Road Warriors

The only campers at Dean’s Campground (in tents) all left really early and we had the place to ourselves — so of course we took showers and I even washed my hair — truly an undertaking. “Check out time” (still makes me laugh) was 11 am and we weren’t expecting to hear from the hitch place until 1 pm, so we puttered around and made plans to hit the laundromat. But then Dave’s phone rang at 10 am and they said the hitch arrived, so we went into fast motion, got out of there, dropped the clothes at the laundromat and got to the Torklift by 10:30 am. This place was LEGIT. We really felt lucky that we landed on them via a google search from afar. I didn’t do much research, but the guy we talked to was helpful and they did welding, which we thought made them the real thing. We felt we were in good hands.

After a lengthy conference with the technician, we grabbed a backpack full of stuff with plans to walk the 3.4 miles back to the laundromat in order to satisfy Agreement #3. Did I cover that one yet? I don’t have internet as I jot this down, so I can’t check. In case I didn’t, Agreement #3, established on about day 5, is to walk at least 30 minutes a day. Dave wanted to tack on 5 minutes of stretching in the morning, and I — of course I agreed — agreed. Because I’m an amenable type of wife. But I knew we wouldn’t do it. And, Spoiler Alert, we haven’t. I’m more committed to walking and we’ve stuck to that pretty well. I admit a 3.4 mile urban walk in hot sun (after washing my hair, no less) was ambitious. And I’m REALLY glad Dave is less stubborn than me. Because after walking 1.5 miles, part of which was along a little urban “trail” that was more arduous and perilous than a ridge climb along a Colorado 14er, Dave called us an Uber. I acted like I could go either way, but I was a sweaty, muddy mess. And once we surfaced from the subterranean creek trail and were walking along the road, with cars whizzing by us only feet away, I was even more glad he called the Uber.

We made it back to the laundromat, moved the clothes to the dryer and parked it at a little coffee shop a couple doors down. I, of course, toiled away at the blog and Dave… I have no idea what he was doing. Probably watching all the weird people. To be fair, they were way less weird but no less interesting. 

We were told not to expect the Bronco to be done before 5 pm but they called around 2:45 and we quickly finished folding the clothes, got another Uber and headed back. It took us another couple hours to get the right hitch permutation that would allow us to open the back Bronco gate (which is a single, long gate with a big spare tire on the back) without smashing into the back of the camper while also clearing the ball and not getting stuck on the spare tire. It was complicated. We ended up with less rise than we would have liked as well as a longer hitch than we would have liked. All of which makes us like the Bronco a whole lot less. But it is what it is.

Of course we ended up leaving Kent, Washington at 5:30 pm at the worst possible time heading into the heart of the beast of Seattle rush hour traffic. Dave tried to route us directly to the Vancouver border crossing, but I — very kindly and gently — reminded him of HIS PACKAGES at the fricken AMAZON LOCKER. This guy….

From the Whole Foods in Bellevue, we went north to Tulalip, WA to get the two 8wt fly rods we had purchased for pick-up. All in, those detours — due entirely to traffic — took almost 3 hours. It was brutal.

As we headed to the border, we were diligently making a list of all the stuff we had in the cooler and bins that you need to declare. But they didn’t even care. The question was: “Do you have any firearms in your vehicle.” We said no. He said, “Are you absolutely positive that you don’t have any firearms in your vehicle.” And when we said that no, but we really WANTED to, and researched the crap out of it but gave up, he seemed impressed. But when I told him we had correct kind of BEAR SPRAY, allowed by Canada as stipulated on the Canadian Customs website, he was so speechless that he just let us drive on by.

So I got to keep my head of cabbage!

We drove on through Vancouver and up to Squamish, British Columbia (BC) to camp at a campground that I had made a reservation at the day before. I am learning that all of Canada requires camping reservations to be made AT LEAST 24 hours in advance. (And, Spoiler Alert, British Columbia requires 48 hours.) I only found that out because I assumed we’d be getting out of Washington late due to the hitch and thinking we wouldn’t want to be farting around looking for a spot late at night. Super glad I did, because maps didn’t put us into the area until after 10 pm.

I still think there can’t be a more beautiful city in the world than Vancouver. This is probably my third or fourth time driving through it and I am no less stunned. There was also a full moon making it that much more impressive with the oceans and the water. Breathtaking.

I’m glad I enjoyed all of the last half of the day so much, because the joy and peace and feeling of VICTORY (at having conquered the hitch and doing it with grace) was far too short lived.

We pulled into Klahanie Campground at 10:30 pm. We were tired and just wanted to go to bed. I went to open the back of the camper to get out the toothbrushes and…

The solar panel was gone.

The thrill of victory seems to always be followed by the AGONY of DEFEAT.

Despite our general distaste for camping in established campgrounds, this beachfront site overlooking Vancouver Island was a nice little spot. There are bonuses to campgrounds — namely bathrooms. I’m an EXPERT outside pee-er. It’s the pooping that messes with my head. Once you get over the initial hump, it isn’t nearly as bad as it sounds, but still: tell that to yourself at 7am in a dispersed site where you have to get out of your camper, find some shoes and probably some clothes so you aren’t walking through the woods naked, bring a shovel to dig a hole, adequate toilet paper, and walk far enough away that your husband is not going to WITNESS the atrocity. Then do your business and PACK OUT the TP — no easy task. And undoubtedly the reason you find so much damned toilet paper in the wilderness. But people: if you are going to use the great outdoors, you can’t leave FRICKEN TOILET PAPER laying all over the ground. It’s that simple. If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen. And go to a CAMPGROUND.

I’m sure that’s more information than anyone who subscribed to these updates wants to know but THAT’S WHAT YOU’RE GONNA GET from here on out — though I promise not to talk about poop again. 

*I hope*

Low tide was at 7:05, which is important if you want to walk the “spit” — a long finger of land that juts out into the water. (I would have said ocean, but someone is going to tell me it’s the Sound. Or the Sea. Or WHATever. So I chose water.). It was nice. You can walk 5 miles out to the lighthouse but it’s hard to imagine making that trek on a rubble-strewn beach. What IS interesting is that they have a volunteer/pay-to-play program for the lighthouse that I think is GENIUS. You can sign up to become a “keeper” and go out there for week-long stints with groups of up to 8 people. You have to mow the grass, polish the brass, give tours to anyone hardy enough to walk the 5 miles to get there, along with other menial tasks… All for the low low price of (something like) $400 for the privilege of being there and working (going off memory). Genius. And we did see two keepers being shuttled back from their week as we started our walk. They seemed happy enough. But maybe just happy to be done? haha

Given that we are generally killing time until tomorrow when the new hitch is supposed to be delivered, we weren’t in any great hurry to leave — though “check out” is at 11am… *eyeroll*. Dave showered. Not me. Though I do feel a certain amount of peer pressure to do likewise, I am resisting. Instead, I participate in — what are they called? — sink showers? — where I wash “the basics” and I think that’s good enough for me. Not sure Dave agrees, but I’m not asking cuz I don’t want to know. Washing my hair is a COMMITMENT that I try not to do more than a couple times a week at the most…

Back on the road. Destination Olympia to walk the boardwalk, on the recommendation of my high school friend Kristi, who lives there — but happens to be in Minnesota while we are passing through. How ironic is that? No offense to Kristi, but I find Olympia to be much like the rest of the PNW. I’m not sure why I expected it to be more like Minnesota, but it’s not. We have yet to find any midwesternly fake-friendliness — which I personally value a lot — and find that I miss it when people are honking at us and flipping us off as we cross the roundabout crosswalk for no apparent reason as they drive by with their huge nose rings and tattoos all over their faces. Maybe it’s just me.

We had a nice lunch out at Row and dallied some more as we tried to figure out where to stay for the night. I mean, we are in URBAN TERRITORY, so it’s mostly state parks, which, frankly, we are kind of OVER. (and, after much research, they are also all FULL, too, so it isn’t even an option.)

Much texting back and forth with Kristi ensued as we tried to glean some insider information. Where I landed was a resource I had previously sworn off, but for stupid a reason. (Yes, yes, I’m talking about hipcamp.com. I know people love it…) But, I HATE that they make you set up an account to see much of anything. Still. I caved out of desperation. I have to admit it was a good option for our current circumstances. We don’t want to be too far out of the Seattle area because we have an appointment to replace the Bronco hitch tomorrow. We need to pick up our AMAZON stuff and we also need to stop at CABELLAS on our way north to pick up a couple of Redington Wrangler rods so we can slay the salmon in Alaska! Not sure why we didn’t take care of that before we left home, but what else is there for me to do in the car while Dave drives and drives and drives? I mean, besides doing math equations on tongue weight levers?

We landed at “Dean’s Campground” — not because it sounded the best — but because they were the only ones in the area on HipCamp that accepted reservations inside of 24 hours. I mean, what the HELL? After this, I plan to delete HipCamp from my phone because the ONLY reason I would EVER use it was BECAUSE I NEEDED a place to stay INSIDE of 24 hours. Again, is this just me?

*rant over*

Dean’s campground is JUST FINE. It even surpassed our expectations. The description is accurate (the fully owned the road noise). But the other campers were quiet tent people who all left early in the morning and we were even able to even take showers since no one was around. Yes, I even washed my hair.

I get ahead of myself. Let me tell you about DINNER: we bought a small piece of halibut in Olympia and made tacos with the Napa cabbage and tomato.

The fridge is looking good for the border crossing tomorrow (hopefully!). Good night from your favorite Urban Warriors.

Today’s itinerary includes something other than driving. We are visiting the Hoh Rainforest to take a hike on the river trail. 

We drive a bit and see very few cars. So it is with utter confusion that we start seeing signs saying “Parking lot full. Expect waits exceeding one hour” lining the road every few hundred feet like signs for Wall Drug in South Dakota. It was 9 am. Could it really be full?

Eventually we reached the park gate where there were six cars ahead of us. They were moving slowly — seemingly paying and proceeding — so that was good. When it was our turn we paid $30 for the privilege and proceeded toward the visitor center. We rounded a bend to utter chaos. Where on EARTH did these people come from? The lot, the roads leading to the lot, the overflows were all full.

However in an unexpected turn of events, the OVERSIZED parking was OPEN! You had to be an RV or a car with a trailer to park — which we are! When does that ever happen?

I don’t like crowds. And I REALLY don’t like crowds when I’m hiking. But that’s what National Parks kind of are. I thought I was prepared, but I guess I wasn’t. The good news was that the river trail was the least trafficked of the three options. It still lots of people but it was tolerable. 

I know sound like a total hypocrite. It isn’t lost on my, I assure you. I mean *I AM* a visitor. What makes me special? Nothing. I know that. I’m just telling you what’s in my crazy head.

Dave and I were trying to remember when we last visited a National Park and neither of us can remember — which oughta tell you something. 

After we finished our hike (very nice but nothing over-the-top special), we stopped at a turnout to make some lunch. It was during this sojourn that I finally agreed with Dave’s continual and unending obsession with the state of the Bronco hitch. He had been going on and on and about it since leaving. And I finally said, “Yeah. It looks really terrible.” I had not told him that since I had begun SECRETLY obsessing about it maybe 24 or 48 hours earlier. I didn’t TELL him because I didn’t want to 1) admit it, and 2) add to his obsession or 3) have to deal with it.

Adding insult to injury, we just REPLACED the 4Runner because of how it towed the camper. How can we STILL be having problems towing the camper? The Topo 2 camper is not like some behemoth. It’s 2000 dry weight with 250 lb tongue weight. While the Bronco isn’t like a pick-up; it’s not made to be a towing vehicle. It still has a 3500 lb towing capacity with a max tongue weight of 350. And we aren’t anywhere near that!

You may remember from Alaska 1, the first post, that Dave had literally JUST replaced the hitch receiver on the Bronco. When he brought it home the day before we left and hitched up the camper, the hitch went straight out. It was perfect. In fact, the spare tire just barely hit the ball as the gate was swung open. Now, it had more than 2” of clearance. What this tells us is that the hitch receiver has bent once again. Originally, we thought the Bronco came with a bent hitch receiver from the factory. But we know that when we started the trip the replacement hitch was straight. So it has definitely bent since we left – a seriously FREAKY situation. 

Much, much googling and research ensued. 

And where we have landed is that we (but really he because I haven’t had a lot to do with the Bronco), greatly underestimated the affect the 12” hitch extender impacted the hitch capacity. We have the hitch extender so that we can open the stupid back gate on the Bronco. It is HUGE and LONG and HEAVY! Opening that gate and risking it hitting the camper and cracking the fiberglass would be no bueno — though online I found plenty of people on forums carving idiots like us up for being so “incredibly stupid.”

I found a calculation online to figure out what our actual tongue weight/hitch capacity was with the set-up we were using, and I think we have determined we overtaxed the Bronco hitch. So it’s our fault. BUT SERIOUSLY. All this tells me is that the Bronco is all show, no go. Like a lot of the guys that drive them. Not Dave of course. Just an observation.

Dave is now saying, “I guess I’m just gonna have to get a pick-up.” And I have just kept my head down, on my computer, writing this damn blog. Nothing good can come from me responding to this. 

Guess what we did next?

We drove.

And drove and drove and drove.

And when there was one bar of cell service we googled hitch repair places. And Bronco forums. And when there wasn’t, we talked about the hitch. It was a really fun day. 

We drove all the way around Olympic National Park. At the very top we drove out to a spot called Dungeness Spit Recreation Area, assuming it would look like all the other beachy-type campgrounds we’d see so far, but oddly it was very quiet, not ON the beach and kind of cute — in a Florida/brackish way. (Forgot to take a picture). So we picked the most secluded spot and I made a crazy concoction of ingredients and called it a pasta for . I’m so sad I forgot to take a picture!! Here is a list of what all went in to it:

Italian sausage, onion, peppers, garlic, cherry tomatoes, Napa cabbage, Rosé, fresh mozzarella, Parmesan, penne pasta. 

I’m going to patent it. 

We wandered out to the bluff, just steps away from our spot and watched the sun set over Vancouver Island while I forced Dave to play a game of cribbage to keep him awake until 9pm (the time of the sunset). And you’ve just got to see this:

We had the SAME HAND! He led and every card he laid down, I played the same one (for 2 points each). Have you EVER heard of such a thing?

The sun set and we were asleep less than 15 minutes later. I’m telling you, driving is hard work!

This is a beautiful – and very strange – area. I don’t know if it’s me, my age, my general hermitage life, but when did people get so weird? There seems to be a much higher density of weird people out here. I don’t know how else to put it. And it’s also sad (really sad!) to see how people treat nature. We walked down to the river as it got dark last night and there was so much garbage. Dirty diapers, plastic water bottles (why are these even still being made?), toilet paper, broken glass. Ugh. 

There was also the strangest thing going on in the mostly empty campground. We have tried so hard to figure out what ON EARTH was going on — definitely some type of scam or way around paying — but for the life of us we couldn’t figure it out. It just left us with that whole, “Let’s get out of here” vibe. We didn’t even eat breakfast. Just coffee and a chat with a weird campground host. But that wasn’t weird cause most campground hosts are weird. That’s why they’re campground hosts. 

No breakfast meant a much delayed Road Warrior ritual: Egg McMuffins FTW! (At a weird McDonalds for what it’s worth). 

More driving. Lots of driving. It’s what we do. We drive.

It’s hard work, though our Apple Watches don’t seem to want to give us credit for it. I am more exhausted after driving all day than when I hike 8 miles and spend my day with boots on the ground. Seems unfair. Apple Watch should have a Drive activity.  

There isn’t much to report in the way of vacation activity for the day. We definitely drove more than we needed to, due to my distaste for backtracking. We should have backtracked. Dave wanted to backtrack. Oh well. 

One of the things that has been absolutely dogging us since starting out is the refrigerator in the camper. Due to a problem we had last year, I had to re-route the electrical. And now, the connection for the electrical is ridiculously erratic. It’s been super stressful, especially with such hot weather. On our drive today, we stopped to get some new hardware so I could go after it. —Among my many and varied talents is a strange affinity for electrical work. (Though I think it’s less talent and more a disregard for danger. )

We went more out of our way than we needed to for a decent spot to stop (because we wanted SHADE). And, of course, it took way longer than I thought it would. I couldn’t use the stuff I had just bought. I pinched my hand with the pliers and now have an angry red blister… but… I think I fixed it! My confidence is growing each time I open the back hatch that, once opened, the fridge will, indeed, still be on. 

So we drove on.

We had delusions that we might be able to find a spot to stay along the Washington coast, but one turn into a promising campground on the map turned out to be more shocking than the circus in Wilson River. It was a cacophony of campers and just… total chaos. I physically recoiled. No possible way. We peeled out so fast I didn’t even get a picture.

We drove on.

And headed toward what we know best (besides driving): 4WD roads in national forest. We knew we wanted to see the Hoh Rainforest in Olympic National Park, so we headed up the road toward that and veered off onto a dirt road and found a decent spot to park it for the night.

We took a nice little walk (finally getting some exercise) and had another RIDIC dinner. The only problem being that the STEAK I brought from home was actually fricken’ lamb chops. Who eats LAMB CHOPS camping? Even I am embarrassed about that. Given that we no longer have a functioning grill, Dave got to work finding wood for a fire (our first of the trip!) — and harder than you might think, given we were in a rainforest. Injured himself chopping it up. But redeemed himself in the grill mastering.

And the mosquitos were baaaaad. I fired up the Thermocell I had the presence of mind to bring with from MN. I even had the foresight to order replacement fuel for it ahead of time. I could not believe how well it worked! Wow! Amazing! It gives me hope for Alaska…

I seared a head of cabbage from MN to go with the lamb that was — and I’m starting to think it’s just cuz we are camping — THE BEST WE’VE EVER HAD.

We do way more talking about food, Dave and I, than almost anything else, so it’s in our nature to rate the meals so far — and while our rankings are different — the veggies have been the stars of the show for sure. Yum. But sadly we are reaching the end of those. We are not supposed to bring any fresh meat or vegetables over the border to Canada, so we’ve got to eat them fast. I still have one head of cabbage and lots of Napa cabbage to get through. 

Dave says we have to also drink all the wine and beer and vodka, and I am working hard to comply. 

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.

If you remember, we diverted from The Plan and are now heading south to fish the Deschutes River with a guide and a boat. Interestingly, on this stretch of the river, you are not allowed to fish from a boat. You float the water and then get out and wade fish. We were totally cool with that and were looking forward to spending a day on a river that Dave “had always wanted to fish” — but didn’t seem to know that we were camping on.

In the course of planning the float trip, we decided to camp at the fly shop because they told us over the phone it had shade. Who knew that those simple words would ever hold so much sway for us?l It’s truly the only thing that matters right now. DOES IT HAVE SHADE? Yes? Done.

It was — and I am not kidding or exaggerating here — 109 degrees at the take out point at 4pm. It was 106 degrees at camp. Remember “Jennie don’t do no 106 degrees”? That is now a false statement. Jennie does. Jennie did. Jennie don’t like. 

The fishing was … not great. It was still fun. It is a beautiful river. The guide was a really nice guy who grew up in Minnesota. The water was clear and cold — very different structure and vibe of rivers in Colorado, which was cool — but the sky was an unrelenting blue, the air was a furnace and the fish were scarce. It became a long day. At some point, Dave had realized he lost his license somewhere along our travels so far and was pretty bummed about it. The guide never stopped talking (and not about fishing, which we would have welcomed), and we were just really, really hot. 

We learned about the assassination attempt on the drive back to camp and all the feelings that came with that news. By the time we got to camp, we both needed some alone time. I grabbed my chair and embarked on a very hot walk about a half mile to the river and set myself up under an over-hanging tree in the water and tried really hard not to let the thousands of caddis moths landing on me gross me out too much. Because aside from that, it was truly heaven. The water was cold enough to make my feet numb while the wind that blew across my face was hot enough to dehydrate rosemary. I’m not kidding. That’s the temp I set my dehydrator at to dry fricken’ rosemary.

After Dave did what Dave needed to do to decompress, he joined me in the river. And even brought me beer on ice! Ahhhhh. We tried to wait out the sun before heading back to make dinner, but it was almost 8pm, so we faced the furnace and headed back. The next hour was tough — though the dinner was AMAZE. Gotta give a shout-out to my garden broccoli which was transported in our carry-on all the way from MSP and then survived another week+ in a cooler and was eaten tonight and SWOONED over.

After the sun went down, we were able to take showers and cool off in the “Camp Showers” — repurposed side-by-side Satellite Port-A-Potties — which were actually quite nice. (Maybe we fried some brain cells today?)

Dave somehow defied nature and the heat and got to sleep quickly, but I had to wait the heat out a bit more. Happily, the wind picked up to help the situation out and I finally fell asleep around 11:30, lulled by the mind-number sound of trucks whizzing by on the highway below us.