Honey, We Shrunk the Goat!

The drive along the Pacific Coast Highway (California State Route 1) was wonderfully scenic. It follows the very edge of the continent. The Eastern seashore that I'm used to is much different. Rather than seeing hotels, tourist shops, and beach shanties crowding the coastline, the Pacific Coast Highway is simply the ocean on one side of the road and mountains on the other. Occasionally the road winds farther into the mountains and away from views of the ocean. It felt insane knowing that we were still only a few hundred feet from the water even though it looked like we were high up in the Appalachian Mountains. 

The seashore was often rocky instead of sandy. 

Much different than Wilmington, NC, where I went to college.

One attraction that I just had to see (and is unavoidable if you drive the Pacific Highway) is Redwoods National Park. It's hard for me to imagine how our country used to look back when ALL of the trees were so massive. Before it was settled, North Carolina was covered in Tulip Trees almost 200 feet tall and ten feet wide. The Redwoods are even bigger. As usual, we looked for a free campsite nearby. The winner was Jedediah Smith National Park. Free camping is allowed in the gravel parking lots near trail heads, and there are also walk-in spots along the trails. Getting to our camp site required a drive deep into the heart of a Redwood grove, and passed over a few mountain rivers. It was lovely and paved. The trees along the road leading to our campsite were even more inspiring than the trees in Redwoods National Park. Driving through it felt as if you might see a dinosaur. The air was heavy with the smell of damp moss and earth and just the general feeling of GREEN. 

Jedediah Smith State Park

These are baby-sized trees.

We keep half a bale of alfalfa strapped to the tongue for Rosie.

The parking lot we camped in had a trail attached that led down to the river. I took Rosie and Frankenstein down the short little trail to go discovering. You wouldn't think that a cat is good to take walks with, but my cat is such a pig that all I have to do is bring along a small tin of cat food to rattle when she strays too far. There we found scattered fire rings and campsite areas, as well as piles of rocks that had been stacked up to form a sort of maze-looking-thing. Sitting on top of a pile of rocks was a soaked copy of Agatha Christie's The Clocks. It was sitting facedown and open as if somebody had put it down to mark their place and then forgotten to retrieve it. I picked it up, dried it out, and had an excellent time reading it over the next few days. 

The water was crystal clear.

I've never been to a river where the entire bottom was visible.

We made a few trips into nearby Crescent City for supplies and to search for a place to give the dogs a bath. It was a holiday and no groomers were open, and the dogs were smelling pretty terrible, so I washed them with the river water. It was cold!!!

Piper just had to grin and bear it.

Juno HATES water. Especially cold water.

Then it was Dan's turn.

 I told him the water was too cold, but he did it anyway and got brain freeze from the outside in!

In Crescent City we stopped by a farm supply store and got Rosie half a bale of alfalfa. 

She was in heaven!

This little deer mouse came up to our campsite to eat Rosie's leftovers. 

It looked like it had a large tumor on one side and a large hole on the other.

It wasn't shy of us at all.

Dan said we couldn't keep it.

Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Bull can be seen on the drive.

After being in the area for a few days we still couldn't figure out where the entrance to the Redwoods National Park was. Google maps kept sending us to an office building in Crescent City. So we left and headed farther South on the highway until we came across an information center. The reason we couldn't find and entrance or information about how much it costs is because there isn't an entrance and it's free! The highway actually runs right through the middle of the Redwood National Park. You can stop along the road and follow smaller trails into the woods to see the biggest trees. So that's what we did!

At the beginning of the trail I started to feel tiny. 

In case you can't tell, I'm standing in front of a chopped down tree trunk!

This is "Big Tree." It is over 300' tall, over 20' wide, and more than 1500 years old.

Look at lil' Dan!

Even the ferns are taller than us!

We didn't bring Rosie down the trail because ferns are poisonous to goats, 

as we discovered the first week of the trip.

The roots of this overturned stump look as if they might eat me.

"Hello, up there!"

As we continued our journey south, Rosie decided she wanted to sit where Piper was sitting. 

"Ummm, can you do something about this?"

Neither one wanted to give up the spot, 

and Juno couldn't let them get any attention without butting in.

The sun set over the majestic Redwoods as we pulled into a Cher-Ae Casino for the night.

Casinos make for wonderful free camp sites because they're generally free for up to three days and most of them give free soda, coffee, and hot chocolate to players. They generally have security on patrol. A lot of them also have water and/or electric hookups for free as well. All you have to go is go inside and register for their free player card. They figure that if they give you a free place to camp then you're likely to spend more money inside. (Not us!) Not all casinos allow camping, so call ahead to ask.

Coyote Valley Casino is where we met the most interesting person.

The next night we camped at Coyote Valley Casino near Navarro, CA. When we were close to the end of the National Forest we saw a strange sight and commented on it. There was a conversion van pulling a tiny horse trailer. The setup had been painted with taupe-colored house paint, and there was a little orange triangular flag coming out the top of it. When we pulled into Coyote Valley Casino it was almost dark. We started to set up, and then that same van and trailer from a couple hundred miles ago pulled into the parking lot! 

It stopped short of the casino with its headlights shining on the wall, and a man got out and began messing with the headlights. I thought it was super neat that we had seen his van all those miles ago and ended up in the same spot, and of course I just had to go tell him that! So I walked across the parking lot and approached him. I could see that the headlight lens was broken and he was using the wall to determine if he was moving the headlight beam into the right position. I asked if he needed help and he said no, and that he had just had a small accident with another car. As he pointed at the broken headlight lens I noticed neatly manicured long pink fingernails. It was chilly and he kept trying to hold his red plaid flannel jacket closed, but underneath I noticed a yellow blouse. We got to talking about solar panels and heating methods and camping, and then we walked over to our camper where Dan was trying to set up by himself. It seemed that I had gotten into a conversation with a talker.

Now, over the course of the trip Dan and I discovered that we each have different kinds of... talents I suppose you could call it. Dan has a knack for attracting never-ending talkers. People tell him all sorts of in-depth details about their lives that they probably shouldn't tell to strangers, and he gets trapped in conversations that are inescapable for hours. My thing is that people tend to give me stuff. It doesn't matter who they are or how little or much they have, when I talk to people and tell them our story they just give me things. I'm very grateful and this little tidbit has been enormously helpful in the past.

As we talked to this person it was revealed that our camp stove had sprung an irreparable leak and we had been without a safe way to cook food for the past week. Our new friend invited me back to his van and said he had something for me. That stuck me as stranger danger, but with Dan watching like a hawk from our camper I followed him over. Sitting in the front seat of the van was an ancient black chow named Bear. I looked inside the very-lived-in van to see makeup and jewelry and the rest of the general stuff. Out of the stuff came an old propane burner. The kind that screws directly on top of a small propane canister. "Now," he said, "You'll have heat and a way to cook things."

So we took the propane burner over to the camper, which Dan had mostly set up by then. We attached it to a cylinder and lit it up to test it and it seemed to work so we put it inside with Dan to heat the camper. After we shut the door Dan said it started spouting flames from the wrong places so he quickly put it out before it could blow up. Then he came outside and we continued to chat.

It was getting very, very cold and I was wearing flip-flops. We had started this conversation around 8pm and it was getting close to midnight, so I tried to break it off. I shook his hand and asked his name. He paused and said, "The government says my name is David, but I prefer to be called Cindi, with an I." I smiled and said, "Nice to meet you Cindi, I'm Fred."

Cindi is one of the most admirable people I've ever met. With only two or three years of elementary education, Cindi has been living on the road between Crescent City, CA, and Lake Havasu, AZ since the age of 17 and is around 50 now. Little traditional education did not prevent her from being intelligent and learning in other ways, however. She told us that she had taken computer courses and carries around encyclopedias and college textbooks. She learned how to read a map and locate coordinates without the use of a GPS or the internet. I don't know anyone who can do that anymore. 

The law does not like vagrants. The law also doesn't like people who don't fit in with "regular" type people. Cindi had been chased away from overnight parking spots in the past and I could definitely understand why she would want to appear as "normal" as possible in front of people who might try to make life even more difficult.

 

Morning at the casino.

The next morning as I was walking the goat I saw Cindi strolling the parking lot enjoying a cup of coffee in her blouse and skirt. I felt happy that she was comfortable enough to be herself around us. She saw me and apologized for the long conversation the previous night, explaining that she has difficulty picking up body language cues and determining when to stop bugging someone. I knew we'd have another long conversation but I didn't mind at all. Dan hid in the camper because he didn't want to get stuck in this long conversation. Again, my lucky charm paid off and Cindi gave me a pack of cigarettes for Dan. I am simply amazed that someone who is on such a tight budget can give so freely. In this conversation we also picked up the biggest and best hint, which basically would be the lifesaver for the rest of our trip.

Cindi said that she makes her way up and down the coast one casino at a time. If you register for the player's club (which we already did to get the free camping), most casinos put $5 or $10 of "free play" money on your player card. You can play slots with this money and keep whatever you win. Generally you make about even, but $5 at each casino can add up. And you never know when you might hit a jackpot! That made us love casino camping even more, and I slowly began to enjoy playing penny slots. As long as I didn't have to spend any of my own money, of course!

The next morning we said goodbye and a big THANK YOU to Cindi. I got her phone number and kept in touch, comparing gas prices in different parts of the country. I wanted to meet up with another friend nearby in Sacramento. Originally we wanted to see San Francisco, but we were low on cash and the tolls were expensive. Not to mention I wasn't looking forward to towing a camper and finding a place to park in that hilly, crowded city. I met my friend Rachelle when she was in dog training school at the canine training facility I worked as kennel staff at back home. After completing the program she went home to Sacramento. She recommended a casino nearby called Red Hawk Casino. We camped there for three days, had supper with Rachelle at a Chili's, and I got my first glimpse of a HUGE casino.

All of the casinos we had been to so far were small Indian casinos on reservations. These casinos do not allow alcohol, as alcoholism is a huge problem in Native American communities. This casino was also an Indian casino, but it had the magnificence of the Vegas Strip. 

We were camped way, way out at the back of the parking lot with the rest of the RVs.

The sunset was excellent.

I  got some excellent pictures of Dan.

Look at him, being all photogenic!

I was simply astounded by the bathroom. I'm easily impressed.

When we called the casino to ask about camping, they told us we could stay for five days. After two days, security came around and told us that the limit was 72 hours and that we were not allowed to leave the camper there without the vehicle. They had noticed the camper there with the goat in her crate outside (even though we put a tarp over her because it was chilly) and said that was against the rules. We told them that we had been driving up to the casino to play since it was so far away. (It was halfway true! We did that once or twice!) The next morning we packed up and headed on down towards Bakersfield and Los Angeles!

Bastendorf Beach

The drive south from Portland was phenomenally scenic, and we got our first real awe-inspiring look at the Pacific Ocean.

This is how the dogs usually ride. Backseat drivers.

Let us now discuss the most awful night Fred and I have had in the last six months.

We arrived at the Bastendorf Beach past Portland at dark and had to figure out where to camp. Fred suggested on the beach and pulled Rosie out of the car so she didn't poop inside. I was not a fan of the idea. Little did i know how right I was.

I walked Rosie onto the beach while Fred followed behind me but as she drove forward the car and camper got stuck almost immediately. Fred and I switched places because 7 years in Boston had taught me quite a bit about rocking out of a stuck spot. I managed to drive forward 15 feet and then promptly pile-drive myself into the beach to the point that the nose of the car began to dig out the soil like a shovel. At this point our night began to take a turn. I have a Premier plan with AAA, but that doesn't cover RV's. Walking back to the sign at the beach entrance we realized, stuck as we were, that when the morning came and we needed to call someone to pull us off the beach we'd be facing a 600 dollar fine. At this point in our trip 600 dollars was like millions, and at the point of imaginary. So we began on the slow path towards freeing ourselves.

I began jacking the camper up on sand (the dumbest idea ever) and Fred began extracting every bit of advice from her father she could as to the nature of beached cars and the best way to go about freeing one from the other. As we progressed forward I shoved just about anything I could underneath our poor trapped vehicle in the hopes that something somewhere might actually free it. Fred's father suggested lowering the tire pressure and we attempted that, but to be honest I thought we were trapped forever. Somehow in one beautiful motion our car jerked out of its sandy doom and wiggled across the beach like a dying walrus. We needed to cut left around a sharp turn to return to the parking lot. As I whooped out in victory we again promptly plowed ourselves head first into a sand bar. The parking lot was within sight, but alas we were stuck again.

After some finagling I reversed until we had a clearer path and then I drove straight over the next, flatter, sandbar going about 35 mph then threaded the needle between a brick restroom and a guardrail. The camper was fishtailing behind and Fred was sure that it was going to swing right into the restroom.

The gap is on the far side of the second guard rail.

Finally after about 6 hours of struggling we finally freed ourselves and were able to actually enjoy the awesome place we were camped. We popped up in the parking lot (which is exactly where we were supposed to go), and the next morning we took Rosie, Piper and Juno out to frolic on the beach.

Rosie: "I pee on you. Baaaaaaaaad beach!"

How often do you see a goat taking a stroll on the beach at sunset?

Let's just stay right here in the parking lot.

Two days we were allowed to camp on this beach and we used every minute of it. After the initial almost losing the camper moment our only two sticking points were the moments a homeless village seemed to descend on us and the time a strange teenager and his girlfriend killed their car battery during a beach-side make-out session. He was disturbed when a disheveled-looking Dan came out of the camper and offered to help, but was glad for it.

On our way out of the area we stopped again along the highway at a scenic overlook. The breeze and salt smell were exhilarating.

With a last look at Oregon, we were on our way to California and the Redwoods! So long, Bastendorf Beach, and good riddance! Hello, sunny California!

Portland

We arrived in portland around eight or nine at night but we realized pretty quickly we had a bit of an issue. A trend was emerging; as we had gotten closer to the west coast, fewer and fewer states had free camping anywhere within hours of their major cities. Being optimists who trusted a mildly incompetent GPS we figured on popping up at a rest stop until morning. What we hadn't counted on was that Portland had almost no rest areas within its surrounding sixty miles and of the ones that it did have almost none allow overnight stays. Keep in mind, though, that we are professionals, and very crafty. Fred had been talking to another travel enthusiast from Portland who was interested in our blog. She used our friendly new contact to recommend camping sites, and when that failed, Google rest areas for us on the surrounding highways. This sounds like a pretty painless process, but just like anything else we've ever hoped to accomplish it required four hours and about fifteen U-turns. Every rest stop we entered was either closed or just a parking lot next to a river. 

A one point we pulled off at an outlook over a historic sawmill and I (Dan) spent a few minutes playing with the idea of giving up hope and just living on the river like Huckleberry Finn. Then it got cold and I got back in the car. Eventually we did manage to find a rest area just outside of Portland. About a half hour south from the city were two rest stops nestled into the trees. They reminded me somewhat of our campsites in North Carolina, and it felt like we were in an asphalt lot in the middle of the woods surrounded by fog and darkness. We picked the one headed into town and set up shop for the night. 

Fred used her new friend to pull together a list of must-see spots in the city. But we had only one real goal, and not surprisingly it was pizza. Whenever the topic of things to do in Portland was discussed, all Fred wanted to do was eat pizza at Lonesome's Pizza. As the trip progressed and the idea of pizza became more and more of a made up fantasy while eating bologne sandwiches and ramen I believe it was that pizza that carried her through. 

Waking up that morning we noticed that our propane stove was leaking fuel. Not wanting to incinerate the camper, breakfast was probably going to end up being a cold flour tortilla and soggy cheese. So we tried something we always wanted to do. While we were folding up the camper I rubbed some oil on the tortillas, put them in tin foil and threw them on the running engine in an attempted car-B-Q cheese quesadilla. This probably would have been easier on a V8 but it was definitely melted cheese on a hot tortilla, which is totally food. I tell that story to explain why our one true goal was pizza. 

After a unique breakfast we headed into town. Our first stop was the Portland Saturday Market. We really enjoy farmer's markets and flea markets and such. It's the opportunity to see weird people who are devoted to a very specific skill or business, I think. We both have weird hobbies and interests and places like those are the haven of the broadminded. We took Rosie, Piper, and Juno along with us and walked the food stalls trying to divert our attention away from pizza. The surprise of the day came when we ran into Duncan Lou Lee. Fred lost her mind because she loves this two legged dog. If you don't know her story you should definitely check it out. Among two legged dogs in the United States (of which there are a surprising number) she is probably the most famous. Duncan's owner was just as surprised to see a goat at a farmers market and snapped a picture with Rosie and Duncan. We were so excited we forgot to take our own picture. Afterwards we decided to check out some culture.

Our contact suggested we visit the Portland Rose Garden, which is the largest rose test garden in the world.  What that means is that botanists plant their cultivated breeds of roses in this garden to determine which ones they want to choose to sell to the public. The roses are judged on looks, smell, and other characteristics and are categorized so that you can find the "best smelling" "fruity" or "spicy" rose in the grid system. It was way past the season for roses to be in bloom but it was still a pretty spectacular experience. It was kinda hard to control Rosie in the face of what i can only assume is a goat buffet, but it was a pretty magical experience.

It was just after Halloween, so there was a Jack-O-Lantern!

The last of the roses.

Afterwards we began to discuss what we had left to do. Both Fred and I wanted to spend more time in Portland. The culture there is something rarely seen in the rest of the United States; everyone you meet seems to be a transplant that has travelled the country and ended up there. But we are on our own schedule and truth be told we don't want to spend another night at a rest stop, so the descision is pizza and then we run.

So far as I can tell the pizza we are getting appears to come from the back door of a strip club and is almost comically expensive at $26 a pie, so Fred and I decide that we'll look around at the other restaurants in the neighboring China Town area before settling on the pizza. Our journey through China Town is like a 45 minute homeless gauntlet that I lose two cigarettes in. But finally I tell Fred that she came all the way to Portland she might as well get her daggone pizza. So we head back over and order a a half mint, mozzarella, lamb, artichoke heart, and goat cheese and half ricotta, mozzarella, bacon, potatoes, walnuts and rosemary pizza. Lonesome's Pizza gives their pizzas fanciful names such as "David Hasselhoff vs. velcro headboard restraints" and "Lou Ferrigno vs. a shark with throwing stars for teeth." We're told it'll take around 15 minutes,  but it takes a whole lot longer. The pizza itself is not in my opinion that great but you know what, if Fred liked it I'm happy.  (Fred says the artichoke and lamb half was on point, but the bacon walnut half was really dry.) At this stage we drove off into the night and headed to an Indian casino.