Migrating from our old website to our new one has not been without a few trials and tribulations, which, to date, have included some lost content. This latter fact has caused great concern on Gina’s part, as it results in a less-than-tidy summation of our Spring/Summer 2009, given that that’s the content that has been left behind.
Not wanting to disappoint, I’ve decided to post our past blogs here, in one giant recap blog.
For those interested, our blog topics of old include our first trip in our VW Eurovan camper van (aka, “Bennie”), a day spent getting a new hitch welded onto Bennie, a camping and biking weekend on Camano Island, Cousin Cynthia’s summer visit, and the Seafair Pirates’ landing at Alki Beach.
Gina will be happy to see that our lost content is now found.
Bennie’s First Road Trip
2009 April 18
We left Seattle in Bennie, headed north to Bellingham. Our goals, simple: camp at Larrabie State Park on Chuckanut Drive; sleep, for the first time, in the camper van; and read the Owner’s Manual. It was a little bit overcast, making us all the more cocky about not needing to sleep outdoors in a tent. When we turned into the State Park, the first thing we noticed were the orange signs. Orange construction signs. The second thing we noticed was all of the yellow equipment. Yellow construction equipment. Turned out the camping area, where Gina has long tried to camp, was closed for maintenance.
Knowing that we can now sleep anywhere, including a Wal-Mart parking lot, if need be, we pulled out the camping book to see where else we could go. While contemplating our options, we were befriended by Gretchen and Peter, a nice couple from Vancouver, Washington, who were visiting the area for a niece’s wedding. They wanted to share with us their love of the VW Camper van and we were eager to swap stories. Not that we, ourselves, really had any, as this was our first outing in Bennie. But they had plenty of pointers to share and a wonderful way of welcoming us into the Camper Van Cult.
Lunch was eaten in Fairhaven at the Colophon Cafe, after which we picked up groceries at the local Haggen. This took us two tries – does anyone ever remember to grab ice the first time through?
From there we took the highway and backroads south to Bay View State Park. In between we visited part of Samish Island. This was not intentional; somehow we left home without a map.
The park sits across the road from Padilla Bay. Our camping book gave it a scenic 10. I think the 10 actually stood for the number of refineries that could be seen belching smoke across the bay. But the water was pretty, so maybe that’s what inspired the high rating.
We picked one of the last remaining tent sites (go figure on how full the campground was in April!), popped the top, read half of the owner’s manual (propane and electricity; plumbing still to go), put together Gina’s camping toilet (who wants to trek to the campground washrooms in the middle of the night?), fired up the furnace, and enjoyed our first night in poptop heaven.
Bennie Gets Hitched
2009 May 9
We’re up this Saturday morning at 6 am. It’s a big day for Bennie – today he’s getting hitched. The location’s been reserved, Starbucks is catering, and the minister will be there at 8 am to perform the ceremony. Gina and I get ready quickly. No time to shower, which would have been nice on this, his big day, but we’ve got to motor down to Tacoma and we don’t want to be late.
We arrive down south to the sound of REO Speedwagon and my brother-in-law, Don, today’s master of ceremonies, scratching out invoices in his sub-zero shop. He works harder than anyone I know, and here he is, taking time out of his already full weekend schedule to preside over today’s hitching. We are very fortunate to have family like him. And, always the gentleman, he fires up the propane heater in front of which we huddle while he works, quickly stripping Bennie of his (inadequate) 1 1/4 inch hitch. Before we know what’s happening, sparks are shooting in a 4-ft long stream out of a screaming blade saw and we think maybe it’s time to walk away from the toasty propane heater before we are accidentally incinerated.
Less than an hour later, after enjoying a sunny stroll around Don’s gated and fenced 43,000 square foot complex of warehouses and trailers and scrap metal and other manly, greasy and exceptionally large, hulking and hydraulic machines, and after asking a couple of other hard-working Joes where we could find Starbucks (it was a joke, and they, thankfully, laughed), we returned to find Bennie had already said his vows and was permanently attached to his new, glossy black and boldly strong, 2 inch hitch. Thule bike rack built for four, here we come!
Thank you, Don, for helping our dream Road Trip 2010 take one more step toward becoming a reality.
Camping and Biking Camano Island
2009 May 16
We’re not sure how it happened, but we pulled into Camano Island State Park at 11:30 am on a beautiful Saturday morning and somehow secured a campsite along the park bluff, with views of the Olympic Mountains from our parking pad. Perhaps someone had just left, joyfully contemplating their next camping spot farther up the road, or perhaps they had vacated in haste, having had their fill of the screaming children and equally obnoxious adults in the campsite backing to this one. Either way, it was unexpectedly ours for the taking and we were glad to have it.
We were here not only to enjoy the beautiful weather and island, but also to further hone our camping van skills. Learning how to best pack and comfortably co-exist in about 10 feet of camper van requires practice. There are the elbows in the sleeping zone, the inevitable knocking of the head directly into the ceiling when you think you still have clearance, as well as the opposite back-breaking stooping in the areas of the van where you forget you do have clearance. It’s a delicate dance to be mastered inside the bowels of our Bennie.
While not practicing our moves, we opt to ride our bikes around the island. The outer loop route consists of 44 miles of mostly quiet country roads, decent shoulders, magnificent views of nearby shorelines and distant mountains, one large Sasquatch, and the Tyee Grocery, one of our favorite stops as it involves food and one large dog (Emma Lou) for the petting. We arrive here after having ridden less than half the island wondering how it is that our butts will make it around the next half, being quite out of riding shape. Adding more padding on the spot seems a viable option so we fuel up on Tyee snacks, chat up the store manager (super friendly … if only we could remember his name!), and promise to come back tomorrow for his homemade BBQ pork sandwiches (a promise we deliciously keep).
Cousin Cynthia Comes Camping
2009 May 29
The call came in on a Thursday morning. It was Gina’s cousin Cynthia, harkening all the way from Kansas City, Missouri. Her birthday was coming quick and so was she – out to Seattle, that is, on a few days notice. Now for most folks this might send them into a cleaning frenzy, but not Gina. See, Gina is a neat-nick around the house. She sees dirt where I see a surface sterile enough for an appendectomy. No, no cleaning frenzy, but it did send her into a scrapbooking frenzy. Cousin Cynthia is the Czar of Scrapbooking and Gina’s delinquency in getting the past 8 years of hers completed was about to be found out. The paper and scissors and glue sticks were flying. For a brief period, it was like living with Edward Scissorhands.
Cousin Cynthia was here to get a North Cascades stamp for her Passport book. This is not the same as the passport that gets you across the border. This is the National Parks Passport program. You go to a park and get a cancellation stamp for your book. It sounds easy, but believe me, it is not. Yeah, ordering the book is easy. And yeah, getting a map and following it to a national park is easy. But stamping that cancellation stamp into your book? That takes skill. There is the potential for blurring and bleeding and unexpected ink stains on your new capris. As I learned from Cousin Cynthia, it requires a particular plant-and-roll wrist motion to get the stamp just right. For newbie stampers, it’s more pressure than you can imagine. Seriously. I urge you to try it and then send me a photo of your first stamp. I’m guessing there’ll be missing letters around the edges and a smudge or two. Here’s mine – see what I mean?
We packed up Bennie on a Friday morning, secured Cynthia in the shotgun seat and a slightly lead-footed Gina in the driver’s seat (thank you, Mr. Darrington Police Man for not giving us that ticket), and off we motored to Highway 20 and the North Cascades National Park Visitor Center. Despite its name, we were informed by a killjoy of a park employee that we weren’t actually in the North Cascades National Park. In fact, we could only technically enter the park by backpacking across its border with the Ross Lake National Recreation Area, in which we were currently standing. Deciding that his wet blanket approach to public service and this slight technicality were not going to ruin the moment, we planted-and-rolled anyway.
We set up camp that afternoon at Colonial Creek Campground, located along the shores of Diablo Lake. An afternoon hike up Thunder Knob Trail triggered what would become an all-consuming quest for Cousin Cynthia, starting with her simple statement “Does this rock look like Minnesota?”. Indeed it did, and for Cousin Cynthia, who has been to all 50 states and is über-creative, it began an earnest search for rocks representing every state. Rocks that were no doubt destined to turn into an enviable mid-western decoration of some sort or another. This was all quite fun and fascinating for Gina and I, as over the next 24 hours at camp, Cousin Cynthia would unexpectedly go missing. Do we call the park ranger and report her overdue from the water closet, or do we start searching the creek bank for trails of discarded Wisconsins and Mississippis?
Day two of our outing included a hike down to Ross Lake. The goal was to enjoy a cruise across the lake to the Ross Lake Resort, followed, perhaps, by a brief excursion back onto the lake in what was to be our own rented boat. Reading the directions to the resort at the top of the trailhead, and scouting for the more difficult states of Texas and Florida on the mile-long descent to the lake, we ultimately arrived at the lakeshore, where Gina proceeded to call the resort from what was likely one of Qwest’s original landline installations, judging by the age of the phone and the confusion over how to actually dial the thing. “Hello? Hi, there are three of us who’d like the boat shuttle over to the resort. (long pause) Oh, really? Okay. Goodbye.” The resort, it turned out, was not yet open for the season. It’s a good thing they didn’t warn us about that at the TOP of the trailhead, because then we might never have found that perfect California.
Ahoy, Seafair Pirates
2009 July 11
I couldn’t find my pirate pants this morning so I opted to watch the Seafair Pirates land at Alki beach from the comfort (and safe distance) of the deck. My only childhood memory of the Seafair Pirates was sitting curbside at the Torchlight Parade when down the street they came, drunk and surly and the stuff of nightmares for a wee one such as myself. Next thing I recall, I was being lifted by my armpits and doing the mosh-pit surf as I was handed back to my parents over the sea of spectators, sneakers then slapping the pavement as we ran the other direction from the street fight that had broken out right where we’d been enjoying a festive family moment. It’s a wonder my mother ever got me to board that fake ship at Disney World’s Pirates of the Caribbean. Yep, I think it will be safer to watch here from the deck.
The show began with the arrival of the crowds and a flotilla of ships. Seemed sane enough. Not long after began the cannons. The bellowing kabooms were actually a welcome sound – a distraction from the neighbor’s shop vac, which has been screaming non-stop since I parked myself outside. I can’t imagine what he is cleaning up in his garage that is taking that much suction power. If someday you read an interview with me in the newspaper, where I’m saying “but he seemed like such a nice, normal guy”, then we will have solved what hopefully isn’t actually any kind of chainsaw-related mystery. Maybe he’s just really tidy.
Next came the real pirate ship. Onboard were the pirates that hadn’t first stopped at the Chelan Cafe’s Ebb Tide room for “breakfast”. Not sure what most pirates eat for the most important meal of the day, but you can be sure the Seafair ones had fueled up on tomato juice and celery sticks, if you get my drift.
As the ship approached from the north, here came the rest of the crew, being ferried toward Alki from the east on some navy-issued landing craft. I think bringing them in on the Ride-The-Duck boats would have been more festive, but I guess pirates tooting their Wacky Quackers and dancing to Disco Duck isn’t the intimidating image they want to portray.
After some mock fighting out on the Sound, it was finally time for the pirates to land. This turned into an amusing spectacle, for the tide was going out. For those who may wonder as to the significance of that little fact, Alki is known (and revered) for it’s massive sand flats that extend a few hundred yards offshore during low tide. This is cool if you’re a fishing heron or sand-loving sightseer. This is not so cool if you’re a landing craft skipper who can’t get close to shore with a vessel full of armed Seafair Pirates who don’t want to get their marauder boots wet.
But land they must and finally they do, the skipper going for broke and driving that boat straight into the beach. Those little figures you see jumping into the icy cold waters of Puget Sound to officially kick of Seafair? I’m guessing those are the same brave pirates who were the first to belly up to the bar earlier today. Summer is here, kids!