Reprovisioning in Baker City or Mr. Nose Does it Again!

Every now and then things come together in a way that makes me think I must not have been all THAT bad. I mean, as a devout agnostic, karma sort of hovers on the edge of my grab-bag, but when I find myself in a place like this, with an excellent reisling to boot, I occasionally ponder the whys and wherefores. Fortunately, Mr. Stomach usually comes to my aid. I then give up on the imponderables and ask: What's for supper?

It was early evening when the usual nick-o'-time Forest Access Road appeared. Up through barren hills we went; up, up until finally...forest. I kept going.

The map showed a campground and given the remoteness of the area I figured there had to be a flat, dispersed spot too. Compelled by In-say-shuh-bull Curtiosity (nod to Kipling), I cruised the 'burb-in-duh-woodz campgound. I was surprised to see how many (Yikes!) people there were. I looked out the back door (a smaller Forest Rd) where a guy on an ATV went by three feet away engrossed in scrutinizing the woods. I ignored him.

Back on the main drag, I soon came to The Spot. Included in the deal was a cute li'l babblin' brook. The vague odeur of cow occasionally wafted but there were few flies or mosquitoes.

In the morning I took my time. (A purely  relative concept here.) After coffee, breakfast, bath and katas, at around 3:00 p.m., I found myself commandeering The Egg. The road climbed a while then descended...WAY descended. I almost turned back. Mr. Nose said, "Keep going."

After many miles I came to a tight switchback with a view. It was here I looked down onto one of the sweetest trout streams I'd seen in weeks. After descending, a bridge hove into the lane and signage indicated the road might parallel it for a while. At the junction with its little brother, an even SWEETER stream, Mr. Nose said go East. I made the turn.

We climbed again. At times a bit above the stream, but always coming back. As I came to the edge of a sunlit meadow straight outta Nat'l Geographic I saw the sign.

2008 - A fine year

Near the end of the road I made camp.

Now to the point...

Knowing I was headed into the Eagle Cap Wilderness I had stopped in Baker City (E of Bend) for supplies.

One of the fun things about traveling is local wines. It's an excuse (as if we need one) to keep the cellar well-stocked.

The large supermarket was bit overwhelming so I sought an  advisor. Nearby was a woman stocking the dairy section. Upon inquiring as to her knowledge of the wine section, she launched into a discourse on merlots.

Concerned about giving offense, I hinted at my predilection for reisling. She shifted gears so smoothly I immediately abandoned myself to her guidance.

She allowed as how she and her sister-in-law, a Muscat fan, occasionally compromised with a reisling.  After I selected the Covey Run I asked her opinion. She assured me it was good.

And so it is. But all this is about an aspect of the lifestyle I want to discuss. I've been accused of having a high tolerance for inconvenience. While this may be true, I'm hardly a masochist. I mitigate the hardships, such as they are, when I can.

For instance, getting water is often a bit of an endeavor. In today's case I'm forced to hike down a hill, across a wide expanse of unshaded, burning-hot streambed to the trickle of pure, mountain stream.

The View From Camp

Having arrived at the water's edge after maybe 2.5 minutes and stooped to fill the 3 1/2 gallon bathtub, I am in need of fortification.

Now here's the "high tolerance" part....I've taken to keeping an open bottle in the stream. Today's selection is the Covey Run (2008) mentioned above. I fill a glass, then, with the fruit of the vine coursing through my veins I can now face the arduous haul up the hill.

And nothing goes better with a fine reisling than sitting on the bank of a cirque-fed stream watching the trout gaily water-walk (like Flipper...or Michael Jackson),  while  the sun sets over the Eagle Cap Wilderness.

Survived Another Water-Haul

Ever since I was a youth I've followed Mr. Nose. He has yet to let me down.

Churminz Ahead!!

The Spot (click to largen)

I'm sure you've seen it too...orange cones across the entrance to the site; or yellow crime scene tape.

Every now and then I find a spot that seems appropriate for some kind of warning. Occasionally, it's a case of the "tight squeeze" where there's not enough room for another camper to turn around. But more often, like most folks in the wilds, I just don't want to be disturbed.

Of course, it's not ALL about me. Out of consideration for others, I feel it's only fair to offer some warning. Having been raised by a pair (female & male) of unaffiliated nudists, I do all I can to uphold the family values and keep the laundry loads to a minimum.

Warning!! Warning!! Germans Ahead!!

Thus, when I chanced upon this flag in a thrift store in Whitehorse, the capitol of The Yukon, I knew I'd found what I needed. And even though I feel there's no place for politics in the woods, it is, after all, meant in good humor.

Bend, Oregon -- Bustling and Fun, But Not Much Art

In  addition to my preference for LSD, I like dry climates. So, after an entire day of humidity and overcast, my suicidal ideation was kicking in. It's a common symptom of desert dwellers, but one ignores the significance at one's peril. So I headed east, into the rain shadow of the Cascade Mountains and to Bend.

Since I commonly break camp around 1:00 p.m., it was well into the day when I arrived.  I'd visited in the early '70s and now wanted to spend a couple of days seeing the changes. It being too far to the National Forest, I took a room at the Holiday Motel. Impressed with its curb appeal, I inquired of Mr. Mukesh Chopra about its history. He said they'd had it for 18 years and enjoyed a three-star rating with TripAdvisor.com.

The room was of comfortable size with a refrigerator, microwave and coffee pot. There was a large screen T.V. (I don't partake) and two wi-fi networks, both excellent. But what really sold me was the cleanliness. The place is immaculate!

The next day I followed Mr. Nose to the downtown. Disembarking, I inquired of a passerby as to the location of the art galleries. He hadn't any particulars, but assured me they were nearby. My intuition led me round the corner and down the block where I read on a window: Fine Jewelry and Art - Ground Floor. I followed the hall to the rear of the building where Ms. Karen Bandy said she would be opening in another seven minutes.

Floral Dreams II

Crossing the hall to Let It Ride, Mr. Dean Egertson, a purveyor of electric bicycles, gave me a tour and let me try a few.

Back at Ms. Bandy's studio, I savored  her abstract paintings and exquisite jewelry. It is THE place to go in Bend. As outstanding as her jewelry is, her paintings compete for one's attention. These three hint at her range. She also does wonderful images of animals.

                  Ah, The Beach At Last

The town has grown, but not the art scene. Other than Ms. Bandy's gallery, I found nothing of interest.

                                                                             Hat Trick

I may not have delved deeply enough, but in this part of the world, the arts seem disproportionately neglected.

VooDoo Doughnuts - Eugene, Oregon

The Portal (checkout)

No sooner had she stepped from her oncologist's office than yerz trooly was presented with the idea of a pilgrimage to VooDoo Doughnuts. It seems the oncologist had heard of the famed outfit and regaled The Donut Queen with lurid tales.

I was on the East side of Idaho, but, as luck would have it, headed for the Fishtrap Writers' Conference at Wallowa Lake. So it was a simple matter to extend the destination to Eugene. Besides, as I fortuitously was informed in Lostine (Oregon), Eugene has a reputation for nudity....in public.

Attempting to maintain my normally stately pace of about 12.2857 miles per day, I took about two weeks to cover the 300 miles, This average about 21+ miles-per-day. A bit high, but I was eager.

The Lobby

As I came in for the final approach a beside-the-highway-boat-launch served as a pre-town bathing spot. Time having had its way with my bod I took pity on passing motorists and donned swim toggs. I felt as if I was letting all the Eugene nudists down, but consoled myself with the idea that they might  appreciate my not impuning their tourism value.

As with cornstarch, the traffic began to thicken. I latched onto a passing whi-fee (u say why-phye, I say whih-phi) and confirmed directional intuitions. A straight shot!!

At the store I sidled up to a group on the stoop (photo at bottom). She wasn't impressed. By way of offering hope, I mentioned Irish Maid in Fort Smith. (Like Nurnberg, there's only one.)

The Head

$27.00 plus tip lighter, I staggered into the street. I fell into a chair to savor the multi-sensational buying event....and the doughnuts.

A man asked if I was a comedian -- he was waiting for one. He explained that he'd been trying to raise him on his cell, but it wasn't working. He disappeared, watching the screen as he faded.

Lobby Coffee Table

A delegation from a gaggle of youngsters on an opposite corner approached. Colin, who was attending Leftie (in his wheelchair), introduced himself. He'd done four years in the Marines and looked old enough to have finished high school,....maybe. He rattled off a list of duty stations, all state-side. I expressed my sympathies, but had to wonder if it explained his long hair (Do you use Purex?), intelligent countenance and articulate and quiet delivery. Leftie, whose right sleeve looked empty, received his cup o' joe from another member of the group with an eager eye, but was told he'd have to find his own cream.

I offered. He accepted. I figured I'd save myself the discomfort of watching him navigate the door and crowds in his wheelchair. His compadres  waited across the street.

(Somewhat) Satisfied Shopper

I strolled the streets keeping a hopeful eye out for the famous nudity. Most of the stores were closed and all I saw was the back of a tall, red-haired transvestite (How could you TELL?) in short shorts who was tending a record store and boredly turned back into the dark. Nothing....In the Nood.

The packaging and mailing was a disaster. Next time I'll use styrofoam and dry ice. But as far as VooDoo goes, it's all about the visuals. The flavors are average store-bought. As the woman at the table said, "Maybe the one in Portland is better."

The Archives - La Grande, Oregon

As You Enter

I found a couple of places in La Grande, Oregon to recommend. Anderson's Shoe And Leather Goods at 1407 Adams Avenue and The Archives used book store at 315 Fir Street. Adams is La Grande's main street and Fir is one block away from Anderson's. They're both easy to find.

Mr. Anderson was in the middle of a job but willingly put it aside to tackle mine. When I inquired about cost, he proposed a ridiculously low price. I say ridiculous because the repair required hand work. And although he said it would be easy, to me it was an obvious case of "$25.00 for the hammer and $125.00 for knowing where to hit the thing." I willingly paid twice what he asked. So don't let him get away with undervaluing his work. It's almost unAmerican! And to top it off, he referred me to The Archives, the finest used book store I've seen, bar none.

When I walked in I admit I was a bit overwhelmed. Mr. Anderson had warned me, but I was unprepared for the magnitude. There are three large rooms and must be more as while I was there a fellow who seemed to know his way around came in, disappeared somewhere past the childrens' section and later (triumphantly!) emerged with several boxes of VHS tapes.

Mr. Walter Osterloh

Mr. Walter Osterloh's collection is organized by subject, but upon closer scrutiny I noticed eclectic anomalies that soon had me engrossed in checking each title.

I had a few things I was looking for and Mr. Osterloh quickly either found them or was able to say he didn't have them. (He kindly located them online and told me their prices.) I left with a fine copy of Waiting For Godot and a DeLorme Atlas of Oregon & Gazetteer.

Iconoclasts...Providing Perspective

Every now and then I meet a live one, one that stands out from the crowd. Such was the case the other day when I stopped into the Wallowa Band Nez Perce Trail Interpretive Center looking for art and information on the upcoming pow-wow.

Now, one of the things I've noticed about the folks I'm generalizing about here is: They're much more open. Interrogation doesn't phase 'em the way it does some folks who after a few questions start acting as if they have better things to do. And so it was with Ms. Wynans.

We'd been at it for about ten minutes (just gettin' rollin') when I noticed she kept her hand to her throat and her voice was a bit hoarse, as if she maybe had a cold. Concerned, I asked if it was painful for her to talk. The next thing I knew she was telling me about her tracheotomy. And not only is she a cancer survivor, but she also teaches school.

Now this is unusual. I mean, how many tracheotomists do you know? And how many of them are in public relations and when they're not, put themselves in front of a crowd of youngsters on a daily basis?

And that takes me back to the title of this post. I AM biased, but maybe you too have noticed how women come out the other side of adversity more adroitly than men?

I know a couple of guys who've been to the hospital lately. While the trips weren't minor (we've reached that age, don'chya know?),  the fear and accompanying complaining was terrible!

By contrast, I've known a dozen women who've undergone major surgery, chemotherapy, lost their partners/husbands (divorce and/or death) and, although they didn't cake-walk through it, their flailings exhibited a level of aplomb -- something the guys never had a clue about.

As the conversation progressed, it became evident Ms. Wynans had NOT settled for the conventional responsibilities and materialism. "I mean," she said, "how BORING to do nothing but the same as everyone else." As one who likes to wring the life out of every moment, I watch for folks of similar attitude.....and they're rare.

As we talked she took a fan down off the wall. She'd found it at a garage sale and, since it was hot in the office, she began fanning herself. I admired the fan and after a bit asked about whether it was old or not. She began to play -- hiding behind it, parodying a geisha. Her smile conveyed delight in the moment and made her coquetry wonderful!

So there we were, probably an hour (or two?) into the conversation and laughing like a couple of children!! It's been three weeks now and I'm STILL cogitating over what it is that makes simple fun so delightful. So maybe you'll wanna skip the ruminations that follow, but here goes:

Play requires a willingness to be vulnerable and most are too afraid of what others will think. Some will play with their significant other, but sometimes not even then. But it takes more than courage. (Courage: perseverance when you know you SHOULD be afraid.) It takes "satiable curtiosities" about one's self and what one might become when given an opportunity to grow. And it needs a person who is sensitive to the player's nuances...as individuals and appreciative of their beauty....as human beings.

And our conversation had that feeling. And in the midst of this we touched on immigration. And she said I sounded like Luis Urrea. I didn't know of Mr. Urrea's work, but several days later something (subconscious?) saw The Devil's Highway  in the Halfway library sale. (I'd bucked hay there as a teenager and went to see if it had changed; not much.)

The Devil's Highway talks a bit about some of the reasons for the mundanity; it's heart-breaking; it'd be so simple to change. And yet, everyone goes on swallowing what they're spoon-fed, doing what they're taught, what they're told.

Travel is fun. But it's people like Ms. Wynans that make it a real pleasure. Oh, the landscapes, sunsets and wildlife (where?!!) are enthralling, but I relish the moments when I encounter someone who gives me pause for thought. And it's amazing how the sunshine seems brighter and the moonlight more captivating.

Iconoclasts: Perspective AND glimmers of hope.


12/24/15 - I'm getting the Solstice cards out and couldn't find Ms. Wynans' address. I went online to look up The Interpretive Center's and discovered her obituary. I had hoped to see her again in 2016. I wish you could have met her. She was amazing!!

Tamkaliks - Wallowa, Oregon

Ms. Wynans - Office Manager & Coquette

Tamkaliks, the Wallowa Band of the Nez Perce celebration began Friday evening, but I'd driven back from Halfway and was tired.

Saturday was bright and hot...a fine day, but a potter told of how she'd lost much of her ware Friday afternoon when a tornado blew. Several other folks had sustained damage and one artist who had two booths had given up and left.

I was moved by the Grand Entrance which included many of the dancers and attendees. The coming-of-age ceremony for a young man who'd gotten his first salmon was almost unbearable as he was given center-stage and tasked with telling the story of his catch. He paused so long there were a couple of encouraging whoops. Eventually he made it through and his accomplishment (bravery at that moment) was recognized by a round of generous applause.

Around 3:00 pm after enjoying a bowl of the best menudo I've ever had, I decided it was too hot and, boarding my trusty R.V., headed west.

Somewhere around 75 miles later I realized I'd forgotten my mail. I was on a back highway with practically no traffic, MY kind of road, and figured it could wait another day. And as luck would have it I found a beautiful copse next to the Grand Ronde River for camp. I spent Sunday driving back and was glad to find the spot in Lostine Canyon (more photos on Flickr -- here) available.

All the driving took it's toll. When Monday morning dawned I was reminded of what it felt like to HAVE to get up.

By noon I'd managed to get bathed (a MAJOR accomplishment), packed and into town. After getting the mail and some groceries I stopped in to visit with Ms. Wynans, Office Manager for the Wallowa Band Nez Perce Interpretive Center. We'd had a fun visit several days before in which she told about supervising the pow-wow and I wanted to congratulate her on a fine event. We chatted about her new fan (see image); she'd given a demo of one during my previous visit and someone (not me), apparently having heard of her proclivity, had, over the weekend, left her a new one.

It's a pretty area with interesting people. I look forward to visiting again.


12/24/15 - I'm getting the Solstice cards out and couldn't find Ms. Wynans' address. I went online to look up The Interpretive Center's and discovered her obituary. I wish you could have met her; she was amazing!