Mazatlan – Day 7

Posted on October 6, 2013 by Jerrie Cate

Here it is, our last day in this paradise. Tomorrow at noon the shuttle will extract us from this place and deposit us at the airport for our flight home. It’s always such a surprise how time speeds up as the end of something pleasant nears. It’s kind of like a tether ball that winds round and round the pole, faster and faster as the tether gets shorter. All the sudden, BOOM, it stops, and you bang your head against the pole because you forgot it was there.

Then it unwinds the other direction and, as the tether gets longer, we get lulled into a false sense of security. Then it speeds up, again, spinning faster and faster until you hit the other side of your head. It’s a never ending cycle of winding and unwinding, over and over … it is my understanding that sane people have really tall poles and exceptionally long tethers so the trip is more leisurely and less traumatic at the end.

With help, and the right kind of medicinal know how, we can control, to some extent, how high our pole goes, and how long the tether is. I was thinking of getting a T-shirt made with the words “How tall is your pole?”, or “How long is your tether?”, or “How long is your pole?”, or “How tall is your tether?” I haven’t talked with Diane about that, yet, but I already know that she doesn’t like that plan. So, I won’t do it. We could, however, vote on our favorites.

Most of the time I have a short tether on a short pole making life a little jittery and quite exciting. Caffeine intensifies the experience.

In truth, my vacation ended yesterday when I ran out of imported coffee creamer. This morning I concocted a concoction of lactose free milk mixed with both white and brown sugar. It’s kind of weird, but will have to do. At least it’s the right khaki color. That’s really the most important part, you know. Taste is secondary.

While at the deli yesterday afternoon, purchasing our yoghurt con frutas y cereales for this morning’s breakfast, another guest noticed my Oregon hat and asked if I wanted to know what the half time score was to the Oregon vs. Colorado game. I said sure, then he made me guess. I said 42-3, Oregon. It was really 42-12, Oregon. I thought that was a pretty good guess. The Ducks won 57-16, so their roll continues. I don’t know how the Beavers did, or even if they played. The Beavers, for those of you unfamiliar with college football in Oregon, is the Oregon State team. The Ducks belong to the University of Oregon. The guest who told me the score went to UCLA, but he considered me an ally since we’re both Pac-12 fans.

Diane’s got the makings of a cold this morning. She’s hacking and coughing, mostly because the contents of her head are draining into her lungs. That’s not a good thing to happen. What doesn’t help is when she reads a lot because she gets emotionally wrapped up in the characters, sharing their victories and defeats, crying and laughing as the plot unwinds. She shares these moments with me and makes it necessary that I put these books on my “To Read” list, even though they are Nora Roberts novels. That’s not a bad thing … I enjoy Nora once in a while because they are just fun to read. Right now I’m reading the “The Complete Sherlock Holmes” by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Robert Ryan. It’s 3768 pages long in portrait mode, and 6727 long in landscape mode. I’m 1191 pages into it in landscape mode, and 664 in portrait mode. It’s wearing me out. I just finished “The Hound of the Baskervilles”.

It’s much later, now, 1409 to be exact. We went out on the beach at 1030, and stayed there picking up shells, wandering around, and getting more than our share of sun to the point where it began to hurt. We (I) took a colander from the kitchen utensils so we (I) could sift the sand from the shells and beach glass. It worked pretty well and I’m sure management won’t mind that a little used thing like that was put to such good use.

When the heat really started getting to us, we made our way back to our assigned lounge chairs, on which we left out towels, then took a dip in the pool to cool off. It was awesome. I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned that they use a saline solution in the pools instead of caustic chemicals like bromide or chlorine. Consequently, it’s got a little salty flavor to it which I believe is intentional to cover up the fact that most people pee in the pools, even the adult pool. Maybe more to the point, “Especially” the adult pool, because it’s got a swim up bar and I’ve watched a lot of people spend an entire afternoon sitting on one of those submerged bar stools, slugging down one kind of drink or another, and never leave their seat. You’ll never convince me that there’s no way all of those folks could sit there for that long and not have to pee. Couple that with the fact that the pool water is always a bit warmer near the bar, and I believe my case is made. People pee in pools, and it’s OK because down here it doesn’t alter the chemical flavor of the water. This brings up the question about how does, like, everyone in the world, know that urine is salty? The answer, of course, is that at some point in our lives we found it necessary to taste it.

At this very point in time, we’re sitting at a table in the deli, eating our ham and swiss sandwiches, that was heated up like a panini. Here’s a picture of Diane eating here. She doesn’t know I took the picture, so I’m going to be in trouble for sure. But, that’s nothing new.

This is our big meal of the day, and only the second real meal we’ve had down here. The other one was at the restaurant in town. We actually talked about taking the shuttle back down there for another meal, but vetoed it because of the hour we’d have to spend in the shuttle. So, we opted for the deli. The other choices were two restaurants at opposing ends of the compound, one near us and the other far, far away. Too far to walk in this heat. That, plus the deli has wi-fi, a necessary piece of technology that we find to be an important aspect of our lives.

We’ve heard from sources in Western Idaho that Maryssa has signed a letter of intent to play softball on scholarship at Eastern Oregon University in La Grande, Oregon. We’re happy for her, and proud of her, whoever she is. We think it’s someone Steffani and Bob know. Maybe Jim and Donna, and probably Jeff, Heather, Jennifer, Daniel, Cedric, Lydia, Jeran, Gilligan, Baylee, Jack, and Wynette, too.

Here’s one you’ll like … on the way back from the beach, we passed one of the many waterfall fed coy pools around the property, but this one had a sign that read “Please do not feed the fish tank”. I found that amusing. Feed the fish tank. They should have other signs all over the place telling people to “Don’t feed the iguanas”. Those guys are all over the place. A small herd of them hang out on the balcony near our room which bothers Diane a bit. It’s got to be hard to be an iguana because they are some homely beasts. I demonstrated to Diane that, in spite of their appearance, they are timid and will not attack unless provoked. Thankfully, we were just outside our room and Diane had the foresight to bring bandages, so I didn’t lose too much blood. I suspect the maids will be a little miffed about the mess on the floor near the elevator, though.

Time to stop, and reflect. Tomorrow we check out and fly back home so I don’t suspect I will be adding to this until we get there. You’ll all just have to wait, on pins and needles, if you wish, to find out how this ends …

Mazatlan – Day 5

Posted on October 4, 2013 by Jerrie Cate

The TVs provided for our use are rather small for the size of the room. They are flat panel units with little tinny speakers and they are enclosed in a unit that makes the sound echo a bit. So, for old ears, it’s a challenge. Last night, while we were watching “Elementary”, Diane asked, “Do you think the sound is bad because the picture is smaller?” I couldn’t immediately answer because that thought was running around in my head and it made sense, causing me concern. Then I committed a grave error, and laughed, because it was funny. Thankfully, she laughed, too, so it was OK. Forever more I will equate sound quality to the size of the picture.

This morning Jack woke me up by arguing with me about how to take apart some kind of apparatus we needed to take apart for some obscure reason. He had a hammer and attempted to take a swing at it to do the job, but I was able to stop him by turning the apparatus over to show him the bolt I had inserted so the halves of it wouldn’t fall apart. Then he tried to swing the hammer at the bolt. All this time he was being semi-restrained by two people I’ve never seen before, but not restrained enough to keep him from being pretty scary with the hammer. When stopped from hitting the bolt with the hammer, he got out a very sharp knife with the intent of using it to separate the halves. It was obvious that he was intent on completing the job, but I disagreed with his methods, which is unusual because it is I who normally relies on Jack to provide the necessary methods for getting pretty much anything done.

When he came up with the knife I’m afraid I yelled at him and said some pretty terrible things because it woke me up and cause Diane enough concern that she extricated herself from my vicinity to the relative safety of the living room. I as aware of her departure, though I was not completely awake, then I lay there for another 10-15 minutes in a twilight kind of sleep trying to reconcile what had just happened. Unable to do that, I finally got up and crept into the living room, sneaking up behind Diane, who knew I was there the entire time. And, she wasn’t mad at me. So, the day begins on a positive not after all. It was 0742.

Diane had a couple of the windows open to let the fresh air in because the is very little humidity this morning. I opened the other five and we are enjoying the sound of waves crashing violently on the beach. The tide is obviously high because the water is rolling all the way up to the grass berm which is about six feet above the water level. We’re located on a very wide cove and the waves start rolling in at an angle, on the southern end, where we are, and continue north, sweeping up the steep beach at a very fast pace toward the resorts north of us. I suspect we can see about 4-5 miles of beach from our windows, so it’s quite a show. Very peaceful, and serene.

This early in the morning is the time maintenance crews get busy with pool cleaning and ensuring chemical levels are correct. One of the young men who do this carries bottles of “something” in the cargo pockets of his shorts and they make a distinct clanking sound as he walks. Diane has dubbed him the ‘man with the noisy pants.’ It’s a good description. You always know when he’s around.

Yesterday afternoon Diane and I went to the deli, for their free wi-fi, so I could submit my entry to the world, and check our respective email accounts. I worked very hard to add some pictures for your viewing enjoyment, then published the entry, and it just disappeared. It appeared that I was going to have to recreate the entire narrative, a depressing prospect since I cannot recreate anything like that. It would be totally different, I know it would. Thankfully, however, I worried about it long enough for Diane’s email to refresh and there it was in her email, nice and complete. That was a relief for sure.

Then Diane headed off to the adult pool while there was still a little daylight remaining. I stayed a bit longer to check my email, and to see if the government had figured out some way of stopping my pay check. They hadn’t so I closed up and followed after a short time.

As I was going down to the infinity pool, I noticed a few birds floating on the incoming sea breeze, and my gaze was drawn higher, and higher, to an entire herd composed of hundreds of birds. No one in the vicinity knew what kind they were, but the way they soared reminded me of hawks and eagles. They obviously weren’t hawks or eagles, but they flew like them, rising on the currents, then circling around behind he pack, and working back to the front, always floating on the air a few hundred feet up, facing the setting sun. Looking at them made me think they were gathered, and circling, waiting for something to die so they could rush in a devour it. Or, perhaps they were just gathered, as were we land based humans, to watch another ho-hum Mexican Riviera Sunset.

After joining Diane in the adult pool, where she was the only occupant until my arrival, we watched the birds for a long time. They are fascinating to watch. Finally, another couple came to the pool and I asked if they knew what kind of birds they were. Turns out the ‘new’ folks are natives and very friendly. The gentleman explained that they call the birds scissor gaviotas. I’m pretty sure that’s the term he used. The scissor part refers to their tail which just out like a pair of open scissors and they can move them in a scissors fashion to control parts of their flight. Turns out they are related to seagulls in some way, but they are black. We were told there are also white gaviotas, too.

We watched a bit of news before retiring, to see if members of congress have decided to start making smart choices instead of promoting their own agendas. We saw the bit about the Connecticut lady who tried to ram the White House barrier, then sped away and was finally caught and shot, though she didn’t have a weapon. Interesting, and sad. Then there was a clip of Representative “Nuem-somethingorother” who was berating a park ranger about not letting people into one of the national parks which had been closed because THE GOVERNMENT IS SHUT DOWN, YOU DOLT! He was telling her she should be ashamed to be a park ranger for not letting people in. This guy is obviously an idiot and it concerns me that our government seems to be made up of more people like that than is healthy for us. Scary, huh?

Now it’s 0915 and time to get busy with another relaxing day. Diane wants to go to the deli to get a $7 loaf of bread so we can have toast tomorrow, Sunday, and Monday, as well as another imported tuna sandwich, and perhaps an imported PB&J, somewhere along the way. I think when we get home next week we’re going to have a hard time getting back into the habit of eating a hot meal once in a while. We feel really good just nibbling our way through the day.

Before I forget, Diane discovered another thing that makes this resort really special. How many places have you stayed in your life where they include a bra dryer? Not many, I’ll bet. Well, we have one here …

I suspect all the other rooms have them, too. Pretty cool, huh?

You’ve probably already figured out that I’m going to be in deep dark trouble for that one, but just couldn’t pass it up.

We’re currently sitting in the deli, plugged in, checking email, etc. We have our home phone through Comcast so were able to listen to all of our voice mails, too. Just can’t (won’t) respond to them until we get home. Someone else just left a message while I was sitting here. Isn’t technology wonderful?

Time to get some lunch, now. Eating a real meal yesterday kinda ruined us, making us feel like it’s actually necessary to eat larger amounts more often. So, guess we’ll go see what’s cooking at the Sunset Grill.

Mazatlan – Day 1

Posted on September 30, 2013 by Jerrie Cate

It’s currently about 0705 this wonderful Monday morning, and we are high in the air somewhere over Oregon, heading south to LA.
The morning began awfully early, mainly because the evening ended far later than we had planned, but it all worked out. I opted to leave my CPAP in the other bag, in the vehicle, because it’s been a long time since I’ve snored all night long, and Diane was missing it. So, I was able to adequately keep both of us awake for a good portion of the night.

When we arrived at the hotel I conferred with Diane as to whether or not we should have a wake up call and she thought 0330 would be a good time to ensure we made the 0400 shuttle to the airport for our 0530 flight. Once in the room, however, she had a change of heart after rediscovering that our flight didn’t leave until 0640. With this new information in hand we agreed that we could push our wake up call all the way out to 0430 for the 0500 shuttle. I called the front desk and made the necessary changes.

It turns out that not all of the people who work at the hotel are on speaking terms because because we received a wake up call at 0330 and again at 0430. The second one was unnecessary because we stayed up after the first one. Consequently, we were more than ready to leave.

The guy behind us on the shuttle who’s accent pegged him as someone from Boston, New York, or New Jersey area, apparently spends his time flying from golf course to golf course, and he hasn’t had time to expand his vocabulary to deliver descriptive narrative without the use of some pretty base vulgarities. It was an educational trip.

At the airport we participated in two different lines that, combined, represented a very large portion of the greater Portland/Vancouver area. The first line was to check our food bag. It weighed in at 52.8 pounds which qualified it for a larger fee than the $20 Diane had already paid for. I was prepared to toss out a few cans of soup, but the attendant said, “that’s OK, I’ll let it go.” I think she allowed it because I didn’t argue with her. Sweet.

The second line was for security, a much larger line, but it moved quickly, which pleasantly surprised both of us. After getting all our clothing back on we went directly to the Starbucks which was directly ahead of us. Neither of us had had our morning coffee so we were in dire need.

Diane went to secure us a table while I inserted myself in the Starbucks line. Directly in front of me was a very attractive, well endowed young lady who was not the least bit afraid of displaying the talents God had provided for her. Over her shoulder hung a large pink bag attached to which was a very large, sparkly pin that spelled out “Victoria’s Secrets”. Since I was breathing, and blood coursed through my not yet constricted arteries, I was obviously interested in her story. So, I asked her if the bag indicated a vocation, or if it was simply a really neat bag. She flashed me a brilliant smile and said, “no, I just came home to get my ‘rain fix’, and I’m heading back to San Diego.” She’s from Vancouver and is attending the University of San Diego. Nice girl. I didn’t get a chance to ask her what she intended to be when she grew up, but it just didn’t seem necessary to ask at the time.

For coffee, I got my normal Venti WCMNW and Diane got a Venti CM. The attendant mistook the NW addendum to include both drinks, but that’s OK because you always get a little bit more that way. I also got a banana nut muffin which we shared. It was all very good.

We proceeded to gate C-4 and took a seat until almost everyone had boarded. We were destined for seats 9-A & B. A young man named Colin was sitting in seat C, the isle seat. He was reading a real book, not an electronic one, which initially got my interest, then he put the book away and started drawing very detailed depictions of those sitting around him. His choice of medium was a ballpoint pen and a lined steno pad. It was totally incredible so I, of course, commented, suggesting that he must have many of those filled notebooks stashed in storage someplace. He conceded this was true, and we struck up a conversation. Turns our he’s a graphic artist who works for Nike and he designs logos for T-Shirts. As sure as I’m sitting here, I’m willing to bet that many of you, who wear Nike products, have something he designed. Interesting. I told him that Phil should have sprung for First Class for him and his other workers and he said, “he does for international flights.” This time they were just going to various cities around the US to visit clients. A really nice guy.

Now, here’s the ‘small world’ part of this story. Turns out that Colin used to work for puppet maker name Michael Curry when his business was located in … wait for it … St. Helens, Oregon! Go Figure. Colin opted for a new job when Michael moved his business to Scappoose, 8 miles closer to Portland, and landed with Nike. One of his friends at Nike is the young lady who dreamed up the wings you see on the Oregon Ducks uniforms and logo shirts. He didn’t have any samples, so I had to leave that relationship shirtless. Still, it was a very nice visit.

In LA, Diane and I stopped at Ruby’s Cafe for a bite to eat, then on to gate 68-A to await our connecting flight to Mazatlan. Again, we waited until the line whittled down a ways before standing to join the crowd.

For traveling, I wore the T-shirt Diane got me that says “I’m Retired and this is as dressed up as I get”. It always seems to be a topic of conversation, a good icebreaker. While boarding the plane, the plane Captain and XO were standing by to greet folks and the CO commented about how he couldn’t wait until he could wear a shirt like mine. I offered to trade him shirts, but he declined stating that I wouldn’t want his because it was 4-days old. I told him that wasn’t a problem, but he still wouldn’t go for it. For just the briefest of moments I had visions of flying the plane.

On this leg we had seats 15-C&D which are both isle seats. We planned to sit there and hold hands across the isle for the entire flight, going to the bathroom when we pleased, without having to stumble over another passenger. That didn’t work out, however, because the older (than me) gentleman sitting in seat E, next to Diane, offered to trade me seats so we could sit together. How could we refuse? So, I wound up in seat D, and Diane moved to E. As fortune would have it, when they closed the door to the plane, a clear indication that no one else was going to be allowed aboard, seat F was still empty. So, I moved to F, the window seat. I hardly ever get the window seat, so I was thrilled.

That left seat D empty. After a bit of coaxing, the lady in row 14, seat D, convinced her friend to move up from the back and sit behind her. When she arrived she said that she hoped we didn’t mind if she joined us. I requested a vote, but was denied, so told her I didn’t mind as long as she and her friend didn’t talk all the way to Mexico. She said, “no chance. We’re just a couple of jabber boxes.” Turns our, however, that she’s a nice lady from Santa Barbara who also lives in Mazatlan. Her name is Romi and she owns the El Roots Cafe in our destination city. I learned all of this before we took off.

We were pushed away from the terminal on time, and headed for our place in line for takeoff. It was a bumpy ride to the end of the runway, but by the time we got there all the checks and balances had been performed so we were good to go. We turned on to the runway and immediately accelerated for takeoff. There was no delay, whatsoever. Just turn, and go.

Down the runway we raced, going faster and faster, and I could tell the nose wheel was almost ready to leave the runway. I believe this is called the ‘rotate’ point. Instead of doing that, however, the engines were reversed, and the brakes were tested to their fullest, giving every one on board a real exciting time, wondering what the heck had happened. We never came to a full stop, but slowed enough to get off the main runway, then the CO explained what happened. He said that about a 10 feet into our takeoff run he saw this goose in the middle of the runway and yearned for it to move. When it did, however, it took flight and made a suicidal run through our left engine which caused the pilot a great deal of concern. I’m sure the air controllers got a little excited, too. Probably woke a couple of them up. I suspect the “Check Engine” light probably came on in the cockpit, too.

We went back to the terminal and sat there for an hour while various people checked the engines and could find nothing wrong with either of them. There was a rumor from the back of the plane that the goose made a last minute dodge, missing the engine, but hitting the wing. He was found laying, entirely whole, on the runway. We were not allowed to leave until appropriate services were made and next of kin notified. It was sad, but a much better mental picture than one of shredded goose all over the place. Romi’s El Roots cafe serves sushi dishes so I asked her, if the goose had gone through the engine, could it be classified as Canadian Sushi. She agreed that it was probably appropriate.

Now we’re nearing the bottom end of The Gulf of California, and I an tell we’re losing altitude slowly. So, before the waitress yells at me again, I’m going to terminate this and be a good boy. I’ll add more, of course, once we get to our room at the resort.

The landing, though an hour later than planned, was uneventful. Even so, everyone on the play clapped and cheered, just as they did when we successfully departed the runway in LA. It was a cheerful bunch on that plane. Then we had to transit through customs and, as luck would have it, with Mexico’s random selection process, activated by pushing a large red button, Diane got the red light meaning we both had to participate in a strip search of everything we had. I as OK with it because I don’t mind if strangers touch me. Wherever they want to. Actually, they only wanted to dig through the luggage, which they did, then sent us on our merry way.

Thankfully, the resort shuttle driver knew about the delay and didn’t strand us. That would have been bad because there were 12 of us needing the ride. That trip, too, was uneventful, and we arrived just fine. Checked into our room, and removed all the sweaty clothes and had a PB&J sandwich.

Now we’re just cruising around looking at stuff.

RV Repaired, Heading Home, RV Broke

Posted on September 8, 2013 by Jerrie Cate

Hi there. I honestly figured I would be doing this much earlier in the evening because we left Fort Stevens about 5:30 PM. I spent more of the afternoon than planned fixing the fuel issue with the RV, and everything was going along just great. Up and down the hills we went, willy nilly, not a care in the world. Then, on Highway 30, mile post 75, the main fuel tank ran out. You may remember this one as the tank that I thought was pretty much drained by the leaky fuel pump. I was curious to see how far we could get before it ran dry. Farther than I thought.

When the engine started chugging, I switched tanks, like I normally do, and after a couple of coughs, we picked up right where we left off … for about 50-60 feet, then the chugging began in earnest. We headed up a hill on the new tank and I could tell the engine was starved for fuel by the way it was running. Down hill was great, but putting a load on the engine, as in going up a hill, was torture and I had to use the flashers. Diane said it was probably good that it quit because I was driving way too fast. According to my speedometer I got over 55 mph once. According to hers, I was going 60-70 most of the time. I honestly didn’t think it would go that fast.

Anyway, the engine quit around mile post 78 on a downhill run so I let it coast for a while because there was only a tiny little bike lane alongside the road. Then mile post 79 popped up and there, at the bottom of the hill, was a small place to park, big enough for the RV and the car.

I did some testing, with Diane’s help, and came to the conclusion that the tank switch failed and the default is for the main tank. I know the reserve tank is full because I filled it on Thursday and didn’t use it. Perhaps I should have.

So, there we were, stuck along Highway 30. Traffic was whizzing by at a frightening pace and it started getting dark. I called AAA about 7:30 and they sent a tow truck, from Bob’s Towing, which was supposed to arrive before 8:46 PM. That’s true, because they sent a text to Diane’s phone to share that information. We sat in the RV and watched our daylight disappear, yearning for Bob to show up early. Every time a vehicle passed us the RV rocked like crazy. Single vehicles were rare. They normally whizzed by in packs of 6 or more. They came from both directions at the same time, arriving next to the RV at the same time with such stunning consistency, that I figured it was all planned. Like someone had set up flagmen behind and ahead of us, and they coordinated their release of stopped vehicles so they would arrive from both directions right where we were parked. That isn’t true, of course, but it was a real oddity.

Bob finally showed up, drove passed us to turn around, the came around us with all kinds of lights flashing. He stopped, dropped his little forked thing and backed it into the RVs front tires. Diane was inside at the time so she got shoved around a little, but didn’t fall down. Neither of us expected that kind of jostling. Bob didn’t warn us.

When the bar was against the tires, he unfolded a part that snugged up against the back part of the tire, then picked the front end up like it didn’t weigh hardly anything at all. He strapped the front wheels down, then slid under the back of the rig and removed the drive shaft so he wouldn’t destroy the transmission. I appreciated that since I wasn’t looking for any more ‘things’ to fix.

He put a nifty little LED device on the back bumper of the RV that had a wireless connection to his brake lights and turn signals. I thought that was awesome. A wireless set of tow lights.

Then he took off. Diane was driving and the plan, between Bob and me, was for us to follow him until we got to Columbia City, then pass him and lead him to our house. Simple. The only problem is that Bob drives about 80 mph and Diane wasn’t comfortable going that fast in the little Subaru. Neither was I. Bob got about a mile ahead of us then slowed down a bit so we could catch him. It was a harrowing experience for Diane, but we made it home safely.

I pushed the pick up out of the way a little so Bob could back the RV in behind it and get it back on the ground. I told him he was a hard man to catch. He smiled, and said, “Ya know, that thing looks big, bulky, and heavy, but it tows real nice so I was just having a little fun with it.”

Now, the upside to all of this is that we made it home quickly, and we didn’t use any gas in the reserve tank of the RV. So, I figure our gas mileage went from 5 mpg to 10, just like that. It kinda made up for gas we lost on the trip over. Funny how things work out.

Now it’s almost 11:30 pm and we’re both a little slammy-eyed so better quit. We’re glad to be safely home, as are the dogs, and the cat we left behind.

And, gee, I got a new project to work on.

Dang!

Bad Batteries, Highway 30,Westward Ho, and Trouble

Posted on September 6, 2013 by Jerrie Cate

As you all know, we were going to the beach yesterday to spend a few days at Fort Stevens State Park. Diane loaded pretty much everything we own into the old ’79 Winnebago, except for the cat. Then I strapped myself into the pilot’s seat, turned the key, and … nothing happened. Well, I turned the key, and shorted the two ignition wires together, and nothing happened. That’s how I normally start it because the button fell off so I put it in the old truck. Remember? Now it’s just two blue wires hanging out there, and it works just great.

The “nothing” turned out to be two dead batteries. It didn’t take long to determine the cause, either, because the headlight switch was suspiciously in the ‘On’ position where I left it the day before when I parked it after we went to get all that gas the day before. So, the lights were on all night. At least part of the night.

Diane was all settled into our chase car (we still don’t have a two bar) and she was kinda bummed when I exited the rig and gave her the bad news. Then I got the jumper cables and we tried to kick start it. It gave a few pitiful spins, but nothing like it needed to fire and I was having memories of the old truck from a few days ago, but different.

The next step was to just remove the batteries and install the ones from the old D22 which are actually fairly new. They start the D22 with hardly any effort. So, install them I did. It took me a while to get all the wires on the correct terminals because they’re all the same color (black) so there was a brief moment in time where the first battery was wired backwards causing a satisfying spark, letting me know it was full of juice, and not happy.

Finally it was done and I reassumed my proper position in the pilot’s chair and turned the key. Tentatively, I reached for the blue wires, hoping this was the solution. The wires touched, there was a brief spark, and the engine came immediately to life. It roared with satisfaction. We were all happy campers, almost. We still had to navigate the 60 or so miles on Highway 30 to Warrenton where Fort Stevens lives.

The trip, itself, was uneventful, and only about 2 hours long. It would have been less time but, like normal, there is construction on Highway 30 that require the use of people with stop signs to randomly change traffic patterns from two lanes to 1 for designated stretches.

But, we made it just fine, got checked in, and drove right to our reserved spot, N-25, that has a southern view. I made the necessary adjustments of the steering wheel to line the rig up to back into he spot. When I started backing up I noticed a fairly large puddle of what looked suspisciously like gasoline on the pavement. Committed, however, I had to continued backing until I had the rig right where Diane wanted it, al the while glancing back to the trail I was leaving.

Once parked, I snuck up on one of the puddles and confirmed my gasoline guess, then looked under the engine to see if it was still leaking. It wasn’t so my initial suspicion was the fuel delivery system. It was a deja vu moment from the D22 when I had to replace the mechanical fuel pump. In order to find out if my theory was correct, I instructed Diane on how to start the engine with the two blue wires while I draped my body over the right front wire so I could watch the fuel pump.

She touched the wires and my theory became fact right away as gas came spurting through the breather hole above the pump diaphragm, the part that isn’t supposed to have gas in it. Then my concern shifted back up Highway 30 as I wondered how far we had been driving while pumping gas out onto the highway, and how was the engine even running when the pump was broken? It was a literal whirlwind of doom between my ears for a moment, thinking that it may have cost us $100 to drive 60 miles. Worst case is that we got about 1/2 mile to the gallon on this trip, and we still have to get home. The good news is that the solution is fairly simple, and I have tools. What I don’t have are work clothes into which I could climb that would allow me to do my job without ruining my good khaki shorts. I would do it nude, but Diane won’t let me. Besides, I think the park rangers would object. It’s probably illegal, too. So, I need old clothes.

I suspect the fuel pump failed after we entered the park, because it wasn’t until then that the gas fumes began to fill the cockpit. It was not a good thing. Diane found it hard to breath while inside so we fired up the fans and blew out the bad stuff while sitting calmly in our round chairs under the awning. The weather was pleasant the entire time we were sitting there, then it started getting dark so we decided to brave the interior.

The air was better, but still not clear of the fumes. I briefly considered lighting a match, to see if it would just “Poof” them away, but thought better of it, and let the fans continue to do their thing. Soon it was tolerable and we felt it would be OK too cook something, just not with an open flame.

The decision for dinner was hamburger patties and left over Mexican rice. The patties were cooked on an electric griddle that has a panini mode so it can cook both sides at the same time, and the rice was reheated in the microwave. Milk, too much bread, cherry pie, and cookies rounded off the meal in a festive manner. It was all good.

I forgot to mention that when we came inside, the sky started sparking and booming as the predicted thunderstorms came ashore. It was an exciting time, and lasted for a while. Like all during dinner. It also rained, something we just love when snuggly inside our traveling abode. There’s something peaceful about sitting there, listening to the rain splatter on the roof.

After dinner, before bed, we tok the dogs out for a walk. The trip took us all the way around the “O” loop. We met lots of nice folks along the way, the dogs both evacuated their bowels, and bladders, and we all had some exercise.

Then we read for a while and went to bed. It was time.

As we lay in our twin beds under the fan, we detected it emitting a noticeable squeaking noise. Knowing there are no mice in the rig, it had to be the fan. Thankfully, I discovered that by covering my right ear, the one on which I normally lay, the squeak quit. Apparently the squeak frequency is exactly the same one that my left ear can’t hear. How fortunate for me. I suggested to Diane that she cover her right ear and see if it worked for her, but she refused letting me know she thought it was a supremely dumb idea.

Now it’s morning and time to get moving toward the direction of a solution for the gushing gas. It’s good this happened because I was seriously afraid that I would have to spend all day relaxing and reading. Now I have direction.

I’ll tell you how it goes.

The ’79 Winnebago Brave, Mowing, and Gas

Posted on September 4, 2013 by Jerrie Cate

Last night Diane pointed out to me that we haven’t really done much all summer long and, specifically, we haven’t gone anywhere with the RV. All of that is totally untrue. I’m sure we’ve gone places and done things during the summer but I just can’t remember what they were right now. I do, however, vividly recall driving the Winnebago to our church, Bethany Lutheran, for the parking lot sale a few weeks ago. I’m sure I did that because I have pictures.

OK – I looked, and I don’t have pictures of the RV, but I have pictures of Ron sitting in a chair outside the RV. Still, it’s not proof, I guess, so I might have to concede that it didn’t really happen. But, I’m sure it did.

Back to last night – our Winnebago friends, who also have old Winnebagos, went to Lincoln City over last weekend. They stayed at the Elks Club where parking an RV is pretty inexpensive. Most Elks Clubs provide that service which is nice. Kinda makes me want to be an Elk again. We were going to go, too, but I still had work to do on The Bathroom and wasn’t comfortable being gone from it for so long a period. So, we stayed home. Now it’s time to get contradictory and report that we are now going to Fort Stevens State Park in Warrenton tomorrow, returning Sunday. In our defense, it’s much closer to us than Lincoln City, and it doesn’t involve driving long distance on a holiday weekend. But, still, we should have gone to Lincoln City, too.

In preparation for the trip I thought it would be a good idea to see if I could get the rig started. I worked and worked at it for a long time, until the batteries were almost dead, then I gave up for a little while and connected the battery charger to one of the batteries. Then I went to the local Chevron station for a can of gas, thinking the tank might be dry, and to ACE for a can of starting fluid to give the engine a little more incentive to be nice.

Before climbing into the driver’s seat, I removed the engine cover so I could squirt the starting fluid into the carburetor and give the engine a crank right away. As I suspected it would, the engine snorted it’s acceptance of the highly flammable mist from the can, but didn’t keep running right away. It took a few more squirts to get enough gas from the tank to the carburetor, but once done it ran well. And I let it run for a long time.

While it was filling the garage, which is directly in line with the right exhaust pipe, with fumes, I disconnected the battery charger, the DirecTV antenna, and the 115V AC power cord so I wouldn’t be dragging anything behind us when we were finally ready to take it for a spin to get gas and run some errands.

Then it appeared we weren’t going to leave right away, so I turned it off with confidence it would start right up when Diane was ready to go.

But it didn’t. I cranked, and cranked, it until it was obvious it wasn’t going to start without another sniff of the starting fluid. So, with Diane in the passenger seat, I risked serious injury by removing the engine cover so I could do the deed, and also allowed all the wonderful fumes, that should remain in the engine compartment, into the cab. All those fumes went directly to Diane and hovered over her while I got the engine fired up and running. Then I just slide the cover into place, kinda, and away we went with fumes surrounding us and hot air blowing on our little feet. I should have locked it down, I know, but we were going to the gas station and I wanted to have easy access in case it wouldn’t start right away so we wouldn’t be overly embarrassed. To me, none of that mattered, because I really don’t mind the odors emitted by a running engine. It’s kinda nice.

On the way to the gas station we stopped at our church, mentioned above, so Diane could drop off the aprons she had washed, and so we could spruce the joint up a bit because we are the assigned cleaners this month. Diane signed us up so we have to do it. As soon as we got within eye-shot of the church it was evident that the lawn needed a severe mowing. Since Floyd resigned as our arborist, and lawn maintenance person extraordinaire, such tasks are now available for anyone who wants to volunteer their time, like Floyd has for the past 28 years or so. Maybe it’s not 28 years, but he’s been doing it for a really long time. Now someone else needs to pick up the reigns and get it done. Since I was there, my conscience dictated my path to the mower barn, a little room at the end of the church car port, and I got to work. It’s a fairly new Craftsman, and works just great. I think it took me only a couple of hours to get it all mown, and the mower washed. I had to wash it because that’s what Floyd did before putting it away. There’s no way I was going to ride it hard and put it away dirty. No sir! Not me. So, I washed it, top to bottom and it looked good as new when I put it away. Now my conscience is telling me that I should probably do that with my mower at home. I treat it terrible and I’m surprised it still runs, but it does. It’s been very faithful to me. So, before using it next time, I will wash it and change the oil. Then I will wash it when I’m done. I don’t have a mower shed to store it in, however, because I haven’t built it yet. One of these days … until them, I park it under a holly tree where it’s protected pretty good from the rain. When it rains.

After leaving the church we headed for Scappoose to see how much gas we could pour into the rig. I truly don’t have any idea how many gallons the two tanks hold, but it’s a lot. We went to the Fred Meyer gas station, across the street from Fultanos and Les Schwab, and used Diane’s Fred Meyer card to drain their pumps. Luckily, Diane shops at Freddie’s fairly often which provides some relief at the pump when a lot of shopping has been done. She recently took all of our related school children there to buy school clothes which resulted in 45 cents off a gallon. They have a 35 gallon limit on that, however. Fortunately, the front tank didn’t take 35 gallons, so we just moved the rig up a little (it started right up!) so we could finish the 35 gallons in the rear tank. When it stopped, we ran the card again so we could fill that tank, and wound up getting 15 cents off whatever they could pump into that tank. It’s a smaller one, so I was sure it wouldn’t take 35 gallons. It didn’t. Total cost was just shy of $150 for the two tanks. I suspect that will get us to Fort Stevens just fine. Perhaps it will even get us home, too. We’ll see.

Now it’s almost 9 pm, I’m hungry, and need to stop and get a snack.

Grout and Mascots

Posted on August 30, 2013 by Jerrie Cate

The grout has been applied yesterday and I really thought we would get around to sealing it today, but turns out it needs to cure for 48 hours before sealing. So, that won’t happen until Tuesday or Wednesday. We can get the necessary baseboard molding and top rail for the wainscoting done then, too.

Tomorrow is out because Lydia is playing soccer in Milwaukie, her first high school soccer game. We’re all going, on the road at the mind-numbing hour of 8 am. On the way home the team is stopping for lunch at Fultano’s in Scappoose where they have the back room reserved so the girls can watch the Portland Thorns soccer team play their game. Daniel is a little bit concerned because the Oregon Ducks season opener is tomorrow afternoon, also. He’s hoping one of Fultano’s many TVs is tuned in to the Duck game. I plan to be watching it here, in the comfort of my own home. Unless, of course, Diane has something else she thinks I should do.

Speaking of the Ducks … I think it’s pretty nifty that U of Oregon is the only college team to have a Disney character as their mascot. Walt Disney personally approved Oregon’s use of Donald Duck as their mascot in 1947 based on a handshake agreement between Disney and Oregon athletic director, Leo Harris. This is true. I looked it up.

Now, about all those offensive Native American names and logos used by Oregon high schools. I suspect they are also used by many other schools, high school or otherwise, but the Oregon controversy is more personal for me. The state has ordered all public Oregon schools to end the use of Native American names and mascots by 2017 or lose state funding. OK, I get it. Apparently Native Americans have been in an uproar for a long time because of the demeaning names, like Indians, Warriors, Braves, used by schools for their team names. So, it’s going to end. I believe this movement is nationwide, but I’m not sure. What I’m curious about is what the pro teams are going to do. Like the Washington Redskins, for instance. Or, the Atlanta Braves. Kinda makes me go “hmmmmm.” This is a bit personal to me because I went to Scappoose High School, home of the Scappoose Indians. I can honestly state that the entire time I attended high school, all seven years, I never once really associated our team name, or mascot, to Native Americans. It was a name. Perhaps, to satisfy the department of educations dictates, it should be the Scappoose East Indians. It was, after all, Columbus who tagged Native Americans with the Indian name because he thought he was, gee, in India.

I think all of the controversy could be resolved if we just eliminated animals and kinds of people as sources for team names. Instead schools can use only inanimate items, like Rocks, Bricks, Stones, Sticks, Pebbles, Branches, a disease, or any type of flower. The Scappoose Sunflowers has a nice sunny ring to it, doesn’t it? Or, perhaps, the Scappoose Salmonellas?

It gets worse, the more I think about it … like the Pittsburgh Pansies … had to say it. Or, the Denver Daisies, Georgia Gladioli, Ohio Oleander, California Calla Lillies … Sorry, but bet there are better ones running around in your heads right now. Care to share?

Time to quit and head for bed since I won’t be able to take my morning nap tomorrow.

I hope everyone has a safe Labor Day weekend.

The $66 Bowel Movement

Posted on August 19, 2013 by Jerrie Cate

OK, here’s the story. Probably not a popular topic, but it’s about constipation. It’s not about normal constipation, either. It’s about a constipated dog. A little dog who, on his last visit to the vet weighed in at 6 lbs. Ozzie weighed over 7 lbs when we got there. He had quit eating, and wouldn’t leave his kennel, so he had to go to the dog doctor.

After a nice long talk with Dr. Brooks, we all agreed that Ozzie, our victim, probably needed an enema because there was no evidence that he’d had any activity of that nature in the past four days, or so. Since there was no way in hell I was giving him one, we took him to her. When he’s testy, like today, he bites.

Upon hearing the latter, the good Dr. backed up a little and said, “but he so cute and looks so friendly.”

“It’s a trick,” I said, reaching down to touch his side and said, “he gets a little testy when you touch him here.”

As if to prove the point, Oz reached around with his lightning fast teeth and chomped a hole in my right hand pointing finger. It bled considerably so the dog Dr. got me cleaning solution with which I scoured my finger, and an assistant got me a band-aid to staunch the flow of blood. It’s been six hours and it still hurts. Why do dog bites hurt for so long? Especially little dog bites?

After proving his point, I showed the Dr. how Oz could be picked up without injury to either him or her, and she carried him away to the back room where all the fun stuff happens. She returned in about five minutes to report all was good. Putting a muzzle on him was the only motivation he needed to evaluate his bowels. How nice. No enema. He was right there when we were talking about it so it’s obvious he heard everything. I would have covered his ears, but he doesn’t like it and shows me his teeth when I do that. Dr. Brooks added that by him doing that, he saved us a few bucks.

I’m sure Oz was more than humiliated by having a BM while being watched by a group of attractive women. It doesn’t get much worse than that, unless you have a severe case of epididymitis and your female doctor calls in another female doc to have a look. What fun.

So, it cost $66 for Oz’s office visit, a distemper shot update, and a dose of worm meds, and it was worth every penny, even if it had only been for the BM.

We should have weighed him before exiting the office because I’m sure he pooped a pound, at least.

Before and after all this I worked on the ’73 Blue Bago. You may recall that when I left it, the mechanical fuel pump was giving me fits because I couldn’t get the bolts in. This morning, it dropped right into place, and the bolts went in simple as can be. It was wonderful. I actually got that done before taking Oz to the doc, and getting bit. It worked perfectly. The engine ran and everything.

After returning with Oz, who promptly ran to his kennel, I put his morning bowl of pouch food near the opening and he gobbled it right up. I suspect that after not eating much for a few days, he was a bit hungry. It was good to see him eat something besides me.

Then I returned my attention to the ’73 BB. The final quest for success involved connecting both fuel tanks to the switch to ensure the engine ran off both tanks. It seems to work just fine, but I honestly don’t know if the switch works. I does, indeed, make a satisfying clicky kind of noise, when I move the switch, but I do not know if it’s actually switching tanks. Both fuel gauges read empty, but I know I poured a few gallons into one of them. It will become evident one of these days when we take it for a ride and run out of gas somewhere on Highway 30.

After playing with gas, I turned my attention to the water pump that failed. On Sunday, after church, I glued it all back together with super-duper silicone sealant. After drying for well over 24 hours I installed it and cranked it up.

It still leaks.

I ordered a new one on eBay and it should be here by the end of the week. Until the new pump arrives, it will remain waterless.

Now I’m tired.

Our RV’s & Other Stuff

Posted on August 15, 2013 by Jerrie Cate

I’ve had a special request from somewhere out East for photos of the RV. I actually shared a picture two or three blogs ago, but to honor this request, here are some more … in addition to other photos that hold special interest for me …

Seaside, Oregon – Day 3

Posted on August 7, 2013 by Jerrie Cate

OK – right off the bat, the title is misleading. Sure, we woke up in Seaside, but didn’t stay long before heading north toward home. That’s probably misleading, too, but you can look at a map and figure out that St. Helens is kinda NE from Seaside. Going up Highway 101 one must go north to Astoria, East to Rainier, then south to St. Helens. It’s complicated. If we were crows it would be a much shorter trip but we aren’t so it wasn’t.

After packing everything into the Buick, we took one more walk up to the board walk to see how things were progressing. Ruth, our hostess, told us that she was the “T-Shirt Lady” for the upcoming volley ball event, that there were 126 nets installed, and the number of teams registered to play was up to 1162. She figured it would be closer to 2000 since registration didn’t close until Friday. So, I grossly over estimated how many nets there were. But, it looked like hundreds to me. Either way, Seaside is going to be jumping this weekend. Seriously.

Ruth also changed their reader board to commemorate Grams’ 86th. Here’s proof …

Oops … I was there, too …

… and, this is Ruth with the girls …

As I recall, from our previous visit to the Hillcrest Inn, Ruth and her husband, Don, met in the Marine Corps. She completed either 6 or 9 years (I can’t remember) and Don made it a career. We had some fun conversations during our first visit, but didn’t get to talk this trip. Jay, whose image I failed to capture, helped us at check-in, as did Missy. They just make the experience better. Nice crew. A great place to stay.

OK – no more plugs – that’s it …

Here’s a picture of the Seaside turnaround, the end of the Lewis & Clark Trail.

The bronze statues are rumored to be of Lewis & Clark staring off into the ocean discussing what they were going to have for dinner that night. Being terminally tired of eating fish and venison, the opted for Norma’s, only 1.5 blocks away, where they reportedly shared a Turkey of The Sea sandwich and bowl of clam chowder. That’s how old Norma’s is.

From Seaside we drove north about 6 miles to the nearest Goodwill store which Diane had her sites on. It’s in a new area of Warrenton that has been stripped of whatever used to grow there and developed into a growing mall area on both sides of Highway 101. Goodwill is on the east side of the road, just past Costco. We wandered around in Goodwill for an hour or so, and I was the only one who purchased anything. I got a bag of Nike golf balls for $5, and 18 pencils for $1.99. Seemed like a really good deal, to me.

Then it was lunchtime which brings me to what was vetoed as the potential title for today’s entry. Since we had already planned to visit Costco for their outrageously big and cheap hotdogs, and soda, the first thing that popped into my mind was Grandma Gets a Weiner. It was, although she laughed, deemed inappropriate so I didn’t use it. I suspect, however, I’ll earned a considerable amount of grief for even mentioning it. I did not, as you notice, take a picture of any of us eating lunch. They are really good, by the way. I normally get the Polish Dog, but went for the All Beef today. And a Pepsi. I was going to get vanilla yogurt and refill my cup with root beer so I could make a root beer float, but by the time I got to the counter, the yogurt machine was reportedly defunct. So, I went without.

Then we crossed the Youngs Bay Bridge, on which we had to stop because it was raised to allow a tall masted fishing boat go by. It didn’t take long. Here’s the view while we waited.

Now, first glance may cause you to think the bridge you see in the distance is the one we’re on, but that isn’t the case. The distant one is the Astoria-Megler Bridge which links Oregon and Washington. If you follow that link you’ll discover that bridge is 4.1 miles long near the mouth of the Columbia River which is 1243 miles long and originates in British Columbia, Canada. One of the memorable things about the river is Buoy 10 which is at the mouth of the Columbia. If you want excitement, that’s the place to go. If you have a tendency to get sea-sick, stay away. I spent over 1/4 of a century in the US Navy and had the opportunity to ride some pretty rough seas, but Buoy 10 is the only place I ever got sea-sick. I was miserable, but I caught a nice Silver.

Once we gained access to the other side of Youngs Bay we took a right turn before heading in to Astoria proper. Instead, we weaved our way around the back side of the hill, on which Astoria resides, and made our way up to the Astoria Column, a significant landmark in Oregon. It has a continuous ribbon of artwork wrapped around it depicting the history of the area starting in 1792. It’s literally a work of art that you can climb. Inside, of course.

Here’s what it looked like, today …

We have all visited it many, many times in the past, and have climbed the 164 steps to the tower but not today. I threatened to do it, leaving instructions to call 911 if I wasn’t back in 30 minutes. Then I just went around taking pictures of the view.

This is the Astoria-Megler Bridge going to Washington …

This is the Youngs Bay Bridge looking toward Warrenton …

After leaving the Astoria Column, we headed down the hilly streets of Astoria toward Highway 30 and home. The streets of the city rival those of San Francisco. Honest.

The trip home was uneventful and I didn’t watch any of it preferring, instead, to read my current book on my iPad. I’m reading The Witness which started out boring, but is turning into an interesting mystery.

Now it’s supper time and I must quit in order to ingest some of Diane’s very tasty beef stew in order to replace all the energy I’ve used here whacking away on my keyboard.

Cheers