Into the US of A…

It was a pleasure to be back in the US with it’s majority of good roads, even better freeways, and no worries about my CC or DC being frozen at the capricious whim of the fraud company that chooses to do so on my cards as though they don’t even think about it, like they’re using some stupid software algorithm and then never using their brains to connect the dots as I travel. This time I’d called my CU a couple days before we left Alaska and also sent an email. But I still felt relieved that I hadn’t been cut off, since they’d done it before, even with those preemptive warnings. But it seems they always have shut off my cards when I’m either in or very near a large city. Where I can get on-line and/or use a phone to get in touch with them. Anyway, enough about those idiots for now. No, I don’t want to change banks because they have such great & inexpensive policies about everything else. Like 5 free overdrafts per month, no CC charges for zero balance and the like.

So, where were we? Right across the US border in Oroville, Washington. As we passed through customs the evening before, they had all sorts of questions for me, like how long had I known Kenny, why was my drivers license from Oregon but the plates on my RV from Alaska? (That’s because when I checked getting new tags from Oregon a couple months before, it would have cost $362 for two years, and I hadn’t driven it for 9 months. No resetting of the clock, so I’d have lost 9 months. In Alaska, it was $125 for two years, would start at the date I bought the tags, and there is a one time senior discount of $100. So plates in Alaska only cost me $25). Did we bring any contraband (why would we tell them if we did?)? And of course since Kenny and I weren’t related, why were we traveling together. Once I explained his Dad was dying of cancer and we were rushing back so Kenny could spend some quality time with him, they seemed to back off and not be so confrontational, or nosy. They did inspect the RV inside,  and had a dog sniff outside, but didn’t ask me to open any of the compartments and only did a cursory inside inspection. I figured that they would have completely emptied my RV, inside and out,  because of our circumstances, but I guess they understood.

That lake in Oroville...Osoyoos.

It’s only 180 miles from Oroville to Spokane, and Kenny had been on Highway 20 several times, knew his way and all, plus the weather was great so we took that shortcut over the mountains. Turned out that the road was really, really, steep in places so we only averaged 15MPH though those sections. The road was a two lane, with lots of sharp corners and switchbacks. The engine tried to overheat so Kenny and I kept the RPM’s around 2,000 to keep the temp down. Not a big deal, but like I said, many of those hills we went over at just 20-25MPH. So instead of it taking 3 & 1/2 hours to make it to Spokane, it took us five. Once we got over to the 395 freeway, it was smooth sailing at freeway speeds.

Parked in Oroville.

Crossing Franklin D. Roosevelt Lake.

I was soo nice to be able to let someone else drive for a change. I’d been driving alone for years (and when my brother traveled with me in ’09, I wouldn’t let him drive because he still drives like a teenager, and hadn’t had any recent big rig experience like Kenny did, etc.). I did discover, after watching Kenny drive at dusk a couple times, that he couldn’t see worth a damn! When I questioned him about it, turned out that yes, he did need glasses, broke his over a year before, but had never gotten around to getting a new pair. Grrrr. Well, he seemed to do a good driving job during the day, so I always took over at dusk, and during the day would let him know about upcoming hazards he might have trouble seeing. It was worth taking a chance, I thought, to be able to be a passenger for a change.

Another shot of that huge lake...

Yea! Stevens County.

We’re so close now, I am feeling really good that the RV is going to make it all the way to at least California and my brothers house. Or even Mexico, before anything major needs to be fixed. This is a ’94 RV so that’s always in the back of my mind…where will I be when I break down? Much rather it be never, or at least in the lower 48, or better yet, near or in a big city in Mexico. Why? Because Mexican mechanics can fix anything with nothing. And do a good job too. But I’m secretly planning on going all the way to Mazatlan…despite all the horrible things going on near the borders. Because I love Mexico, I’m not a doper so don’t run with unsavory people, stay out of creepy places, etc. And I have my favorite mechanic down in Mazatlan. Have to get all these little nagging things fixed, like the Parking Brake, maybe a paint job, trims fixed, roof ladder fixed, etc.

We arrived at Kenny’s family home, I meet his mother and brother, and as it turned out, he’s a big rig mechanic, and then met his dad. It’s nerve racking to meet someone who is terminal with cancer, and lying on his death bed, so, naturally, I said the wrong thing right off. His dad laughed as I corrected myself. Then we had a nice talk. I’m sorry to report that Kenny’s dad did die a few weeks later. But I’m happy I was able to get Kenny there in just 3 days, along with his cat none the worse for wear. In time for him to have some quality time with his dad before it was too late.

After visiting for a couple hours, I wander around their place and check it out for parking my rig for the night. Didn’t like the looks of the street, too tight for the neighbors, would have had to park way over there without power for the night, then their driveway wasn’t very deep so my rig would hang out over the sidewalk. Also, their driveway was simply too close to their neighbors so I couldn’t feel comfortable trying to wiggle my rig into it.

So, since I knew I was only an hour or so from my next destination, and it was still pretty early in the day, around 3pm, I decided not to spend the night but rather just hit the road. We all said our goodbyes, got to talking to Kenny’s mechanic brother, and he was kind enough to climb under my rig and look at the parking brake. “Well, it’s completely ground the brake down to the metal, it’s shot, oh, and hey, your differential pumpkin has a leak”, he says. So I climb under there and check it out. He shows me where the shift cable connection is flaky, which probably caused the ‘Parking Brake’ to come on, instead of going off when it’s in ‘Drive’ position, and shows me the differential fluid leak. Didn’t look too bad, just a big wet spot all around the axle tube. So, I told him I’d keep topping it off until I got down to Walla Walla where I knew some mechanics. He thought I might be able to get all the way to Mexico, if I kept topping it and if the leak didn’t get any bigger. I thought I’d be able to nurse it all the way there, AND get the parking brake fixed at the same time. I’d gotten use to dropping the front jack whenever I stopped…to keep from rolling, so I figured I could do that all the way to Mexico, if I was careful.

Back on the road, I set up my GPS to get me to Fishtrap Lake. Turns out it was directing me to Fishtrap PARK. An entirely different place, so that took me 15 or so miles out of my way off the freeway. Once back on, I get to Fishtrap around 5:30. The owners there, but the place looks like it’s fallen (again) on hard times. I brought my friend Maria, who was dying of brain cancer at the time, here back in ’04, just after I’d bought the rig, and I wanted to stay here again in order to reminisce about that trip, sad as it was. My father had found this place back in the early ’60’s and we use to come with the family every two years, just after they stocked the lake with trout. Lot’s of good time spent here. Back then they actually had a cafe/store here where you could get a very nice breakfast at 5:30AM, lunch, and dinner. Then there were rental power boats and row boats, plus places everywhere for kids to have fun. And there were always lots of fishing supplies. Now, the cafe is closed, you have to personally ask the owners wife to make you a buffalo burger (which I did, as soon as she got home from work, but she tells me she can’t do it until the next evening). That’s all they sold now, just a pre-ordered handful of items, a paltry amount of fishing items, and rental boats. Oh, and they also rent out trailer, mobile home, and RV spaces.

Just after arriving at Fishtrap Lake.

The office at Fishtrap Lake.

The building was built back in the '30's. The one on the right use to be a dance hall.

The docks. As evening fell.

Love the sunset around here.

The lake is 3-4 miles long.

Many people stay here for months at a time. The building is one of the rental cabins.

Sitting where Maria and I sat on my, and her, last visit. Bitter sweet.

Would have loved to stay here during it's glory days.

Pretty much the same place Maria and I parked the last time here.

Next morning, I paid for another night because I thought I’d be getting a nice buffalo burger that night. And I wanted to top off my differential with oil, ride my bike around for old times sake, and just chill.

Early the next morning. Beautiful isn't it.

Smooth as glass. At least there in the foreground.

Neat place, for kids, and old people like me.

A little better view of my spot.

After pulling my chair out to enjoy the views and weather, I got a tiny bug in my britches and washed my RV. First time in months. Also washed the bike, let everything dry, then climbed under her and topped off the fluid in the differential. Took around 12oz. so I was happy about that. Wasn’t too low below the fill point, I thought.

That's the old pump house built by the original owner, back in the '30's.

Thought I'd hike up there and take a look.

And a view back down into the park from up on that hill.

Inside the old pump house.

And a view of the owners trailer and the cafe/store.

Quiet here too. Must be that school is back in session. This place is crowded during the summer.

So, the owners wife shows up again around 6:30, I have my mouth all set for a buffalo burger, and she’s forgotten it. No buffalo for me. I was mighty disappointed. Grumbled under my breath all the way back to my RV. Back in ’04, the owners were also running buffalos up on the plateau above the lake. And selling the meat around Spokane and providing it here at the RV park. But they’d shut that operation down. They didn’t have frozen buffalo steaks like the last time I was here. Didn’t even provide them anymore. She was suppose to have gotten the buffalo burger in town on her way home and it was too far and took to much time for her to correct her mistake. What? She couldn’t have written herself a note? I kind of wanted to replay what Maria and I had done the time we came here, with buffalo steaks, was willing to settle for a buffalo burger, and she forgot? Damn. Well, guess you can’t live in the past.

Next morning, still disappointed, I head off down the road to Walla Walla. Sadder.