That's How We Roll

Eugene, Oregon to Yuma, Arizona

 

The West Coast Clan

 

Day 1- Eugene to Red Bluff

We are told that the bottom is about to drop out of the Eugene weather.  The clan wants us to celebrate Thanksgiving with them.  We would love to, but we dare not linger.  We head south on the I-5 and silently bid the Oregon countryside and the deep, dark pine forests and the kids goodbye.  We are thankful that Canyon Creek, Stage Road, Grant's and Siskiyou passes are dry and passable.

At the border of California all vehicles are stopped, and we are asked if we are carrying any fruits and vegetables.  The speed limit for three axles and up is 55 miles per hour throughout all of California.  It's gonna be a long drive.  I drink in the sunshine and get my first look at northern California.  The landscape is ever changing.  Deep, black forests cover the mountains.  Forest gives way to broad ranches with steep, grassy hillsides.  Then forests again.  I get an occasional glimpse of the snow covered peak of Mount Shasta rising some 14,000 feet far off in the distance.

We leave the forest and grassy hills behind and the land begins to flatten.  I ask G about our fuel situation.  We have 1/2 tank.  I point out a travel center and suggest we stop and top off the tank which would get us to our destination.  I don't wish for a repeat of our Colorado Springs experience when we were desperate for fuel because G had passed up easily accessible travel centers in Nevada and then was forced to get fuel in the city Colorado Springs.  G had had to negotiate road construction and squeeze into a regular gas station where we had to unhitch in order to fuel up.  Then we had to hitch back up and turn the rig around in an adjacent dirt lot.  G rejects the idea.  I think this is a foolhardy decision.

Awhile later G exits in a small town for fuel and runs into road construction.  He negotiates a flagman and cones and searches for a likely gas station that he can easily access and get out of.  I think this is folly and silently seethe.  This feels just like the Colorado Springs situation. G bypasses a gas station that is not a possibility and has to find a parking lot to turn the rig around in.

"Let's get back on the freeway and look for a travel center," I suggest nervously.  I wonder why G insists on doing this the hard way.

He pulls into a gas station with a clearance of 13' 2".

"Will the rig even fit under there?" I ask with great concern.  Fear is always  nipping at my heels.

G is unsure.  I am too angry to get out and spot, uncertain if I could correctly gauge from the ground anyway because the rig is so close to the gas station overhang.  I hold my breath as he slowly squeezes under and stops.  I do not hear any metal ripping sounds.  I exit the truck angrily and glance upward.  The rig has cleared by a mere foot.  I mentally file the height of 13' 2" away as our lowest clearance.  I slink embarrassed into the convenience store.  Everyone inside is staring out the windows at our rig.  Its sheer size and presence is blocking the sunlight and has darkened the interior of the store.  I am embarrassed and quietly seek the restroom hoping no one realizes that I have arrived with the big rig that barely squeezed into this place.

I return to the truck.  The tank is full of diesel and G pulls out.  He again negotiates the flagman and cones and gets back on the freeway.  I am not impressed that G has again chosen the hard way.  I am not even impressed that he squeezed our big rig into a ridiculously tiny gas station yet got out unscathed.  I only feel relief.  Ironically, a couple of miles down the freeway we pass a large travel center.

We continue on and are awed as we pass majestic Mount Shasta.  Mount Shasta is a volcanic mountain that rises to an elevation of 14,161 feet.  A lenticular cloud is hovering on her snowy peak.  Mount Shasta is not connected to any nearby mountain and dominates the northern California landscape.  It rises abruptly and stands nearly 10,000 feet above the surrounding terrain.  On a clear day, Mount Shasta can be seen from 150 miles away.

Mount Shasta makes its own weather.  Its very presence causes air to be uplifted.  Wikipedia reveals that there are four major processes by which air is lifted: convective lifting, frontal lifting, convergent lifting, and orographic lifting.  Orographic lifting is caused when moving air (wind) encounters a mountain and is forced upwards in the process.  The layer of air replaced at the surface causes the air above to be lifted and cooled.  If there is enough moisture in the air, the cooling will cause it to condense and form clouds.

Mount Shasta is known for its beautiful clouds.  The lenticular clouds, often called "flying saucers," are probably the most well-known type of cloud in the region.  However, there are many types of clouds that can be seen around Mount Shasta.  A lenticular cloud hovers over it today.

I reach for my camera and find that the battery has died.  Disappointment descends.  I will need to search the Internet for photos of this amazing mountain while researching its history and...charge my camera battery! 

Cumulonimbus clouds over Mt. Shasta

Altostratus clouds over Mt. Shasta

                                                 Wave clouds over Mt. Shasta

Abraham's Tree over Mt. Shasta

                                 Lenticular cloud over Mt. Shasta

We cross the bridge that spans beautiful Lake Shasta and continue south to Red Bluff, California where we rest for the night.

Day 2 - Red Bluff to Kingsburg

After a good night's rest we travel mile after mile across flat valley between distant mountain ranges.  I see occasional Mandarin groves, vineyards, and harvested hay fields.  Sheep dot the valley.  I spot adorable triplet lambs.  We cross the Sacramento River, and the valley becomes more fertile.  The rig bounces along 99 South through the vast valley nearly jarring our teeth loose, and I vaguely wonder how the contents of the chuckwagon are riding.  We smell popcorn in the air.  Popcorn?

We momentarily loose our way in Sacramento and must correct.  G is reading overhead signs and does not notice the red brake lights on the long line of vehicles up ahead.  I cry out a warning.  G brakes hard and attempts to bring 14,000 pounds to a sudden halt and nearly plows into the cars in front of us.  Everything inside the chuckwagon shifts forward.  G is visibly shaken.

We stop in Kingsburg, California.  We are so travel weary and tired of each other that we don't bother to unhitch.  We eat, shower and hit the sack early. 

Day 3 - Kingsburg to Needles

I wake in the morning to find we are surrounded by thick fog.  We eat a quick breakfast, pull the slides in and get back on the road.

G is excited about something and has to share.  He woke during the night, and God had a talk with him.  God has made G understand at last that all things pass through God's hand first.  He has always understood this truth in theory but not in heart.  Something clicked for him, his heart shifted, and he now gets it.  G feels that if he can just remember that nothing is random, and if he takes all things as though they are coming from God and receives them with open hands then he will be able to handle the tests differently and respond appropriately.  If hands remain clenched then so does the heart.  God is good, and all that comes from God is good even when it doesn't seem good. 

Note: Evil comes from mankind.  Does God allow evil to touch us sometimes?  Yes.  Why?  Only God knows the answer to that question.  But, He always attempts to use the evil that has touched us to draw us into a relationship with Him and bring about a great transformation in our hearts. 

"As you do not know the path of the wind, or how the body is formed in a mother's womb, so you cannot understand the work of God, the Maker of all things." ~ Ecclesiastes 11:15

G also says that he had a night vision of our near crash in Sacramento.  He saw our rig coming to a stop with the help of two angels.  One angel was on the front of our truck with both hands pushing against the truck to slow it.  The other angel was at the rear of the rig with hands pulling backwards with all his might, one foot thrust out behind to keep the car following from crashing into us. 

It's no secret that G and I don't work or play well together.  We war.  We hate.  We endure.  Our lines of defense were drawn long ago.  Our responses and behavior patterns are ingrained.  We debate everything.  We don't like it.  But, that's how we roll.  Gradually we are realizing that God has allowed us to go off on this crazy adventure in order to work on our relationship.  Travel stress magnifies our problems.  God is tampering with our dysfunctional relationship.  He has to shift our hearts to change our behavioral patterns so we might find peace and harmony.  We are tired of warring.  Tired of hating.  Tired of enduring.  We want peace and harmony.

As we roll through a vast flat valley I ponder long about what G has shared.  We pass acres and acres of groves, even a cotton field.  We cross miles of vineyards and huge food and grain processing plants.  Smog hangs over this agricultural valley and I cannot fathom why.  It is not near a city.  I spy large dairies with black and white Hereford cows standing and lying in black dirt saturated with their own urine and manure and am unsettled by the conditions of their environment.  There are no grassy pastures for them to spread out and graze in, only dirt lots.  This is nothing like my late grandmother's dairy farm.

 

The foothills of the Tehachapi

Mountains appear.  Tehachapi means "land of four seasons."  Windmills dot a section of the foothills where strong winds frequent.  Suddenly the mountains are before us.  They are stunning and unexpected after two days of flat valleys.  I get an altitude headache.  We wind through the mountains and the foothills on the other side and observe the El Paso mountain range in the distance.

The town of Mojave is all flat and scrub landscape.  I spot Edward's Air Force Base and thank God for our troops. 

A sign indicates: Twenty Mule Team Road.  Borax Visitor Center.  Soap Mine. 

We cross the Mojave Desert and see parts of historic Route 66.  The desert is not what I expected.  I envisioned sand dunes and cactus.  Instead there is dirt, low scrub bushes, bare rock formations and mountain ranges scattered throughout.  The landscape reminds me of scrubby desert scenes from western movies where the cowboy's horse picks its way around the low growing scrub bushes.  There is even a long train crossing the desert for the outlaw train robbery scene.  I identify Old Woman Mountains and Turtle Mountains. 

Needles, California is our resting spot on the southeastern border with Nevada on the Colorado River in the Sacramento Mountains.  We are thankful for a peaceful and harmonious day with not one squabble. 

This time I wake in the night and God has a talk with me.  Since G functions best in repetitious ruts, he does not appreciate change and is easily unsettled by it.  God tells me to stop trying to manage G's environment and to stop trying to prevent circumstances from upsetting him.  I must stop managing.  I must stop trying to control his environment for him.  G must deal with what comes at him.  I must stop being anxious for G and fearful of everything else.

Day 4 - Needles to Yuma

The last leg of our journey is a roller coaster ride.  The two lane road through the desert rises and dips, rises and dips.  We finally reach our winter destination in Yuma, Arizona.  It is RV land!  Everywhere there are RVs of every make and model.  We settle in an RV park with my brother and sister-in-law.  They welcome us with happy smiles and make us feel at home.

We traveled from Georgia to South Dakota to Colorado to Oregon and finally landed in Arizona for a winter's rest.  We are not proud that we have squabbled our way across the United States.  We know now that God is seriously intent on fixing us.  Relationships are hard work.  We have more work to do.

It's Not Just About the Destination

Destination: Crater Lake, Oregon

We are told it is awesome, a “must see.”  We rise early.  It is raining.  We wanted to go the previous week, but the weatherman predicted rain.  The weatherman was wrong.  We are going today rain or shine, and it is raining lightly, wetting surfaces and making everything slippery including the steps of our chuckwagon.

We dress in layers and gather hats, gloves, camera, maps, lunch, and the Westie.  G starts down the steps in his usual heavy-footed, ungraceful descent.  From behind I see his sneakered foot slide out from under on the slippery steps.  He goes down on the asphalt.  Hard.  I utter a cry of distress and hurry down to him to crouch beside him full of empathy.  He lifts his hand and flexes it.

“Is it broken?” I ask.

“No.” He shows me his pinkie finger and we examine the bleeding abrasion.

G says, “I twisted my knee.”  The bad knee; the one that is missing medial cartilage.  Bone on bone.  The one that hurts everyday and causes him to limp.

This is the second time G has fallen since this adventure began two months ago.  I witnessed the other fall when he tripped over a railroad tie and did a face plant in the snow on a Colorado mountaintop.

“Not a good start to our day,” G says.

“Can you walk?” I ask.

G gets up with difficulty, and we go back inside to clean and bandage the abrasion.  Thirty minutes later we drive out of the rain down I-5 south and marvel at way the fog is hanging onto the hilltops.  Though it’s November in Oregon the grass is still green, and the leaves have turned but still cling to their branches.  They are bright red and golden against a backdrop of deep green pines.  My eye studies color and shadow.  I daydream and forget that I am navigator.  We miss our exit, and I am apologetic.  We must retrace or recalculate.  We recalculate.

We exit further south than planned and head for Wilbur to take a connecting road to 138 East.  Wilbur is a “blink and you will miss it” town.  We turn left at The Whistle Stop. 

The connecting road is a mountain pass which climbs and meanders over and down the other side.  For seventeen miles we wander over hills through scenic valleys and sometimes follow a river. 

We are captivated and nearly forget our destination.  We stop and photograph and imagine a tiny cabin of our own tucked away in one of the valleys.  We are at home with the farms, pastures, cows and horses.  We fall in love with this place.

G loves rivers and streams.  He points out the perfect places to fly fish.  “That’s a good place,” G says.  “In that pool right below those rapids.”

I glance nervously at the climbing, winding, descending, road and occasional sheer drop-off on my side to make sure we are not drifting dangerously.  Someone needs to watch the road. 

G is beside himself with delight and no doubt can imagine himself fly fishing in this river.  I imagine waking up here and gazing out cabin windows at the scenery while drinking a cup of morning tea.

The pass brings us into the town of Glide, and we turn left on 138 East and enter Umpqua National Forest.  The road winds for miles through forest and untouched wilderness until we come upon orange road construction signs and a flagman holding a sign that says STOP.  We stop behind a highway truck, and G notices there is a deer carcass in the back of the truck.  Road kill. 

We are stopped for a long time and G shuts off the engine.  He grumbles that ten minutes have passed. 

 

I notice something fly and perch on a treetop.  A bald eagle!  I have never seen one before.  G can’t see him from his side of the truck.  The eagle watches the deer carcass.  I watch the eagle.  After fifteen minutes the flagman lets us pass. 

We come upon a road sign with information about Crater Lake.  I read that the north entrance is closed.  We must go to the west entrance.  We were originally going to the north entrance, but I had forgotten to navigate.  The alternate route is taking us to the west entrance.  Nice.  If I hadn’t messed up we would have driven to the wrong entrance and had to go even further.  We would have never gone over the mountain pass and never seen the hills and valleys.  G would have never seen his river.  We would have never fallen in love.  I would have never seen the eagle.

I mentally compare this journey to life.  We mess up in life.  How many times during the mess does God bring startling discoveries into our path to encourage us while we are correcting and muddling through the mess?  How many times do we encounter and touch the lives of others in unexpected good ways while convinced we've failed?  How many times are we so focused on the destination that we miss the journey?  I am learning that it is important to slow down and take note of every moment.  This life journey teaches me and causes me to grow.  The destination is the reward after all the hard spiritual work of the journey.

We drive by Diamond Lake and turn onto 230 South then 62 East.  We are in the middle of nowhere, but signs assure us that our destination lies ahead.  We are dwarfed by quiet, snow laden pine forests on all sides.  We arrive at the Visitor Center and watch a video about the spring snow removal and history of Crater Lake. 

This area receives 500 inches of snow annually, and it takes four months to clear the roads in spring.  The collapse of volcano Mount Mazama left a giant crater which filled with rainfall and snow melt.  It is 5 x 6 miles across with an average depth of 1,148, the deepest lake in the US. 

Rim Drive is closed for the winter, but we drive a little further to the Rim Village to view the lake. 

I stand in a foot of snow on the rim of Crater Lake at 6,173 feet above sea level and gaze at the lake.    The scenery is draped in snow.  A thin layer of ice has already begun to form on the surface of the lake.  I see the hidden hand of God in this place.  My heart and eyes are open.  I stuff the ear buds of my iPod in my ears and listen to a worship song.

The more I seek You,

The more I find You.

The more I find You,

The more I love You.

I wanna sit at your feet.

Drink from the cup in your hand.

Lay back against you and breathe.

Feel your heart beat.

This love is so deep.

It’s more than I can stand.

I melt in your peace.

It’s overwhelming.

This day has been a symphony and this is the crescendo.  I lift my hands toward heaven. 

Changing Course

 

South Park, Colorado

In a little countryside church in Oregon, I listened to the idea of our life's journey resembling a ship at sea.  Our course is begun but is often altered leading us into new currents.  Sometimes a sudden course correction comes without warning, and we are caught off guard.

Once again our ship has changed course.  After years of repeated efforts to steer our ship into waters of our own choosing, we were beaten back to the harbor to wait.  Then came the day when wind filled our sails, and God hoisted our anchor and sent us out from the safe harbor to sail into unfamiliar waters.

My companions are a husband of twenty-six years and our Westie.  Our ship is a thirty-seven foot 5th-wheel RV.  Our course is seemingly uncharted, yet God knows and sees the way we are on and the current that carries us. 

 

All is unfamiliar except the faces of loved ones...and God.  God is the same.  I see His gifts and mercies everyday as He provides all that we need on this adventure whether it be a travel center for diesel, protection on the road, courage, patience, the joy of family, and the encouragement of other Believers along the way. 

My desire is to live life with a heart full of gratitude for all the Creator is to me and for His grace and mercy given afresh each day.  I wish to bless others, to be a blessing and to sail straight into the heart of God.

 

Buena Vista, Colorado

 

Bull Moose - Weston Pass in Colorado

 

Colorado

 

Buena Vista, Colorado

 

Buena Vista, Colorado