2016 Sides Family Road Trip

After a wine tasting, it’s easy to imagine yourself as a member of the Olympic bobsled or downhill ski team as you slalom the hairpin turns on Rt. 1. Unfortunately, driving that way makes everyone else in the coach want to vomit.

Actually, this 3^rd winery visit in 2 days was impromptu. It was 4:30pm, and we were passing a place that was about 300 yards down the open hillside between the road and the cliff over the Pacific. It was so scenic, we couldn’t help but take advantage of their last half hour before closing time. I checked the rear camera, hit the brakes, came to a stop just beyond the driveway, and then backed up and pulled in. All 5 of their wines were very nice, but for Mom, it was the best winery of the day just on it’s setting alone. She repeated that declaration several times the next day, too.

When we walked up, unbeknownst to Mom, I had spotted a sign indicating that the winery’s guest cottage was available that night. I took a quick walk out back to see what it was like, and it certainly was ideal. The cottage’s one room was configured with a bed in front of sliding glass doors that overlooked a deck with a hot tub, a patio fireplace, and the ocean. It was PERFECT for Mom. I resolved to inquire. I was ready to let our campground reservations go unused. Unfortunately, before I could even rejoin Mom, I overheard another couple completing their arrangements for the lodging. Oh well. Instead, one of the winery owners set our expectations for the last remaining hour on Rt. 1: it would take us an hour and a half, we’d navigate 487 switchbacks, and we might see elk. We did see the elk, but we elected not to count the turns.

Much of that hour and a half was right through some amazing redwood forests. As impressive as the trees are, something magical actually happens when you touch one. Mom took the “tree hugger” term literally, but, for me, just touching something so massive and so old (nearly 2,000 years) is simply inexplicable. Also, in the thick redwood stands, the light is subdued, the temperatures are lower, and sounds are muffled. It’s quite amazing. Even after we left that area and joined Rt. 101, we still took the detour on the Avenue of the Giants to see even more of the incredible trees.

Keep in mind: this all happened at the end of the day. At Mom’s request, we’d started that morning late, which was fine because I as having second thoughts about stopping to see the model train at the “Skunk Train” station, anyway, so I figured we’d strike that from the itinerary. Also, there as slack built in at our other destinations. However, on our way to the Mendocino Headlands State Park, I spotted an inviting lagoon when crossing over a bridge. When I saw the visitor parking lot at the other side of the bridge, I doubled back and pushed everyone out of the RV (none of them had seen it, because it just appeared at a time when nobody was paying attention – taking a break from 22 miles of winding forest road exactly like the winding coastline road from days prior). Well, the soft sand and cliff-walled secluded beach were so inviting, we had trouble pulling Sean away. JT, sadly, was having stomach troubles, so didn’t stay at the beach for more than a few minutes. He missed the next stop, too, but once he got up in the afternoon and had a little something to eat and drink, he felt much better. It happens. No worries. We were just glad he wasn’t coming down with something – that would have really made the rest of the trip pretty miserable.

We were so far behind schedule, now, we almost didn’t proceed to Mendocino Headlands State Park. We were sure glad we did, though. The coastline there was similar to what we’d already seen, but the little town of Mendocino really caught our interest. We walked the wooden sidewalk (like the ones you see in the old western movies) and visited the beautiful 1800’s Inn. Sean joined us while JT finished that nap, and he had a nice time too. He wanted to descend to the beach where the hippies had made makeshift huts out of driftwood, but we knew it would be impossible to wrench him away if we actually let him down there.

So, between the lagoon and the winery, it was an incredibly long day. We didn’t pull into our campground until nearly midnight – and still had to eat dinner! There were no complaints from anyone, though. We were on vacation and enjoying ourselves. That’s what was important.

The end was nigh. We were all a little bit road weary, and there was a bit of a mini-mutiny when everyone saw looked ahead at this day’s agenda: a visit to Oregon Caves in the middle of a 5 hour drive. Everyone voted against the caves. Me too, actually. So I guess it wasn’t really a mutiny. I’d heard that they are fantastic, but we’ve been in 2 caves already this trip, so we figured we could forgive ourselves if we skipped it in favor of all getting a little extra sleep after the extended day it took to finish the last of the coastline.

We didn’t pull out until 10am, which used up only half of our spelunking time and set us up for a leisurely evening arrival in Northern Oregon around a comfortable 6pm. As I was packing up, a white and orange cat with a collar came to visit me. He let me pet him and went on his way, safely back into his owner’s RV, which was also pulling out this morning. It reminded us that our own cat would not be waiting for us when we got home; he’d fail to return from one of his nightly jaunts about a week after we left. Such are the dangers for creatures his size in the woods behind our house. Awe.

Sad as we were, it wasn’t hampering our vacation, though. We were relaxed and we were on our 26^th day in a row of near-perfect weather. It was mild and clear, and the next 350 miles were to be straightforward. Mom was asking to stop and cook lunch somewhere, but I was pushing for another in-motion meal to maximize the evening time instead. We ended up enjoying the last California miles so much that when we spotted a rest area just before a tunnel, we decided to pull in. Mom put the awning out, and I set up the grill right there in the parking lot. I cooked some hamburgers and hot dogs, and we put our feet up for a few minutes, quite satisfied with ourselves.

The “North Fork Smith River” had put us in a great mood. Follow it through the mountain canyon, the turns weren’t as severe, and the view of the river and quiet pass through the mountains was, of course, quite beautiful. The river ran so calm and clear across the rounded rocks 30-40 feet below the level of the road that, at one point early in our trip, it looked too inviting to keep driving past. I found a bigger turnout that I could use to reverse direction without blocking the travel lanes for too long, and made my way back to one turnout which looked like we could climb down the ledge. I put my bathing suit on and scrambled down right away, Sean right behind me. Mom followed a little more tentatively, but JT was quite hesitant. It was steep enough, and far enough, that he worried about being able to get back up. The ledge was covered in cement, though, holding the road bed in place, which made for a pretty “grippy” surface. I promised him I’d carry him back up if it became necessary, but I really felt like he ought to come down and at least touch the crystal clear and so fresh water. He agreed, but insisted he wasn’t going in or getting his hair wet. I was determined to go in, myself, though, and it couldn’t have been more fantastic. As I suspected, the river bottom, even though it looked to be about a foot deep, was more like 5 feet deep. If you’d dropped a newspaper to the bottom of the river, you could have read every word without getting wet.

The water was so inviting, not one of us could resist. The boys, especially, didn’t even want to leave. In fact, between that swim and the picnic, it was about 2pm before we were welcomed into Oregon, instead of 10:30 – 11am like we’d thought when we left the campground.

There was one important stop we needed to make before we got too much farther into the rainier Northwest: a stop at an RV/camping store outside of Eugene. With the tight squeeze among the bushes & trees at cousin Aaron’s, a branch had caught one of our open roof vents and cracked the thin plastic. Highway speeds had torn it apart, and now we’d be exposed if it rained. I plugged the address into the GPS and found that we’d arrive about 45 minutes before closing time. In no time, we had the part and had climbed on the roof and swapped the two screws necessary to get it replaced. In the mean time, Mom had found a replacement latch that would stop the hydraulic levels from periodically flipping open the television to the shelving behind. That was a minor annoyance we’d been dealing with or a while. At least many RV parts are pretty standard, apparently.

We rolled into the RV park around 8pm. Just as we pulled in, a couple spotted our Alaska license plate (because the RV is registered jointly with my mother) and asked where exactly we were from. It turns out the man grew up in Chugiak, but he doesn’t know Cousin Brad. He lives in Wyoming, now; not sure when he left. Anyway, they were a nice couple, and they shared some of their black raspberries with us. They grow wild and as plentiful as weeds in that area, apparently, and this was their third full bucket of the day. We’d seen them in California, too. These were delicious.

When it got dark, the two rows of trees flanking the one road of vintage trailers on the East side of the park lit up with Christmas-like white lights. It was apparent that the trailers are permanently parked there, each with a pair of bicycles and a gas grill out front. Seeing them at night like that, Mom wondered if she’d seen the campground on a TV show at some point in time. Since there was some confusion about my bill, the owner called me after we’d left the next day, and I asked her if the park was ever on a TV show, and she said it had been on several. Cool!

It took several rounds of the Uno card game to keep me awake all the way back to Seattle on the 27^the travel day. We’d traded the planned 7:30am departure time for something more like 9am, and agreed to skip the Portland Japanese Gardens. I’m sure they would have been beautiful. Back in Las Vegas, we’d seen an art gallery displaying giant photo prints of beautiful natural wonders – pictures of the Portland Japanese Gardens among them. Other pictures included some sights we had actually seen, though! We were all a little bit anxious, though, so we needed the extra time. I was anxious about figuring out what to do with the RV and where we’d be sleeping that night (hotel or RV). Mom and the boys were anxious both to finally see some of the Seattle sights as well as board the plane for home.

Before we pulled out, I’d done some research on the computer and resolved to call an RV consignment place that I’d talked to, briefly, before the trip. I also came up with a list of RV parks near the consignment place. Pulling out of the campground, Mom and I agreed to have the consignment place assess our rig later in the day, sleep in it that night, and turn it in the next day. The other option under consideration was to try to turn it in that day, get a hotel for the night, and try to visit downtown Seattle the net day. We both knew it would be too much to think that we could quickly vacate our home of 5 weeks… and we still had enough food left for a few meals, too. So we headed to Multnomah Falls, where we took a short sightseeing walk and had a picnic. The RV consignment place was accomodating, and the campground I’d selected as available, so we had a plan that looked like it was going to work well.

Multnomah Falls was a late addition to my itinerary, but it looked so inviting, I had added it to the trip, which created that early 7:30am departure time from the campground. An easy thing to visit (a two minute walk from a highway rest area) and beautiful sight, it was worth it. Returning to our RV, we found ourselves parked in among 5 or 6 tour buses from the same company. I had seen their guides on the trail and even asked one lady her tour’s route. She named some towns/cities I’d never heard of. I don’t know if their tour was by bus or cruise ship. But one funny thing… one of the old ladies returning from the walk came right up to our door and asked Mom if this was bus #3. “No, it’s our private RV” she said. “Oh!” the lady replied “Yes, I was confused because I didn’t remember the bus looking so nice!” I told Mom she should have tried to sell the RV to the woman. Ha!

Anyway, Multnomah Falls is a very pretty two-stage drop of over 600 feet (over 500 feet on them main drop). There’s a nice visitor center there (which we bypassed) and a nice paved walkway up to a bridge which crosses over the top of the lower 60- or 70-foot drop. As usual, the boys put up a little bit of a protest about being dragged out, but they did think the falls were pretty cool.

Seattle traffic was a nightmare, which didn’t surprise me because went through at rush hour and because I’d experienced the same three and a half weeks earlier. We took care of business at the RV place and headed to the campground where the staff was super helpful in giving us instructions for how to visit Seattle the next day, if we wanted.

How ridiculous is it that calamity struck 8 hours before the end of the trip? More than 5,500 incident-free miles (except the mirror) and that’s when I had to damage the RV? Compared to any minute or mile from the last 5 weeks, I was of course in over-cautious mode all day. I had parked in the empty left field of a Walmart parking lot, literally less than 2 miles from the consignment lot. We had completed our packing and even dropped a couple of boxes of food and incidentals at a post office to be shipped home. All that was left of the trip: go another half mile and drop the family and luggage at a Mexican restaurant, then proceed the extra mile to the RV dealer and hand over the keys. I had it all timed out, too: show up with the RV after 5pm to get everything taken care of before closing time at 6pm; walk back to the restaurant; eat; meet the airport shuttle for our 8pm reservation; arrive at the airport in plenty of time for our 12:40am flight.

I had pulled into Walmart for 2 reasons: to go to the bathroom and to see if they had WiFi that we could all use while we waited for 5pm to arrive. Inside the Walmart, I got the distress call from the parking lot: “there is some sort of damage… we can’t close the hatch… we promise we didn’t do anything… it was like this when we got out… what?… how?…!” I took a deep breath. What could possibly have gone wrong? I couldn’t be more sure that I left miles between me and anything that could damage me all day long. I was determined not to panic. I found a candy for each of the boys for their plane ride and begrudgingly made my way out to the lot.

Mom was standing over the rear passenger section of the coach. I wasn’t sure if she was about to break into tears or not. One of the storage hatch doors was open – the one that hinges on the bottom. She showed me how she went to close it and the door appeared at least 2 inches taller than the door – because the middle of the bottom frame of the door itself was bent upward in the middle so that it looked like the roof of a house instead of being straight across and glued to the wall of the RV. What had possibly gotten under there and lifted and bent that frame? I pushed on it, and it didn’t budge. Whatever it was had to have considerable force behind it, which meant I had to have hit something. But there was not damage to the wall of the RV or any evidence of any sort of crash into any post, curb, vehicle or anything. Now I was furious. Mad at having gotten this far without anything serious… mad at having settled on a recovery price for the RV which now might not be valid anymore… mad that with all my caution, we suddenly had a problem… and livid that I couldn’t understand what had caused this damage. Obviously, this was something that had happened while we were moving, something I had done myself somehow, but what?

Sean could see that all I had to do was push on the frame to flatten it out again to give the door room to close. I pushed, and nothing. I pushed harder, but the metal lip only hurt my hand. I tried a different angle and made a little bit of a difference. I paused and looked everything over one more time, and then it struck me as to what happened. At the post office, I had carefully gone around the coach and opened every single hatch to make sure we weren’t leaving anything behind. The finicky latch mechanisms had either not closed properly or had vibrated loose. Since this door opened downward, once the latches were loose, it flopped open. Then, on some bump that caused the coach to rock a little, the 5 inches of clearance below the bottom of the open door and the road weren’t enough. As the coach rocked over and the bottom of the door hit the pavement, the pavement pushed back and started separating the door from it’s hinge, but the hinge was strong enough to pull the frame up and away from the coach, instead of giving way itself. Mystery solved, I was at least resolved that we’d get the door closed so I could finish the trip. I found a way to get one good push on it, and… whew… the door closed.

On to the RV place, and the sales associate looked at it and concluded that the sheet metal straightening really would be all that it would take to make everything right. There’d been no real damage to the value of the RV. He had budgeted for minor cleanup, anyway, and this still fell int hat category. I suspect he was still more worried about how to extract 10 States worth of insects from the grill, windshield and front of the cab-over with the logo on it. Whew.

Back at the Mexican restaurant, license plates in hand, I ordered a couple of shots of their best tequila. Cheers, everyone. We hope you enjoyed my version of the trip and all the pictures. You might now want to talk to Mom and the boys and see if they were on the same trip….