When you go to sleep around 8 pm, you tend to wake up around 4 am. And Dave is no exception. When you go to sleep around 11 pm, you tend to want to sleep until around at *least* 6 am. And I am no exception. But do you see the problem here? There is no “sneaking out” of a teardrop camper, so I, too, am getting up (or at least waking up) at 4 am. And I don’t like it.
Thankfully, it did finally cool off a bit over night and the morning was quite pleasant. We had some coffee, breakfast, and watched online church at Westwood since we had a decent cell signal and then packed up and hit the road.
Given how far south we were in relation to the original plan, we opted to head to the Oregon coast and drive north from there. The morning heated up quickly — hitting 100 before noon. Oregon was baffling to me. I had never been before and, in my mind, it was all lush Pacific Northwesty. This, it is not. However things DID start to change as we went through the Willamette Valley.
We stopped at a winery — I mean how can you not? We picked…. Well wait. I should say DAVE picked one — unbeknownst to me — while DRIVING. Which SHOULD be Agreement #3 but ISN’T because it should not need to be a formal Agreement. Agreed?
Anyway, he saw two options on his google maps that were less than a mile off the highway and we went to the first one: Lumos. It was AMAZING! And it was COOL — both “cool” as in HIP and “cool” as in NOT HOT! We had a sangria and a rosé as well as some bread with spreads. We also grabbed some chicken from the cooler because we have to eat everything before we cross the Canadian border and we’ve got a lot of work to do in that department. It was a LOVELY diversion.
Dave is doing way more than his share of the driving. WAY more. I think he thinks it’s his contribution since I do basically everything else. (Let’s see if this gets by my copy editor.) He drove all day, really. As we went over the “pass” from Willamette to the coast (pass elevation of 5,128 ft) the temp dropped to 52 degrees. That’s more than a 50 degree swing in a matter of hours. It felt great.
The coast was great. And then, honestly, I’ve seen enough of the coast. I got to walk and run in the water, watch a crab dig under the sand and get my hair whipped around. Awesome.
Then I had to get every grain of sand out from between my toes. Not awesome.
I could not live on a beach. Nor do I want to camp on a beach. I think maybe I have become the ultimate weirdo in my old age.
More driving as we went back and forth and back and forth about what route to take to Olympic National Park. Which, by the way we have been calling Olympia National Park for all our lives. Not until today did we realize it is Olympic. And honestly, I’d like to petition a name change. You’ve got nearby Olympia, no doubt where we got the Olympia idea. You’ve got Mount Olympus at the center of Olympic National Park… ??? I mean, at the VERY LEAST call it Olympus? But whatever. I’ve got this blog to write. I don’t have time to petition the government. And no, I’m not going to make a joke about the government here, though I am sorely tempted.
We finally landed on NOT going to Astoria (to see the mouth of the Columbia River), so we headed inland toward Portland along the very scenic Wilson River. (Remember, dear reader, we also have an AMAZON LOCKER to stop at near Seattle.) As we craned our necks and salivated at the amazing trout water we also noticed more and more cars on the turnouts along the river. “Ah HA!” We exclaimed! “Finally, signs of fly fishing pressure like we see in Colorado!”
But as we neared our camping destination for the night, we kept catching glimpses of what looked like a veritable carnival in the water and lining the banks. Scads of people. SCADS! (Such a great word.) Floaties, tubes, chairs, boom boxes (yes. Actual boom boxes). Babies. Overall-wearing men…
I cannot exaggerate this. It felt like we were on another planet. It was 6 pm on a SUNDAY NIGHT for heaven’s sake! Don’t people work? Apparently not in Portland! Haha. I’m KIDDING. But seriously. It wasn’t even hot and there were more people than we could count at every bend in the river acting like it was 110 degrees. …I’ll show you 110 degrees…
We did our best to ignore the un-ignorable, drove past them, trying to keep our jaws off the floor and did our usual cruising of the campground loops, in this case A, B and C. Inexplicably, given the SCADS of people, it was nearly empty. We settled in and got to making some dinner.
I don’t have the energy to tell another Dave story and do it the justice it deserves. Suffice to say, we will not be using the grill that is STRAPPED TO THE TOP of the camper (and seriously compromising our FUEL ECONOMY) because we don’t have the regulator. But that is OK because chicken thighs on the stove basted with butter is a FINE COMPROMISE.
Good night from the Rockin’ Wilson River, OR.
Mike Stephan says
As a fellow, “I love the beach, but can’t stand the sand!” kind of person, I can totally relate to your comment about sand in the toes.
Today, while on vacation, while looking down the Superior lakeshore, I asked my wife, “ would you rather bask in the sun sitting in a chair on the sandy beach or on a dock”?
Her answer, “beach”. My answer, “dock”.