The Way to Oregon Caves

After romping in the forest a few days, it was time to head back north through Oregon but to new destinations. I picked out the Oregon Caves National Monument just west of Junction City, which is off Highway 199. The drive became more prairie-like, a much dryer climate with sparse vegetation and tumble weeds. Dusty gas stations stood along the small town road with locals fueling up with gas and cigarettes. The earth and nicatine drank years from their skin. This place felt untouched from the world around them and I wondered how they survived in a town without a pulse.

"Junction City!" my man announced, "Want to stop for anything?"
"Naw, I want to find a place to camp before it gets dark. I hate parking in the dark," I replied.

We arrived at a state park seven miles from the caves. It was near dusk and the camp hosts quickly welcomed us in. Overly thin, neither husband or wife had enough combined teeth to eat a cob of corn. They smiled broadly as they asked us what our needs were for the evening.

"Just running water will be enough," my husband inquired, "We can make way without sewer or electric hookups for the night."

"I'm sorry, man," said the man, "but lets ask our neighbor if he's got a hose."

An older, shirtless man came scurring through the dry dirt pulling a hose to our camper as we idled in the check in lane. I felt a little embarrassed. I was afraid to look at his teeth, or lack thereof. A circus of help and soon our camper had water.

That night the children waded in a creek, built a campfire, enjoyed a rustic dinner followed by gooey smores afterward. There was no sound or site of traffic for many miles. We were at the base of the mountains. Home of critters, crawlers and mountain folk.

The next morning we unhitched the trailer for the seven mile drive up the mountain to visit the Oregon Caves. It was a gorgeous morning, sunny and 70 degrees. A light breeze stirred the tall canopy of conifer trees. All the children were excited to see their first cave. Bono sat in his car seat next to Keegan in the first row. I sat with them to monitor Bono's activities with the baby...Bono, our two year old, is known for slugging, biting, kicking and being a terror to the other children.

The road turned and twisted in and out of every part of the mountain. Sean was anxious to get to the top so he drove at a quicker speed. Bono was quiet. Very quiet. I watched ahead to the road so not to get dizzy as my head was already pounding for the day. I could hear some strange noises from Bono, kind of like he had too much spit in his mouth and was trying to swallow it.

Now I don't know what it is about that kid, but the few times in the past when he had the stomach flu, he would refuse to throw up. If he did, he wouldn't open his mouth. He would swallow it back down through locked jaw. This half hour trip up the mountain felt like an eternity of nautious hell. Bono's face was gray. His eyes rolled around and his head drooped from one side to the other.

When we arrived, all the other kids jumped out with a big, "Hooray!" while Bono oozed out of the van and held onto the door while he upchucked into his stubborn cheeks.

"Oh my god, Bono! Are you okay?" I held him and rubbed his back. He was too young for words but he looked up through his sour face and swallowed hard some more.

The breeze set him straight in a fast moment and with that, he marched forward to claim his walking stick that his brother held for him. We were off to find ourselves a cave!

Malibu Barbie and the Redwoods

I perhaps have not mentioned the constant headaches of which I suffer. I live on pain killers and am sometimes disabled by them. Much of it is contributed to hormones and some to stress, but Migrain Excedrin is always part of my morning ritual.

So I was laid out in the second row watching the sand dunes and the new appearance of Crescent City. The ocean mist was heavy and the fog shorted the coastal views. For August, it felt like November. My head lay sideways bumping along the backseat while my eyes peered open now and then to take a glimpse of scenery.

I felt my body sit up when I captured a glittering female's ass riding past my window with the words, "Malibu Barbie" sparkling as she and her colleague road their bikes along Highway 101 toward California.

"Did you see that?" I laughed up front to my husband.
"Yeah!" he turned and gave me a smile.
"Drive up along side of them! I want a better look!"

I had to see what a female bicycling tour team looked like. I had secretly wanted to do the exact thing, but never had a female partner.

We pulled up along side and I watched their cadence and inspected their level of fitness. These girls were made up of granola and unshaven legs. I frowned with puzzlement wondering why the claimed name of Malibu Barbie with glitter. These girls resembled Ken dolls more than Barbie. I shrugged and laughed it off.

"Good for them!" I said after a moment, "Glad to see their freedom and humorous outlook."

We saw them many times throughout the day. It was impressive how much distance they were able to cover, still laughing and talking with each other, eating snacks and sipping from a water bottle as they rode.

We came along the Redwoods and pulled off to the side. They were within inches of the highway and their girth was impossible to measure. We took some nearby paths and walked along the understory of native ferns and brush. The filtered sunlight through the moist coastal air gave the forest a mysterious and surreal appearance.

We spent two days camping and hiking through the Redwoods. The native Indians thought of the place as haunted. I thought it simply beautiful beyond description.
Take time with someone special and get out for a walk in the woods. Find some glitter and write your name. Wear it on your ass, if so inclined. Everyone needs to feel a little special now and then!

A Last Hurrah

We signed the 12-month lease to our apartment and moved what little we had into it. Air mattresses flooded the bedroom floors and clothes were stacked into closets along with cherished toys that made the trip west. The living room and dining room were bare, only paper plates and plastic spoons filled the kitchen cabinets.

"Don't unpack anything more," Sean said, "We're blowing this joint as soon as we find a house."

"Great," I answered back, "I've been living out of a box for the last three months and now you are telling me I can't unpack?"

"Yes! Don't get all comfortable and attached to this place! We're not staying here long!" and off he went carrying boxes to a corner that would remain closed.

Sometimes you have to trust your spouse with things that are really touchy. This was touchy. I missed home and even though I really loved everything I was finding about Washington, the attachment to our home was still very strong, if not too strong.

So, we sat around on the empty living room floor and took a good look at each other. Within an hour we were in the van and heading to the rv storage to pick up our trailer. We were hitting the road.

"We have two more weeks until school starts," I began, "Let's go see the Redwoods!"

We drove through Washington down to Oregon. We were kind of gitty with feeling like we were escaping the pressures and schedules of life again. Watching the open road for hours is oddly theraputic. Just like life, nothing stays the same--no matter how you try to keep it so. The miles pass and with it bring new soil, foliage, air and micro cultures.

I called my brother who lives in Corvallis, Oregon. He was camping along the sand dunes with his wife and kids and riding his off-road dirt bike for the weekend. We had already passed that area and were south of him. The sand dunes run along the coast from mid Oregon all the way to the border to northern California. We were on Hwy 101 and there were areas where the sand blew into the road, making sand drifts of tan/pink crystals.

"Too cool!" I yelled up front, "Let me see if I can find a place to camp out around here for the night!"

I called ahead to a few places but everything was booked. After I had given up hope, Sean found a place and pulled us in for the night. Sand dunes were everywhere and the night was cold. We grabbed the children and gave them their headlamps.

Out above us a spectacular night sky. The big dipper so simple to view. The children gazed and observed the clusters, so full and bright. We turned off our lamps and we could see nothing, not even our hand in front of our face. A sound of moving brush sent us quickly back to the camper. Snuggled in our sleeping bags, our children slept a deep sleep, safe and free amongst the dunes.