We’ve had three straight days of rain here at Emerald Forest campground. So we decided to sit tight and weather the storm rather than move north where the storms were worse. Also the Good Ship Lolli isn’t very seaworthy or windworthy for that matter and we didn’t want to put her on the road in her waterlogged condition. So between plugging up leaks with hot glue and duct taping tarps together for cover, we’ve had some time to relax and do some of the things we were hoping to do on this trip. Today we had a moment of sun between the clouds so we threw on some warm clothes for a walk into town (Trinidad, a mile walk each way). It felt great to be moving after days in a cramped RV; and this area is even more beautiful after a rain…more green if that’s possible. We walked to the beach and surveyed the rugged coastline; grey skies with breaks of sun, angry waves blown sideways by the wind, a quiet town with the occasional police car roaming the streets, a light house with no light on, a stone plaque chiseled with the names of people who perished at sea, small fishing boats being tossed around like toys in the water, my eyes were full. We sat on a bench to let the view sink in as it began to sprinkle rain on us again. Meanwhile, a big grey blanket of a cloud was moving closer.
We decided to risk it and stop at the local diner for coffee. The waitress warned us about the clouds moving in, but we stopped in the gift store, and the grocery store after that, and thumbed our noses at the weather.
As we were finally walking back to camp it started to sprinkle hail on us. Cool. Hail. Thats novel and new. We laughed about it as we watched it land on each other.
Then it started coming down a little harder. Maybe we should pick up the pace a little…
And then we really took a beating.
Made it home … safe and soaked.
— Steph
Quotes of the day:
What happens if you perish in a parish? — Steph
I guess if you’re a Christian, you’re in a pretty good spot for it. — Joel
Yesterday was a red-letter day. Well, everyday has been a really outstanding and wonderful day, even with all the surprises we’ve encountered. But yesterday really stands out above the rest. We camped in Trinidad, CA at The Emerald Forest Campground for $14. It’s beautiful here. The campsite is a cozy dark magical world inside a world with red paths, patches of green grass, distant cars passing, birds calling; everything is wrapped in a blanket of giant green moss-covered redwood trees.
Last night, Joel made a mouth-watering chicken curry and rice, we trotted out a bottle of Smoking Loon Zin to wash it down with, which we later discovered was made by the same “wine people (insert appropriate wine lingo here)” as Plungerhead, another of our favorite wines. Feeling satiated and lazy we started getting ready for bed while thanking our lucky stars for a day of peace, no surprises. As we were crawling under the covers, Joel thought he heard dripping “inside” (it has been raining since we got here). With our track record, I knew this didn’t have a happy ending. I sat there savoring a few minutes of peace while preparing myself for the worst. He inspected the widow behind the couch and sure enough, it was raining on the inside. No joke. Actual rain. Falling. Inside the RV. We spent the next few hours trying to find the leak in the dark, wet, muddy night. Joel put trash bags on top of the RV with bricks from our fire pit and tried unsuccessfully to duct tape them to the window…this may be of interest to some of you, tape doesn’t stick in the rain, not even duct tape, not even when you dry it with a towel under an umbrella. At some point between running outside and shifting trash bags and bricks and running inside to watch the rain come down on the couch to see if it let up, Joel said, “Didn’t you bring a glue gun?”. Yes, I did. I have no clue why I did. I purged myself of everything. Everything! But for some strange reason I threw in my mom’s old black glue gun, I think that thing was around before I was born. I somehow inherited it and have never really used it. The thing is so old that it has disappeared into a plastic case of old dried glue, save the red-hot tip which later Joel would apply several times to his hand.
Ready to try anything, we got her out and warmed her up, and Joel proceeded to hot glue the entire inside of our window. He would dry an area and then frantically glue while I held the flashlight on the spot. Then we would sit silently and watch as the water found ways around our mountain of glue. We did this about three times before the rain stopped coming down inside. But it did stop. We put a thick blanket on top of the couch in case the dam broke and went to bed…Joel holding onto a bag of frozen peas (the only thing frozen in the RV). Woke up this morning and everything is still dry, but now we are facing three straight days of severe wind and rain that only gets worse as you go North (the direction we were planning to go). So we’re holding tight, planning to try to use our resources here to figure this one out. Joel has already been running outside with the hot glue gun (we warm it up in here and then just at the right moment Joel unplugs it and dashes outside to bathe the exterior (the offending parts) of the RV in hot glue. He thinks he’s got it taken care of, he informs me. We’ll see. Meantime, I’m drinking coffee in a dark RV that smells a bit like wet dog and we have no dog. The floor is damp and only getting worse. I don’t really understand why RVs are carpeted. Why not tile and let the owner throw rugs down? Anyway, Joel is currently off to the camp store and we have our fingers crossed for a borrowed ladder and some caulking. Everything is fine for now. Luckily both Joel and I have a heart for adventure and a sense of humor. We’re still laughing at this stuff…of course, if we spring a leak above the bed my good humor will evaporate instantly.
Memorable quotes from this morning:
You know, I’ve used duct tape for a lot of things in my life, I never thought I would duct tape my home” — Joel
We’re hot glueing and duct taping and trash bagging everything, I’m like the motor home Macgyver! — Joel as he runs outside in the rain with the hot glue gun
A little later Joel peeks his head in the RV door and says, “You should include in your post that I’m the Motorhome Macgyver, I enjoy that title!”
“I already did” — Steph
News Flash: All the instruments are OK as of last night when we finally plugged them in after the flood a few days ago… big sigh of relief!
The day finally came for an excursion, meaning, leaving the Lolli for an extended period of time (longer than it takes, say, to take a shower and run back). We arrived in Marin county and found an RV site located near a ferry that would take us right to the heart of San Fran. Perfecto! The air of excitement was intoxicating and we couldn’t get out fast enough. SF beckoned. We packed up some sandwiches and wine, bundled up for the weather and looked around for any final preparations that needed to be looked after. We decided to leave the multi-colored christmas lights on and the iPod music on endless shuffle so it appeared as if someone were home. We also had a bit of cash we didn’t want to bring along, but also didn’t want to leave out as an easy target for someone who might break in. So I grabbed the bills and looked around for a nifty spot to stash them. A light bulb went on … literally. The bathroom light was perfect.
I took off the plastic cover and stashed the green stuff in there. The problem: it was green and you could see that through the clear plastic. Bright idea number two, wrap it in white paper so it looks white. I folded it up in a paper outlining the RV site rules and fit it perfectly into the square space. Replaced the cover and voila! Perfect hiding spot! With a mental note not to turn the light on, I walked out without another thought about it.
We looked around for anything else we might need to do, wanting to be sure everything was secure and safe. Joel went outside for a cigarette and what did I do? I went to use the bathroom. It’s dark in there. So I turned on the light. And knowing how long Joel smokes and that I have some time to kill, I do a few girly things…change my earrings…powder my nose. I notice a strange smell. Must be the neighbors cooking up something good. Joel comes in ready to skedaddle and I’m hot on his heels, excited for our adventure. Light status: still on.
We are about 20 feet away from the RV when something hits me. The light is still on? No no, not that. I was cold and it was only going to get colder. I tell Joel that maybe I should go back for one more layer and he agrees (He typically ends up relinquishing one of his own layers to me on cold nights and knows what will happen if I’m not prepared). So we return for my grey sweatshirt. Walk in, I go into the bathroom and again the smell. I mention it to Joel who agrees that there is a smell. “It smells like someone is roasting marshmallows,” he says. I go outside and walk around the RV sniffing everywhere trying to see if I smell it out there. Nope. No marshmallows. I walk back in. “I’m not comfortable leaving until we figure out this smell I say.” Joel agrees and we both look around a bit before it simultaneously hits us both at once. THE MONEY!!! I run to the light and turn it off and pull out the charred remains of our hard-earned cash. We both groan as I unfold it and survey the damage. At this moment I am completely sick to my stomach.
The sweatshirt that saved the cash
and ultimately The Good Ship Lollipop…
The paper the money was wrapped in …
What’s left of the green stuff…
We have yet to go to a bank, but we’ve been assured that the money should be replaceable. Both of us were really just elated that we didn’t leave and come back at the end of a wonderful evening to our little RV burned to the ground. A few days later we are already laughing about it, but at the time I wanted to drown my silly self in wine at Vesuvio’s and then go throw myself under a trolley. I’ve done some airhead things in my life but this one certainly takes the cake. However, after drowning myself at Vesuvio’s, I was in too high spirits to go find a trolley. So we caught the ferry back home and there she was, christmas lights shinning and music playing, the Lolli, a sight for sore eyes.
It’s about 36 degrees outside and as I had my morning cigarette I was serenaded by the soundtrack of WIllits, CA. Sheep baa-ing in the distance and the occasional truck flying down this country road we’re staying off of. Today we head up to Arcata, which for all it’s hippie connotations is actually a really cool little 19th century college town in the middle of the Redwood forest. Yesterday we left San Francisco and drove up to WIllits, CA. I remembered that Tom Waits lives in Sonoma County, so we decided to try to find his favorite cafe in the town he lives in, the Pine Cone Cafe in Sebastopol. The road to Sebastopol was amazing, a real country road complete with burned out barns and burned out storefronts from the late 19th and early 20th century as well as a myriad of antique shops, huts selling bison jerky and a shack with trinkets all over the lawn claiming to be a fortune-teller. My favorite was the “Realtor” whose sign was at least 60 years old and whose “office” was literally a shed made of corrugated aluminum and black lawn-and-leaf bags. We got to the Pine Cone Cafe, but business must have extended past Tom Waits these last few years because the only thing original was the old space-age sign. Inside it looked like a Starbucks so we literally walked in, said “what the…” and walked out. A really overweight guy with a huge beard walked out and said “That was delicious”, and I’m sure it was but we have yet to buy a meal on the road and can’t afford to so we went next door and found a ukulele which has become our road warrior of choice as far as instruments go.
We got into Willits (not because there’s anything here but because it’s a halfway point to Arcata) yesterday afternoon and went to the store, etc. and I have to say there are some of the most amazingly fashioned people I’ve ever seen here. Mullets, mustaches, bad facial hair, guys who look like yeti’s and prospectors, star wars shirts, morbidly obese women with no makeup and doughy red faces sitting on benches screaming at kids who will in just a few years start to wonder why they were raised here, etc.. So it’s provided us with priceless entertainment (when Steph gets up I’ll update this with some photos we took) and the KOA campground has laundry facilities so we’ve been able to do laundry for the first time on this trip.
-J
Here are some videos from yesterday:
And the ferry to SF from Marin County the day before (mute this video, the wind is ridiculous):
More about SF later which was a debacle and a hoot, but now I’ve got to down some instant coffee and get laundry done before they kick us out in two hours.
Blue California sky, warm sun on our faces, redwoods all around, a cool breeze, water flowing past us in the stream below … today seemed to be the perfect day for staying put and finally relaxing! We woke up after a good long sleep and decided to spend one more day (day three) at Santa Vida RV park in Santa Cruz. We’ve been moving around a lot so far, and one thing became immediately clear; picking up camp is no easy task. It’s like we are the roadies for our band, loading and unloading for nightly shows we never actually play. Twice a day we move things back and forth (guitars, amps, suitcases, backpacks of clothes, etc.) from their place on the floor where they wont fly around during our drive, to a place where they wont be in the way of living in a tiny RV space (to illustrate, one of Joel’s size 13 shoes sitting in the middle of the floor takes up half the RV). So, when all this work is done, lighting a fire and preparing a meal can take up the rest of an evening. We haven’t had much time to truly relax, play music, blog, read, make videos … all those important things we uprooted ourselves from SD life and went on the road to accomplish.
Today, we agreed, was the day to kick back and enjoy. Alas, our fun-day became a long hard day of soaking up water and drying wet clothes, guitars and carpets. Right now the clock says 4:58 PM and Joel and I are sitting facing each other at the RV table in silence, tired out of our minds. I’m not sure how much we’ll accomplish with what’s left of the day other than making a fire and dinner and falling into bed (well not so much falling as jumping for me, I have to do the equivalent an Olympic pole vault to get into bed – fun times in the middle of the night when you have to pee. Granted, it’s not as bad as Joel who has to actually crawl over me to squeeze himself into a small space in the bed where he is sandwiched between me and his shotgun. Poor guy can’t even stretch out his legs … but that’s another blog).
The videos below give an idea of the surprise Joel encountered when he unsuspectingly went to grab stuff for his morning shower …
We realized later that the shower would’ve likely overflowed had our bag of dirty laundry not soaked up the excess water. Of course now we are literally airing our dirty laundry on the picnic table and a makeshift clothesline outside the RV. Yes, we are THOSE people. I washed some of the smaller stuff by hand in ice cold water while standing in the mud. And let me just say, not sure I will ever feel my fingers again. Also I have a newfound sympathy for people who have to do laundry by hand, and a newfound love for washing machines. I walked to the park restrooms and washed my muddy feet in the sinks after I finished but I’m not so sure I actually got anything clean … the clothes or my feet.
As for the condition of the guitars … yet to be determined. They are currently setting out to dry. We will plug them in tomorrow and cross our fingers. Rest assured they will never be stored in the shower again. Thankfully we had the acoustics out for playing and they were undamaged.
The first thing you’ll notice about RV parks is that you will be waving. A lot. To everyone that passes by. You’ll want to make sure you do this, because you don’t want to anger or offend these strangers, which brings us to my next point:
Your Neighbors.
RV park residents consist of mainly seniors, drifters, loners, men on the run from something and sexual predators. There’s a reason these men (and 95% of RV park residents are male) don’t have houses filled with laughing children and pot roast dinners in the suburbs, or even creepy welfare apartments. This is a strange lot, content with living in a 5×10 space, surrounded by empty propane tanks, soiled Astroturf swatches, sun-bleached lawn ornaments and other aging men of the same ilk.
The Barter System.
You will have the opportunity to exchange services for goods. The barter system is alive and well in the RV park. Today I helped a salt and pepper bearded man move a rainbow colored mattress, torn and soaked from being left outside his trailer during recent rains and was in turn offered a bowl of marijuana from him. I politely declined, as when a stranger asks you if you want to get high, it could be code for a myriad of unsavory acts, but if that’s your bag then you will have no shortage of opportunities in the RV park.
Get a Dog.
It doesn’t matter if you hate dogs or not. Everyone in the RV park has one, and even the most savage of sex offenders needs a best friend. When no human is willing to fill that role, they turn to dogs. If you plan on spending any serious amount of time in an RV park, you’ll need one to get past the wave if you want to get to know these strange men more intimately, perhaps trading prison stories.
Get the Hell out of the RV Park.
This is no place for someone like you. These people are savages and creeps. You can’t even walk to the bathroom without some toothless creep waving at you. You’re better than these people. You may have graduated from college. If you died, someone would eventually find out and care. You don’t have a prison record, or an arrest warrant. Your name and visage don’t appear in any Megan’s Law top 10 lists. Or maybe I’ve got you all wrong, in which case I know just the place for you.
A note from the passenger seat. The sun is setting on our first day. We finally made our escape although the LA traffic was determined to hold on to us. So, here we are, full tank of gas, the road laying open before us. Belly full of butterfies drowning in fresh sourdough bread dipped in olive oil. Tom Waits crooning his way out of the RV speakers. We are passing green vinyards with line after line of grapevine poetry. The mountains to my right are fading into ghostly shapes of grey and melting into the sky. It hits me I have nowhere now that I ever have to be. I turn to Joel and say “This is the best day of my life.” He agrees. I can already smell the camp fire, taste the wine and hear the music we’ll be making in a few hours. Wish you were here…
The Duke Wants Us Dead 