SPOTTING AN RV

There seem to be as many ways of directing an RV to turn or to back up as there are drivers. We observed two women spotters recently who demonstrated the extremes. One, a dignified European, held her arms rigidly, almost like a toy soldier.

 

The other, an American, danced gaily from side to side.  Both techniques were entertaining, and effective with those drivers, but I couldn’t help wondering what would have happened if spotter A had tried to direct driver B, or vice versa. Would driver A have gone over a cliff? Would driver B have screeched to a stop unnecessarily?

All is well when the driver and spotter are in sync. It’s a pleasure to watch couples who work together with carefully preplanned gestures. When the spotter points to the left and holds their hands six inches apart, the driver moves the rig six inches to the left. When the spotter holds their hands up, palms forward, the driver immediately stops. And so on. The rig is moved or parked quickly and efficiently, with no shouting or swearing.

 

 For some reason, we find that harmony difficult. When spotting,  if I am behind the rig and point to my left, my driver is likely to yell, “Do you mean the driver’s side??” (Well, of course I do! ) When I hold my hands up to tell him to stop, he may decide I mean something else, and blithely continue moving. Then there are the times he insists he can back up perfectly well without my getting out of the rig. Those are the times that it turns out there is a rock behind the tail pipe, or there is some other unforeseen problem. (Why are men so stubborn about this issue? Women may be irritated by getting too much direction, but we don’t usually ignore it.)

 

It’s even worse when I drive and he directs me. When he runs a finger across his throat, what on earth does he mean? Stop? Reverse? Give up? When he points to the left, am I supposed to turn the steering wheel to the right, or steer the rig toward the left? Too often, no matter who is driving, we end up screaming at each other rather than parking intelligently.

 

Fortunately, we usually cooperate in other ways. Though the galley can get crowded, we have gradually learned to slide past each other or take turns with the space. Before starting out he checks the exterior while I do the interior checking. He does the tasks that are physically too demanding for me, and I work at the computer that baffles him. Perhaps in a few more years we will even learn to spot in accord, too.

Text copyright © 2017 by Carol Stone

Photos copyright © 2017 by Thane Puissegur

 

BEING A GROUCHY OLD ENVIRONMENTALIST

Smoky sunlight filtering through redwoods

Driving through the Avenue of the Giants along the northern California coast is an awe-inspiring experience. Ancient coast redwoods reach hundreds of feet into the sky. Even today, when the  temperature has reached 100 degrees and the air is filled with smoke from nearby wildfires, this place seems like a cool, quiet cathedral.

We stop at a grove to enjoy the view and walk, and I notice a young man wiping out a saucepan and tossing the contents onto the ground. Was that a paper towel? Disgusted, I tell him to look for a trash container. He comes up and waves a package of baby wipes in front of my face, saying, “Look at the label! Biodegradable! Don’t be so judgmental!” I am too astounded to answer. Does he think “biodegradable means “vanishes instantly”?

We drive on until we see a sign advertising a drive-through redwood. I’ve seen only photos of those mutilated giants, and am curious enough to stop and see the real thing. It’s interesting in a horrible way. How could anyone ever have destroyed a magnificent redwood so that cars could drive through it? We go on.

Later, we chat with a grandfatherly man who recently took a whale-watching tour out of Baja, and proudly shows us his video of people petting whales that had come up to the boat. I ask hesitantly if touching the whales and allowing them to approach the boats is allowed. He chuckles at my naiveté and replies, “Oh, those Mexicans don’t care!”

Well, I care. I’m tired of people who have no respect for the plants and animals that share our planet, who think their litter is OK if it takes a relatively short time to degrade, who endanger the earth their grandchildren will have to live in. Yes, I’ve become an old grouch, and I’m proud to be one.

Text copyright © 2017 by Carol Stone

Photos copyright © 2017 by Thane Puissegur

SEEING THE GREAT ECLIPSE OF 2017

Thane's photo of the corona

August 17: So, here we are at the Grant Co. fairgrounds in John Day, Oregon. Months ago, we reserved a camp site here so that we could be near some excellent viewing areas for the total solar eclipse of August 21, which also happens to be my partner’s birthday. There have been predictions of a million people coming to Oregon for this event, but so far things are fairly quiet.  Our rig is nearly alone, in a large grassy space under a tree.

We need to find a good eclipse-viewing site now—something with an unobstructed view of the entire sky, so that we can see not only the eclipsed sun, but also the shadow racing across from west to east. Many locals are trying to strike it rich by charging hundreds of dollars a night for staying in a driveway or tiny space in a field. We have to find something affordable.

Luckily, we stop at the Chamber of Commerce office and buy a couple of souvenir tee shirts. The lady there is a fountain of information, and gives us a phone number for someone named Jerry, who might have an available place. We call him and make a tentative reservation.

The town of John Day is quaint, and people are friendly. We talk to a local who tells us that they are walking on eggshells about the eclipse. The firefighters and ambulance workers are volunteers, and this is the height of wildfire season. With so many people pouring in, it’s a dangerous situation.

August 18: We leave the fairgrounds and go to Jerry’s house. What luck! Jerry is actually president of the Chamber of Commerce. He owns a ranch that overlooks a valley at the base of Strawberry Mountain, the highest spot in the county . At 9000’, it has a snow patch near the top, even in this very hot August. Jerry’s place will be the best possible place for seeing the eclipse. Not only that, but he is letting us stay here three nights for $150, an unbelievable bargain compared with other sites. Instead of spending today searching for a Forest Service spot, we settle down to enjoy the view, drink Pepsi, and relax for three days.

In the evening, we see smoke in the western sky. Knowing there is a wildfire near the town of Sisters, which has had to be evacuated, we are nervous, Sisters is far to the west.

August 19: During the night, Thane wakes and realizes he left the RV’s sewer hose at the fairgrounds after draining and cleaning it. We call this morning to ask if it has been found, but have  to leave voice mail. As we had some earlier issues with the campground manager, I’m not optimistic about getting the hose back. We won’t need it for quite a while, but will probably have to buy a new one. Another expense for a fairly pricey trip! The eclipse had better be worth it.

While we wait in the hope of a call back, we’re reading, looking at the beautiful view (now smokeless), and getting pictures. Thane is filling the camera with photos, I’m sketching. There are about 200 cattle down in the valley, so I’m trying to sketch them. Who would have thought it would be so hard? Cattle don’t seem to have the nice smooth shapes of reptiles or even birds; they are built like tank cars with legs and snouts. For guidance, I need a book of Gary Larsen cartoons showing cows.

Where is everybody? This wonderful site should be filled, but we are all alone. Knowing that nearby sites are crowded and expensive, we feel as if we have entered a twilight zone. Could it be because the site’s owner misspelled eclipse on his sign?

August 20: The eclipse is tomorrow, but when we get up, we are still alone here. This is downright spooky.

Around noon, another motorhome finally joins us. Things are looking up. I’m spending some time practicing using the camera for a quick shot of the eclipsed sun, but am pessimistic. From everything I’ve read, people become unglued as totality approaches, and I may not be capable of actually taking a photo. It’s worth a try, though.

More arrive by night. A family from Holland, some beefy women from Washington state, others. All are prepared with goggles and cameras.

We bake and decorate a special birthday cake for Thane that looks like an eclipse, complete with a corona of frosting.

August 21: It’s Thane’s birthday. Jerry’s wife Marcia has told others about the birthday, and the Dutch family festoons our awning with a Happy Birthday banner.

At about 9:30 the moon begins to move across the sun, and we put on our special viewing goggles. No other excitement yet.

People coming into the campground are carefully herded by jerry, so they aren't invading our expensive camp site or flying drones into our air space. It’s good to have political connections, even here. It would be complete chaos without his help.

At 10:10, the sky is changing. A dark shadow falls across the clouds, leaving the bright sky beneath them. Shadows on the ground are very crisp, but the air is dusk-like. Looking through our special eclipse goggles, we see the “bite” taken out of the golden sun by the moon, which gradually covers it entirely. When totality is reached we remove the glasses and look directly at the sun with only binoculars over our uncovered eyes. The bright white corona is visible, with a few reddish solar prominences. We have both followed the unfolding event with cameras, and have made some videos and still photos. It has been a highly successful day.

August 22: Unbelievably, we return to the fairgrounds and recover the sewer hose.