings in the great outdoors.
As a child, I was terribly frightened by the movie the Wizard of Oz. It wasn’t the witch, the trees, or even the monkeys. The idea of a tornado coming and tearing up my house and carrying me away from the comforts of my home and family was really quite traumatizing.
With age and a little therapy, I’ve been mostly able to overcome this fear. But the other night I couldn’t help but remember how my siblings and friends would taunt me about our neighbor’s car – an Oldsmobile Toronado. As I tried to drift off to sleep, the unmistakable sound of a distant tornado warning siren kept me wide awake. Hey, I saw Twister. (more…)
While heavy thunderstorm clouds kept us incognito in the woods, the weather was not so bad that it kept us from enjoying the great outdoors in the Rocky Mountains outside Steamboat Springs. Though the incredible thunder did freak out Jerry.
I hiked along the Continental Divide Trail and deep into the woods through heavy undergrowth fly fishing the North Fork of the Elk River. I’ve never worked so hard for such small fish, beautiful Brook Trout as they were.
We rode down the Burn Ridge trail early one morning for some of the best, most secluded single track mountain biking ever.
We gave our four wheel drive Dodge Ram 2500 a serious workout on a steep, narrow winding forest service road that seemed like a single track.
And we finally made the hobo pies we’ve been waiting so long to enjoy by a campfire.
All this activity – and the intermittent showers, however – did result in a lack of time for R&R in the hammock. Oh well, better luck next time.
Since the first time my knobby tires hit dirt back in the early 90s when I regularly biked Mt. Tam in Marin, I’ve always wanted to hit the trails in Moab, Utah. Those red mountain single tracks, biking to the edge of a thousand foot drop on some mesa . . . all those things I heard about, there they were, at our disposal when we arrived in Moab on July 8. But there was just one problem: it was a record-breaking day weather-wise, a whopping 100-something, in a town that never gets that hot. Only a fool would ride under those conditions.
Arizona’s canyon lands, painted dessert and red rock buttes are beautiful sights to be seen and appreciated. That being said, I am happy to say I can check that area off my list of potential places to plant permanent roots. I’ll never say never, but the heat and local societal attitude that I encountered – yes, first impressions do count in my book – throughout Northern Arizona put it on a back burner for now, quite literally.
Whether it’s the weather change, the incredible drive through Monument Valley, or today’s office view of the canyon rim, or the San Juan River swim, I’m already liking things better as we head back north. Good decision to bypass Four Corners and opt for the Valley of the Gods. I will admit the direct sun may actually be just as hot, but the shade trees are better and there is a consistent awning-tolerable cool breeze off the river.
The heat over the past week in Flagstaff was much drier, but the saying “It’s a dry heat,” means nothing when everything is just so hot, dusty, and well, dry. The dirt here from the Southern Utah canyons, however, is much more like sand – course with the multicolored crumbles of this land’s distant past.
It was wonderful to visit with the Agredanos. It is always a pleasure to share good times with them, and I’m glad to have finally seen Jerome with Raul and the Douglas Mansion Museum at the site where his father was a copper miner. A good time was had, hopefully by all. But it feels good to be back on the road. There’s much catching up to do with pictures, videos, and tales of our recent adventures. Stay tuned… Now that we have seen everyone on our agenda for a while and over a month has passed since we officially started our full-time RV adventure, it’s time to get back to work. Life is hard. Life is good. Enjoy it. Thus is the essence of my live/work dream.
From Kingman to Williams Arizona we followed one of the last remaining stretches of Historic Route 66. Stopped in the tourist trap town of Seligman only to discover the authentic looking 50’s style diner was closed. What the!?!? Oh well, no root beer float. And we didn’t feel like Chinese food so we snacked in the trailer.
Going on our way, we came across this dirt devil blowing along the hot and dusty Arizona countryside…
From our direction we’re traveling in, there’s only one road in, and one road out, to the hottest, most inhabitable place in North America, Death Valley. The music of Pink Floyd is the ultra mellow soundtrack for our crossing at 5:30 am today.
Way back in 1996, the first time we crossed this inferno, the only soundtrack was the wind screaming in my ears as we rode across on bikes getting baked in our leathers. Back then, we gave no thought to what time we crossed. I think we did it at noon. Today, drive across in comfort at dawn in our big ass truck, yet, I’m still terrified. Couldn’t sleep all night thinking about this epic drive. I mean what kind of morons do this in summertime? Us, that’s who. We’re always good for this sort of misadventure.
When we left Burlington, VT knowing we would have to come back through the state after visiting Bar Harbor, we specifically chose a route that would allow me to fish the Battenkill. Having heard this was a world-class fly fishing river, and having not done nearly enough fishing on this trip, our destination was decided for us when we saw the ad for Camping on the Battenkill in our Woodall’s Campground Directory.
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