Oregon & Deserts

We are slowly making our way through Oregon. It is a beautiful state and so far the people have been mostly friendly.

Our first scenic stop was just up the road from the park we stayed at. Crooked River Bridge is quite impressive and one of the better tended viewpoints. It's a green oasis in
the middle of the desert and the sprinklers were a welcome treat on a hot day. Dave was a miserable bastard and just took pictures of me having all the fun!

We pulled up at the RV park and surveyed our surroundings. They were quite different from our previous stop - the trees were replaced with scrub brush and mountains replaced with craggy rock and gorges. We had chosen the RV park because we have a juvenile sense of humour and River Rim RV Park sounded

funny (it turns out they own another RV Park called Big Horn...). But it turned out to be the best RV park we've stayed in yet. The owner, Dave, was an absolute legend. He had an excellent sense of humour, and treated us like he'd known us for years. He gave us a discount on our stay when we told him of our plans. I think he may have also taken pity on us and our vehicle. While we were there, the toilet blocked up. Twice. The first time took us 2 days, a toilet snake, a plunger, sceptic tank waste dissolver and boiling water to shift. It only took a day to amass another blockage, but this time we were prepared! Dave told us not to bother flushing toilet paper. We didn't listen to him the first time, figuring our issue lay in not using toilet paper specifically designed for RV toilets (yes, it does exist). After the second blockage we

heeded his advice. We still have to throw hot water down it a couple times a day, but it flows down! We figure there must be some pooey remnants stuck in the piping, and by throwing water down there, the hardened fun stuff should shift down. Dave will be waiting at the end of the pipe when this happens and we shall make some fine jewelry out of it!

The first day in the park we went down to a bar tucked into a golf course. We thought it was the only one around, and with the name Sandbagger, our juvenile senses were appealed to once again. Shame though, should have realised anywhere with a focus on golfers was going to be a bit rubbish. The staff were awful - loud and abrasive, but not in a charismatic way, more in a "I'm not pretty enough to make it on looks alone, but have fooled myself into think I am" kind of way. They spent more time joking and flirting with the older men who would tip them well for their show of breasts and attention. Fair play I guess. I certainly wasn't going to tip them for their breasts. And believe me, if they were worth it, I would have done. But anyway, we had our drink and left. We had thought that this place was just at the end of our road, but it was about a mile down the road. If we had had more than one drink, we probably would have left them a steaming present on one of the paths we weren't permitted to walk on. Lucky they were bad enough not even alcohol made us stay! On the last day, we found the Big Dog Saloon, which was much more about the locals. While we got eyed with the usual suspicion a city looking folk type gets when entering an establishment like this, they were all very friendly with each other. I got the impression the same camaraderie would have been shown to us had we attended more than once.

Everyone in the Crooked River Ranch area seemed friendly. Everyone waved to us from their vehicles, a lady from another trailer in the park had grown too many tomatoes and offered us some for free. We made salsa with them, and fresh tomato salsa is just delicious. Dave came over to us at least once a day and regaled us with stories and advice. He had led an interesting life, and we do envy his persistent happiness in everything he does. He told us the story of a meth head who went climbing down the gorge (which is a minute walk from the park) and got stuck there. So Dave (the owner) went down with a ladder to try and help him out, against the wishes of the police ("I don't listen well!") and they managed to get this idiot up after many hours of hard labour. But, you really should visit the park and get Dave and his wife to tell you the story - it's much better coming from them!

The next day we decided we were going to stay in this spot for a while, so we went into Bend to float down the Deschutes River. It was a lovely afternoon, and we brought beer with us (of course). But I was amazed that this activity was a) free and b) unsupervised. All you need is your own rubber ring (which we now have!) and the ability to block out the cold water stun which stays with you most of the way. There is a point where you get to a dam and a mini waterfall - here you have to dismount and walk around. This is why they couldn't do this unsupervised in England. Both Dave and I were tempted to hurtle down the waterfall despite all the signs saying "death" and "danger." If this had been England, you'd have found a bunch of drunken lager louts at the bottom of this little waterfall all scrabbling around trying to find the last beer.

Afterwards we took a walk around Bend, the major town through which the Deschutes flows. It's a lovely town, lots of taunting restaurants and restaurant smells everywhere. Cafes galore, bars aplenty, and a second bookshop that had Dave foaming at the mouth with its comic selection. We had intended to go back for an evening of drinking, but weren't in the mood for it when a convenient time rolled around. That's the great thing about this - we don't have to do anything we don't want!

The next day we decided to hike down to the river in the gorge that surrounded the RV site. David told us the way to get there, and told us to look out for the guy living in the cave just above the river. Well, of course we forgot his directions, but managed to feel our way to the crucial bits of the directions. It required going down an old sheep path and down a rancher's ladder. When Americans say "hike," I'm always dubious. A
hike can mean anything from a paved walk around a lake to an Everest style climb. This one was definitely more towards the untrodden kind. It was a little hair-raising at times, and there were points where my poor little legs didn't want to drop me down the precipice, but we got there. David had cleared a path to 2 beautiful waterfalls. We then went down and had our picnic lunch by the river. The beauty just around the campsite is spectacular, and we only had to hike 20 minutes to get up close to it.

We had a couple of lazy days in between these things, but I'm sure you don't want to hear about how we did the laundry, repainted the shelves in the fridge to take the rust off, or tidied up the pantry cupboard to make more space. But there's an idea for you. On a more interesting note, we visited the Painted Hills. This trip nearly cost us our sanity. The roads were gravel, and shook our RV all over the place. The fridge stopped working, the steering wheel got an almost vengeful squeak on it. But, the Painted Hills
were amazing. We
found a longer path to hike across the top of them. Of course, no one else was on it. Everyone else just 'hiked' up to the sign and then trotted back to their air-conditioned car. Unfortunately the drive home was a little fraught, and it really did seem like the steering wheel was having a little joke with us, one that it enjoyed so much that it actually got worse every time Dave complained about it. I was nearly having a breakdown trying not laugh, but Dave had not seen the funny side yet, and I don't blame him.

The next day we knew a storm was coming in, so we did more boring house type stuff and waited for the inevitable. I was looking forward to a storm - England just doesn't do them right. The clouds in the distance didn't look like they would disappoint, and when the wind whipped up in a matter of seconds, we had battened down the hatches. The storm was really impressive, somewhere else. It just teased us with wind and dark, swirling skies. We got a few heavily impregnated drops of rain and then blue filled the sky again. But watching David run across his park putting things away, still managing to stop and chat with various people along the way, made it worth it.

We have since left, celebrated my birthday (thank you to my family for my messages!) and have been in 3 different campsites, but this entry looks long enough already! If you are ever in the area on Central Oregon, stop in at River Rim RV Park. It has amazing views, it's quiet without feeling like a cemetery, and the owners are great people. They really made us feel at home, and David is the kind of guy who always has something interesting to talk about. While he does love to talk, it's nothing but a treat to listen to.

Farewell, Washington!

We have officially been on the road a week and we have already met some cool people and had some very cool experiences. We have started to upload our pictures to dropbox, so if you want to see them all (be patient as we add the backstock) then click here.

Cape Disappointment...

We left Long Beach and the rain behind and set off for North Bonneville. We first decided to stop at Cape
Disappointment, primarily due to the name, and it lived up to it. We had to pay $10 to park, so we turned around and found a spot by the side of the road to take pictures. Screw you Washington government!

Mount Hood

We went to the North Bonneville area in hopes of getting to Mount Hood, but it didn't transpire that way. Instead we found ourselves nestled along the Columbia River Gorge - an absolutely stunning area surrounded by rivers and rainforests. We found ourselves a cheap (and available as we left it a bit late to book for labor day) campsite just off the Lewis and Clark Trail. Since this was only our third ever campsite, we were rather confused when there was no front desk, no one in the office building and a sign telling us to help ourselves to a site. But I had made a reservation?! I had requested a back-in space?! We drove around and saw that they had kindly put up a reservation sign for our site, but we really had driven most of the way around the site and reversed into another spot before we saw this sign. But this spot felt much more like camping - surrounded by trees and not packed in so much like sardines. It was deathly quiet. We were afraid to talk too loud it was so quiet. The park also had a permanent trailer park attached to it, and even this was shrouded in cemetery silence. But that was to change the next day. We settled into our site on the first night and had a fire and a beer (or 2).

Beacon Rock

The next day we decided to take a hike up Beacon Rock. It was a couple miles down the main road, so we tucked ourselves over and huge lorries trundled past us. We got there and the view was amazing. The climb up was eased by little stops to appreciate the views over the Columbia River. We were lucky, we seemed to be in between two gluts of people,one going up

View from Beacon Rock

and one going down, so when we got to the top we got a whole 5 minutes of uninterrupted viewing time. We searched out some more little hikes and then continued on back to the campsite.

Since the park didn't have a shop or internet we decided to check out North Bonneville. This is an experience I shan't forget anytime soon. It turns out the town had been relocated just down the road, and whoever designed the new town layout thought they would try something new. It was most surreal. In the 'downtown' section, all the houses were set on a green with big concrete paths going between them. There were no driveways, just an area off to the side that looked like mall parking. Then we saw a sign - it was what we were looking for - cold beer. A menu was up and it was scrawled on a piece of poster paper. Another scrawled sign told us the place was called 'Sweet

Outside Sweet Ricky's

Ricky's'. We were a bit unsure as it was pointing to one of the apartments on the second floor. We went back to the campsite with the idea to build up courage for the next evening to check the place out. I got back and had a much needed shower, at the end of which I realised water was no longer going down the drain. I molt pretty badly, so I presumed my hair had blocked the drain. We tried a gentle plunged - nothing. So we went to look at the pipes underneath and noticed a joint was loose and decided to tighten it. Which of course loosened it . Water started to flood everywhere under the shower and we couldn't get the bloody pipe back on for love nor money. After a lot of panic we realised the grey tank was full, there was no blockage, and we were turning the joint the wrong way. We sopped up the water as best we could and left towels down. We had tested the grey tank by emptying water into a bin, which always sends out a little bit of the black water as well. But all of the water wasn't removed from the waste pipe, so I had to follow along behind to the dump site, carrying the waste pipe with either end up and our pooey water sloshing around in the middle of the pipe. To be fair, Dave got it all over his hands, so we were at an even score. One thing we did notice as we dumped - our shit stinks of garlic. Like, concentrated minced garlic in a jar kind of strong. Even the grey water smells that way. I'd hate to imagine the French sewage system!

That night the campsite was raucous. You know when all the hicks on South Park get drunk and start yelling 'YEAH!' and 'WOOOH!' and high fiving each other? I have now learned that this representation is just that - not an exaggeration but a merely accurate representation of a certain kind of folk. It was extremely funny to listen to, and we hoped to find the culprits passed out in the grass in the morning, clutching an empty beer can. Alas it was not to be so.

We awoke the next morning and decided to take a small walk to a nearby hot springs resort and see if there was anything to do there. On our way out we saw a few people stood around, one holding a stubby fishing pole. We went over and asked what they were doing, and, in short, they "cat fishing." I had seen some

"Cat Fishing"

kittens who had taken residence under the main building and had tried to coax them out with cheese, but these guys had a catnip mouse toy on the end of the fishing wire, trying to tease out these feral kittens. But they weren't just feral, they were smart, and managed to outwit them every time! So, on our way we went, and a small walk turned into a bit of a walk which turned into an epic walk trying to find our way back. The springs was elitist and nouveau riche tacky, so we just kept going, hoping the road would loop around. Luckily it did, but not after a few moments of self doubt. We then decided on another 'short' walk to find somewhere to

swim as it was hotter than we were used to. This took us on another hiking trail trying to find the Columbia River. We found it, after a time, and found water we could wade in after bruising our feet on rocks. All of this was done in good spirits. It was long and tiring and convoluted, but we had nowhere to be and nothing but time, and the thought of this made it all the more enjoyable. That and the incredible scenery everywhere we went.

By this point we definitely deserved a drink, so we prepped ourselves on the approach to the 'bar.' "Just look like we belong there, just look confident, and we'll be fine" "yeah, just don't be awkward." None of this prep was necessary. The bar tender, who was sat outside, greeted us in warm, slurring speech. He was about our age and had a great sense of humour about himself. He was from our trailer park, known to the locals as 'the LC.' There were tables, air hockey, some other arcade games and a karaoke set up that commenced pretty much the moment we stepped through the door at ear drum piercing volume and treble. We were offered BBQ chicken, just out on the bar on offer like chips and peanuts. And it was delicious chicken. We stayed for a couple and said we would be back for dinner and more drinks. Live

Inside Sweet Ricky's

music was just being set up and we wanted to check that out too. We came back and sat out on the porch listening to live music. We ordered a burger each, and they said it was on the house as they were left over from a do that afternoon and would only go to waste anyway. We were feeling all warm and fuzzy inside for this quirky little find. As we sat on the porch, locals came out one by one to talk to us and check us out. We must have been talk of the town, and were considered a very cute couple by all accounts. The night waxed on and we started talking to a group of lads. It was all going well until a joint was produced and passed around. Then the conversation turned to hunting. The guys got a little defensive (even though we were supporting hunting) and the conversation abruptly ended. Lesson: do not smoke a local's weed or discuss hunting. Overall, it was a very cool experience only slightly marred by the abrupt ending, and we all shook hands a wished a good farewell.

It was my turn to drive the next day, so we were out early as my stomach was churning with nervousness. Driving your home around is awesome, but also mentally taxing. If anything happens, it's not just your mode of transport, it's your home. But, I managed to navigate a small bridge, a toll booth, a town, winding roads
and the highway. Once you get used to it, it's great to drive. Better than the pontiac predecessor! So we are now in Oregon, in the high plains desert. More stuff has happened, more cool things to write about, but I'll do that another day. This is enough adventure for one entry!

Overall, still loving it. We find ourselves constantly saying to each other, "This is what it's all about!" to the point where it has become a bit of an in-joke. But in all seriousness, we are constantly reminded why what we are doing is so, well, absolutely awesome.