October 22, Wednesday – Aftermath

I logged in my last entry at 39,089 miles; my starting miles for the RV was 23,070 which was for a shakedown cruise before the actual departure so I would say that it was a 16,000 mile trip plus 6,900 miles on the Jetta, which really surprised me. I didn’t think that I drove it so many miles. So all and all after seven and a half months of touring the Untied States border which included a 1,200 side trip from North Dakota down to Denver that 23,000 miles were covered. What was the fuel cost for such at trip? My records show that I spent $7,500 and $1,900 in campground fees. I didn’t count my food costs because I would have eaten even if I had not gone on the trip.

Cheers to those of you who have read Ron’s Circle Tour and have supported me in my journey in circumnavigating my/our wonderful country.

Love,
Ron

October 18, Saturday – Home

When I reached Chehalis I quit last night. From Longview to La Conner is a little under four hours but since I left Mary at 4:30, I didn’t want to drive through the heart of the Puget Sound cities at night so dropping anchor along the freeway was not a difficult decision. But the desire to get to my community of Shelter Bay on Fidalgo Island got me on the freeway at 7 in the morning. Driving up the interstate with familiar landmarks caused a sense of neutrality. The emotion and feelings of ending 30 weeks on the road with the US border always on my starboard side were placid. I felt numb; I just drove like I had been month after month. The first sign of emotion that bubbled to the surface was when I past the county line with announcement that I was now in my beloved Skagit County. I felt a deeply satisfying smile spread across my face as I laid on the horn to proclaim a milestone. Peeling off the freeway at Exit 221 Conway/La Conner still didn’t produce a burst of euphoria. I didn’t question my feelings; I just marveled at the beauty of the place where I lived as I have done so many times before. It had never been hard to come home to the Skagit Valley for me. On Fir Island all the crops were in except for a few cabbage trucks on Dodge Valley Road. The small traffic circle at the entrance to town with the farm produce stand to the south represented the rural setting of my place. Crossing the Rainbow Bridge from the mainland to the island I glanced habitually over to see the schooner, Rejoice, tied up behind the Calico Cupboard. Because the folks that were house sitting my place had not yet found another place to dwell, I drove to the marina parking lot and stopped for the last time and just sat. Hannah answered her phone with her always cheerful voice when I called to tell her I was finally home. Within minutes a home family welcoming party arrived for massive hugs all around. The last photos were taken and then what to do next was discussed. Well, it seems as though everyone was headed to the pumpkin patch when I called. Without skipping a beat, the Jetta was dropped and the welcoming party hopped aboard Snee-Oosh and off to Gordon’s Farm laughing and talking at once. This is why I am in love with my place of home. A setting of family and friend unrivaled by any that I saw on my travels around the United State; lush farmland rich with harvest, backed by the snow capped North Cascade Mountains with Mount Baker serving as the king of the throne and the saltwater of the Salish Sea pushing through the archipelago San Juan Islands. As I have said so many times on this journey of a lifetime – I am so blessed. Welcome Home, Ron
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October 17, Friday – Glide Path

When I woke, the magnetic pull was undeniable. Home was close and the urge to get there was overpowering. Mary and I headed down I-84 stopping off at the Bonneville Dam complex. I was surprised at how extensive it was with a visitor center and fish hatchery. We wandered and enjoyed the autumn day ending our visit to see Herman, the 70 year old, 11 foot sturgeon.
Coming into Portland I gassed the RV up at $2.88/gallon. Talk about timing. I’m on the glide path to the end of my circumnavigation and the price of fuel is lower than when I left. Even though it was late afternoon, I dropped off Mary and said goodbye then headed for my final destination. La Conner, Washington.

October 16, Thursday – Two for One Day

When we drove up the gorge the day before, we unhooked the land dinghy (also called a toad by some. I never did understand why until just the other day. It is the ‘In-Tow’ vehicle or “toad” for short…) and headed to a place that some of the local La Conner women go to called Carson Mineral Springs. The spa is located on the Washington side of the river near Stevenson. The mineral springs was in the middle of an identity crisis. It did not know what century it was in. The old St. Martin Hotel and the Bathhouse were of the 1920’s but the lodge buildings were definitely 1990’s. Mary and I asked if we could check the place out and off we went exploring. The woman at the desk threw out the hook. “Tomorrow is two for one day. Total price is $20.”
But before we indulged, we went further upstream to the famous Maryhill. When I was there last week, it was overcast and almost empty. Today it was electric clear with hundreds of elementary school kids. Loved the contrast. After a meander through Sam Hill’s collection of fine art, we drove up to Stonehenge to make scarifies and take photos before returning to the land boat for a supper on the river.
From there we headed for the date with a tub. I was surprised that after our soaks and comparing notes how different the mineral springs was for men and women. The sexes are divided into their appropriate parts of the Bathhouse. I was shown to a room with eight comfortable narrow beds and was told that the basket at the end of the bed number 6 was for my clothes. On Mary’s side the women had private changing stalls with baskets placed in a rack. The bath attendant took me to room with eight huge claw foot tubs and again I was number 6 with a room full of guys. Mary had a privacy screen around her tub.
So into the mineral water I slid and adjusted both mentally and physically to the change. The water temperature must have been 106. For the next 45 minutes I soaked alternating between submerged to hanging my legs outside the tub. When I thought that my poor heart could no longer take it, I pulled my limp body carcass out and swayed to the bed for a wrap. First the attendant put a steaming hot towel across my back then had me lie back on the bed, then he wrapped my whole body in a sheet followed by a light blanket then a heavy blanket tucked in tightly around me for a final cover and there I roasted in my own heat like an Egyptian mummy. Because my head was also wrapped, I could hear very clearly my arrhythmic heart beat in my ears. Sweet ,sweaty, hot, death……….. Death for only $10. Can’t beat it. Finally I threw off my suffocating cocoon and staggered to the showers. I must live! I have daughters to teach about life.
As I left the Bathhouse I found Mary sitting on the benches outside in the night time air. I collapsed next to her and we spoke of our soaks and wraps at Carson Mineral Springs. It was worth every penny.

October 15, Wednesday - Last Hurrah

Mary Lyons goes way back to my days of teaching in the inner city of Seattle. She and Pat Cruver were part of that forged friendships coming out of that institution of learning. Since Mary lived on the way home to La Conner, we threw in together for a short road trip up the Columbia Gorge for a last fling of freedom before the anchor went down for good in the homeport.
Even though I had been in the gorge just the week before on my to Portland, going back to the region caused no worries. Repeating an area just provides for another view. With Mary in the navigation seat we headed upstream to Memaloose State Park on the Oregon side of the river. What a find! Because the season was late, there were only a few spots taken so we got a choice view location. Fall was in full swing with the trees going through a spectrum of color change. The river was attracting salmon fisherpersons in mass. The air was clean and fresh.
We did have one problem, though. The last presidential debate was to happen and we didn’t have a TV set onboard so we scooted down Interstate 84 for that liberal town of Hood River, which has a lock on the world’s best wind surfing. After a few inquires of the locals, we found ourselves among like believers in the watering hole called Horsefeathers. Every screen had the debates on it and crowd participation was encouraged. Mary said, “He’s going to win!” Then gasped, “That’s the first time I’ve said that out loud!!” Yes, a revolution is coming on November 4th. I am so proud of our country that we can have a change in government without a military upheaval.

October 13, Sunday – Back to the City

When we pulled anchor at the campground, we stopped to answer the call of nature in the form of dumping the holding tanks. Caitlin watched as I opened the side compartment that held the sewer outlets. We both gasped when I opened it. Here was a ball of Doogen’s fur along with excrement that wasn’t in the tank. Now how in the hell did those rodents get into Snee-Oosh? On the buy list goes mouse poison.
Fortunately the drive back to Portland was not as eventful as the near miss on the way out to the coast. In fact when people ask me if there were any close calls on the trip, the chip truck made it into the top five. After we arrived back in Caitlin’s neighborhood, we pulled out the road atlas to plan “The Next Big Trip.” Will’s folks had invited the northwest contingence to Christmas at their home on the California coast north of Bodega Bay. Getting to the coast from the I-5 corridor took some figuring out. It was faster to almost drop all the way down to Santa Rosa then turn and go back north then west then to try to cut across the Mayacmas Mountains especially in winter with six people on board the land boat. Another trip. I’m ready.

October 12, Saturday – Jolly Time

Caitlin had heard that in the village of Otis just back from the coast that there was a café that was to be reputed to having the best pie in western Oregon. We had a destination. Doogan was passing his dog traveling tests with stars and Caitlin was contributing by brushing him again at the campsite before loading him into the Jetta. I did raise an eyebrow when she walked away from the numerous tuffs of dog hair spread across the ground but figured that some animal would delight in it for nesting material. Little did I know.
As we headed down the Oregon coast the small towns and long beaches were broken up with high headlands. We got alternating views of close-up beach surf and long sights of wide beaches from where the road climbed to the top of a ridge marching to the sea. We went down past Pacific City and Neskowin then turned inland on the highway that connected Salem/Interstate 5 with the coast following the smell of pie like a salmon seeking its spawning stream. We had no problem finding the small café on the side of the road. Finding a parking spot was another issue. Otis is made up of an antique store, post office and the café. The café crowd took all the parking spots of the other establishments. The café only seated about two dozen folks so Caitlin and I joined the porch people waiting in the sun to be called by one of the family members that ran the eatery. We got seats at the counter next to a California couple who we had run into up the coast and who we told about the pie place. We had a great chat with them plus eating delicious pie. “Ordering one whole strawberry/rhubarb pie to go” was our request after savoring our single slices. Of course we had sick Will’s enjoyment in mind.
After returning to the coastal highway, we hit Lincoln City. Something was happening on the beach because there were crowds and cars and lots of kites in the sky but we managed to plow our way through the congestion and onto the south side of town. There wasn’t anything in the town that spoke to us, but on our return back through town I thought that perhaps it would be a good place to buy a kite so we stopped at a store across from the beach parking lot. We found out what all the excitement was about: Lincoln City Kite Festival – the best place in North America to fly a kite. We went to check it out because I had never seen a kite festival. It was billed as “Oodles of Octopi” and there they were their long lines tethered to heavy stakes in the sand. Lining the parking lot barrier were speaker towers pumping hard rock out to the crowd on the beach. It was a festive atmosphere. Okay, we saw all the kites flying and people hanging out which was really cool and were about to go when the music stopped and an announcer called out that that was so and so from such and such and next up was a guy named Lamb from Vancouver, BC. What was this all about? The announcer said that the music was queued up and was waiting for the signal. “He has lifted his leg; he’s ready to go!” Music, quiet music. We looked and saw nothing unusual. Music rising and there lifting out of the sand was a kite shaped like a bat wing. It was connected with an invisible bond to the music. The music and the kite were one. I stood slack jawed as I watched this incredible seductive dance between the kite, the wind and the song. The kite climbed, floated, turned and stopped and hung only to move again then pause then move and fall. I had never believed that a kite could show such raw expression. I was a convert. I wanted to be that kite, that kite handler, that choreographer. There was a shift that occurred within me. I had to know more.
When we got back to our land boat I went directly online and looked up Revolution Kites. See the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MYqzQB3xPJc and you will see why I fell in love. Here were six kites but we saw only one kite which was magic. It was a time of joy.