This morning I am in Burns, Oregon. I arrived here way late last night after taking a wrong turn on Oregon's secondary roads.
Let me back up a bit, say three days.
I didn't leave the Lake Michigamme campground until around ten on Tuesday morning, after dumping all my tanks, including the fresh water at the dump station then returning to my campsite to reload the fresh water. I knew I wouldn't be piling on miles this day and also that I would be getting into Minnesota early afternoon so when I stopped to fuel up in Duluth I called my friends the Lyslos in Glenwood and invited myself over for a visit. I arrived somewhere around six I believe, locked up the Traveler and climbed into their new Buick to go to dinner, I think in Alexandria. I can't recall the name of the restaurant but the food was good and we got to catch up a bit both during dinner and back in their living room afterward.
I wanted to leave early next morning, intending to chalk up substantial miles to get me well into Montana. Mary asked me how early, adding that Subway didn't open for breakfast until seven. We settled on seven. During breakfast El and Mary mentioned their high school reunion and it hit me once again that this town had been their home forever. I think they were high school sweethearts, Mary will correct me if I'm wrong. I thought about my own nomadic life and wondered what it would have been like to have a hometown, a real one where I'd been born, raised, gone to school, left, and ultimately retired to; a place with a history that I and my family had been part of for however many generations.
After breakfast, which Mary wouldn't let me buy, I headed west on I-94. With a few stops for fuel and coffee, I arrived in Big Timber, Montana an hour before dark. I settled in at the Spring Creek Campground and Trout Ranch, by a fast running stream which I have to assume is the namesake of the place.
I was on the road by seven-thirty Thursday morning, rolling back up over the stock grates that held the campground owners' three horses in the field. The horses, in the same place they were last evening when I'd arrived, shifted from their side-by-side, head-to-tail position, doing a little do-si-do for me as I went by. My plan, if one could call anything I think formulate a plan, was to stay on the interstate all the way to Missoula then turn south, wending my way through Idaho mountains on secondary roads and crossing into Oregon around Weiser, Idaho. I "knew" that there were many campgrounds along 20/26 in Oregon. Sigh...
Shortly after crossing the border 20 and 26 split and I, I took the road less traveled. Well not really, but I like the phrase. I had spent many hours behind semis (interruption: two deer just walked through my campsite) climbing through the Idaho mountains, not that I'm complaining but it did mean that I arrived in Oregon way later than I thought I would. See what I mean about planning? So I go in a hurry and didn't give the roadmap a recheck before choosing US-20 when the roads split. No campgrounds in the high grassland of south-central Oregon. I finally, after many hours and in the dark, arrived at Burns, Oregon and the Burns RV Park, exhausted with a windshield so bug-splattered that I'd had to stop twice to clean it.
It is now seven-thirty Friday morning, I'm less than three-hundred miles from Eugene and I'm eager to get there. Bye for now.
Let me back up a bit, say three days.
I didn't leave the Lake Michigamme campground until around ten on Tuesday morning, after dumping all my tanks, including the fresh water at the dump station then returning to my campsite to reload the fresh water. I knew I wouldn't be piling on miles this day and also that I would be getting into Minnesota early afternoon so when I stopped to fuel up in Duluth I called my friends the Lyslos in Glenwood and invited myself over for a visit. I arrived somewhere around six I believe, locked up the Traveler and climbed into their new Buick to go to dinner, I think in Alexandria. I can't recall the name of the restaurant but the food was good and we got to catch up a bit both during dinner and back in their living room afterward.
I wanted to leave early next morning, intending to chalk up substantial miles to get me well into Montana. Mary asked me how early, adding that Subway didn't open for breakfast until seven. We settled on seven. During breakfast El and Mary mentioned their high school reunion and it hit me once again that this town had been their home forever. I think they were high school sweethearts, Mary will correct me if I'm wrong. I thought about my own nomadic life and wondered what it would have been like to have a hometown, a real one where I'd been born, raised, gone to school, left, and ultimately retired to; a place with a history that I and my family had been part of for however many generations.
After breakfast, which Mary wouldn't let me buy, I headed west on I-94. With a few stops for fuel and coffee, I arrived in Big Timber, Montana an hour before dark. I settled in at the Spring Creek Campground and Trout Ranch, by a fast running stream which I have to assume is the namesake of the place.
I was on the road by seven-thirty Thursday morning, rolling back up over the stock grates that held the campground owners' three horses in the field. The horses, in the same place they were last evening when I'd arrived, shifted from their side-by-side, head-to-tail position, doing a little do-si-do for me as I went by. My plan, if one could call anything I think formulate a plan, was to stay on the interstate all the way to Missoula then turn south, wending my way through Idaho mountains on secondary roads and crossing into Oregon around Weiser, Idaho. I "knew" that there were many campgrounds along 20/26 in Oregon. Sigh...
Shortly after crossing the border 20 and 26 split and I, I took the road less traveled. Well not really, but I like the phrase. I had spent many hours behind semis (interruption: two deer just walked through my campsite) climbing through the Idaho mountains, not that I'm complaining but it did mean that I arrived in Oregon way later than I thought I would. See what I mean about planning? So I go in a hurry and didn't give the roadmap a recheck before choosing US-20 when the roads split. No campgrounds in the high grassland of south-central Oregon. I finally, after many hours and in the dark, arrived at Burns, Oregon and the Burns RV Park, exhausted with a windshield so bug-splattered that I'd had to stop twice to clean it.
It is now seven-thirty Friday morning, I'm less than three-hundred miles from Eugene and I'm eager to get there. Bye for now.
Mostly right on our history! Enjoyed your visit very much. Next time bring the missus!
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