Lost and Found: What to do when you lose your dog

It’s our worst nightmare, isn’t it? To lose a dog. To have Rosie or Harold disappear, I can’t breathe when that happens. Rarely is Harold out of my sight but it happens. With that mama’s boy, he’s usually close enough to return within minutes. Rosie though? Ah, she ran off once.

A cold November afternoon, we’d gone for a walk in the nearby mountains. Up to the crest and looking over to the Jemez in the far distance, we scrambled through the cactus and rocks. Incredible. Worth puffing and panting. With the sun dropping towards the Sandias and the temperature following along for a ride, I headed back downhill. A whistle and followed by a jangle of dog tags, I didn’t worry. It was only when we were within a half a mile of the truck that I noticed it was only Harold coming along. Rosie? Nowhere to be seen or heard. Rosie! I screamed, yelled, cajoled, clapped hands, and threatened to leave her. Nothing worked. The sun was low in the clouds. It was cold, did I mention that? Suddenly my bravado failed. I stormed uphill, along the trail, calling her name more and more desperately. Nothing. Back down to the truck with Harold within reach, I found I’d left the phone back at home. Shit. Now what? I couldn’t call my friends or neighbors to help search. Shit. What to do? Harold sat in the front seat. I started the engine and waited as sometimes that helps get her attention. Nope. Nothing. It was getting colder. Panicked, I threw my coat under a juniper near the truck with a bowl of water and a toy of hers. Then I drove home and got the phone. A stressed call to Mo and Katie. They met me back at the mountain driveway. I set off uphill, Katie went sideways and Mo held the fort.

Nothing. I strode back down to the truck to see Rosie running towards us with half a rabbit in her mouth. “Be happy to see her,” reminded Mo, “don’t be angry.”

Rosie. Rosie. Rosie. You little bugger. “Hi, honey, did you have fun?” Wag. Wag. Seethe. Breathe.

Last week, on FB a friend posted, “Javier is missing! Please look out for him.” My poor friends had just adopted this foundling from a rescue, he’d only been with them for a week, less. Javier, a small pittie-mix with white fur and black patches and the most adorable underbite. He’d run off one afternoon. Into the hills behind town, where the coyotes live. And yes, the sun was setting and it’s a cold February afternoon. Shit. I drove down to see my friends, to offer help and suggestions. On the way, I’d walked the ridge line with Harold and Rosie, calling Javier, and searching the mesa for a little white blob in the distance. Nothing. No luck.

Back at their home, we sat on the porch and talked. She was terrified, feeling guilty, and lost. I start throwing out ideas, all those suggestions I’ve known from working at a shelter and helping local rescues over the last years. I described how the adrenalin takes the dog fast and uncontrolled until they just can’t maintain that level of panic. The dog will then stop, catch its breath and hide until the adrenalin leaves the system. From what I understand, the pup will then backtrack, using its own scented trail and return to the last place he’d been. The car? The crash? The home or yard you’d been visiting? Scent is key, he’ll backtrack. What do we do with that information though? Does it really help?

Yes, and here are some ideas.

  • Leave a blanket or coat of yours at the place you last saw your dog. It will give him a grounding point, something familiar in a scary situation.
  • Hide the blanket under a tree, within some shrubs perhaps? Make it a safe haven.
  • If you can, leave your own vehicle there, again, it’s a point of reference.
  • Talk to the neighborhood near where you last saw him. Give them your number and ask them to keep an eye on your blanket but don’t react, just call, if the pup shows up.
  • Leave a bowl of water and food if you can.
  • Call your friends, let them help. We want to, we will. It’s not an imposition. Honest.
  • Use social media, and again, tell your community, give them photos and phone numbers, however private a person you are – it doesn’t matter! Reach out.
  • Are you close to home? Close enough to walk back and forth a few times to create a scented trail home? Do it.
  • If you are, then you can also do this. It’s weird but it works. You know how I keep mentioning scent? Well, go home and fill a bucket with your dog’s poop. Then create a trail home with a scattering of dried up poop. Yep, it works. It’ll make you laugh too…
  • Leave the gate to your yard propped open, a blanket and bowl of food and another of water outside, just incase you finally do fall asleep.

All talked out with my heartbroken friends, I headed home. It was a full moon, an evening of coyotes yipping across town, and I knew that my friends wouldn’t be able to sleep well. We’d done what we could. We waited.

I made coffee at home in the morning and then checked my phone. Javier was home. He’d eaten all the food on the porch, and let himself into the studio. He was tired, safe, and in one piece with paws full of cacti spines.

Javier was home.

 

Time Out In Marfa, Texas

Published January 2017 with http://www.fempotential.com/marfa-texas/

Here is a copy of the text for you.

January was a good time to take a road trip, the holidays are over and nothing’s going on. Although, I’ll be honest, having been land-locked in Madrid NM for four months with only a couple of weekends away, town was feeling claustrophobic. It was driving me crazy. Winter so far in New Mexico has been pretty gentle with little snow and mild temperatures, nothing to challenge or keep me engaged. My home was finally finished enough to stay warm and comfortable, and with that in mind, I rented it for a week onAirbnb, packed the camper van, and took off south. I needed a break. I needed a plan of action. What next? How can I make a living as a travel writer? Or as a traveling writer? What’s the big deal about Marfa? Why go there?

Marfa, TX is a small town of 2,000 in far western Texas near the Davis Mountains. Big Bend National Park is 135 miles due south.  Would I head that far south? Who knew.

The night before I left town, it snowed. A good few inches covered the roads and Ortiz Mountains and in a 2wd van, the worries got to me and I didn’t sleep so well. Should I take the interstate instead of a country highway? Which would be safer? Highway 285 was shorter but would there be enough traffic to be safe? Ah, to hell with it, I needed an adventure. Highway 285 from Santa Fe was mostly clear but for some slush and a few snow banks, the traffic was light, and my pets cranky. Rosie, a lab mix, couldn’t settle down. She’d sit in the passenger seat, bounce down, push Harold off the bed in the back. Repeat. For nine hours. Stevie, the cat, hid under the bed, sulking. Poor Harold, a big baby of an Akita mix, shrugged at Rosie’s pacing energy. I drank cold coffee and kept on driving. I needed a time-out. Just like Rosie.

So, yes, why did I head to Marfa? Probably because the forecast was for it to be warm enough for tee shirts in the afternoons, plus some good friends of mine love the place. Suzie is an artist and she’d told me some of the history of Marfa. In the 1970’s, a famous New York artist, Donald Judd moved out to Marfa and created an outdoor sculpture garden of his works in concrete. The Chinati Foundation has become one of the major draws to the town, with celebrities, artists of all mediums, and tourists who all flock to the compound on the edge of town. There is also her favorite place, the Hotel Paisano, where James Dean last acted in a movie before his death. Marfa is now known for its history, the Hotel Paisano, the art galleries, the Public Radio station, and even the Marfa Music Festival in March. It has a lot to live up to.

We arrived late that weekend night and set up camp at Tumble In RV campground on the eastern side of town. I’d picked it deliberately for the proximity to town, its claim to having a walkable path into the downtown district (it didn’t), and a space for tents and campers not just RVs. Late at night, a sub-freezing night, after nine hours driving through snow half of that time, I was depleted and yes, as cranky as my critters. Tumble In was not as I’d hoped. The tent camping area is a bare patch of cut tumbleweeds with strips of gravel to show where to park. No shelter, no picnic tables, no grills or firepits. It was basically a parking lot. I hated it. So did the dogs and Little Stevie, my cat. Too many burrs, no shade, nowhere to walk as we were fenced in by barbwire and three-foot tall weeds. The shower in the morning made up for it. That and a cup of coffee.  Then once refreshed and in a better mood, I looked for a camp host but no, there wasn’t one, just a self-check in booth within a vintage travel trailer. Walking the pups around the RV park, I noticed the overflow area to the rear of the land, closer to the railway but away from the highway and parking lot. With no one to tell me otherwise, I set up camp back there and with Stevie locked in the camper, the dogs and I walked along the path to town. We had to scramble quite a bit so don’t expect a clear pathway to follow, we crossed an arroyo and down a sandy bank to get to a paved street.

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It was a Sunday morning, the church bells were ringing, and having drunk a good cup of coffee at the van, my mood improved with the sunshine and clear skies. The railway was surprisingly busy with three trains shipping containers and vehicles eastward all morning, yet I was still able to let the dogs run free along the track for a while. Until the rabbits tempted them onto the highway to the south of us and my tensions grew again. Damn it. I came here to relax, right? Putting them on leashes is never an easy accomplishment –  they’re country dogs and I’m lazy. Oh well. You do what you have to.

Judd’s minimalist aesthetic really has taken a hold of town; it was a quirky mix of old adobe structures, with rusted iron window frames and clean lines of new concrete. I liked the juxtaposition of old and new but how was it for the long-term residents to see their homes and town be so gentrified? The streets were empty though, that sleepy Sunday feeling perhaps? No, the rest of the week there, it was rare to see anyone walking around. There were few options for hanging out or talking to locals. There were few options for distractions from other people at all. I was alone with my thoughts as usual.

Walking down Austin Street, I came across a laundromat with a handful of folks sitting outside sipping coffees. Frama café didn’t exactly advertise itself but word of mouth and being the only café to be found, it stayed busy enough I guess. I got to chat a little to the others sitting outside, one fella brought Harold and Rosie a bowl of water, and we talked art, travels, and Texas. Most of them were new to town with a newcomer’s energy for the place. I still hoped to find a local who’d grown up in Marfa but never did. The latte was great though but a bagel or something to eat would have helped. Ice cream was the only option, and although it was tempting I didn’t get any. Another time perhaps? Nope, I stuck to coffee there for the next few days. It became our routine to walk to town mid-morning, exploring the four corners of town, and finishing up at Frama. Where was the breakfast place? I lived off the odds and ends in the cooler at the van instead. Oh well. My expectations were nicely lowered after a few days and I began to enjoy town for what it offered. Even the Tumble In campground grew on me for being bare bones, with hot water, little interaction and no one watching over my critters running free.

With a full moon, the Marfa Lights were not to be seen. Have you heard of them? First noticed in the 1880s by a cowboy, there is still no solid explanation for these colored lights that dance in the dark nights outside on Highway 90. My timing once again was against me; it was too bright for me to see anything. Next time? I’d better do some research before I head on another trip as this one to Marfa was the most disorganized possible. My timing sucked constantly. The best part for me in Marfa was that we walked everywhere for a week. The rest of my days I filled my notebook with web addresses and contact info for freelance writers. Researching different tangential ideas kept me busy and the sketch book let me switch off the word-brain in the evenings. As there were few businesses open at the start of the week, and little to see with high-end stores offering treats for the wealthy, but still I got to relax. I enjoyed wandering the wide empty western streets. Trucks slowed down for the pups and I, waved at us, and carried on slowly out of town. Wherever I wandered, I’d see the Presidio Courthouse. It’s an incredibly beautiful old three-story building that fills the town plaza with all roads bringing you back to the spires. It dates back to 1886 and I walked inside one afternoon, curious to see if I could climb the tower to look out the windows facing each direction. It was closed for cleaning but still worth climbing the wooden stairs that opened onto lawyer’s offices on each level based around a central rotunda. I was alone and the peace of the extensive views impressed me deeply, a sense of history and wonder.

 

Hotel Paisano was just around the corner and it quickly became my afternoon choice. The Trost building dates to 1929, and opened only just before the Great Depression. It became a place for ranchers and tourists to stay as they crossed Texas. In 1955 Warner Bros came to town to film Giant with Elizabeth Taylor, James Dean, and Rock Hudson. Jett’s Bar is named after Dean’s character and the walls are covered with old photographs from that era. I sat at the bar one day, eating a salad from their limited menu, and chatted to Herb who was visiting. He came from Las Cruces, NM, and was a pilot for a wealthy family who’d come to Marfa for hunting but he didn’t specify what or where.  With a beer in hand, I then sat outside and that’s where I recommend fully. The building is Spanish style with a main courtyard with a fountain and tables in sun and shade. Perfect. I sat and read and listened into the conversations around me. I came back two other afternoons. Now that made me feel like I was truly on holiday. Finally.

The small-town logistics could be challenging for some city folk but since I live in Madrid, NM with a population of 350, this wasn’t a big impact on me. There were limited options for eating out, I didn’t find a decent grocery store, nor ATMs but then again, I’d come with a wallet of cash and a cooler of food in the camper van. I have a feeling my timing really was off, and that in spring and summer, town wakes back up. I’m okay with that though. I like low-key artsy towns. With no traffic lights, Marfa lulled me into a slower pace of life. It worked its magic on me. Afternoons, I’d sit outside the van in the sun and draw out quirky characters or I’d brainstorm on how to keep traveling and writing for a living. I came up with some ideas but it’s hard to make it freelance. I figured out that it’s worth me faking it until I make it. That’s the best I can do for myself.

The Chinati Foundation finally drew me in on the last day in the area. I put down my notebook and we drove over there early one morning. I’d not been too keen to be honest, as a field of concrete sculptures didn’t appeal. It was free so why not, right? I’m glad I went though. With the critters set up in the camper parked in the shade of a huge Cottonwood, I wandered into the main building and asked for the self-guided tour of the gardens. The young woman behind the counter waved me over to the path and asked me not to climb the structures. Nothing more than that, no stories, no information, just “Stay off”.

Okay, okay, so walking down past the other buildings, I strode down the slight hill to the open land with a stripe of fifteen groups of concrete slabs. From north to south, there are Judd’s famous works in concrete, a very minimalistic contemporary feel that reminds me of inner cities in the seventies. Unprepared for the magical energy, I stood and stared at the first group. Three structures made of upright walls of concrete with another identically sized slab across the top. An open-ended room in a sense. Walking to the next group, it occurred to me that I was alone on this kilometer-long pathway. In the field nearby, a small herd of Pronghorn antelope watched me nervously.

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Slowly as I wandered around these works, a peace settled on me, reminiscent of living at a Buddhist retreat in the UK years ago. A calmness came from the simplicity of how Judd played with one size of solid cleanly poured concrete slabs, putting them together in different figurations. There was nothing to explain why it appealed to me so much but an hour later, I walked out of Chinati with a relaxed smile and feeling expansive. Yep, I’d go back. First though, it was time to head north to Madrid, NM, to set up my home for another vacation rental. Yes, Marfa. I get it now. And I had a plan.

Travel can help people in so many ways. One woman took a time out type of trip to Marfa, Texas, and was inspired with a plan for her future as a travel writer.

Year End Lists

It’s the end of the year, a time for us to look back at what we did or didn’t do. Those lists and resolutions from last winter haunt us. I’m a wanderer who settled for the last eight years to build a home for myself, a home-base that is. My goals had included writing and traveling again. Goals met. I’m going to list mine in the hope that it’ll inspire you to look at your year behind and the one ahead. It helps me to see things written down by making my ideas more tangible somehow, more solid.

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Articles published in MAQ, Classic Land Rover Magazine, LRO Magazine, the Examiner, and on a couple of online small forums. Not bad, but I want to publish more, focus more on sending out and finding outlets for my storytelling.  I sent out two more travel articles this week. It’s a start. One step at a time, day by day, I aim to keep going.

Books published include two travelogues Bring a Chainsaw and Van Life.  There are also three photo books, photo essays if you like, taken from our travels around the States. Van Life and Dirt Roads And Dogs, the last one calledLittle Stevie’s Travels is in review. Oh, and one of my novels won Best LGBT Fiction in the 2016 NM/AZ Book Awards.

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It doesn’t feel like it, but we drove around a lot this last year. Here’s a list of the States we got to visit while looking for campgrounds, lakes, books and breweries. Passing through some of them a few times, we took backroads, found rivers to paddle in, and set up camp for three months over summer. Some of these places are one’s I kept returning to while based in New Mexico such as the Jemez Mountains in NM, Pagosa Springs in CO and down through Tijeras, NM on the way to other places!

  • Colorado
  • Arizona
  • Wyoming
  • Montana
  • Washington
  • Oregon
  • Idaho
  • New Mexico

Now though, it’s time for me to look ahead even as I write up my notes from the last year. If you  have any specific questions for me, let me know. I can give routes, campgrounds, and local information for many wonderful off-beat rural towns.

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The next post will be a few of my top ten picks. Top Ten Destinations. Top Ten Campgrounds. If you have any suggestions, again, let me know. Take care and Happy New Year!

 

5 Travel Tips to stay sane on the road.

It’s that time of year when it’s cold enough to make us research next year’s vacation. Or it is for me. Winter, I like it, I like the cold weather and toasty woodstoves, but dreams come thick and fast. The internet catches me for hours as I research new ideas and new destinations. Talking around the fire with friends over Christmas inspired me even more to plan the next big travels. With that in mind, here are five travel tips for the year ahead, I hope it helps.

  1. DO THE RESEARCH:  with notebooks, the web, and a basic outline, I strongly recommend doing some research. Go beyond Google’s first page and look deeper, follow the tangents, discover blogs and forums. Last winter the Expedition Portal caught my attention. The depth and breadth of posts was initially overwhelming but I discovered that although the regional sub forums were the busiest, their focus was more on short day trips and four-wheeling. Go instead to the trip reports and the in progress travelogues for true inspiration. Travelers like myself post photos, routes and even favorite campgrounds along the backroads. Ultimate Public Campgrounds is my favorite app with all the links, directions, photos, websites and even directions for all the public camping areas in both Canada and the US. Great stuff. Benchmark Maps is the other main resource I take with me because of the detailed notes on each kind of road, campgrounds, and historical notations.
  2. DON’T OVER PLAN! No, I’m not contradicting myself, honestly. However, so many people on the road get caught in the trap of keeping to schedules and timelines. For me, an outline, a body of research for options, and then the ability to see a signpost for a lake and follow that side road makes for the strongest memories. My weakness is for a hidden lake in a mountain valley so that’s what tempts me most. What’s yours? Keep your eyes open and itinerary flexible.
  3. STAY ENGAGED: With the road endlessly stretching ahead of you, it’s easy to lose track of why you’re driving. It’s not just get to the next destination, is it? Curiosity drives me, keeps me engaged and when I’ve cut myself off from the environment and focused on reaching the next pit stop, my travels become meaningless, or at least forgettable. With a handful of local newspapers, some novels written set in that area, or taking time to visit historic markers while chatting to residents at the diner, that’s how you’ll feel much more connected to each place and its people.
  4. EAT WELL: In the van the box under the bed is full of the staples that keep me sane or at least full for those days each week when I just don’t want to drive to another grocery store because I like where we are. After months on the road last summer, it became a weekly habit to restock with fresh vegetables, fruit, cheese and even creamer for the morning coffee. I’d eat salads for a few days, then move onto the eggs and veggie omlettes, and towards the end of the week, back to the canned soups, nuts, beans and chiles. When shopping, I planned for a week at a time, knowing that I’d need to eat the fresher foods for a few days, a mix of shelf-stable items, and then left-overs. If you have a fridge, it’s different of course but this mindset will help the backroad campers like us.
  5. BE PREPARED FOR THE UNEXPECTED: Yes, we all know that shit happens but are we ready for the van to breakdown? Will you still have food and water? What happens if the front wheel wants to fall off on Independence Day like mine did? Phone calls to mechanics unable to help, driving around terrified we’d get stuck in Bellingham on the side of a main highway, I drove us to Anacortes, WA, and camped on the marina’s parking lot with their permission. I waited it out, had food, and with the security guard keeping an eye out on us, felt safe to wait out the holiday weekend. And if the pets got sick suddenly? Those two dogs and a cat that I travel with? The smartphone gives me access to finding a vet, and the first aid kit under the bed can take care of more injuries than I’d hope to experience. It’s okay though, this happens, dogs spike themselves, bleed profusely, and still live on. It happens at home and on the road. I sit back, bandage Rosie up, and make a cup of tea. It’s a fact of life, right? Yep.

Now, go out and buy some maps, sit back and plan another trip okay? Then tell me about it!

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Photo Essays: In Calendar Form

What with all the time spent taking photos this summer,it’s time to get serious again about photography. As a twenty-something, a project of mine got me into an 18 month course at Pimlico Media Centre in London, the stories and images of the squatters in East London caught their attention and with a full scholarship, I studied SLR manual cameras, documentary photography, portraits and working in the darkroom.

Now then, after quite a while without consciously thinking about the skills and cameras I’ve had, it’s time to focus on the imagery of our trips. Three months in the van with Harold, Rosie, and Stevie kept the camera in hand. Now what to do with the results?

First, edit! Edit out the fuzzies and wobblies.
Second, edit! Find the best striking compositions. Those that catch my eyes even after all the times I’ve seen them. The challenge is to not be caught by the memories of each one but to pick pictures that capture the essence of specific places or experiences, ones that translate to viewers.

And third? Publish. After meeting Carlan Tapp this weekend, a local prolific and professional photographer, at his gallery in Madrid, NM, I’m inspired. Sharing stories with him, talking of our road trips, and our cameras and ideas, I’m inspired. I’ve focused on writing and wandering, taking photos it’s true, but it’s time to share those as much as I do the photos.
With that in mind, a photo essay book is in the work. And in the meantime, a few calendars are now available on Lulu.com. I’d like to also find a way to sell via Amazon as they’ve been so good to me as a writer. For now, I’m happy with the quality and flexibility of Lulu.com and the calendars on there.

Little Stevie’s Big Adventures, a road-tripping cat in the Northwest.

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Land Rovers of New Mexico, or rather the adventures of a 1959 Series II and a 1972 Series III.

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New Mexico Skies: a collection of the night skies around Madrid, NM.

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Van Life: Exploring the Northwest with two dogs, a cat and a van

It’s true. A new book of my travel stories just came out. It’s a work in progress so forgive the mistakes, I’m working on it! This travelogue follows our adventures in the Northwest, the details about the small places we found along the way, the people we met, and the critter’s advice when I was having a hard time. Lighthearted and engaging.

Thanks!

Anacortes, WA and beyond

Dirt pile. Tall and wide. Thick forests. Cranky cat. Tired driver. Dogs restless. I pull over and let everyone out. We’re hidden behind this huge dirt pile, nose of van poking out, me squatting like Rosie. Finally a moment to stretch our legs after a long and wonderful day. But long. I’d been driving for too long.

We’d left Anacortes earlier that day, not a great place for Stevie, but the marina was good for me. Watching all the sailboats on the water, hearing the chatter from the sails flapping, the chance to do laundry, walk the dogs on a beach, sit at an outdoor bar, yes it was worth $20 a night.

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Taking the ferry across from Couperville to Port Townsend on the July 4th weekend, we were lucky to get tickets on their busiest weekend. Not being sure how the critters would fare on the ferry, I’d stopped earlier on an empty beach for us all to wander round until they chose to get back inside. Perfect. On the ferry, because of the size of the van, I got to park up front, facing out on that grey morning. I tied Stevie down, gave everyone a treat, closed up the windows and left them too it as I explored. Love ferries.

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On the Olympic peninsula my day went downhill. The noise in the van was back, sometimes. The critters were tired of being inside. And I had no idea where we’d camp. That’s what it often boils down to. If I don’t have a plan, I’m stressed, needing a focus point. Which brings me back to that gravel pile on the side of a small road heading west from Clallam Bay across to Ozette, it was the last chance at a campground, all the others had been fully booked and the forest roads were neither obvious nor easy for a van like mine.

A volvo pulled up. Fuck. Really? I wave frantically at the car, asking it to slow down, give me time to grab the cat who is standing in the open. Stevie in hand, I walk back to the van, muttering evil thoughts to myself. Why here? Why not park somewhere else?

“Harold!” A voice calls out behind me. Stevie tucked in the van, I turn to see Dawn climb out of the Volvo, another woman with her. My brain can’t compute. Huh.

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“Dawn? Is this Annie? Dawn? How the hell?”

Dawn’s laughing, Harold is barking, Rosie is running around like a dervish, and Annie says “hello Sleam, I’ve heard about you! Dawn recognised Harold and the van. You’re not camping here are you?”

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Lake Ozette, a little used national park campground, rustic, bathrooms but nothing else, pack-it-in and pack-it-out. I follow the volvo as we drive through the campground once. It’s full. There is nowhere else. Damn. I’m tired and hungry but no longer worried. My closest friend is here, Dawn! She lives in Seattle, we’d met in Madison twenty plus years ago, and she’d even joined me just a week ago camping near Arlington. I’d not expected to see her again for a few years…

“IS that a campsite?” Annie asks as we walk around, stretching our legs. “It is! Quick, claim it, stay here, I’ll go get the car.”

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Dawn and I hang out in the small clearing, and catch up on the last week’s adventures, laughing at the chances of running into each other here, in the middle of nowhere. Annie pulls up, opens up the Volvo, and the dogs find her cooler.

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La Push, and Mora National Park campground is the next day’s goal. Independence Day, and we are lucky to find a secluded site in the trees, with a sense of privacy unexpected in a place with over 90 sites. Stevie gets to run around too, always the hope. The ravens hated him though, would dive at him, crow at him, harrass him, until he froze in the trees and I’d fetch him back to the motel van. Poor bugger. The eagles hovered over the beaches. Washington coast was not a kitty friendly place, just so you know.

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The next couple of days were perfect. Dawn, Annie, and I made great meals, campfires, sat and chatted until tired, and then since Dawn knew the area, we went to her favourite beaches and walked in the rainy afternoons. Yep, I liked it. Rialto Beach is worth visiting. Even on a busy weekend like July 4th, we had the space to run and hang out and not feel the pressure of containing my pups too much.

Dawn and Annie left me there, duty called back in the city. For me, the sea called. The dogs and I walked as often as we could, and in the mornings it was quiet enough to let Stevie wander on the sand with us.
And that my friends is all I experienced of the Olympic Peninsula. Oh, apart from all the signs for that bigotted presidential candidate that made my stomach turn and the van keep driving. Southwards…

Travel by numbers

“How much did you spend on gas? How many miles did you drive? What did the campgrounds cost? Did you need mechanical work? How much did the van cost?”

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We’re a practical bunch. We want facts and figures. None of this anecdotal crap. Just the facts. Well, some of my friends are scientists, statisticians, more focused on the details than the stories. Me, I’m more of an impressionist than realist, but this is for the rest of you. And no, I didn’t total and summarize any of it. That’s your job. I was too busy dipping fingers and toes in mountain lakes and paddling on ocean beaches.

Numbers of

  • $ spent on mechanics: 716
  • times I thought I’d lost the cat: 8
  • scars on my left hand from grabbing cat and throwing him back in the van: 5
  • times Harold had diarrhea in the van: 2
  • miles driven on Interstates: 346
  • times I spilt coffee in the van: 2
  • weeks on the road: 10
  • motel cost: 76
  • campground fees: 236
  • times I stepped in diarrhea in the van: 2
  • cold plunges in alpine lakes: 6
  • nights spent in a motel: 1
  • books read: 47
  • $ spent on laundry: 54
  • walks per day with dogs and cat: 3
  • walks per day with just the dogs: 3
  • times I bought gas: 26
  • miles driven: 7843
  • times I was scared: 1
  • $ spent on firewood: 15
  • $ in the weekly envelope (budget): 150
  • times I overspent my budget: 6
  • weeks spent on the Oregon Coast: 3
  • nights slept on the beach: 5
  • times Rosie puked in the van: 2
  • Gallons of gas used: 409
  • $ spent on beer: too much
  • $ spent on the road trip: enough

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I’d do it again.

 

 

Taking Cat Stephen for a ride

Taking Cat Stephen for a ride. Okay, so Cat Stephen is more commonly known as Little Stevie, a somewhat feral cat that came to our home when only a few weeks old.

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He’s an indoor/ outdoor kitty, a fierce tiger at home. This is his first camping trip. We’ll see how he does. Since I worry about the little bugger at home, I figure I can worry about him on the road as well. He’s wearing a harness these days, and he’s tied up to a thin leash that is attached to the van itself. This way he can’t jump out when I’m stopped for gas or to stretch my legs.

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Day one in the van with two dogs and a cat went surprisingly smoothly. The first mile out of my place is dirt road, shaking up the van nicely, and Stevie was contained in the large soft carrier. He didn’t like the noise. He didn’t like being contained. It was loud. For about ten minutes. He protested. I reassured. Rosie looked out the window and Harold looked worried.

 

North of Ojo Caliente, about an hour and a half from home, I pulled off onto a Forest Service road and let the dogs out. I opened up the windows, pulled down the screens, and let Stevie out of the carrier. With a bowl of water and the freedom to stretch his legs a little in the peace of a stopped vehicle, I left him to it. Five or ten minutes later, we returned, the dogs had run, peed and pooped, and were in a better mood. This was now the test. Attaching Stevie to the leash and opening the doors for him to explore. He didn’t want to, not really. A very nervous tiger he was, he scooted under the van, but it seemed to help him, to hang out with all of us outside, drink a little water, take a break.

When we set off again, I had him attached to his lightweight leash, which in turn was attached to the thin long dog tie-down. This way Stevie could find a favorite place in the van yet I knew he couldn’t escape through a window or door when I would next stop. We drove quietly for another hundred miles and pulled off on FR250 heading into the Rio Grande National Forest. The river flowed thick and fast, flooding much of the valley to the left of the dirt road. After five miles we stopped for a lunch break and the dogs ran through the meadow to the river and soaked up a gallon each, Rosie returned a brown wet dog instead of her usual white self. Great.

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Stevie timidly stepped down and under the van. He no longer seemed as shocked by the day’s events, but more curious. He showed no interest in running off which was great. We hung out in the shade of the van and ate a sandwich, drank water, the usual kind of light meal. Stevie popped back into the van and climbed up on the shelf again, his happy spot.

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I’d forgotten how far it to get to Stunner Pass and a slowly driven twenty nine miles later, along a narrow steep gravelly switch-back laden road we came to the pass of 10,541 feet. Snow hid in the shade of the barren Aspens. Rosie was getting restless. Harold and Stevie were quiet. The campground of five sites had only one other family. I let the dogs roam free, attached Stevie to the tie-out, and opened up the doors, settling in for a few days here. The Alamosa River is full of snowmelt and the constant roar reminds me of the ocean. This is stunning, a deep valley between ranges, with tall pines and a thick forest of Aspens only just beginning to bud out.

In 1892, some four hundred miners set up camp here during the Gold Rush, with a post office next to the river and mail delivered by sled dog for six months per year. By the early 1900’s though, all but a few miners had moved on looking for more gold, more gold, and more gold. There is one cabin at the entrance to this primitive campground, partially restored by the looks of it, but falling down again.

In the middle of the night, Harold wakes me shaking and whimpering as he looks out the window. It’s cold for sure and I figured he’d seen or heard some animal and was scared. With a blanket over him, I fell back asleep. I woke soon though to the sounds and smells of diarrhea. Yep, Harold shat all over the van carpet. Poor bugger. I struggled to find the flashlight and attach Stevie to a leash. Harold leaps out unhappily as I throw out his bed and the carpet matt. I look down to see I’m standing in wet sloppy brown poop. Shit. Yes. I climb out, it’s bloody cold, and I wash off in the dogs’ water bowl. Harold has climbed back inside onto my bed and fallen asleep, snoring. Rosie is still asleep. Stevie purrs.

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The morning at the campsite is even better than last night, a slow moving mist, the roar of the river, a smoky fire and strong coffee. The other campers left early. The doors are open to the van and all animals are off leash, free to roam. Stevie comes and goes a little, all the sights and sounds and smells suitably awe him. His shelf is his happy place. Harold’s bum is still giving him issues. Rosie is muddy again. And I’m tired and my cheeks (upper cheeks) ache from smiling so much.

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Life is good.

Making screens for a camper van

The motivation: Stevie (the cat) and the two dogs need to be contained inside the van at times, and the mosquitoes need to stay outside.

The research: I looked online and didn’t come up with many ideas but one caught. I can’t remember who did it but the basic idea was to use snaps as the way to connect the screens to the van itself. Andrea recommended getting screens from a fabric store, as it’s softer, more flexible than those for doors and windows at a DIY store. Made sense to me. I put the word out before heading to town though and ended up with three kinds of material to use. All are softer, and I can see through them, which I like.

The method: Since I didn’t have any belting to sew onto the edges of the material to stop it from ripping, I found some lightweight canvas. I measured the side door first. Thinking I’m likely to have one of the side doors open and that I’d climb in and out at times, I halved that width. I did add a couple of inches for an overlap.

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First off, I sewed an edge of canvas along the top to the soon-to-be-screen door. It’s not pretty; I’m more of an impressionist than perfectionist…it works though.
I had bought some supposedly heavy-duty snaps from Lowes last week, just in case. They’re small but seem tough and well made. We’ll see how they hold up though. It says 15 pieces on the container but in all only makes six snaps. I’ll have to get more, even for this one small side door.

Using a knife to cut a hole in the material where I wanted the first snap, it fixed in solidly to the canvas edge I’d made. I then held it up to the body of the van, marked the spot, and screwed in the base as directed on the box. I didn’t pre-measure anything but simply held the screen across the top edge, marked the ideal spot on both the van and the screen and went one by one. It works for me. Not the most detailed of workers, the snaps ended up holding the material tightly across both top and bottom.

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I’ll have to pick up more snaps for the sides. I’d like to know that I can fall asleep with the door open and that Stevie, the little bugger, won’t decide to crawl out for another adventure. We’ll see.

Now I’ve sorted out a method, I’ll go ahead and do the other half of the side doors and hopefully I have enough material for the back doors too. For a first attempt, I’m pretty chuffed. It works! Just need a bunch more snaps to play with…

Part two: I have more snaps, but only six of them unfortunately. I did get Velcro though. The plan is to screen off the small windows in the doors themselves, they open outwards a couple of inches, more than enough for a wriggly cat, and enough for a thousand mozzies. Not good either scenario.

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I measured, well, I held the material against the window and cut it a couple of inches wider on all sides. I then cut the heavy duty Velcro both sides of it and lay strips across the top and bottom of each window. Tearing off the protective plastic off the sticky side of the Velcro, I held the screen material across the top and pulled it tight before attaching it to the bottom line. The sides were loose though so I added a couple of shorter pieces of Velcro and stuck it all together, pushing it firmly to stick in place. I left it alone all afternoon and went to the pub.
Stacy mentioned how the Velcro didn’t stick well to the vinyl when she tried to do the same in her own van and that’s exactly what happened when I got home. The whole tape just pulled up and away. But! Now I had more snaps. So adding just one on each corner at the bottom means that I can pull up the screen and the Velcro does its job just fine, with a little help of the snaps that is. Yep, that works. I now have working screens on two back windows and a large one across one of the side panel doors. Not bad for a Sunday.

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Heavy duty Velcro. ($8 for 4’ by 2”)

Heavy duty snaps. (6 for $7.50)

Scissors.

Measuring tape for the more detailed approach.

Screen material from your friends.