From Heaven to Oklahoma

The Pilot and Our Comfort Dog




Today (April 8th) we are crossing New Mexico from Albuquerque across the panhandle of Texas and on to Oklahoma. At the moment we aren't at the end of the earth...but I believe I can see it from here.



On Saturday morning we woke up to a brisk Central Oregon morning. I took Breezy out for her morning walk and when we stepped out of the coach the smell of juniper and sage filled my senses and immediately took me back to my days living in the area. It is the best summertime place I've ever lived. The season is dry and warm and being outdoors riding, canoeing, hiking, biking or just hanging out is such a pleasure that you never want to go inside. Breezy spent fifteen minutes sniffing around the bushes on this sunny morning. She sniffed deer tracks, rabbit doo-doo and big holes where ground critters had made their homes. The campground was next to the Crooked River Gorge a huge cavernous gorge where the Crooked River runs. There was a platform overlooking the gorge where John and Breezy and I went to get a good look the day before. I am working on a Picassa web album that will have lots of pictures of our travels. I should have it posted by the weekend.



We just passed into Texas from New Mexico and into the Central time zone. This time I'm keeping up with the changes on my watch so I don't have to sit down with a pen and paper to figure out what time it is. I'm looking out my window at...nothing. Oh wait...I see a tree beside the road! Wait...oh it's dead. We are back in the land of picnic areas on the Interstates. Baffles me...



Okay, so when we left Central Oregon early on Saturday morning I was pretty sure I knew where we were going. I'd been there before. It was a bit of a distant memory but I had driven there. Our destination was Carson City, Nevada, a little south of Reno. My original idea was to head down US 97 and then cut across at Christmas Valley to Lakeview and drop down onto US 395. After our experience the day before on Santiam Pass I decided that because there is no way out of Oregon to our destination (Interstate 40 to Oklahoma City) without going over a mountain pass, I'd better keep us on the best highways that I could. But neither of us wanted to double back on Interstate 5 so I suggested that we go to Klamath Falls on US 97, take Highway 139 to US 395 through Alturas, Susanville and on to Reno and Carson City. Good plan. So we took off.


The drive to Klamath Falls was uneventful and beautiful. We got on 139 without a hitch. At one point we pulled off of the road so that we could eat lunch and take Breezy for a walk. I took her behind an old abandoned service station and waited while she checked out all of the new smells. A truck passed Mary sitting along side the road and then disappeared into the distance. At that point it occurred to me that I couldn't hear one thing except the sound of the wind and some birds. It was like taking a five minute retreat. It struck me that we have too much noise in our lives. We can't seem to go for one minute without filling quiet space with something. I'm one of those weird people who used go for two weeks without turning on my television. Of course that was before Clinton vs. Obama, American Idol, National Geographic Channel and Planet Earth. High def has ruined me. Anyway, the sounds of silence were immediately calming and appreciated.


After lunch we drove on through some pretty country as I checked maps, weather and altitude and answered pilot questions. I looked up and saw that we were coming to a stop sign. There was a huge sign that pointed to the left that said, "Alturas....to RENO" and an arrow pointing to the left. The real road sign said "Susanville 88 miles" and pointed to the right. John asked, "Which way to we go?" I was stumped. I had an instinct to go left but wasn't sure. We have kept Tom Tom programed and on MUTE practically since the incident in Georgia when I thought we lost the car. We've only referred to it as a useless piece of shit a few times since then. So this time, like an idiot, I ignored my intuition and deferred to Tom Tom. It said to go to the right. We went to the right and headed into a pine forest and immediately started gaining altitude. The road narrowed and I said, "I hope to hell this isn't a cow trail." John just drove on with eyes riveted to the road, without comment. We went higher and higher and until we drove past a sign that said, "Adin Pass, 5175 ft." We both took a deep breath. The road was very narrow and bumpy without guard rails and the cliffs were very steep. And there was no traffic. I was glad on the one hand but a little disturbed by it on the other. Why wasn't there any traffic? We continued to climb and twist and turn. I looked at the map again. We were due to make a turn onto a lesser road. It crossed my mind that I didn't think that a road could be lesser than this one unless it was gravel...or dirt. You know how on maps the more major the road the heavier the line that represents it? Well the line for 139 to Susanville was faint pink. Barely visible. We couldn't turn back if we wanted to so we drove on.



John made the turn on to the faded pink line and the road got bumpier but the scenery got better. As we thumped and rattled along we actually started to laugh about the fact that we had essentially made a wrong turn (thank you very much Tom Tom) and were making lemonade from it. The views on both sides of the road were very serene and beautiful. We were in cattle country; grazing land and pine trees and winding creeks. And as we jiggled along hugging the center line quietly appreciating mother nature's gifts we looked up and saw a large turquoise body of water dead ahead. Eagle Lake. It was such a treat that it made the entire side trip through the boonies worthwhile. From there we wound down out of the high altitude to medium altitude and came to Susanville. We found our way through the mountain peaks into Carson City and settled in for a terrific night of sleep.






















First View of Eagle Lake



There is a peculiar thing that happens to Sleep Number beds when you travel through high altitudes. It's one that can cause a lot of trouble if you don't pay attention. This is our first experience with Sleep Number and we are both thinking that it is a pretty neat invention. John can adjust his side to a firmness that he likes and I can do the same and be really comfortable too. I think the claims that you get a better night of sleep are true, at least for us. But when you travel with one you need to deflate both sides before you drive to higher altitudes. When I went to get into bed that night my bed had pumped itself up from 40 to 100. I was tired and looking forward to flopping into bed. When I flopped it was like flopping on a table top. "Crap!" I hollered and sat up. John came running, "What's wrong?" The bed is possessed!" I said as I stared at the sleep number remote adjuster. "It's going to pop!" He nodded. "That's right! Bill Tomin said his bed popped when they went skiing one time." It makes sense. The milk cartons expand anything bagged or sealed expands, why not air mattresses? Visions of an exploding air mattress danced in my head as I dozed off.



We just passed into Oklahoma and passed a rest area. I had a revelation; I haven't had to use a disgusting toilet since we have been on the road. Guys probably won't get this but women's public bathrooms in rest areas are very scary. I always feel like I may have contracted bubonic plague or Ebola when I have to use one. And we haven't had to throw good money into a flea ridden hotel so that they would take our dog (who is better behaved than most people's kids) for an overnight stay. Life with Queen Mary has wonderful benefits.



On Sunday morning we got up early and got ready to make a long drive to Needles, California. I finally figured out why it was named Needles. Needle Mountain is close by. The peaks are very sharp in the little range of mountains. Anyway, we left Carson City and headed south. As I said earlier I was sure I knew where we were going because I was sure that I'd been there before. I was wrong. I hadn't been down 395 from Reno to Barstow I had been down 95 through Las Vegas and then on to Phoenix. Big difference. BIG difference. We dropped south through Gardnerville and out into Antelope Valley and by Topaz Lake. We found a little piece of heaven. As the day progressed we found bigger and bigger pieces of heaven.



We are getting close to Oklahoma City now so I have to stop here and resume my navigator responsibilities. Finding the right entrance to the fairgrounds could be a challenge. The Camry had a dead battery yesterday morning so we don't want a repeat performance of Baytown. Another thing we learned (yesterday morning) is that you need to unplug the car from the coach when you stop or it drains the battery. The transmission monitor people in Wakarusa failed to mention that, like they failed to mention that if you warm the car up before you hook it up it will stop the monitor from howling at you for a half hour. Details, details...


April 9th



We found the RV parking at the fairgrounds with the help of a nice lady who took pity on us when she saw us circling the grounds...lost. I flunked navigation yesterday. John had spoken to Charlie at the RV office yesterday and he informed us that it cost $25.00 per night to stay here. We are sitting on asphalt with a 50 amp hookup, sewer, water and cable television (which doesn't seem to work). We have a perfect view of Interstate 44, complete with sound effects, and an electronic billboard that I'm sure will illuminate the bedroom nicely at night and we are sitting down in a hole. There is major construction going on close enough that I could hit the backhoes and jackhammers with a rock.



The grounds are very nice and John says the horse show facility is great. I haven't been out of Mary today except to take Breezy to the grassy area across the parking lot a few times and to empty the garbage. Today I'm cleaning up from the dust storm in Barstow. More on that later. We are in the land a little south of Oz and have been listening to reports of "severe storms" coming through Oklahoma City today and tonight. These storms include some or all of the following: High winds, heavy rain, small hail, LARGE hail, thunder and lightening, flooding and the possibility of tornadoes. John speculated that if we had a tornado we should get in the back closet over the diesel engine. I speculated that if a tornado hit Mary we would probably want a front seat view of our trip over the rainbow. It's been raining complete with thunder and lightening for hours. Perhaps the airbag system that Mary sits on can double as pontoons should the hole we are sitting in flood tonight.



Charlie stopped by first thing this morning to collect the rent. He tapped on the door. John was gone to the arena so it was just Breezy and me. I opened it and looked down at a man in grimy navy blue coveralls with a receipt pad in his hand. "You ready to pay your rent?" he asks. I was speechless for a second. Then I saw "Charles" on an embroidered name tag on his coveralls. There was a smudge of grease on the "L" so it took me a second to decipher his name. "You must be Charlie," I said. He grinned revealing a rack of tobacco and coffee stained teeth. "Will you take a check?" I asked. "Yeeeep. Check'll work." I asked, "How much do we owe you?" He asked, "How long you stayin'?" I was thinking that I was ready to leave immediately. "Two nights," I answered. "That'll be ninety bucks." Pretty steep rent for parking in a asphalt hole and twenty bucks more per night than we were quoted. I decided that it was worth the extra money to get Charlie out of my life.


The last time I took Breezy to the grassy area I noticed a small sign that the wind had blow over that said "VIP parking $45.00 per night". I was glad I didn't argue with Charlie.



Back to our trip through the Sierras. So as we proceeded along US 395 around every turn and over every hill was another treasure of nature. The Sierra Nevada mountain range is by far the most beautiful that I've ever seen. We agreed at the end of the day that neither of us had been on a more beautiful drive than we experienced that day.





















Eastern Slope of the Sierras



We reached altitudes of over 8,000 feet. I saw the sign at Devil's Gate which is a little over 7,500 feet I remembered the Sleep Number bed. I bolted out of my seat and ran for the bedroom with visions of spending the rest of our trip sleeping on the platform under the air mattress. I grabbed the remote adjuster and poked the button and it read 100. I deflated one side and then the other which was also at 100. Whew...close call. Our highest point was at Deadman's Pass, altitude 8,036 feet above sea level. We stopped at Mono Lake and I read where the highest and the lowest points in the United States are just 80 miles apart, Mt. Whitney at 14,494 feet and Death Valley which is 282 feet below sea level. I've always though that California was the most diverse, beautiful and interesting state I've ever been in. This trip really confirmed that.


As we eased out of the altitude we encountered small towns and valleys of green grazing that were full of cattle. In Bishop if people had a blade of grass growing they had a cow to eat it. Even in town there were two fat steers scratching their backs on a billboard that was planted on a tiny patch of grass. I looked out Mary's windows with binoculars completely enjoying the scenery as we descended. Then we came down by the China Lake Naval Weapons Center and started encountering dry lake beds. They look like giant salt flats. We continued to descend and finally approached Barstow. The wind picked up considerably and I could see John muscling Mary's steering wheel with each blast of wind. We made the turn at Four Corners and headed toward Barstow for fuel. Our destination was Needles. This was actually the longest we had gone without buying fuel and John was calculating our mileage and remaining fuel with the Aladdin system as we drove. We were good to go to Barstow.


The wind picked up more. As we got closer to Barstow I was relying on a memory (a dwindling resource) from our last trip through Barstow when we fueled up. There was a Flying J and a Travel America. But I was having trouble trying to remember whether they were on Interstate 15 or Interstate 40 which come together at Barstow. I rattled my brain but nothing was coming to the surface. Then I looked out the window my attention was redirected. A dust storm was blowing across the highway in front of us. By this time we had been through a bug storm and Mary's windshield was a mass of yellow bug guts. Now I was staring at a blast of white powdery dust and we were driving right into it.


"There isn't enough money in the world to make me live out in this wasteland," John says. I concur.





















And it got worse than this..


What passed through my mind, besides the fact that it looked like we were driving into a blinding dust storm was what that dust was going to do once it seeped through the cracks and crevasses of Mary. Leave it to the housekeeper to concern herself about cleaning when things get dangerous. Not only that by the time we drove through it and came out on the other side I realized that it actually was Kingman, Arizona where we fueled up and not Barstow and we had passed through without seeing any truck stops. It was a middle age moment...when you thump yourself on the forehead and say, "I can't believe that I forgot that!" Anyway, the truck stops really are there but just not where we were going. So our next challenge was to find a truck stop between Barstow and Needles. I got out "The Next Exit" and found one. It was a Texaco with a diesel truck station. John eased Mary up to the station and found that all but two of the pumps were out of diesel and the cost of what was left was $4.29 per gallon. I'll resist my urge to launch into a tirade about the cost of fuel and why it is so high. We got 25 gallons, enough to get us to the Kingman truck stops the next day and we drove on to Needles where we found a charming little KOA. The spaces were separated by Oleander and Bougainvillea flowering with white and red blooms. It took us five minutes to set up and three minutes to pour the scotch.


I just heard that we don't have any tornado watches for the Oklahoma metro area at the moment. I was relieved. And then the weather man said that we could have them around 4:00 in the morning. That will make for a restful night of sleep.


John accuses me regularly of attempting to re-write "War and Peace" and I'm sure he would (and will) say that about this blog post so I will stop for now. I'll update next on our trip from Needles to Albuquerque and our impending trip from Oklahoma City to Oz.