May 19, 2008

Monday

PATIENCE PLEASE

Breakfast was taken at eight thirty while we visited with Sidney and Barb.

We saw them off at ten and then Kurt and the driver began discussing the Walleye fishing prospects. 

The wind had been blowing very steady since our arrival and showed no inclination to abate.  A look at the ponds on Saturday had let us know that even small bodies of water had the capability to turn white, in strong winds, and large bodies could get really ugly.  Where we intended to fish was a very big body of water and was bound to be whipped into five foot waves.  Kurt was confident his boat could handle the rough water if we could handle the wet and cold.  The walleye would bite, he felt, if we could weather the storm.  Neither of us were concerned about the effects of “mal de mer” but did have a concern should we have a mechanical or electrical problem with the boat.  In the kind of sea that would be present, even on an inland lake, we could have serious problems.  We soon determined that the walleye hadn’t inflicted any serious injury on us or our loved ones, of late, and as such should be left alone until a later date.  This settled we moved on to other subjects.   

At eleven navigator and driver pointed the coach west on highway eighteen.

Two hours later they were in a Flying J buying fuel or at least trying to.  A fellow traveler, or perhaps a local, blocked the fuel island we were trying to access.  After waiting some twenty minutes, unable to backup due to the toad, our patience was rewarded when he got in his truck and left.

Finally able to begin fueling we were feeling our waiting was being justly rewarded when the fuel pump cut off at three hundred dollars.  A few years ago that would have been at least two complete tanks full but now it wasn’t even one and we needed a few more gallons to complete our fill up.  By rebooting the pump and starting the process over, we were able to fill our tank.

We pulled forward to fill the toad, with unleaded.  The pump wouldn’t work.  Inside the trainee told me she had reset the pump and it would work.  It didn’t.  Back inside she told me she would send out an employee who knew how to operate a fuel pump…Yes I will celebrate my seventieth birthday next January, Lord willing, and have operated a fuel pump once or twice before but am always subject to a senior failure where technology comes into play.  The technologically adept employee arrived but could not get the pump to function.  Back inside the trainee person told me the pump was broken and to try another one.  Yes, moving a thirty seven foot motor home with a tow attached is an easy thing to do, especially in a crowded parking lot, so we circled the parking area and came back to an adjacent pump, that wouldn’t work.

By now the trainee was really exasperated with me and my lack of understanding of all things mechanical or electrical.  She called her wizard again, to come help me, but even under his expert guidance the pump refused to work.  Back inside the training supervisor was approached with the daunting challenge of getting a pump to work for a mentally challenged senior, who by now was showing signs of distress.  While begging for “patience please” he asked the supervisor to reset the pump, one more time, so he could spend his four thirty nine a gallon for fuel, that being such a bargain you know.  She reset the pump and it worked.  She had performed magic by allowing an old person to operate an otherwise unusable gasoline pump.  The trainee was unmoved.

It seemed like an hour had been consumed fueling and when it was over the navigator and driver were glad to be shed of the place and be on the road again.

More high winds greeted us back on the interstate.  Less than five miles down the road the living room slide cover unspooled once again.  We stopped to fix it.  We drove one exit and learned our efforts had failed so we pulled off again and repeated the drill.   With success resting on our shoulders like a victory wreath we drove five more miles before the slide cover unspooled again.   The wind wasn’t really blowing that hard one supposes but it was blowing hard enough that it blew the rain, that was now falling, up under the weep hole protectors, on the windows, and into the coach, on the drivers side.  We had never seen that before and thought it a rather novel way to clean the sills and wall below it.  Just ahead a rest area beckoned and we heeded to call, exiting the freeway and driving into the rest area to wait out the wind and rain.  When both had subsided we once again proceeded to tie down the slide cover, this time figuring out a new and better way to accomplish our goal.  If it worked it would stay fixed for a long time.

By four thirty we were rolling again.  In the last two hours, since leaving the Flying J, we had logged a total of thirty nine miles.  If patience is a virtue, and we think it is, then our virtue was on trial today.

Now that the rain had passed the wind seemed to die, the sun came out and the road became smooth.  Suddenly our valley had become a mountain top as we eased on down the road, though it wasn’t yellow brick, taking in the many pothole lakes and Mallards that swam on them and where the Mallards were absent beavers had built their lodges.  There was even a pheasant or two darting along the roadside.

At seven thirty we pulled into another Flying J, in Fargo, North Dakota.  Believe it or not the driver was able to operate the fuel pump without assistance and the Marlin and its occupants were once again down the road.

Castleton RV Park west of Fargo was graced by our presence at eight thirty.  We had logged three hundred thirty eight miles for the day.

We were glad to be at rest.

May 20, 2008

Tuesday

WESTBOUND AND COOL

We turned the heater on at seven and went back to bed.  Outside it was forty one even though the sun was shining brightly in a clear sky. Back in bed we listened to the wind blow as it gently rocked the coach.

At eight we heard our neighbor’s crank their diesel and pull out.  First there was the low whine of the Cummins which changed to a mid range hum as their speed increased on the service road and then we heard the high pitch as they pulled onto the highway and got up to speed.  Then the quiet returned.

Outside the wind continued blowing corn husks about the coach.  These came from the adjoining field which had been plowed recently.

With the coach warm we rose and had the oats and bacon Onie had prepared for breakfast.  Ample amounts of tea and coffee were at hand to wash down the breakfast.

While she had been preparing our meal the driver/writer had spent time on the www and pecking away on the laptop.

Even with the wind blowing a gale the sun managed to warm things up to fifty by nine o’clock.

By eleven we were back on the road, headed west, in more high winds.  At least the roads were good, wide and smooth and traffic was light.

The winds whipped the water on even the small lakes, and there were lots of them, into whitecaps but the many waterfowl seemed quite content, anyway.  In the fields a few deer were seen.

By six we were rolling into Minot, North Dakota, often one of the coldest spots in the lower forty eight states.

Onie had selected Roughrider RV Park for our overnight stay and a good selection it was.  It was well off the highway, nicely landscaped and unfortunately for the owners, sparsely occupied.

The leveling was quickly done and the land lines connected before we sat down to enjoy Fox News at seven.

Later Onie put supper on the table after which some notes were entered into the laptop.

By eleven we were ready for and tucked in bed.  Outside a cool breeze whispered by and in the distance a train passed in the night.

May 21, 2008

Wednesday

PERFECT RUN

Awake at five and checking the thermometer we found it was forty, outside.  Wanting warmer temps to rise in we went back to bed.

With the electric heater running and the coffee brewing we rose just before seven.  The cold was gone in the coach but a chill still hung in the air.  Outside the sun had raised the temp to forty five.

Hot coffee and tea kept us going until Onie’s stone ground whole wheat brown flour biscuits were ready along with the freshly boiled venison/feral hog sausage.  Patty Rogers figs and Mayhaw jelly were all that was needed to turn our breakfast into a feast.

Fed and watered past full we spent some time on the www and watching Fox News, before taking morning showers.

The road beckoned and we answered the call at eleven going all the way to Cummins back east in Minot.  You will remember that the generator was serviced in Alabama at Kyle’s house and had run perfectly for an hour.  Since then we had tried to run it and it would run for fifteen minutes and shut down.  Brainstorming the problem had left me without a solution as it was full of oil and the coolant had been topped off.  A blocked fuel filter would not let it run for fifteen minutes and then shut down.  It would be less consistent for time.  The only thing left was a trip to the shop as we would need it when we boondock, to keep the freezer solid.

The guy working the service desk was new and was barely able to recognize the computer he was working on to get the information necessary to write a service order. Twenty or thirty minutes was enough time to get the information input, print the work order and then get it to a mechanic.

At twelve thirty the mechanic asked me to unhook the toad and pull the coach up next to the building.  We opened the front of the coach to expose the generator cover which he quickly removed and then cranked the generator.  He said he would let it run until it quit and then put a computer on it to diagnose the problem.

Half an hour later the generator was still running..  He shut it off.  He had called some friends in Montana who specialize in Generac generators, what we have, and they had told him only three things can make a Generac shut down, low oil, low coolant and something else he couldn’t remember but which I know is a clogged fuel or air filter.  Taking a dental mirror he looked on top of the engine and found a metal plate with one screw holding it in place.  Once the screw was removed and the plate lifted off one could see a radiator cap.  The cap was removed and with the aid of the mirror the fluid level inside the radiator was checked.  None was visible.  It is worth noting here that the coolant had been topped off by filling the expansion bottle located next to the radiator as no radiator cap could be found by the writer and now he understands why.  The whole thing was designed by an engineer who never figured to work on the thing.

The mechanic had a fifty five gallon drum that once had been full of engine coolant.  Now it had but a fraction of the original amount but with the writer tipping the drum to one side the mechanic was able to pump out a pint and put it in a jar furnished from the basement of the coach.  The pint was put in the radiator and then the generator engine was cranked.  The radiator belched and the fluid went down into the engine.  The engine was stopped and another pint was added, the cap replaced and the engine cranked.  It ran smoothly for the next hour, a perfect run.

The mechanic told me that an air pocket had developed in the engine and it blocked the coolant from circulating causing the engine to overheat and shutdown.  The only way to get rid of the air pocket is to remove the radiator cap and burp the engine.  That was his story.  My story was the engine just wanted a couple of pints to drink.

Seventy eight dollars and change later a wiser but less flush driver hooked up the toad and headed back to Roughrider RV Park for another night.

Onie had been to Wal-mart, for a memory stick for the laptops and a grocery store for veggies, while the driver/writer learned a lesson in generator maintenance but her trip had been much less expensive.

Back in the park at three we hooked up but didn’t put down the jacks or level up.  We were planning on an early getaway in the morning.

After a walk through the park, it was beautiful and the afternoon was beautiful, notes were made and some fleshed out.

Onie watched Fox News and cleaned the morel mushrooms and wild asparagus.

Then we defrosted the freezer.

Supper was next on the agenda then we watched Match Game, Lingo and Russian Roulette on the Game Show Network before Onie went to bed at eleven.

With more stories waiting to be written the scribbler devoted the next hour to same before retiring, himself.

May 22, 2008 

Thursday

SEE HOW THEY FLY

By eight we were up, seated in front of our laptops, coffee and tea at our elbows, the driver checking his email account while the navigator worked on getting a week ready to post on the website.  Part of getting a week ready to post is offloading pictures from the camera, sorting, selecting and resizing them as well as taking the writings off my laptop, then reading and editing the stories.  Whatever she decides is wholesome, worthy, truthful and not the least bit of a stretch she publishes to the web.

While writing the stories may be quick, easy and fun getting them web ready is long, tedious and a lot like work.

Outside the Marlin the sun shone brightly and by nine had warmed the air to fifty.

Warm up biscuits and sausage filled the empty spots left by a good night’s sleep.

Just under the noon wire, eleven forty five, we were back on the road.

It was just seventy two miles to Canada and the big rolling hills were easy taking for the Cummins and Allison.  They romped quickly over the ground that but a few years ago had been home to a herd of American Bison, sometimes called buffalo that numbered one million.  Now where they had roamed free, trailed by Indian men with nothing to do but hunt and fish, cattle grazed behind barb wire fences.  While the buffalo had vanished, for the most part, the hills remained unchanged as did the waterfowl that inhabit the many potholes lying in the crevasses of the rolling terrain.

Where the soil was too porous, in the folds of the land, to hold water, trees grew providing shade and shelter to cattle and deer, alike.

Canada seems to be doing a good job of checking for terrorists entering their country from the U.S.  In the short space of a hundred feet we were checked by two separate customs officers.  They managed to occupy us for twenty minutes before bidding us good day and good travel.

Now we traveled north to Estavan where the land was flat, now.  This was the high plains but still held lots of potholes, ducks and geese.  No live deer were seen but there was evidence of road kill.

Onie has been hunting deer and feral hogs for a few years now but her experience with wing shooting is nil.  As a result she has had little experience watching birds fly or gauging their speed on the wing.  Today she got some first hand experience at how fast game birds, namely geese, can fly.  Looking out her window, as we rolled along at sixty miles an hour, she saw three geese keeping pace with the coach.  They were calling to a straggler who flew some fifty or sixty feet behind them.  As the straggler began to catch up the lead birds increased their speed and flew away, in front of the coach.  They were flying over sixty miles an hour.  Onie was just amazed but grinned as she saw them wing out of sight.  Now when she hears that mourning dove can fly faster than geese she won’t hesitate to believe it and, by the way, they can.

At Regina we turned west toward Saskatoon and the Flying J there.  The road was much improved, where it was two lane, it was now four lanes, divided and the speed limit had increased to one hundred ten kilometers per hour, about seventy miles per hour, the fastest in Canada, to my knowledge.

With the smooth surface passing under the wheels Onie fixed us a lunch of bread and raw wild asparagus.  Good jasmine tea had been at the driver’s hand all day.

The one hundred fifty miles from Regina to Saskatoon seemed to be uphill, all the way, but by seven, local time we were in our spot for the night.  We had lost an hour today due to a time zone change.

Onie served wild asparagus sautéed in butter for appetizers, before supper-yum!  Later Red beans and rice filled our bowls while an entire sliced Vidalia onion and diced jalapenos were served as sides.  Fresh strawberries were desert.

Well traveled and well fed for the day we turned in at ten.

May 23, 2008

Friday

LONG HAUL TRUCKIN’

We were awake at five or six and up at six or seven.  Keeping track of time changes can be challenging when one is still trying to learn how to operate a fuel pump at a gas bar.  Whatever time it was, it was forty four degrees.  That much was certain and it was five somewhere and six, somewhere else.

We ran the generator for twenty minutes while the coffee and tea brewed and the oatmeal cooked.  Sausage was warmed in the microwave.

When it was eight, local time, we left the Flying J, in Saskatoon, easy.

We were still on the rolling plains with its potholes, more waterfowl and mourning dove.  It appeared to be a wing shooters paradise.

For the first time this trip we had a favorable wind.  An east wind was pushing us.

We have noticed a scarcity of other RVers this year and today we counted just three fifth wheels, one bumper hitch trailer and two coaches, on the road.  It looked like it was shaping up to be a bad year for RV parks and the folks running them.

Just before Edmonton we pulled off the road and into, yes, a Flying J.  It was time to refuel.  We had averaged ten point seven five miles per gallon since last fueling.  Now we put in sixty eight and a half gallons at four seventy five a gallon.  We are not Polly Annas but needed the fuel and worrying about the cost would change nothing except our enjoyment of our trip and the beauty of God’s landscape.

Last year on the way home we had stayed at Sherk’s Campground near Valleyview, Alberta and were on our way there, now.

The rolling plains gave way to wooded hills and steeper grades. The Allison was working harder, downshifting more, and the Cummins was turning more revolutions per minute. The driver paid attention to his job except for the rare occasion when the photographer distracted him.

Outside the temperature was dropping and a strong wind was coming from the west as we headed north.  The Canadian Rockies were far in the distance, maybe one hundred miles or more.  We will be crossing them in a few days but for now they are merely a horizon.  Signs along the road warn of moose and deer but no animals are to be seen.  However there are lots of signs of beaver activity.  The many impoundments created by the beavers seem to be home to them alone as no waterfowl are seen on them nor are mourning dove present in the air.

Today we saw more coaches and fifth wheels than the whole previous trip, combined, but most were south bound.

As we neared Sherk’s the skies began threatening rain.

By averaging fifty miles an hour we had managed to put five hundred forty-four miles behind us before the coach came to rest at six-fifty in space number three at Sherk’s, the same place we occupied last year on the way home.

The dampness, it had rained here this morning, along with the fifty three degrees made one get the hooking up chores taken care of quickly.

We were almost in camp by ourselves there being only four or five more rigs keeping us company.  Last year the camp had been almost full.  The hostess says travelers are scarce this year and puts it to the high cost of fuel.  We don’t understand that as we haven’t paid for any fuel yet.  We have charged all of it!

Our hearts go out to the owners and operators of Sherk’s but we are glad for the peace and quiet.  We will be here two nights and look forward to the rest and time to clean up a bit.  There are also bills to be paid and mailed as well as stories to be conjured up and written.  Since there is no WiFi here, email will have to wait for another day.

We snacked a little around seven before taking long hot showers.

More red beans and rice, jalapenos, onion and avocado graced our table for supper at eight.

The movie began at eight thirty and the sleep at eleven.

May 24, 2008

Saturday

SHERK’S

The morning weather report read, forty six and cloudy, at seven thirty with mixed clouds and sun throughout the day, high near sixty, sun down followed by darkness.  If we weren’t right about the clouds and sun the odds were in our favor about the sundown being followed by darkness.  We weren’t in Alaska yet.

When breakfast came to the table it was steaming hot biscuits and bacon.  After a morning word of thanks to our Provider the biscuits were dressed in Mayhaw jelly and then joined by some hot tea in the gullet.  They made us warm now, we would keep them warm the rest of the day.

Inside the coach all was quiet just as it was outside.  The park was almost devoid of campers.  The high price of fuel was keeping a lot of people out of their rigs, off the roads and out of RV parks.

Showers followed breakfast.

Ready for the day, and planning for future ones, Onie started on another salmon salad.  This is perhaps my favorite lunch when we are moving along the highways and byways.  A frozen package of walleye was taken out of the freezer for supper, tonight.

While all this was taking place the driver/writer was content to hammer away at his laptop.

With the salad prepared and in the refrig and the walleye thawing in the sink we got ready for a little foray into town.

We needed some stamps to mail a check to pay a bill as well as a form to a friend.  We stopped by the post office first.  They were closed. 

Our next stop, right across the street, was the Co-Op Store, one of two grocery stores in town.  We shopped for fresh vegetables and then just browsed through the store before checking out and heading for our next stop, the Rexall Drug Store. 

Most of the readers will have never heard of a Rexall Drug store but they used to be common place when the driver and navigator were kids.  Most of them had a soda fountain in them.  For the edification of the younger readers a soda fountain was a place where one could get a fountain Coke, as well as a Cherry Phosphate, Banana Split and a lot of other good things.  A fountain Coke was made by the soda jerk, the person working behind the counter, and he or she, but usually he, would put a little Coke syrup in the bottom of a glass and then fill it with carbonated water.  Both ingredients came out of a shiny pipe that came out of the counter top, made a one hundred eighty degree bend and ended in a spout.  On top of the bend was a lever that was pulled to dispense the liquid.  The last soda fountain the writer saw was in Richmond, Texas in about nineteen seventy five. We didn’t stop at the soda fountain, if they had one, but went straight to our business of looking for some dental care items.  These were specialty items and we had been looking for them before we left Coldspring and at every stop since.  We would continue to look for them, after today, but Onie did get some hand cream, much needed by both of us, due to the dry climes we have been living in the past few days.

We had just started back to the coach when we realized we were really hungry.  We had just passed a place called The Tea Room.  Onie noticed they advertised a burger and fries for three ninety five.  In Canada that is as rare as a fifty cent burger in the States.  We decided to try it.

Inside we looked at the menu but we both ordered the burger and fries.  While the burgers were being made we took in our surroundings.  We were seated at a small round pedestal table covered with a beautiful white table cloth.  On the table were place settings for two with two linen napkins at each setting.  Next to us was a breakfront which held a collection of Blue Willow china which brought our friend Cindy Goodgion to mind.  She has a huge collection of Blue Willow and would enjoy seeing this one.  Perhaps some day she will.  Next to the breakfront, hanging on the wall was a large collection of tea cups. As out eyes wandered farther we saw all different kinds of collectibles as well as other tables and booths.  The place had a hominess and uniqueness that we won’t see again this trip.  When the burgers and fries came they were scrumptious and a generous size.  We were both full when our plates were empty.  Since the place had few customers we felt obliged to add a few more coins to its coffers, we ordered one serving of bread pudding and two spoons.  Where we found the room for the bread pudding is anyone’s guess but the writer wished he had saved room for more.  After paying the bill we waddled to the car and continued our trip back to Sherk’s.

The cold and mist had been with us all day and was a constant reminder that just a week ago it had snowed two and a half feet, here.  Had you asked us we might have said it was likely to snow again today.  The forecast for tomorrow is clearing and warmer.

Back in our home on wheels Onie continued on the salmon salad until it was ready for the refrigerator.  The writer wrote.

With the heater running we climbed in bed to warm up and watch a movie, The Cutter.

When the last credits had run we got up from the bed, for supper.

Our salad was followed by steaming hot Walleye.

Then it was back to bed for another movie.  We had no TV signal and the VCR is in the bedroom, for those of you wondering.  This time we watched A Bridge Too Far, a story of how one man’s ego can kill thousands of men.

When we started the second movie it was after nine o’clock, but still very daylight.  It is obvious we are getting farther north and the darkness is getting less and less.

The movie lasted a long time, ending at twelve thirty.  There would be no third movie as sleep followed the credits by no more than two minutes.

May 25, 2008

Sunday

ADSETTE CREEK

The writer seems to give the temperature for early morning hours, like today--it was forty six at six forty five.  See there it is again but then he goes on the say he got up at eight or nine or some other time.  Let it be noted that on occasion folks rise during the night to check the outside weather because at heart they are meteorologist.  The fact that they may answer other needs while they are up is secondary and not to be confused with the real reason they get up, they are interested in knowing the outside temperature.

Our neighbors left at eight.

We got up and started our breakfast of oatmeal and bacon.  Was it mentioned we also had coffee and tea?

While the navigator took her turn in the bathroom the driver plugged away on the laptop until it was his turn.

Clean and dressed we made preparations to get back on the road.  Outside some adjustments were made on the living room slide cover, the holding tanks were flushed and the fresh water tank filled.  Land lines were taken in, tires checked and the morning walk around completed while inside Onie got in the sides, started the engine and retracted the jacks.

We left Sherk’s at nine twenty and headed north on highway forty three.

While the divided road lasted but a few miles the rolling hills, woods and waterfowl on ponds stayed with us for the morning as did the farms with their horses and new foals, some just a day or two old.

.

The road to Alaska presents many challenges in many different forms.  One of those forms is long steep grades.  We are talking grades several miles long and nine or ten percent in fall or rise.  Some are steeper.  Perhaps the most formidable is the ten and twelve percent grade going down to and coming away from the Peace River Bridge.  North bound the descent is some seven to nine miles long depending on where one thinks the descent starts.  If one starts with the first drop in altitude it is nine miles.  If one marks the descent from the sign warning to check your brakes then the descent is a mere seven miles.  Either way it is a long way down   Onie always has her foot on her brake pedal as we start down.  The driver engages the exhaust brake and shifts into second or low gear.

With the exhaust brake engaged and in these low gears one only has to use the air brakes every five hundred feet, to keep from going too fast and getting a bath at the bottom.  It must be a Canadian thing but it seems all roads leading down to a bridge have a turn before one gets to the bridge and the longer and steeper the grade the sharper the turn must be.

We were at the Peace River Bridge and made our crossing.  When we began the long pull up the other side Onie released her brake pedal and the driver began breathing normally, again.

Dawson Creek, mile zero of the Alcan, was soon seen through our bug speckled windshield.  We negotiated the fearsome roundabout and headed out of town.  There was more traffic.  Up to this point there had been at least three roads one could take to get to this point but if one was headed to Alaska it was this road and this road alone that would take them there so the funnel effect took place and the vehicles swirled up the road. 

We got to Fort St. John about one in the afternoon.  We pulled into the large Safeway parking lot. Inside Safeway we went straight to the Starbucks counter and ordered a latte and Chai tea, then began shopping.  An hour later we checked out.

After storing our purchases we put the cover on toad.

Then we bought fuel.  The posted price was one-fifty-point-nine per liter.  With our Safeway card and our recent purchases we qualified for a seven cent per liter discount.  Save your brain.   That all figures out to six oh four per Imperial gallon less twenty eight cents less ten percent for the oversized gallon and the net cost is five eighteen per gallon.  Yes, yes that is expensive fuel but it was very good compared to the competition up and down the street.

We were motoring again by three thirty.

Soon we were seeing wild animals or at least their remains.  First we saw a large cow moose lying in the ditch.  She was sleeping her final sleep having been the victim of a vehicular assault.  Of course with her twelve hundred pounds one could only imagine what the vehicle looked like.  Next we saw one of her live kin.  Then we saw another moose lying in the ditch but this one was providing an early supper for two coyotes who were busy munching on some ribs.  Yet a while later we saw a happier picture, for the moose involved, was grazing by the road.

With all this death and mayhem free for the viewing the writer wonders why anyone would pay to see the drivel containing blood and murder that comes from Hollywood under the guise of entertainment.  Remember, if you pay to see such garbage you are putting your seal of approval on it and the garbage lifestyles of the actors and actresses who participate in its production.

At Adsette Creek we found a good pullout.  It was six forty.

The bright sun still hung high in the sky and under it we visited with some folks from Illinois.  They had stopped to stretch their legs and get a bite to eat out of their fifth wheel trailer.  They were on their way to Sourdough Campground in Tok where they will volunteer for the summer.  Ken, the owner and a friend of theirs, had entertained us last year with his antics and pancake toss.  He had been killed this spring in a snowmobile accident.  He was fifty one at the time.  Ken had been the sparkplug of Sourdough and would be sorely missed.  Surely his widow would welcome the help of his and her friends.

While the folks from Illinois moved on to look for a campground we prepared for a night of boondocking.  With the generator running we stepped outside to take a walk.  Mosquitoes as big as red tailed hawks descended in swarms that blocked the sun turning our day into night.  We didn’t retreat from these ghastly beasts but we did advance to the rear until we were safe in the coach.

Wild asparagus and fish were served for supper.

At nine o’clock we went to bed.