tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73681388453508140442024-03-13T09:27:41.392-07:00A Family WalkaboutOne Family's Journey Outside The BoxScott Clifricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02563104431202243313noreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368138845350814044.post-22811344660399759032017-01-26T00:15:00.001-08:002017-01-26T00:15:16.756-08:00The Farm to Arkansas<div style="color: #454545; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal;">
After leaving The Farm we beat feet for Memphis. We had been advised of two items to check out there: BBQ and the Bass Pro Shop at The Pyramid. </div>
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A note about camping in Tennessee: We found the Tennessee State campgrounds to be generally excellent. Barring the T.O. Fuller State Park’s noxious location adjacent to a fecal waste treatment facility, the state’s facilities were well-equipped, well cared for, and fairy priced. Kudos Tennessee. Some of your northern brethren could learn a thing or two about accommodating outdoorsy-minded folk. I’m talking to you, Wisconsin.</div>
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Our route west dropped down into Mississippi, so if we are counting states, that would make the 14th that we’ve visited on our meandering sojourn. Along the way, Alexis let us know from the back seat that she’d lost her fifth tooth of the Big Adventure. </div>
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Somehow the Tooth Fairy has no problem with our nomadic roving household and always manages to find us on the eve of a lost tooth. She left a note to let us know that incisors command a premium. Alexis asked why the Tooth Fairy collects teeth. “Maybe she doesn’t have any of her own, and she keeps looking for the right sized ones,” she mused. </div>
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So you can’t tell from this lame-o pic, but the Bass Pro Pyramid in Memphis is Humongous. Seriously Humongous. It reminded me of something you might see at Disneyland when I walked in, as the interior is a good mockup of a swampy bog thing, with huge trees. And stuff. Alligator gar fish as big as me. Alligators bigger than me (live ones!) They also had stuff for sale. </div>
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We bought a plastic egg holder for our fridge.</div>
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We asked local Memphisians for BBQ recommendations and settled on a “traditional” joint in the downtown area, Tops BBQ. The ribs were a hit. The rest: meh. It is by no means fair to judge an entire city’s take on a cuisine based on such a limited dataset. Unfortunately as it’s our only datapoint for Memphis BBQ, it is therefore Tops BBQ vs whatever joint we put it up against when we get to Texas in the Big Adventure BBQ Showdown!</div>
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Now feels like a good time for a word on our travel regimen. In general we try to keep our daily driving time to four hours max per day, and preferably not more than two. Short hops rather than large swaths taken all at once. And we always try for, but don’t always find, stopping places that deserve at least two nights stay, maybe more. Places that beckon for deeper exploration, or tempt us in other ways to tarry. Shorter travel days give us more time to enjoy our surroundings, and keep everyone happier. Longer stays allow you to really develop a feel for a place. Or sleep in. Alternatively, breaking camp, traveling and making camp every day for a bunch of consecutive days covers a lot of miles, but gets old fast, and you never really get to experience anywhere that you’ve been. Stop and smell the flowers, right? We try.</div>
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Nevertheless, with Camilla’s 4th birthday looming, and our desire to spend it with the grandparents in Texas, we beat feet again, continuing our westward trek from Memphis, and stopping at Hot Springs, Arkansas, childhood home of Bill Clinton.</div>
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Throughout our Big Adventure we have sought out hot springs whene’er they laid nearby or within striking distance. And so, auspicious it did seem that not only is Hot Springs, Arkansas a National Park, and therefore yet another score for our budding Junior Rangerettes, but it’s Hot Springs! </div>
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It’s a unique town/National Park. It is, in fact, the only National Park bisected by a city. Water fountains on the main drag dispense steaming hot water direct from the springs. Add a mug and cocoa packet or tea bag and you’re good to go. There’s a century's history of people coming here seeking health or therapy in the water or its vapors, and a handful of venues for such to choose from. Once upon a time, in its heyday, this was <i>A Destination</i>. Today the town continues to cater to the tourist crowd, but not garishly so. All of that aside, it is a very interesting and beautiful place. Should your travels ever bring you to its vicinity, do check it out. </div>
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We were greatly saddened to learn, however, that none of the operating hot spring vendors (all operate under permit with the National Parks system), allow children! Alas. </div>
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Some travel notes: The National Park campground is first come first served, no reservations accepted. Sites sport full hookups, and the weather in January, at least this year, is fantastic with highs in the 60’s.</div>
Scott Clifricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02563104431202243313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368138845350814044.post-11492276453321819622017-01-22T21:40:00.001-08:002017-01-22T21:40:58.951-08:00Michigan to The Farm<div style="color: #454545; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal;">
Let's pick things up in Michigan. Why don't we start with some Michigan trivia? First, what do you call someone from Michigan? MichiganER? MichiganIAN? Wrong. MichiganDER. As in, what's good for the MichiGoose is good for the MichiGander. </div>
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Ok, next. How many states is Michigan? One? Wrong. It is two: the lower part, known as "The Mitten", and the upper part, known as "Da UP" (Upper Peninsula). UP residents, known as Yoopers, speak a curious mix of normal American and Canadianish. Bonus fact: Yoopers affectionately refer to their southern neighbors as Trolls, because they live "under the bridge" (the four mile Mackinac bridge) that is the only physical connection between their neighboring states. Still don't believe they're separate states? Guess what the very first thing is that you encounter when you cross the bridge from Da UP going south to The Mitten...a Michigan State Welcome Center.</div>
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We'll chat more about Michigan later. For now let's pick up our narrative as we depart those two confusingly same-named states.</div>
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South. We go south. The first thing you bump into south of Michigan is, of course, Indiana. The next thing you bump into are your friends and relatives. If your friends and relatives are our friends and relatives then you are in luck! Good people. And pleasantly soft when you bump into them. A bit bouncy, in fact. What do you call someone who lives in Indiana? No, not an Indianan. Unless you pronounce "Indianan" exactly the same as "Hoosier", which is, apparently, the correct nomenclature for Indianans.</div>
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Camping in these parts at this time of year is it's own flavor of fun. If you yearn for quietude, don't mind the occasional ice storm, and Alaska is not in your travel budget, then Indiana is a solid choice. Solid like a frozen skating pond.</div>
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We continue south to Kentucky. I had imagined finding KFC's everywhere in these parts, like Starbucks in Seattle, one on every corner. And sometimes in the middle of the block as well, between the corner ones. But not so with the KFC's. We did note as we drove through Kentucky's nether regions that there were oddly more churches than towns. Lotsa little churches. And also whiskey factories. And thus is the balance maintained in The Force. Zen. </div>
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I was surprised at how beautiful the countryside of Kentucky is. It's the only place I've been in the US that I could mistake for a rural German countryside. Rolling hills of woods and agriculture, neither overpopulated nor trashed. Simply beautiful.</div>
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We had a wonderful time visiting some dear framily thereabouts. Kids can be quite reliable social barometers. They wear their emotions oh-so-openly. And there were heartfelt lamentations and tears when we finally pulled ourselves away after a delicious multi-day visit. </div>
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We distracted the kiddos and ourselves with a trip to Mammoth Caves National Park, where Alexis and Camilla both earned their seventh Junior Ranger badges! Trivia fact: Mammoth Caves is the longest cave system in the world, with over 400 known miles of caves, and counting!</div>
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We continue our southerly track from Kentucky into Tennessee. There are only two things on our agenda for Tennessee: the Bass Pro shop that is located in a giant glass pyramid next to the river in Memphis, and which features an indoor waterpark and a hotel consisting of cabins on the second level. </div>
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The second item on the Tennessee agenda is The Farm.</div>
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http://thefarmcommunity.com</div>
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The Farm is one of the earliest communes in the US, established in 1971 by 200+ San Francisco hippies who embarked on a journey across the US in a fleet of buses, searching for a place they could make their home. And they found that home in rural Tennessee.</div>
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We had first heard about The Farm several years ago as we educated ourselves about midwifery and home birthing. Among a number of greatly ranging areas of focus - from sustainable living and permaculture, to design and manufacture of geiger counters -The Farm, out of its own necessity, had developed a talented body of experience and expertise in the field of midwifery, which then went on to become a cornerstone for the home birth movement in the US. </div>
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We just wanted to visit, to catch a glimpse of where these things had all come to pass. To our great surprise it turns out that The Farm has both a campground and an Eco-hostel! </div>
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We stayed for three days, and in that time caught a folk-music show at the theater, Kirstin went to Ladies Day at the Sauna/Swimming Hole, but of far greater import, we met some great and interesting people, both residents of The Farm and transient Seekers like ourselves. We asked questions and listened to stories. We learned some valuable lessons about Community and how to achieve success as an Intentional Community. We found new friends that would be welcome as part of our own circle, should we ever realize our own Intentional Community.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Making necklaces out of Hickory nuts</td></tr>
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Scott Clifricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02563104431202243313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368138845350814044.post-91901637054992801452017-01-18T12:28:00.001-08:002017-01-18T12:28:20.031-08:00Proof of Life<div style="color: #454545; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal;">
Forgive me reader, for I have sinned. It has been five months since my last confession. Blog post. Whatever.</div>
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Scott: “Hi. My name is Scott, and I’m a slacker.”</div>
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You: “Hi, Scott.”</div>
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Greetings from Kentucky, land of that big horse race, Jack Daniels, and the world-famous, lubricating, Kentucky Jelly (which tastes awful, by the way - not recommended on toast or PB&J’s).</div>
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At the end of our last episodic update I left y’all hanging in Washington State. Five months ago. (Again, I am sorry that I have been a slacker.) So the Clif(rickson)’s Notes version is as follows: We ferried over to the San Juan Islands and did a bit of bike touring; discovered a tiny fragment of Washington State that is land-locked by Canada and accessible only from there or by plane or boat; other sights and scenes in Canada; upper Idaho; adventures and misadventures in Montana (Glacier National Park); a brief up-close view of the oil and gas industry in action through North Dakota; Minnesota; Wisconsin; the Upper Peninsula of Michigan (pasties rule!); an extended stay with the extended family through the holidays in The Mitten (lower Michigan); then back on the road south through Indiana and now Kentucky. And here we are.</div>
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So it throws the chronology of our sojourn off a bit (I said I’m sorry!) but now that I’m back in docudrama (blog) mode, and having established proof of life, I invite you to come with us now in this here tiny time machine as we go back to revisit the highlights of the last five months. Right over here. There you go, just sit there. Don’t mind these straps here, they’re for safety. And here…we…go!</div>
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Scott Clifricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02563104431202243313noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368138845350814044.post-33419311854897859002016-08-29T00:31:00.000-07:002016-08-29T00:31:49.707-07:00Olympic Peninsula<div style="color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aberdeen, WA</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Feeding the salmon at Quinault National Fish Hatchery</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The girls at Quinault Lake</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alexis on the world's largest Spruce tree</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alexis makes sure the Tooth Fairy can find her tooth</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Loot for second tooth from the Tooth Fairy</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Camilla "waters the plants" at an RV dump station</td></tr>
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The Olympic Peninsula of Washington State is home to the humongous Olympic National Park, which covers most of the northwest corner of the state. Olympic National Park is home to the Hoh Rainforest, one of the largest temperate rainforests left in the world.<br />
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We came to “The Hoh”, as the local rangers refer to it, seeking the usual stuff, new experiences and novel beauty, and we found this, but we unexpectedly found much more.</div>
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One of our challenges while traveling is meaningful social contact, particularly for the girls, outside of our nuclear family. They find playmates here and there, but rarely for more than a couple of hours at a time, and with significant gaps between such contacts. We’re fortunate that they have each other to play with regularly, but new people are good for their playful little minds and social development.</div>
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Here in The Hoh we happened to camp across the way from an extended family gathering of American Samoan expats. We had originally only planned to stay only two days, but the girls hit it off with the other kids and so we left it to them whether to stay longer or move on as we had planned. “Stay!” was the resounding answer. And so we stayed.<br />
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We were rewarded by being invited into our neighbors' family gathering, and more kind and generous people you will not find. The beauty of such warm human interaction with formerly complete strangers is as splendid a thing as any scenic landscape or natural wonder we have found on our travels. Our short time together is a clear highlight in our family's journey. Faafetai.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Camping next to the Hoh River in the Hoh Rainforest</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hot stone therapy along the banks of the Hoh</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A beautiful family</td></tr>
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Scott Clifricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02563104431202243313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368138845350814044.post-71069833970138730372016-08-28T16:00:00.000-07:002016-08-28T16:00:55.948-07:00The Path Less Taken<div style="color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal;">
Given two paths to choose from, I am generally drawn to the Path Less Taken. “What’s over there?” I wonder. “What fascination lies that way, yet to be discovered?” </div>
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As we continued up the central Washington coastline, I note that the main route, Highway 101, diverges significantly away from the coast in a number of areas. Zooming in on electronic maps I can see there are (small and diminutive, possibly unimproved) roads that <i>clearly</i> connect where we are to where we’re trying to go up north. Once again, I’m drawn to the Path Less Taken.</div>
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And so we go. </div>
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This part of the world is host to a number of Native American reservations. Our maps are fuzzy on where these start and end, as is signage along the byways, making it hard to tell whose territory we’re on at any given time. A few miles down the road I misread the road signs and we detour into a local town. </div>
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Curious to catch a glimpse of rural life in these parts we drive through town rather than turn around as soon as I discover my mistake. We are clearly off the beaten path, and tourists in these parts are probably rare, judging by the lingering, noncommittal gaze of the locals. We pass a building labeled Tribal Courthouse and Law Enforcement, and that removes any doubt as to whether we’re on “The Res” or not. I quite suddenly find myself a complete foreigner, unsure about customary or acceptable behavior. I drive us into a dead end and Kirstin doesn’t want to get out to ground guide me as I turn around. I don’t blame her. I jack knife, but not so badly as to break anything. We amble out of town, smiling broadly at everyone we pass, hoping to avoid any untoward attention.</div>
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At the edge of town I turn back north. The US Highway we had followed up to this point now turns into a State Road with the same number, and the road surface turns to gravel. There’s a big sign that says “No Trespassing Tribal Beaches Closed To General Public”. Kirstin voices her concerns that this is a bad idea. “No problem,” I tell her. “We’re not going to the beach.” There’s a second sign that says “Unimproved Road No Further Warnings”. “Like what? Sudden cliff ahead?” I joke.</div>
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We continue. Kirstin again expresses her concern that this a bad idea. It’s a good road, I tell her. Much better than some of the roads we had recently traversed in the National Forests by Mt. Adams. “Put on your adventure hat,” I cajole. She glares.</div>
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The road gradually narrows down to one lane. I notice that our onboard GPS no longer lists it as a State Road, but instead labels it as a BIA (Bureau of Indian Affairs) Road with the same number.</div>
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The road quality gets gradually worse. I note that there are far fewer vehicles out here than we had seen in what I would have considered remote areas of the National Forests. Fewer because there are none here at all. </div>
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“Well, we finally got away from all those other RVers,” I attempt to lighten the intense mood permeating the vehicle cab. “Gee, it’s beautiful. Pristine.”</div>
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We’re traveling slowly now because of constant potholes, and are many miles and approximately 2/3 of the way from the where the gravel started to our projected reunion with Highway 101. I feel like we’re on the home stretch. The overgrowth along the roadsides starts to choke in on us. Up ahead there’s a patch of road that I can’t make out because of the shadows. Kirstin dismounts to check it, comes back and says it’s okay but that she can’t tell about further ahead.</div>
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We start down a muddy hill. After a few hundred meters we discover what that sign back at the beginning had meant. The sign about “No Further Warnings” about the road. The road is gone. I walk it to see if there’s any way through or around. There isn’t. Remains from some unfortunate vehicle or vehicles litter the hillside that slopes away from where the road had once been. A tire here. Maybe a bumper over there. Possibly a truck tailgate.</div>
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My stomach sinks down past my groin to somewhere around my ankles. We’re not in any immediate danger, I tell myself. We have food and lodging for several days, because <i>we’re towing a travel trailer behind us</i>. <i>Right here at the bottom of this muddy hill.</i> …Does AAA send tow rigs to these parts? Could a recovery rig even get in here in such a way as to be able to recover us? It’s a moot point as we haven’t had cell reception for miles.</div>
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Kirstin is now well past the point of looking daggers at me and can’t even look me in the eyes. I think that had there been a table at the road’s end in front of us labeled “Tribal Courthouse”, complete with an official looking person seated behind it, she would have in that moment applied for and received a summary divorce judgment.</div>
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I put on my brave face. “We’re going to have to back up the hill,” I say. Kirstin nods and walks behind the trailer to guide us back out of this mess. There was a wide spot in the road near the top of the hill. I hope that we can get there, and that once there it will be navigable enough that we can turn around. At this point I’ll settle for just getting back up the hill and will thankfully back the trailer up for miles and miles if I have to in order to reach somewhere we can turn around.</div>
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I put Ruby into 4WD Low. If it was just the truck I wouldn’t worry even a bit that we might actually be well and truly screwed. Ruby could handle this with ease. If solo. But I’m pretty unhappy about the reality of having to push a trailer backwards up this muddy hill. In the middle of nowhere. While very probably trespassing. I do my best to conceal all of this and project strength and confidence.</div>
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The foliage is so dense that I can’t see anything behind us and have to rely on Kirstin yelling directions. We start slowly, inch by inch. Ruby in 4WD Low grips like a rabid tomcat on velcro curtains. And with Kirstin yelling directions we edge it bit by bit, dodging around the logs and tree branches that protrude into the road, until we finally, blessedly, come out evenish near the top of the hill. </div>
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Okay, as long as I don’t get us stuck trying to turn around now, we are alright. Have you ever seen the Austin Powers film where he manages to get a golf cart stuck sideways in a corridor two inches wider than the vehicle is long? I do my very best approximation of that scene. After about 20 turns I’m worried that now, after having backed all the way up the hill into the safety of “good road”, I may have instead stuck us sideways for good. </div>
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We survey the situation. We consider and then reject an option of dropping the trailer, repositioning the truck and then reattaching.</div>
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I go back to the Austin Powers micro turns.</div>
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Inch by inch we bring it around just enough that finally I’m able to drive over a stump on our uphill side, trusting Ford’s Off Road package and skid plates to protect Ruby’s precious underbelly, and we are free!</div>
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I stop the truck, wait for Kirstin to get in, and then solemnly express to her the deepest apology of which I am able, from the bottom of my soul. I promise to never, ever disregard her warnings again. And I tell her that for the rest of our journey, she gets final say on all navigational choices.</div>
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She reminds me that back at the beginning of the trip she had foretold that there would be a point somewhere on our journey, where I would end up backing us out of an unpleasant situation. </div>
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We’re only two months into our Big Adventure. I most fervently hope that this was the one and only time. </div>
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Sometimes there is a reason that the Road Less Taken is the Road Less Taken, my wife gently schools me. Noted, my love. Well and duly noted.</div>
Scott Clifricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02563104431202243313noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368138845350814044.post-891693568688881392016-08-28T15:57:00.000-07:002016-08-28T15:57:30.828-07:00More Thoughts on Coffee<div style="color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal;">
I find it no coincidence that the Pacific Northwest is well known for both their production and consumption of fine microbrewed beer, and for their love affair with the coffee bean. It only makes sense really, that people balance one with the other to find their zen. Stimulant followed by depressant equals status quo, right? </div>
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Many smallish towns in these parts have their own microbrewery. And <i>every</i> inky-dinky, blink-and-you-missed-it, tiny-dot-on-a-map town has a coffee shack to keep the populous fruitful and productive. </div>
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In this spirit, we’ve been refining our personal coffee brewing skills, and have a few thoughts to share on the matter.</div>
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First, this:</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stainless French Press by Bodum</td></tr>
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is the bomb. Kirstin’s darling sister wanted to give us something useful to take on The Big Adventure, and she nailed it with this item: vacuum-insulated, stainless steel, Bodum French Press. It’s simple, durable, doesn’t require additional or disposable filters or parts, can be used to make tea, hot or cold-brew coffee (see previous post on this), and will keep hot coffee warm for hours. I don’t know how much it cost, as it was a gift, but as I will almost always pay more for a superior product, this item is one that I would have paid a premium for.</div>
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Coffee thought #2: Only buy coffee from Costco if you’ve tried it or you are otherwise reasonably certain that you are going to enjoy it, because as you no doubt are aware, a Costco-sized portion of coffee beans will last a loooong, loooong time. For instance, while “Organic Rainforest Blend” beans may sound delightfully delicious, you might instead find them to be not to your liking. Should you find yourself in this unfortunate situation, and you are unwilling to simply pitch the giant bag of beans that you just bought, you might consider adulterating your pure, black, coffee nectar with other non-standard ingredients to achieve a more palatable energizing beverage, to wit:</div>
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Coffee thought #3: The Recipe. This is a work in progress, as we’re constantly experimenting. This version will convert your Organic Rainforest Blend, or other suitably unsuitable beans, into a lightly spiced, not-quite-sweet, rich and energizing elixir.</div>
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To make one carafe of brew, add:</div>
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<li style="color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Coffee grounds (4-5T for our carafe), coarse ground works best for the French Press</li>
<li style="color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">1/4t or so cinnamon</li>
<li style="color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">6 or so dashes of Indian paprika (this was an accidental purchase on our part that’s turned out well, as the Indian stuff is <i>spicy</i>, unlike regular paprika)</li>
<li style="color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">2T unsweetened cocoa powder</li>
<li style="color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">8 drops Stevia natural sweetener</li>
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Coffee thought #4: Best Coffee Mug Ever award goes to the stainless steel, insulated Contigo handle-less mug, as pictured above next to the French Press. These are the only travel-style coffee cups we’ve ever used that are legitimately leak-proof. They stand up well to abuse, fit great in auto cup holders, and keep stuff hot for hours. Best coffee mug ever. And also a gift from Kirstin’s sister. Coincidence? Not really. That girl knows her coffee and coffee accessories.</div>
Scott Clifricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02563104431202243313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368138845350814044.post-70868925238783472012016-08-28T15:54:00.000-07:002016-08-28T15:54:05.117-07:00Mt. Adams to Washington<div style="color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal;">
After several days in the relative wilds of Gifford Pinchot National Forest we returned to Hood River for provisions. And laundry facilities. Back again in the land where cell phones work, we were saddened to learn that travel plans had fallen through for our friend whom we had hoped to meet in Portland, and so we decided to return directly to the coast and continue north. </div>
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We could have taken a shortcut across Washington, but not wanting to miss any of the coast, and in particular the 4+ mile long bridge across the Columbia in Astoria, we returned there once again. We tried for a camp site in the Cape Disappointment area, but as the weekend was now upon us and it’s still high vacation season, everything was booked solid. Cape Disappointment. Get it?</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">*Excellent* oysters! South Bend, WA</td></tr>
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We continued on up the coast, checking campgrounds as we went, and finally found a run down county campground a bit off the beaten path, Bush Pioneer County Park and Campground, no reservations accepted, dirty, primitive, surrounded by forest, but otherwise empty. We set up camp and met some people visiting for the day who were familiar with the area, who told us the interesting history of the Chinook Indian Nation and how the very spot we were camping at was the last place they had lived in their ancestral fashion, hiding and surviving there up until 1953. Pirates had supposedly used a cove around the corner to hide back in the day as well. Bald eagles live there now. We watched them hunt over the trees and small, wild beach.</div>
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Scott Clifricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02563104431202243313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368138845350814044.post-6038111151336448772016-08-28T15:42:00.000-07:002016-08-28T15:42:03.778-07:00Hood River & Mt. Adams<div style="color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal;">
From Portland we headed back to Astoria, at the very northwestern tip of Oregon where the mouth of the Columbia River dumps into the Pacific. Our deliberately vague plan was to continue along the coastline up through Washington into the nether regions of Canada. A timely message from a good friend, however, reminded us of another locale that required investigation for possible future homesteading: Hood River, located east of Portland in the heart of the Columbia River Gorge. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset at Crown Point, the Old Highway, Columbia River Gorge</td></tr>
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So back we trekked once again through and past the urban sprawl and congested traffic of Portland, and thence into the splendor of The Gorge. The Gorge was the first federally designated National Scenic Area in the US, and stretches around 90ish miles from Troutdale out to somewhere around The Dalles, between rugged hills on the northern and southern edges of the Columbia River where it forms the border between Oregon and Washington. It’s a giant outdoor playground. As a National Scenic Area, no further development is allowed in the area, protecting it from the urban creep and sprawl that’s so common everywhere else today. Highlights if you find yourself traveling through this area: Multnomah Falls is a mandatory stop, check out the old highway route instead of Highway 84, and definitely hike up Oneonta Gorge to the falls at the back. Alexis daily keeps asking us when we’re going back. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oneonta Gorge</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alexis attempting to fully navigate Oneonta without getting wet</td></tr>
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Also, if at all possible, get a room and stay a night at The Edgefield Inn in Troutdale. It’s a very special place worth taking the time to stay at. or even simply explore for a couple of hours.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Edgefield, Troutdale</td></tr>
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Hood River: Take your pick of water sports, copious hiking and backpacking opportunities, mountain biking, sport fishing and snow skiing (Mt. Hood is but 45 minutes away). Hood River and the gorge have all this and more. Hood River is even considered to be the Windsurfing/Kiteboarding Capitol of the World. The town’s base is historically agricultural, with emphasis on apple and pear orchards, but since discovery as an adventure-oriented outdoorsy mecca, summertime is packed with adventure seeking temporary residents, and the downtown area caters to this crowd, with a slew of eateries and local breweries. </div>
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We camped at a local county park, right next to the actual river of Hood River, while we explored the community. One litmus test we’ve developed to suss out the underbelly of communities of interest is simply checking out their Farmers Market. Organic, locally grown produce is a great indicator for us, and we were happy to find a decent selection of such here. Hood River ticks a lot of our homestead “want” boxes, but unfortunately it does so for a great many other people as well, as it turns out to be the most expensive real estate in all of Oregon. Still, it’s a top pick at this early stage in our quest.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cooling off in the Hood River</td></tr>
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Some sections of the old Columbia River Gorge Highway have been repurposed as hiking/biking trails. We rode one such section that passes through some interesting tunnels on its way to the neighboring town of Mosier.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bike Path Vista along section of Old Highway</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tunnels on Old Highway section that's now walking/bike only path</td></tr>
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We prolonged our stay in the area for a possible link-up with a dear friend who had a tentative trip planned to Portland one week hence. </div>
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We spent a day on Mt. Hood. I showed the fam where papa had once worked many years ago as a Ski Patroller. We got the full-meal-deal tour of Timberline Lodge. I never knew that the picture of a woman on a ski lift on PeeChee folders was an early photograph of the Magic Mile at Timberline. Timberline is a mandatory stop if you are anywhere even close, including Portland. Book a room well in advance and spend the night, right there at the actual timberline at 7000 feet. The lodge is fantastic. The location is fantastic. And you can ski there eleven months out of the year. Do you remember the shots of the lodge’s exterior in the film The Shining? That’s Timberline Lodge.</div>
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We spent another day playing at Lost Lake, rowed out across it’s clear, clear waters; tried unsuccessfully to catch some fishies; and jumped into its iciness to cool ourselves.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lost Lake</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mt. Hood, as seen from Lost Lake</td></tr>
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Several days of MATT parked in the shade had dropped our battery levels, and we were ready to explore something new, so based on some recommendations from a lovely couple we met in Hood River, we decided to explore a bit north into Washington in the vicinity of Mt. Adams, where we met another lovely couple and their two horses, and Camilla had her first ride ever on a horse. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mt. Adams by day</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hiking near Mt. Adams</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mt. Adams by night</td></tr>
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After a day or charging up in the scorching sun we moved on though, and found a tiny little lake that we had pretty much to ourselves in the Forlorn Lakes region of the Gifford Pinchot National Forest. Our campsite was located adjacent to a sign that had a picture of a passenger car with a big red circle and slash through it, and the words, “Road Not Maintained Beyond This Point”. The next morning I just had to find out what that meant, and so went exploring a bit with Ruby, and sans MATT. I came away with a keener appreciation for Ruby’s off-road prowess. In almost all things I consider it good to know your limits, and I learned that Ruby’s are significant. She is ready for adventure. As are we.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exploring the Ice Caves, Gifford Pinchot National Forest</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hunting for froggies. Note MATT at upper right.</td></tr>
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Scott Clifricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02563104431202243313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368138845350814044.post-42335965354650000792016-08-07T19:09:00.003-07:002016-08-07T21:45:37.456-07:00The Northern Oregon CoastAfter departing Coos Bay we continued north, hugging the coast, drinking in the rocky, sandy, salty interface between land and sea that constantly switches from fog to clear skies, calm to a brisk breeze, or sunny-warm to brrr-cold in a matter of minutes or a couple of miles. The rule of thumb regarding weather in these parts is that if you don't like the weather right now, just wait a few minutes.<br>
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At Newport we camped at an incredibly sparse "Dry Campground" provided by the city as an overflow lot for the RV tourist crowds. Facilities in the gravel lot included a porta-potty and a dumpster. But the location right next to some lovely bike paths that run along the bay to the adjacent state park, as well as immediate proximity to the Oregon Aquarium, make it worthwhile. One great attraction that's also immediately next door is the Oregon State University Hatfield Marine Science Center, which has a slew of educational exhibits, things for the kids to touch and play with, all for the low, low price of Free! <br>
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After Newport we took a detour inland to Corvallis to visit some extended Framily members, Steve and Bobbi, a lovely mini-vacation from our extended vacation, replete with fine dining, real beds, a visit to an awesome shoe factory (Soft Star Shoes, check them out), catching up with my oldest friend, Jim, who also joined the Army about the same time as I, and who also wisely chose to retire a few months back. And what trip to the Northwest would be complete without a trip to our very own burger franchise, Burgerville! Tillamook cheese cheeseburger, Walla Walla sweet onion rings, and fresh, local Marionberry shake, wow. Gluttony requiring days of recovery and detoxification.<br>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Soft Star men's chukka shoes, yum</td></tr>
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Several blissful days later, we head back to Newport and resume our quest for the North Pole. We next stopped in Lincoln City. As we drove through town I searched for The Pixie Kitchen, an incredibly kitschy restaurant that I fondly remembered from my childhood. When I couldn't find it, the internet provided the answer that sadly, not everyone was endeared to their elvish brand of culinary fare as I had been when my age was measured with but single digits, and alas, The Pixie Kitchen had closed its doors not years, but decades prior. After its demise, a number of the resident elves subsequently moved to one of the bawdier neighborhoods on Portland's east side, it seems, and cornered the local market on elf bowling.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-35G2ohXNy4A/V6fSX9ZI5VI/AAAAAAAAAIE/WTS3t399TIAHwny65BGkc3OPc_d8W_X_wCLcB/s1600/IMG_4427%2B-%2B2016-07-31%2Bat%2B16-30-16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-35G2ohXNy4A/V6fSX9ZI5VI/AAAAAAAAAIE/WTS3t399TIAHwny65BGkc3OPc_d8W_X_wCLcB/s640/IMG_4427%2B-%2B2016-07-31%2Bat%2B16-30-16.jpg" width="640"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Walking along the D River, shortest river in the world</td></tr>
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Further up the coast we stopped at Tillamook. An obligatory stop at the cheese factory yielded a small cache of cheese curds and a pint of pistachio gelato that rivaled some that Kirstin and I once found in a hole in the wall on the outskirts of Venice, where the proprietor made everything by hand and our guidebook had described the result as "two pistachio nuts making love in your mouth".</div>
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We stopped at another Tillamook landmark, a WWII era blimp hangar that is an absolutely immense structure, designed to house eight blimps used in defense of the west coast, but today it houses a modest local air museum. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside the Tillamook Air Museum. It's so large that they rent out the back end for boat and RV storage.</td></tr>
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We spent the night at the Blue Heron Cheese Factory, a charming family-owned antithesis to the Tillamook Cheese corporate conglomerate. Charming hosts and members of Harvest Hosts, a collective of agricultural-focused farms and businesses that provide free parking for RVers.<div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exploring the grounds at Blue Heron</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blue Heron resident</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beach near Tillamook</td></tr>
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And then on to Astoria! I had been looking forward to this part of the trip since its inception, as one of our goals on the Big Adventure is to suss out communities where we might want to relocate at the end of the trip, and I had identified Astoria early on as a potential candidate. Short version: It's still a contender.</div><div><br></div><div>We scored a camp site at Camp Rilea, an Oregon National Guard base adjacent to Astoria. Lucky for us as all the general public camping was booked solid, plus the camping fees at this sort of place are *very* reasonable. </div><div><br></div><div>But there is no free lunch, is there. In this case it turned out that the designated RV camping is located immediately adjacent to the firing range. And being that it's summer, that means Annual Training for all of those Reservists around the state. Nothing like having breakfast to the rhythmic punctuation of machine gun fire. Or having to explain to your oh-so innocent 3 and 5 year olds what machine gun fire is.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Along the Riverwalk in Astoria</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from the Astoria Column</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Near the base of the Astoria Column</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The girls decide for the cross-country route back to town. Note the 4.1 mile Astoria Bridge in the background.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yWxXWDB9AF0/V6fVWYuF_1I/AAAAAAAAAI4/kV5hRXg6WjANEzoRDKGBDnJ9gkeKVNO7QCLcB/s1600/IMG_5088%2B-%2B2016-08-04%2Bat%2B11-23-37.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yWxXWDB9AF0/V6fVWYuF_1I/AAAAAAAAAI4/kV5hRXg6WjANEzoRDKGBDnJ9gkeKVNO7QCLcB/s400/IMG_5088%2B-%2B2016-08-04%2Bat%2B11-23-37.jpg" width="400"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fishing goodies</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vCsrkISXnOY/V6fVVzyyvpI/AAAAAAAAAI0/sbuT-Ol1bn4374WIOsZPDtytMkb9e08hACLcB/s1600/IMG_5090%2B-%2B2016-08-04%2Bat%2B11-31-30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vCsrkISXnOY/V6fVVzyyvpI/AAAAAAAAAI0/sbuT-Ol1bn4374WIOsZPDtytMkb9e08hACLcB/s320/IMG_5090%2B-%2B2016-08-04%2Bat%2B11-31-30.jpg" width="320"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clamming goodies</td></tr>
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After our initial touchy-feely appraisal of Astoria we turned inland and headed to Portland, my hometown. It has certainly changed over the years, but for the most part, all for the better. We showed the girls the house that papa grew up in, and took them to the park that my mum would take me to when I was a tot, along the creek and reservoir where I learned to skip stones. Alexis played relentlessly in the much-improved-since-I-was-there playground, while Camilla snoozed. We ate at one of my favorite eateries, the Kennedy School, a former elementary school transformed by the McMenamin brothers into a fantastic hotel with three eateries, three bars (one cigar bar) and a movie theater. My favorite McMenamin property is still The Edgefield, in Troutdale, but the Kennedy School is great too. <br>
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While in Portland we also stopped at the archetypal Saturday Market. And as we were in the vicinity, we stood in line at Voodoo Doughnuts for about 20 minutes for the privilege of punishing our bodies with basically all the evil things that you can put into one food item. Delicious. But with consequences. <br>
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<br>After the initial sugar rush, the girls crashed hard. Shocker. <br>
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But there was one more landmark that I *had* to drag everyone to: Mills End Park, the smallest park in the world, as officially recorded in the Guinness Book of World Records.<br>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seriously, that's it. It's located in a traffic median in the middle of Front Avenue.</td></tr>
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And that, gentle blog-followers, pretty much brings you up to date on the broad strokes of where we've been and what we've been up to. <br>
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I'll leave you with just one more brief anecdote, and an unrelated photo. It's a funny thing that 4WD vehicles are not made to be more operator-error-proof. For instance, if you were to engage 4WD in order to position and park an RV in moderately sandy conditions, and then after detaching your RV you forgot that you had turned 4WD on, and then you drove around with it on dry roads, your modern, brand-new 4WD vehicle might just go ahead and let you do things that are potentially quite destructive to it's drive train, and not, instead, sound an alarm, or flash a warning light at you, or simply turn the 4WD off. After owning a fairly fool-proof Subaru for many years, this seems quite counterintuitive to me. Perhaps the 4WD truck manufacturers make their vehicles this way in order to create another revenue stream from saps who screw up? <br>
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So there we were, after I had just discovered my error, terrified to drive it anywhere out of the parking lot where I had made the discovery when the vehicle finally complained by doing some Weird Things. Calls to the local dealership were made and they offered a tow and a look-see sometime in the middle of next week. More calls and internet searches later and a little fiddling around and I got the rear differential's limited slip to disengage, and breathed a huge sigh of relief. Moral of the story: Never, ever forget to turn 4WD off when you don't need it any more.<br>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Unrelated photo of the girls shucking corn from the Astoria Farmers Market</td></tr>
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Scott Clifricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02563104431202243313noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368138845350814044.post-81513523713341598602016-08-07T16:11:00.000-07:002016-08-07T16:11:06.387-07:00Campground Review: Florence Keller CGThis is a brief overdue review of the Florence Keller County Park Campground, located at <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> 3400 Cunningham Lane,</span> Crescent City, California <a dir="ltr" href="tel:95531%203400" x-apple-data-detectors-result="0" x-apple-data-detectors-type="telephone" x-apple-data-detectors="true">95531</a>, GPS: 41.80302, -124.15176. No reservations are taken or honored. $15 per night.<br />
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We stayed here a few weeks ago before heading north into Oregon, and while we have now stayed at a wide variety of camping locations, we wanted to note this one in particular as it is a standout. <br />
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This is a county run campground, as as such seems to be less known and therefore less utilized, and yet it's located right in the heart of a beautiful stand of giant Redwood trees. The campsites are nicely isolated from each other by virtue of all of the giant trees. There are no RV hookups or dump, but there are fresh water spigots spaced well throughout, and a $5 RV dump in town just a couple of miles down the road at the fairgrounds.<br />
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The few nights we spent here were beautiful. There is a stream that runs through the park, a network of trails and bridges worth exploring, and two nice picnic/day use/playground areas. We met some lovely people here, including a family from Switzerland whom we thoroughly enjoyed chatting and visiting with.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The downed section of tree trunk is larger than our trailer </td></tr>
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There is plenty of room for tents, and the combination of gorgeous scenery, low density of other campers, and low price make this a great campground value that we will certainly return to when we are in that area again.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where's Waldo?</td></tr>
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<br />Scott Clifricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02563104431202243313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368138845350814044.post-31493103392857648442016-07-26T10:00:00.000-07:002016-07-26T14:57:21.212-07:00Oregon, Ho!As we worked our way up the California coastline I found myself eager to get further faster, tense instead of relaxing and taking it slowly, savoring each morsel as we had intended. At first I thought I just wanted to get up past the hustle and bustle of San Francisco, and then I'd settle down. But we made that milestone and still I felt an incessant tug to get further and further before chillaxing. Somewhere in the vicinity of Redwoods National Park in Northern California, I sat down next to a stream as the girls chased polliwogs, and tried to put my finger on why I felt so itchy to get further up the road. After a bit of self-reflection, the best guess I could theorize was some unconscious urge to get back to Oregon, land of my youth.<br>
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So on we marched up the coast. We briefly abandoned the coastal route to shoot inland over the border to The Oregon Caves, a charming gem, highly recommended. If you can plan ahead far enough to get reservations, stay at the Oregon Caves Chateau. It's an absolutely charming remnant from FDR's New Deal and public works projects, and one of only a few such fabulous hand-hewn lodges in Oregon, along with the lodge at Crater Lake and Timberline Lodge on Mt. Hood, all now part of the National Parks system, and all remarkable places, well worth the effort to seek them out. <br>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cave entrance to left, chateau to right, Clifricksons in the middle, sorry for lame exposure</td></tr>
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We opted for the much more affordable and delightfully empty and quiet Forest Service campground just down the road from the caves, a beautiful swath of woods next to a babbling stream.</div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The caves themselves are pretty cool, of course. Literally.</span><br>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We ducked back to the coast and continued north. Not far along we stopped at Humbug Mountain State Park. Kirstin found out why it's named Humbug Mountain after climbing the 3 miles to the top at sunrise to find it tree-covered, obscuring the view of anything but trees. Humbug.</span></div>
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Nice beach though.</div>
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And our campsite was rife with wild blackberries.</div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Further up the coast we found a bit of BLM land (free "dispersed" camping) right on the beach.</span><br>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Kirstin caught a bucketful of Dungeness crabs in the surf, but prior to boiling them we determined they were females and not legal for making into dinner, so we apologized to them for our mistake and returned them to the waves.</span><br>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Movie Night with popcorn in the trailer</td></tr>
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But the best thing that the Oregon coast held waiting for us was a reunion with some of our dear friends from Cali, wonderful people who embody the concept of "framily", and co-conspirators in ongoing development of our plan to establish a "compound" somewhere. Is there still some land available in Antelope?</div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">And lastly for now, just a couple bonus pics: <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset Bay, OR</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blueberry picking</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Forest Friends</td></tr>
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Scott Clifricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02563104431202243313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368138845350814044.post-58083317897123977132016-07-18T21:47:00.001-07:002016-07-18T21:49:31.222-07:00InstagramIf you haven't found it yet, you can also follow us on Instagram, and catch more photos and commentary about The Big Adventure from Kirstin's unique perspective at #afamilywalkabout.Scott Clifricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02563104431202243313noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368138845350814044.post-20182824521524208402016-07-18T14:02:00.002-07:002016-07-18T14:02:44.687-07:00Things We've LearnedThis is a work in progress and will be updated as we go along. So far:<br />
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1. How to do dishes with a <i>lot</i> less water.<br />
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2. Sand is fun. Like glitter. But it gets <i>everywhere</i>. Like glitter.</div>
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3. How to make cold brewed coffee<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> (see appropriately titled blog post)</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">.</span></div>
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4. How to steal water (see appropriately titled blog post).</div>
Scott Clifricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02563104431202243313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368138845350814044.post-62116878139164999922016-07-18T14:01:00.002-07:002016-07-18T14:01:44.124-07:00Things We MissThis is a work in progress and will be updated as we go along. Things we miss so far:<br />
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1. The king sized bed.</div>
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2. Looooong showers. That do not require a constant stream of quarters.</div>
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3. An adult-sized bathtub.</div>
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4. In-house laundry facilities.</div>
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Scott Clifricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02563104431202243313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368138845350814044.post-45047999573294531272016-07-18T14:01:00.000-07:002016-07-18T14:01:00.497-07:00Nor-CalI've always loved Northern California. It's beautiful and <i>way </i>less crowded than So-Cal. Giant trees, pastoral rolling hills, earthy agriculture, and gorgeous rugged coastline, interspersed with a network of roads-less-traveled, funky towns, and pockets of the Haves strewn throughout the broader spread of the Have-Nots.<br />
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We've attempted to alternate between paid campsites and more primitive low-cost or free alternatives as we wend our way north along California's coast. And we have been rewarded with a broad cross-section of experiences. </div>
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Oh, the interesting people you can meet! </div>
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We've been very pleased to meet a wide spread of wonderful and interesting people along our way, each on their own personal journey, each with their own fascinating story, and we've been humbled at the openness, kindness, and vulnerability we have encountered. No hedges, fences, yards, or walls separating you from the people just-over-there. How easy to strike up a conversation with your neighbor when their fire pit is but 20 feet from yours.</div>
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In only the last few days we have been privileged to cross paths, ever so briefly, with a former Olympic cyclist, a pair of world-traveling physical therapists, a beautiful young couple in search of an off-grid existence, Europeans experiencing our grand scope and scale, Canadians, and people without permanent domicile. People are so rich and interesting when you make the effort to find out.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bodega Dunes State Park. Where's Alexis? Climbing!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bodega Dunes State Park</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alexis climbing in Point Arena, CA</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Climbing the Redwoods</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where's Alexis?</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clam Beach, near Arcata, CA</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Petting a worm found in ear of corn at Farmers Market, Arcata</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fern Canyon</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Campsite near Crescent City. Note MATT in background...</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Polliwog found in Eel River near Redwoods National Park</td></tr>
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Scott Clifricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02563104431202243313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368138845350814044.post-11955441590571453152016-07-18T13:07:00.002-07:002016-07-18T13:07:36.225-07:00How To Make Cold BrewOne of the things we've learned along the road so far is how to make cold brewed coffee. Cold brew seems less bitter than normal coffee, and when prepped the night beforehand is ready and waiting in the morning. Of course, it's cold, which works better in some weather than in other. Cold mornings hanker for hot brew, but on warmish days, cold brew is the bomb! If you have ice, simply pour the cold brew on top for instant iced coffee.<br />
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If you have a French press, making cold brew is uber simple. Fill your French press with the appropriate amounts of coarse ground coffee and water (four to five scoops of grounds in ours, then fill with water), set it aside, and then 8-12 hours later press the French press presser-thingie. Voila! Room-temp coffee without the need to boil water or anything!</div>
Scott Clifricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02563104431202243313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368138845350814044.post-16975874633787639452016-07-07T17:59:00.000-07:002016-07-18T14:09:52.849-07:00Big Sur<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Funny story: A year ago we had no idea that we were going on our Big Adventure. We had no plans or serious interest in procuring an RV. One of our good friends invited our eclectic gaggle of friends to go camping in Big Sur in the following summer (this year), over 4th of July. You have to plan such things way out or there is no way to get reserved camping. So we jumped on it. We wanted to camp close to our friends, and the closest camping spot happened to be an RV spot, which we really didn't care about, but as it was the closest space we reserved it. Little did we know that one year later that little camp spot would end up being our Big Adventure launch pad. </div>
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Five days and seven families out playing in the woods. We broke out some chem-light glowsticks for the kids to throw around on the evening of the 4th. That's as close as we got to fireworks.</div>
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Big Sur is a remarkable stretch of coastline. If you've never been there, then think of any car commercial you've ever seen with a long helicopter shot of a shiny car zooming along serpentine cliffs above a rugged coastline, and then over a spectacular arched bridge. That's Big Sur. That and the giant Redwoods. Spectacular.</div>
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I've done a fair bit of camping in my lifetime, but this trip was unique for me. Oddly, it's the first time I've ever gone camping with more than a couple of good friends; the first time I've gone camping with multiple full-on families. </div>
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There is something really remarkable about spending more than a brief period of time in a place where phones, email, Facebook, etc. don't work. </div>
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And there is something remarkable about spending that kind of time with good friends. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alexis</td></tr>
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For us Big Sur was a bittersweet unofficial point of debarkation for the Big Adventure - for reals this time! We had managed to put off many, but not all, tears as we rolled out of Livermore, headed for Monterey and Big Sur, telling ourselves and friends that it's not goodbye yet, we'll see you in Big Sur! But at the end of Big Sur, the inevitable goodbyes could no longer be avoided. Teary hugs, puffy eyes, and runny makeup. </div>
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Although, even that blow was softened a bit when we started booking camp spots for 2-6 July 2017!</div>
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<br />Scott Clifricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02563104431202243313noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368138845350814044.post-32948409697186132222016-07-01T23:20:00.001-07:002016-07-18T14:09:04.843-07:00Goodbye, sweet LaceyFourteen years ago I adopted a new family member: a two-year old Border Collie named Lacey who was a 'rescue'. I never learned anything about her first two years of life beyond the physical and emotional scars that she bore. Much love and patience helped her overcome most of her traumas and blossom into a sweet, playful, loving, four-legged girl.<br />
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There are two kinds of pet owners: those who treat their pets as possessions, taken out to play with when the owner wants to play with them, and then pushed outside or into a garage the rest of the time; and then there are the pet owners who consider and treat their animals as companions and as full-fledged members of the family. Lacey was a furry daughter to us.</div>
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She was always ready for fun of any kind, be it a long hike, or catching frisbees six feet over her head. She could jump! More than anything, though, she loved the ocean, and she would race up and down the beach or out into the waves until she was absolutely, completely, exhausted.<br />
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But time takes its toll on us all. And sweet Lacey, who was ever a puppy at heart, was an old lady in dog years. Her body could no longer bear the march of time, and she left us a year and a half ago.</div>
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We had her cremated. And we kept her ashes ever with us. Maybe we weren't ready to let her go yet.</div>
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Today we took her back to the place where she was the happiest I ever remember seeing her, Asilomar Beach, just south of Monterey, the city where Lacey became part of our family. We took her ashes there, said words of remembrance and love, cried yet again, and spread her ashes in the sea.</div>
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Goodbye, faithful friend. May we all meet again in the next life.<br />
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Scott Clifricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02563104431202243313noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368138845350814044.post-23646470075169766262016-07-01T09:12:00.001-07:002016-07-18T14:07:57.577-07:00Day Two - MontereyMonterey is a special place to our family. I lived and worked here for many years while in the military. It's where Kirstin and I met and hit it off. It's a magnificent outdoorsie playground with the ocean and a ton of hiking and biking options at hand. And it's just a darn cute little town.<br />
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There's a campground run by the city in Veterans Park that we head for, hoping to score a spot. It's first come first served with no reservations allowed and a maximum stay of three days, so there's a pretty steady turnover and odds of getting a place are good if you get there early enough.</div>
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We arrive and score our favorite spot in the park, one we've stayed in several times before, Campsite 34. It's beautifully nestled right into the forest.<br />
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We make camp and then go for an exploratory hike through the woods. Beware the poison oak!<br />
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For lunch we head to my favorite Mexican restaurant in the world, Turtle Bay. During the years that I lived overseas, I found it exceedingly difficult to find acceptable Mexican food. Forget finding <i>good</i> Mexican fare. And in those times that I found myself craving Mexican, the only place I would dream about was Turtle Bay. Thus, no trip to Monterey is complete without at least one meal there.</div>
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Their cuisine is more Baja than typical Americanized Mexican, which suits Monterey's maritime placement and availability of off-the-boat-fresh fish well. Lots of seafood options. I highly recommend their Seafood Combo Quesadilla. Insanely good. And if you love spicy, they have a housemade habanero salsa at the self-serve salsa bar that is fantastic! </div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Living inland for the last several years, we have all become fairly acclimated to the unpleasant summer temperatures (110F+ a few days just prior to our departure) so the cooler seaside temps, coupled with a light breeze, incite our children to proclaim that they are in danger of freezing to death. We wrap them up in the clothing we've brought for winter. The thermometer reads 55F. We have raised "California" girls. Time to change that up.</span></div>
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We spend the afternoon walking and exploring the scenic trail that runs along the ocean south from Lovers Point in Pacific Grove. Ah, the ocean, breathe it deep!</div>
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After dinner we snuggle by the fire, and then retire to MATT's furnace-warmed comfiness. <br />
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A beautiful day in a special place.</div>
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Scott Clifricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02563104431202243313noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368138845350814044.post-40173060457693309542016-06-30T08:38:00.000-07:002016-07-18T14:07:21.248-07:00Day One - The Big Adventure is Live!<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Seven and a half weeks we've been living in the trailer, waiting for the school year to end and tying up a myriad of loose ends and details. Like a new truck. For instance.</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Seven and a half weeks ago we each harbored our separate doubts and misgivings about the path we have set our eyes upon.</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Six and a half weeks we have been Driveway Surfing with our lovely, dear friends, sharing life much more closely and getting to know them better than would otherwise ever have been likely or possible. </span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">But all is now prepared. And over the last few weeks our trepidation and fears have been entirely replaced with a growing sense of urgency to Come On and Get The Show On The Road!</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We had decided to start our journey with a bang, and for our Day One destination picked Gilroy Gardens, a theme park targeted specifically at our girls' age group. We thought it might be wise to front load some extra fun for the girls, and it worked. They were giddy with anticipation.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We pack the last few things. We give long, tearful hugs farewell. </span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We hit the road. Gilroy Gardens, here we come!</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">A beautiful day for a drive! A couple of pit stops later, and there it is, looming ahead! We pull into the ginormous parking lot, two minutes before the gates open. I circle like a shark, trying to discern the perfect place to park Ruby and MATT. We slide in and stop. I hop out to unload the kiddos and then I hear a sssssssss sound that can only be a snake that never needs to inhale, or a punctured tire that is going flat. Sure enough, there's a big fat screw in one of Ruby's brand new tires. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Remember my saying we wanted to start the trip with a bang? Mission accomplished!</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We change the tire and get about the business that we came for. Fun is had. By day's end we are all exhausted, our fun reserves replenished.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Food, warm showers, cuddles. A beautiful start for the Big Adventure.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">This is what I find most interesting about today: I predict it to be a perfectly foreshadowed synopsis of our whole trip yet to come: excitement to get going, trials and tribulations, problem solving, fun and excitement, exhaustion, and at the end warm showers, full bellies, and cuddles. Time will tell.</span></div>
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Scott Clifricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02563104431202243313noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368138845350814044.post-76682607972455473822016-06-20T22:38:00.001-07:002016-06-21T22:46:41.617-07:00Stinky Slinky MisadventuresOnce we had determined to take the path we are now upon, and being that a Travel Trailer Recreational Vehicle is central to our plan, and further, given that none of us had any direct experience with these beasts except to see them in the wild as they traversed the Interstates, I determined that it would be wise to learn everything possible about their proper care and feeding as quickly as possible. And The Internet provided.<div><br></div><div>The most amusing thing that I learned as I smartened myself up about all things RV, is that the large diameter flexible hose that is used to transfer the "Black Water" (poop! and anything else you put in your toilet) from your RV to an appropriate sewer receptacle entry point, is, in fact, generally referred to and known as the "stinky slinky". Maybe it's the part of me that refused to grow up all the way, but something in me finds this nomenclature tirelessly amusing. In use, one end attaches with a sturdy bayonet mount to the RV "out" port, and the other end, on ours anyway, has a 90 degree elbow on the other end that screws to an adapter that then screws into a variety of different sewer inputs.</div><div><br></div><div> A brief aside. Tonight while dining with friends, Dan the Fireman related a story about his neophyte Fireman Trainee days when one of their tasks was to "tame" a firehose that was whipping about under pressure. This story jogged a memory...</div><div><br></div><div>No kidding, there I was, at another RV dump station. I had done this several times by now and considered myself Fully Qualified for Duty. Fully Qualified for Dootie as it turns out. </div><div><br></div><div>This particular dump station lacked a tight fitting sewer connection for my stinky slinky, and just had a big square hole in the ground. No problem, I thought, just line everything up and put the hose opening right there in the middle. Good to go. </div><div><br></div><div>Remember how I said ours has a 90 degree elbow? </div><div><br></div><div>I was never a fireman, and my experience with hoses under pressure is pretty much limited to the green type used to water the garden. So I completely failed to anticipate what happened next...what happens when you suddenly release 20 gallons of raw sewage through a 4 inch hose that is not secured at the end. </div><div><br></div><div>Imagine a giant cobra standing up to look at you. While vomiting 20 gallons of raw sewage.</div><div><br></div><div>It's embarrassing, because it was my own noobie fault. Normally I keep such embarrassments on a need-to-know basis. But I'm putting it out here in hopes that learning from my misadventure will save some other noobie from the same mistake. Maybe some day I will regale grandchildren with the tale of how grandpa once tamed a sewage-spewing firehose. In that version of the story, I think it will be someone else's hose and I just happened to be passing by.</div><div><br></div><div>Epilogue: Yes, I did in fact have to lay hands on the monster in its throes. It was a split second decision made to save the surrounding ecosystem. Not sure I'd make the same choice again. Nature is resilient.</div>Scott Clifricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02563104431202243313noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368138845350814044.post-20505538363739333982016-06-18T18:25:00.000-07:002016-06-18T18:25:03.468-07:00How To Change The WorldI know how to change the world! <br />
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I have conceived one (huge) change that would directly impact many of our modern world's ills: water shortage, lack of affordable housing, excessive trash and pollution, and <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">ridiculous </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">accretion of personal stuff.</span></div>
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Living in a tiny house on wheels has afforded me both a new world perspective and more free time to cogitate upon it.<br />
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We expected the tiny life of the tiny mobile house to leave an indelible mark upon us, and I can already feel this beginning. Having your own, personal, self-contained, electrical, fresh, and dirty water systems, one becomes acutely aware of how much water or electricity you're using; where, when and how to get more; how much waste you are producing, and the steps you must routinely take to dispose of it. You become much more efficient at using less, when you know that all you have is X number of gallons of fresh water, and X gallons of space for the "used" water. You turn off unnecessary electrical draws when you know that you only have 132 AmpHours usable juice in your batteries, running the Vitamix for 6 minutes uses 22 AmpHours, and you can only generate 60 AmpHours per day with your solar panels. On sunny days.<br />
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And the other thing, living in a small, mobile space makes you highly aware of Your Stuff. You only have a small place to store it, so you become much more judicious about what you really need. When your space is full, if you want a new widget, well then, something else has to go! Like nomads of yore who bore their possessions upon their backs as they roamed, every possession is evaluated carefully for its worth. Do you really need a walk-in closet full of clothes? No. You do not. <br />
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If everyone were as aware of their systemic inputs and outputs as those living in a not-plugged-in RV, oh my, would not our populous be thriftier and more efficient in their consumptions? Sadly, probably not...were it a voluntary affair.</div>
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But were compliance with a brave new world of minimized environmental impacts instead not voluntary, but mandatory, what a dramatically different place we would inhabit! One change could effect it all: Outlaw conventional housing, and mandate tiny houses for everyone!</div>
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In one fell swoop the masses would become acutely aware of what it takes to live, day to day, far more in tune with their impact on the world. (And far less able to do damage on a personal level).<br />
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I see two problems with all of this though. The big thing, of course, is that no one would go for it. The only way it could ever happen is if it were forced by circumstances beyond our control. So, the Zombie Apocalypse or such.<br />
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The second problem: Just imagine the waiting line at the RV dump station :-/</div>
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Scott Clifricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02563104431202243313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368138845350814044.post-69313036278207349782016-06-16T06:20:00.000-07:002016-07-18T14:06:34.688-07:00Weigh Thy Stuff!<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal;">
I'm the kind of guy who reads the manual when I get a new widget. Being that guy, I am well aware of the capacities and limitations specified by the manufacturers of both our trailer and our tow vehicle BOB (Beast Of Burden), our Toyota Sienna AWD van. We love BOB. Her towing capacity matches the trailer's max weight, so if fully loaded we're topped out, but still within specification. But how does one ensure you're staying within these limits? There's really only one way: Weigh Thy Stuff!</div>
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We had planned to weigh MATT and BOB just before the movers packed all of our stuff up, so we could easily offload anything on the off chance we needed to. In all the packing/cleaning/fixing/moving chaos, however, we neglected to get a pre-move weight.</div>
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Can you guess where this is going?</div>
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Yes. When we finally did get weighed, after the movers were gone, we were overweight. And overweight for both the trailer and for the GCWR for the van, which meant we couldn't simply move weight from the trailer to the van. We had to lose weight completely. 500 pounds. And the hardest part of this was that I couldn't see any way to do it that did not include ditching our bikes. </div>
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Some perspective on what this means to us: Asking our family to travel North America without our collection of highly functional, but weighty, bikes would be like asking a diver to go to the Great Barrier Reef but not dive, a climber to go to the Alps and just look, or a photographer to go anywhere without their camera. We are a bicycling family, and we could not envision the Big Adventure sans bikes.</div>
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Kirstin refused. She said we had to find another solution. </div>
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We pondered and thought, deliberated and evaluated, and then she suggested something I had not considered, because I didn't think it was within the realm of possibility: replace BOB with something that will handle more weight, and then offload the extra weight from the trailer, including the bikes, to the tow vehicle.</div>
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We love BOB. The kids love BOB. We had always thought we would drive BOB into the dirt. But faced with giving up the bikes, well...so long old friend.</div>
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And hello new friend!</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SqdNMKhH3Go/V2KnPC2aFmI/AAAAAAAAAA8/uaN_-sFz__Ydj6dM9Yuk70FT4_bneKVAACK4B/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SqdNMKhH3Go/V2KnPC2aFmI/AAAAAAAAAA8/uaN_-sFz__Ydj6dM9Yuk70FT4_bneKVAACK4B/s400/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Meet Ruby.</div>
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So the moral of the story is this: Unless you want to end up with a sparkly, shiny, new truck, replete with fun doodads, and a big manual describing how to use them all, be sure to Weigh Thy Stuff!</div>
Scott Clifricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02563104431202243313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368138845350814044.post-41578381773416542662016-06-09T06:45:00.000-07:002016-06-15T06:24:58.671-07:00Driveway SurfingTrailer outfitted and provisioned? Check.<br>
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House packed up, cleaned and empty? Check.<br>
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House rented out and tenants moved in? Check.<br>
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Get up and go? Not quite yet. As of move-out-from-house-time, our eldest daughter had about a month of school left in the school year. We decide this is a good thing because this affords us the opportunity to ease ourselves into the trailer as a full-time abode, and also be close by our house to suss out any hiccups for our tenants. <br>
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Ah, but where to park the trailer while we're still living in town? Friends' driveways, of course! Seriously, we are so grateful for friends who are willing to tolerate us well beyond the 3-day rule that's typically reserved for in-laws. And we've been humbled by the number of people who have stepped up and invited us to spend time with them. In an effort to share the love, we've been rotating our whereabouts every several days, and it is so heartwarming to more intimately join in with our friends' lives, sharing meals and hanging out while kiddos play together. And come bedtime, we just scoot back to our little mobile bungalow and cozy up in MATT. <div><br></div><div>Driveway surfing!<br>
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<br></div>Scott Clifricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02563104431202243313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368138845350814044.post-72972750103374419542016-06-07T14:57:00.001-07:002016-06-07T14:57:54.532-07:00The PlanMaking the jump from dream to reality is best accomplished with some forethought and organization, ergo, a plan. Our plan was inspired by the story of another family that had made a similar leap. Their story involved quitting their day jobs, selling their house and most of their possessions, buying an Airstream, and heading out to visit all 400 US National Parks. If they could swing that, why not us, right? So the initial elements of our plan began with finding a trailer that would do what we need it to do, divesting ourselves of extraneous possessions, outfitting the trailer, deciding where to go and what to do, deciding how long to do it for, tying up loose ends, and going!<br />
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First, the issue of "how long". When I was in middle-school, I had an English teacher who provided a most unorthodox answer to the inevitable question of "How long does this paper need to be?" Unlike every previous teacher who measured success in a certain number of written pages, this particular educator replied, "It should be the length of a woman's skirt: Long enough to cover the subject, but short enough to keep it interesting." This concept has stuck with me through the years. We decided that if a woman's skirt were a road trip intended to explore North America, it might be about a year long. But to be on the safe side we agreed that the skirt should be made of spandex to afford a generous degree of flexibility, should we decide once we get out there that the correct skirt length is actually only six months. Or maybe three years. Flexibility is good. <br />
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The trailer. Our envisioned expedition called for something small, light, durable, yet fully functional. A small house on wheels. Definitely not a huge trailer that's relegated only to RV parks and campgrounds that can accommodate such behemoths. We want to spend time in the middle of the deep, dark woods, as well as in the hustle and bustle of humanity. A smaller trailer goes more places. But you can't go too small, or you give up certain things, like an indoor kitchen, or a toilet and shower. At that point what you have is a glorified tent, not a tiny house on wheels. A lot of research got me focused on molded fiberglass trailers, e.g. Scamp, Casita, etc. A lot more research narrowed it down to the Escape brand, built in British Columbia. Very well built trailers, with excellent customer support, highly customizable by the factory, and fairly priced, especially if you're paying in US dollars, due to the current exchange rates. The only problem was that we had committed ourselves to The Plan about eight months before intended execution, but due to their popularity, Escape trailers require about a year lead time to order a new one from the factory. Used units were also difficult to come by because of high demand. Searching the For Sale adverts became a daily routine, in hopes that one would pop up. And The Fates came through. A family in Washington put up for sale their five-year-old yet pristine and almost never used Escape 17B, outfitted almost to a T as I would have done myself. Within hours of their post we had talked and agreed to terms. A road trip from Cali to Washington and back and we had it! It has everything you could want in a tiny portable home: kitchen with fridge, small bath, sleeping space for four, storage for stuff, big batteries to run stuff and solar panels to charge them, air-conditioning if it's hot, a furnace, double-pane windows, and extra thermal insulation if it's cold. But WOW, it is tiny! "It'll go places that a giant trailer won't fit," we say. "Less is more," we remind ourselves. We dub our tiny little home MATT, for Maximum Adventure Travel Trailer. We decide that contrary to normal naming convention, MATT is a girl, as her role and function is that of comfort, nurture and support. Not only are all my immediate family members female, but so are our anthropomorphized possessions. I have not yet decided if this is a good thing or not.<br />
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Divesting possessions. For many years Kirstin and I have struggled to free ourselves from extraneous possessions. "Less is more," we regularly say to each other. "The things you own, end up owning you," we channel from Fight Club. Over the last several years we have definitely decluttered, and redistributed many, many things to the world. But at a certain point it gets hard. For me that's somewhere between "that is a <i>useful </i>widget" and "that is a <i>sentimental </i>widget". So we committed ourselves to combing through everything one more time. We made stacks and piles of stuff in the guest room, the living room, and outside next to the garage. We set aside some special items to gift to friends and family. We scheduled a garage sale. We put things out on the curb labeled "free". And at the end of it all, we donated everything that was left to a local charity. <br />
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But there's still a household full of stuff, and it needed to go somewhere, because it won't fit in the trailer! This is another place where The Fates smiled, because one of the benefits of my military retirement is that they will pack up and store our household goods <i>for up to six years</i>, and then deliver it where we ask them to, all as part of our final military move. I consider it payback for all the other times they made us move every few years. So we scheduled the movers, who dutifully showed up, packed up all our remaining possessions, and drove off with them, ostensibly to a climate-controlled warehouse. Hopefully not to a thrift store. <br />
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Still, one of the life-lessons we hope to take to the next level during our walkabout, as individuals and as a family, is a deeper understanding of how unimportant and unnecessary both those useful and sentimental widgets truly are. Spend a year without them and they're probably not all that essential, are they? Perhaps this will be my final hurdle to cut the ties with a lot more stuff that I've been lugging around for years.<br />
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Where to go. This is a unique trip for all of us. It's the first time that any of us have had the freedom to go wherever, for as long as we'd like, without a hard finish time. Every normal vacation has an end date, then it's back to work or school or whatever. Lack of such constraints for us has largely removed the temptation to rush ourselves, or limit ourselves to checking things off a list of "must see" places. It affords us the opportunity to immerse ourselves in a place until we're ready to experience a new place. This is really more commentary on "how to go" than "where to go", but the two intertwine closely. Our "where" list can be summarized into the categories of Friends and Family, Scenic/Historic Places, and Places We Might Want To Move To Afterwards. It's a meandering list of the people and places we've never been to, or yearned to go back to, or want to share with our kiddos and so expand their lives and understanding of the world. We have deliberately avoided a hard schedule because we want to be able to stay longer or go earlier, or go somewhere new that we didn't know about until we discovered it. Explore. Experience deeply. These are our objectives, and this is why our itinerary is irritatingly vague to our friends and family.<br />
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If a blog entry were a woman's skirt, then surely this blog entry would be part of a nun's habit. One final note for now though. When one has children part of any big life event such as this, is getting them onboard. We introduced the idea from the beginning as a big adventure, and that is what it has become for us all. The trip itself has a name: The Big Adventure. And undoubtedly if it has a gender, you can guess what it is.Scott Clifricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02563104431202243313noreply@blogger.com1