Soul Feet Retreat - Connie McDonald

The power of touch...

There was a period, I've forgotten how long, perhaps as much as two years, when I split the week between the Michellles (three els when mentioned collectively). The partings were always tearful, but we needed each other...and now, thirty-five years later, though not as often, still do.

It's that poignancy that now, again, tears at my heart. Sitting, alone in the theater...the footlights still on, they gave me a key so I could lock up when I leave.

How to leave you?...the few who care. To give heart....to, in some way, make this final transition easier...fun even? Can you imagine?

 Blue along the narrower side

I'm drawn, time and again, to a recollection of Laura Huxley telling how she agreed to Aldous's request that she inject him with LSD as he died. It's been years since I read her account, but my awe at his curiosity...and their resolve, remains.

Each of us, in our own little universe...our theater. 

After four months of barely able to "do," I increased the isosorbide another 30mg twice a day...60mg over the maximum suggested dose. It caused a flaring like those Kübler-Ross said happen now & then. I was in the Gold Beach (Oregon) library reading *Your Brain On Art* (Magsamen & Ross, Random House, 2023) and emailed the mention of Jeff Thompson's sound-healing work to a friend with similar interests. In his reply he enthused about his escape from Albuquerque, his return to his home-town (Seattle), his enjoyment of reconnectioning with family and friends and his many new projects.

Googling, I discovered the Seattle Opera is presenting Das Rheingold. I bought a ticket and booked myself into four days at an Airbnb south of the downtown. 

This morning I awoke to the tiredness. I contacted the hosts and in an embarassed synopsis explained why I was cancelling. The ticket is non-refundable.

Granny spent her last ambulatory years (approx 6) living with my mom and sister. When she became bed-ridden Mom could no longer care for her sufficiently and began looking for an assisted-living facility. In the meantime, Granny spent nearly six months in the New Mexico Home for the Aged in Las Vegas. Mom made the 244-mile, round-trip drive several times a week to be with her. I went a couple of times. 

On one of the early visits I watched as Mom spent time with the woman who shared Granny's room. She lay on her back with her thin, arthritic hands held in front of her in a posture similar to a praying mantis; her fingers curled claw-like. She appeared unresponsive, but each time Mom took a few minutes to hold the woman's hands and talk with her. 

As the time neared for Granny's move, I went to help gather her things and do what I could. When I entered her room I was astonished to see her roommate sitting up in bed, eating....holding a bowl and using a spoon. Mom never said much about it, just that, over that six months, with that little bit of touch, the woman had returned to life. I have no idea how old she was; she looked to be in her mid to late eighties.

The other night I dreamt I was running. I knew in my dream it'd been years since I'd been able to run and I was exhilirated. I awoke feeling enthused, not in anticipation, but with the memory of having once been able.

My memory has never been good and now, even sometimes with substantiative promptings, I can't recall things.

I keep notes to try and guage my acuity while speculating about Alzheimer's. The blog serves its purpose as a reference. But lately there's been little exhiliration and that needs to change. Perhaps intermittent cat-lackeying?

The YOUR BRAIN ON ART website

Connie McDonald's massage (Soul Feet Retreat) today in Crescent City was incredible!

Isosorbide Increase

One of my early entreprenuerial endeavors which, unfortunately, went bad, was as a drug dealer. The good news is no one was killed, though I came close. The life-threatening events combined with almost daily use of LSD imbued a compulsion I still wrangle: the need to move camp each day.

.

I had, the day before, gone to Gold Beach to assuage the urge and search for reading material. Besides the expense of the gasoline, almost any sort of physical activity, has, for the past four months, become increasingly debilitating.

After some consultation with She-of-the-Capri, I decided to increase the isosorbide. A long-acting form of nitroglycerin, it facilitates oxygen uptake and enables me to, again, move with at least a modicum of energy. Already beyond the recommended daily dose, there's an increased  risk of kidney failure and dependence. But the affect was amazing. 

At Cape Blanco, the steady, onshore breeze sent two remote-controlled gliders dipping and swirling like swallows. As the sun shone through their wings, I marveled at the technology. 

The lighthouse beckoned. A mere thousand feet, if that, away, I set out as if on a month's journey. My tiny steps, all I could manage with the wind and the slope, might've, in a brighter mood, had me singing the High Hopes song. I stopped several times to rest & bolster my resolve; the diversity of plants, the VIEW were grand incentives. I reveled in the expanded stamina and eventually, further gladdened by espying a bench, I reached the top.

Driving home in the dark, I recalled Vince lying on his couch, hours before cutting his wrists, crying because he'd not be able to ride his bicycle again. He was one of the few who was inurred to the effects of morphine and the pain of the cancer was unbearable.

At one point I lapsed into self-pity, at least that's what it felt like, and began to cry at a life circumscribed by PTSD...what might've been?

The road follows the boundary of a clear cut that, for a few hundred feet, enables an expansive view that extends to the bay. At first I thought it an illusion, but then, noticing the night as clear, saw it was the light of the moon illuminating the water.

Though the photos only give an inkling, if you enlarge them, each contains a slightly different feel. They hint at what makes life worth living...besides a Tesla, of course. 

Rather than materialism, what if we fostered imbuing this appreciation? Couldn't we explore ways to sustain it moment to moment? Consciousness, the ability to experience our senses, to move.....so wondrous and so taken for granted until infirmity and/or age brings ephemerality to the fore.

Woggy's - The Real Deal!

As chili is to New Mexico, fish & chips are to Northern California and Oregon.

Halibut season came and went. A day late and a dollar short, when offered some frozen I admitted $22/pd was out of my league. The woman suggested I was a candidate for rockfish.

Strolling the dock in Crescent City, I chanced upon a fisherman unloading the remains of his catch. The de-meated skeletons, with heads attached, smelled relatively fresh and though this was the wharf trash bin, my curiosity was piqued.

The fisherman, a bearded fellow about my age and of equal girth, almost a stereotype with his overalls and wire-rims, responded to my question about whether the red ones were snapper by launching into a description of the species, subspecies, cousins and relative prevalence of each, tossing in their latin names like a true scholar.

I have to admit I was taken aback and briefly, only for moment or two mind you, but briefly, made speechless. Recovering, I asked about where to obtain some. He said all of his went to Seaquake, a nearby restaurant.

As anyone who's fooled around with fish knows, nearly all (fish) have, depending on where you are on the planet, at least twenty names. I'd seen a few purveyors, preying to gullibility, refer to them as rockfish-snapper, but snapper, a LARGE fish that's bright red, has a delicious flavor. And while some of the rockfish are red, and to some extent of similar physiognomy, rockfish are in the size range with tilspia, but, in flavor, a rung below Ms. Paul's fish sticks.

https://www.mrspauls.com/fish-sticks/fish-sticks

Thinking to arrive in time to partake of fresh, we sped to Seaquake where a looong line sat peering at their phones. Hoping to be served sooner, we took seats at the bar.

Now, I'm not much of a barfly, but the woman mixing drinks in front of us had the motions of a karate master. As she sped through the process, it was impossible not to notice the smooth precision of execution. Finally, unable to contain myself, I asked, "Who *are* you?"

She was, as incongruous as it seemed, a world-class snowboarder and skateboard champion. She'd taken up bartending to support her habit and now, ten years on, was truly an expert. She'd recently relocated from Tahoe where skyrocketing rents had forced her out.

Tall and large-bodied, she allowed as how she commutes on a single-wheel board and though hospitalized a number of times, her enthusiasm remains strong. You just never know.

Back to rockfish...unimpressed by Seaquake but with fond memories of the fish & chips from Griff's in Port Orford (my notes from 2016 say to "Get two!"), Griff's had disappeared and The Crazy Norwegians didn't open for several more hours so I went to "The Dive."

*The Dive* has daily specials and it being Tuesday, it was fish tacos....$3.00 each, normally two for $12.00; I bit.

The agglomeration (on the smallish, sand-dollar size tortilla) included a smattering of "slaw" with its own sauce, some salsa and the fish. The fish reminded me of a mild-flavored mackeral and, hungry as I was, I choked it down.

I few days earlier, at Gold Beach, I'd noticed Woggy's, a food truck down the way (south) from "the Mall." They'd closed and Iver and Grace were finishing packing up for the day, but Iver took time to tell how he catches the fish himself...with a pole. His description of their crispy batter made my mouth water and as I was leaving Grace mentioned they also have clam chowder. Determined to return, I got a picture.

Today I did...and they're the real deal! The fish, though still rockfish, is cooked to perfection and comes apart with the shininess between flakes that connotes the optimum of savory. The batter is crispy with subtle flavors that distiguish it from all others. The chowder is delicious; neither too thick nor too thin, gently seasoned and heavily laden with toothable bits of clam.

Splurging, I got a burger to go. It too was worthy of praise. Garnished with generous amounts of pickle, lettuce and tomato, it was a substantial chunk of meat on a bun that was recognizable by NOT being yer average Food Club offering. The side of slaw was fresh and crisp and the fries interesting (generous portion)  in their thin coating of batter. And each entree (not including the chowder) was a mere $12.00 (and maybe some change).

They're a tad hard to find, but up to now, 27.July, they've set the bar.

29900 Harbor Way, Gold Beach, OR 97444

Grace and Iver

I'm going back for seconds.

Lost!

I'd taken my new chair (five dahlla's, check it out!) into the shade and was lounging in my UNDERPANTS!!! (Capitalized for the Captain Underpants enthusiasts) when a highway-rigged Mercedes (Sprinter) emerged from the tunnel o' trees. 

Assuming my most courtly stance, I bowed low from what was once a waist, and gestured, with arm held across my lower body, for her to pass. 

Instead, she disembarked and after apologizing for intruding, explained she is lost. I told of a turnaround about five hundred feet ahead and while she was away I'd draw her a map of how to get to the highway. 

As luck would have it, the one vehicle that'd come through was returning. The young man at the wheel of the new Crossover had a kayak on top and, after some interrogation, seemed trustworthy enough, and willing, to guide her out.

While she was gone turning around, I donned my overalls and thereby transformed, into, at least for appearances sake, being socially acceptable.

As they disappeared around the bend, I enjoyed a moment of gratefulness at having encountered her first. It leant an even more poignant touch to the morning: Still here, I was able to be helpful.

It's been a busy day...and barely past noon; time for a rest. And, as Pooh was wont to say, "Perhaps a little snack of something."

Sneak Preview

My apologies to those who may've seen the post about my demise. I'm, as Art so aptly characterized it, having difficulties with "traction" and forgot to move it forward. There're two, the other scheduled to appear within a few days.

I was alerted to my oversight when She-of-the-Capri called, at 8:00 a.m., an ungodly hour for both of us, in tears.

I'm atop a mountain near Humbug Mountain State Park in Oregon, at 1,076'. After a rough day yesterday, in which it was all I could do to drag myself around in search of somewhere to sleep, I finally, at the end of the day, drugged myself and had a restful night...sans demons.

Further!

Anthony's Tesla

Exploring a paved, single-lane road north of Gold Beach, I noticed a small parking area with a half-dozen cars. From there, a small path led to a beautiful  beach.

Returning to the car, the only other was Anthony's gray Tesla. He'd come up behind me and when I commented on its lack of radiator he opened the hood and showed me the trunk space while telling of the two drive motors. I was totally taken aback when he offered to let me drive but after adjusting the seat, I climbed in. It was amazing!

It's the smoothest ride since my childhood Mercedes and at one point he demonstrated how it drives itself, following precisely, solely from camera input, the narrow, shoulderless road.

When I mentioned the theory about the government controlling people by limiting their range, he brought up this screen on the car's monitor showing the nearby Tesla charging stations. And this, he said didn't include the many others from another energy supplier.

We traded seats so he could demonstrate its "zippiness." And boy, was it! It was as good as any carnival ride. He said it goes from zero to sixty in just over 3 seconds. "And this isn't the sport model." he added.

From southern India, he's a christian and conservative. A Trump supporter, he was enthused about having a businessman at the helm. But when I mentioned the occlusion at Grand Canyon, he argued that since we currently lack the technology to meet our energy needs, coal is the best solution. 

We had a lively discussion about the carbon footprint of the Tesla compared to Phoebe in which he explained the toxicity of the Tesla's battery constituents make it worse than a gas-powered vehicle.

Though encouraged for the future by his enthusiasm, I found myself despairing at my inability to express my concerns in a way that would even begin to compete with the zippiness of the Tesla.

I mentioned Japans bullet trains and America's seeming unwillingness to "move ahead" and I felt Mr. Trump hadn't done much in that regard. Anthony pointed out that America is the source of much of the world's innovation.

I mentioned Buckminster Fuller who, in the sixties, thought technology would advance in ways that few people would have to work. But Bucky's Dymaxion car wasn't zippy & the geodesic dome didn't fit with the Euro-Americans' concept of houses as little (or BIG) boxes.

Anthony's knowledge about politics and global energy production far exceeded mine, but what was most entertaining, for me, was the contrast between his optimism and the stodgy pessimism of the Big Tree conversation a few days earlier.

It was a fine day at the beach.

Yaquina & Dorothy Marie

It was time to make reservations in Albuquerque. I drove out to the South Jetty of the Rogue River where there's strong signal. A Mini Cooper shot by and got stuck in the sand. After I pulled Glen Vienna out, we commenced.

He and Sally spend half the year traveling on their 47' boat, Dorothy Marie (link is to their blog), and half the year on their RV. His son lives near Gold Beach and they're visiting.

He said they enjoy cruising the west coast of Mexico. I 'splained I've been wanting to go but besides the fambly crisis (plural), I was worried about being sold into slavery. Vienna said the propaganda about Mexico is all bullshit. They drive down to where their boat's stored in Mexico and cruise around until the weather changes. And they've been all over the Pacific...in a boat. 

And then the Yaquina did a pirouette in the mouth of The Rogue. An Army Corp of Engineers boat, I went over it from stem to stern with binoculars and didn't see a speck of rust. 

The price of a room at The Quality Inn is currently $64.00. The second week of October, when I plan to visit, it's $400.00. That's what Balloon Fiesta does.

The Bridge Over The Rogue

Dr. Teeth - Reno

We, Kristen and I, were northbound into the wilds beyond Gerlach. There wasn't gonna be a dentist for probably 500 or more miles.

The molar had been acting out off and on for about a year. This time it wouldn't stop. I was lucky to be seen by Dr. Whitney Bryant (link is to her Facebook) the next day, but their x-ray machine saw me coming and pooped out as I walked into the office. 

Dt. Bryant's reaction was to halve her fee, but at the end of the consultation, which included one of the most thorough exams I've had in my 70 years, I opted to pay the full amount...$132.00, quite reasonable.

I'm posting this six months after the fact, but as of December 2023, she had a consistent rating of five stars on Google reviews....including mine.

Big Tree (bigotry)

Her certitude made it funny. The Electric Vehicle was the goverment's way of controlling people by limiting their range of travel. When I told of the charging stations in little towns in Utah & Nevada she said she preferred a gas-powered car. 

"We should reindustrialize America," she asserted. I wondered from whence she'd gleaned this polysyllabic term. As erudite as she was, it seemed a stretch. I asked if she read. In the pause that followed I added, in a tone suggestive of the backs of cereal boxes and McDonald's billboards, "maybe?....once in a while?"

I suggested she read Stegner. I'm reading Fradkin's bio and he, Stegner, had trouble adapting to the changes in the sixties (nineteen- sixties, that is). I conflated Stegner with Jim Rogers of Curry County, where we were standing, and told how Stegner had started out as a logger but became a conservationist. 

She allowed as how she'd been raised in a timber family, a sustainable resource. This year, due to an unknown (by her) disease, the deer population was down and they'd decided not to "fill their tag." Though she attributed their restraint to common-sense, the pronouncement of the act of denied violence seemed to suggest she be recognized for her, like Stegner's, conservationist view. Recognizing the compromising slippery slope toward Socialism (sustainable is a Socialist word!) she was espousing, she went on to cite her christian doctrine as having set humans at the top of the food chain and thus, all animals were for our use.

It was then I offered, "Thanks, it's been nice" and made to leave. But she was having fun and said she's 65. Despite rumor to the contrary, I am discriminating and was thus able to keep from mentioning my services as a "Tantric novitiate for women of a certain age." After enduring another 10 minutes of right-wing, sound-bite propaganda I managed to manuever her into bidding me an  enthusiastic "farewell."

For the next several hours I got alot of mileage out of formulating rejoinders to her sweeping generalities. Eventually though, I gave it up, telling myself I'll do better next time; I'll just smile and compliment her looks. Somehow though, they sneak up on me. 

I'm beginning to see it's harder for old people to accept change; and probably more so for *conservative* old people. I went back to CC Diner's menu and saw (with horror!) a single scoop of ice cream is $3.75!

Night Demons

1:26 am

There was the time I was installing an auxiliary bilge pump in the forward compartment of the 30' Searay and discovered I'd drilled through the hull.

There was the time, with the same boat, I took it out to the lot with the tractor and let it off the hitch without first chocking the trailer. I watched in horror as it began rolling down the gentle slope. The workmen were installing a new fence and the the posts had been set around half the lot but no fence was up. 

I tried to stop it by wrangling the trailer tongue like a recalcitrant dawgie. I had my heels dug in and was being dragged along when it suddenly came to a stop. I went around back and saw the diving platform had bent one of the new poles over.

The lot was six feet above the street and there was a station wagon parked where it would've gone over.

The guys installing the fence had seen the whole thing. As I walked up to get the tractor they kindly said, "Don't worry, we'll replace the pole." I never mentioned the incident and, as far as I know, they kept it to themselves.

You'd think by now I'd know better than to stay up this long past bedtime.

Crescent City

The woman who sold me the chair told of Lemon Bar ice cream at CC Diner (Facebook). She waxed eloquent extolling the virtues of their burgers and shakes.

The Oregon coast is beautiful but the mosquitoes are fierce. My thoughts returned to CC Diner (Crescent City is in California) and this evening, so did I. 

On top is Playdough, a blend of banana, blueberry and cherry. Underneath, tittering coquettishly, is Lemon Bar. A gripping moment came when we both, the server and I, gazed into the bucket of Lemon Bar and saw it empty. A compasionate child, she quickly assured me there was more and soon reappeared with a fresh one. It's Umpqua brand headquartered in Roseburg, Oregon.

She was generous but I was still taken aback by the $5.50 bill. It's a sign of age, so they say. I can only hope my diffident gesture toward the tip-jar when she mentioned change hid my surprise.

The Harbor

Palm Trees! (far right)

31.July.2023 Update.

Today I bought 1.5 qts from a grocery store for $4.49.

I'll be eternally grateful to CC Diner for introducing me to it.

Rosemary - Harbor, Oregon

Wending northward, I had one of my many LGH (Let's Go See!) moments.

Strolling the quay, who should appear, but Rosemary!

It's been years since I've seen her. We met when I was the College of Education's computer ombudsman. Rosemary selected the softwate for the University and taught the classes in how to use it. Over the years we became friends. 

When we met she was a Harley chick with her own 1200. Her husband, an automatic-weapons enthusiast enjoyed firing one of 15 or so machine guns when not out riding. We became friends.

Soon long after her husband died (of cancer) Rosemary retired. Bored, she accepted a position as installer-trainer for a software company that linked together Jamaica's banks...and all their associated offshore accounts. 

On Sunday evenings Rosemary'd fly to Jamaica, spend the week, and on Friday, fly back. It was different from her Harley life.

The owner of the company was vegetarian and health-conscious. When they weren't working, he'd coax Rosemary into hiking around the island with him. Eventually, he even managed to wean her from her weekend jaunts with cocaine.

We lost track of each other after I started traveling. And besides, I was always too fat. But that's what cocaine'll do for yuh.

It was nice to see her...albeit only in my mind's eye. She was much slimmer than this Rosemary.

Mouth of The Smith

The sign appeared just like any other, but due to Smith The Cat's role in my life, it held greater significance.

At the end of the street is a small parking lot with some steep, concrete steps to the beach. I fortified with some lunch, tucked the bottle of nitro into my breast pocket, overalls are so cool, and sallied.

It was bracing!...much nicer than the 103 someone said it reached in Grants Pass a ways inland.

Sloshing Waves & Wind

Winchuck River Camp

It's been rumored I enjoy a challenge but finding places to camp near the California and Oregon Coast have pushed me to the edge...of staying in a campground. But not yet. 

The first time it took me an hour...stopping along the way to take pictures,

make notes and

explore the spur.

Going down took 35 minutes.

It took a little over an hour to clear the deadfall and pick up some of the trash. 

Eventually, the mosquitoes won out.

  

Myrtle Creek

It needs 4wd at the beginning; a good suspension system helps too. It's among the narrowest and shortest, as in less tall, we've traversed in a while. At the tight spot it's straight down 150 feet or more to the creek.

The mosquitoes got me to dig out the Old Yukon remedy picked up in 2010 on my way to Palmer, Alaska. There's some mean satisfaction in seeing 'em disappear. And in an enclosed environ such as Phoebe, deet kills.

There were several sites each remarkably clean with only a couple of outlying fecal deposits. The lack of trash and detritus inspired me to don the purple latriles (exam gloves) and gather in the stray bits of t.p.

In a truly exemplary act, somebody'd removed a bunch of ash, leaving this patch of gray to, hopefully, motivate others.

There's a sweet trail down the cliff to the creek, but, rationing my energy, I chose to walk the remainder of the road, a fairly level stretch that I surmised wouldn't exact a dose of sublingual nitro in order to make it back.

We're -- that's the royale we of Phoebe and I -- inland enough that the day is bright and clear, a welcome respite from the mist and fog; we needed a day to dry out. Now, at nearly noon, the sun is hot.

My new chair...

Smith's Bar

After she-of-the-capri left I came down here. This's where, in August of 2016, Smith (the cat) came out of the woods & accosted me.

Last Night at Forence Keller

Florence Keller is an easy six miles north of Crescent City. I stayed an extra day to collect myself.

Parting

We were tired from the previous day's revelry, but she had a destination not too far away.

Last Glimpse

Pre-parting

Perhaps it was knowing we'd run out of time. Maybe it was, as it felt, as if we'd finally gotten enough rest. The day went by quickly with naught but a pause for lunch. In the evening we went into Crescent City.

All photos are hers.

State Park Availability & The Casino

Three squalling children moved in next door at Big Lagoon. Intending to move north but curious about availability at Sue-Meg State Park, we drove the four miles south. It was, of course, full and likely had been for months. Reservations can be made six months in advance and I've heard of people staying awake to reserve sites at a minute past midnight on the day reservations become available.

Nonetheless, we called to inquire about the availability of first-come-first-serve sites of which there were rumored to be a few. We were told they're held out of circulation for those times when someone needed to be moved from the site they were in.

At another park, we were invited to join a line that would, at 2 pm, have doled out any open sites. It was around 12:30 and if we went now, we'd be at the head of the line. We opted out.

Palmer's Point

As evening came on, we began the search for our next spot. It being a Friday didn't help. I was in the process of giving my credit card info for a $313.00 one-room cabin at Emerald Forest RV Park & Cabins, when She remembered there was R.V. parking at Che-ae casino. Truck-campers and SUVs don't qualify as R.V.s, but after reassuring them we're "self-contained," they made an exception. $20.00 for a place at the edge of a parking lot with a view of the ocean. We hope never to have to do it again.

Arcata

We camped above the last campground in the National Forest and in the morning made our way to Arcata. There we spent the day enjoying the holiday festivities. Walking toward the park, we met Kirsten Peterson (in hat), a former rancher from Surprise Valley, Nevada. 

Puppies

When does the beginning begin? Northbound, following, or so we thought, The Spring, the heat had, in the space of two days, become intolerable; the "window" of mild weather had closed. Asserting the nomadic prerogative, we made a ninety-degree turn toward The Coast.

Still process-oriented and thinking we might find a camp with an option for swimming, we went up the east side of the Pit River toward what looked, on the map, to be a promising location on Britton Lake.

The road narrowed, grew a central mound bounded by ruts and at a sign at a boat launch we learned the area was "sensitive" and no overnight camping was allowed.

Back at the beginning, we found a campable area but the river and lake were way far away. It was oppressively hot and being still early in the evening, we went on.

The next likely was a campground. Though it *was* the holiday weekend, we thought its remote location might hold some potential. But it was cheek-by-jowl with lots of alcohol and a surreal scene centered around a six-foot diameter target at which a group were whacking golfballs from about 10 feet away.

We eventually located a remote site atop a mountain with a splendid view overlooking a small dam and its lake. Anticipating a quiet evening enjoying the sunset o'er the lake, we began unloading. Suddenly, from the nearby woods, a herd of yapping puppies came bounding toward us with a mixture of aggression and fear. We soon reassured them and spent the next couple of hours meting out portions calculated to not cause vomiting. 

Full Tummies

By the end of breakfast, everyone was feeling rambunctious; we wondered what to do. Phoebe's interior was more easily puppy-proofed and after creating a barrier to make sure they stayed in back we set off to find an animal shelter.

In need of water, we stopped at an RV Park where we were offered the use of a spigot in front of the house next door. After filling my jugs I parked in the street while She-of-the-Capri had her turn. With the back door open, I was petting and scratching behind everyone's ears when two Suburban-esque vehicles came toward. As they neared, I stepped aside and gesticulated toward the puppies. As they pulled alongside I said "Puppies!" He asked "Free?" and when I assented both vehicles came to a stop and disgorged almost a dozen teenagers. 

Within seconds a melee of cuddling and cooing ensued and within minutes the adoptions were complete. Plans for visits to the vet, shots etc. were being bandied about and a general air of magical delight spread its sparkle over the group. 

With numerous "Thank yous," a "This is a blessed day" and a parting "Have a blessed day," we surmised they must've been christians. Had they been cats, we might've had concerns, but dawgs being dawgs, we knew they'd likely not take issue with the childrens' beliefs.

With hearts full and tears of happiness streaming, we sat for a bit, pondering the series of circumstances that brought about this beautiful vignette.

To The Coast! - Surprise Valley

The plan was to go north on 34 from Gerlach stopping to see the Lund Petrified Forest. From there we'd top off our gas in Vya, check out the Sheldon Antelope Refuge, sashay through the ghost town of Adel, Oregon and resupply either in Lakeview (to the west), Plush (to the north) or Fields (to the east and toward Steens Mountain). But after a mile past Fly Geyser Ranch, where the pavement ends, we'd had enough of the washboarding.

We made camp early at The Cairns where the afternoon's lingering heat prompted a look at the weather ahead; it was forecast to hit 90.

The next morning it was already hot at 9 a.m. and after deploying the shade cloth we hunkered down for some serious discussion...and beer. After perusing various locations both near & far, we settled on a hell-bent-for-leather drive to The Coast. 

Backtracking to within a few hundred feet of Gerlach, we took highway 447 toward Cedarville. On the first day, my true love said to me: "This is WAY too far to go in one day."

So we made camp on a high promontory overlooking Surprise valley.