Our wandering path
Pandemic left us out of camping shape
- The Epic Van at McDowell Mountain Regional Park, happy to be on the road again.
- Horseback riders head for the trail at McDowell Mountain Regional Park.
- The sun rises over Jeff and Ann’s camp host spot at McDowell Mountain Regional Park.
As we roll back out on the road this year, it’s clear we’ve lost some of our camping sea legs, so it’s good we’re out on a soft start visiting our camping buddies Jeff and Ann, who are camp hosting at McDowell Mountain Regional Park, a mere 45 minutes from my mother’s house, where we’ve spent copious amounts of time during the pandemic.
We’ve done several short trips and one or two long ones during the pandemic, but haven’t been out nearly as much as we’d like. This year, we’re planning loops to both the East and West coasts, with family reunions, hiking, biking and rafting along the way. We’re pretty pumped about it.
So, only 45 minutes away, we thought. A breeze. We’ll get up, do some last-minute errands, and roll in around noon. We arrived at 4:30 p.m.
First, we were getting our room, which becomes the guest room when we’re not there, back into guest shape with clean sheets and stuff stuffed into the closet.
Then I spent an hour madly searching for the cord bag for the Jackery battery, a vital piece of equipment that keeps our phones and iPads charged when we’re parked and not plugged in (most of the time). I looked through all the (limited) places it might be in the van, NOT in the wire shelves with the books and cans, where I ALWAYS keep it, NOT in the tiny closet with our clothes, cheese board and (new) mousetraps, an oddly satisfying juxtaposition, NOT under the bed in back, NOT ANYWHERE. Back to the bedroom, NOT in the closet or on the shelves in the closet, NOT on the bookshelf, NOT in the many stacks of books on my side of the bed, NOT in the many stacks of books on Tom’s side of the bed, NOT in any dresser drawers, NOT under the bed, NOT, alas, hanging from the ceiling. Finally, FINALLY, found it. On the shelf of my bedside table in plain sight. I say it’s because it’s black and was in a shadow, NOT because I’m blind or senile. Another hour of my life I won’t get back.
Then I had to run to my Periwinkle Polka Dot studio to drop off the last lot of Kantha quilts from India, freshly laundered the night before, so they’ll happily be waiting for me when I return.
Then we threw the rest of our clothes, the coffee fixings, and toiletries in the van and headed to the grocery store to stock up. No problem.
Last thing, propane.
Off we roll to our regular propane spot at the U-Haul on East Indian Shool Road. No can do. Someone stole the adapter for RVs. Later, we learned, it’s because they’re solid brass and worth something on the scavenging circuit. On to the next U-Haul. Out of propane. On to a third. Only the manager fills RVs and he’s not there. Onto a fourth, no connector. Finally, fifth one’s a charm.
When we FINALLY rolled into the park, Jeff and Ann were on duty at the kiosk, laughing at our tardy buts. We settled in before dark, had a margarita when Jeff and Ann got off duty and slept soundly in the dark, quiet hills, happy to be back in The Epic Van.
Like I said, good thing it was a soft launch to get us ready for the Death Valley trip that starts this weekend with camping buddies Keven and Georges. Stay tuned.
The Epic Studio: Finding a nomad’s utopia in a pandemic
- Upcycled denim overalls, cut off and made into a dress using a vintage pillowcase.
- A picture of one corner of the studio, with bins of vintage fabrics and racks of finished pieces along the wall.
- One wall of the studio, with some of our finished items and cubbies for yarn, books, and sewing baskets.
- Our booth at the Tempe Festival of the Arts.
- Our booth at the Tempe Festival of the Arts.
- A swing coat made from a piece of vintage Hawaiian bark cloth.
- Some of my knitted baby hats with tulle poofs. Who doesn’t need a little poof.
- Some of our knitting and crochet hats, berets and scarves.
- Three swing coats, from left, made from an embroidered dresser scarf, vintage Hawaiian barkcloth and a vintage 1950s tablecloth.
- Decorated jean jackets.
- Dresses made from upcycled men’s and women’s shirts.
- A poncho made from a vintage wool blanket, denim decorated with cut lace and a raincoat from waterproof material used for outdoor tablecloths.
- An upcycled denim pinafore with a pocket from a piece of vintage tablecloth and pink floral edging.
- Upcycled overalls with cut lace, Tami’s expertise.
- A reversible romper made from a vintage tablecloth.
- Upcycled “Frankensweater” made from cashmere sweaters cut up and put back together in different combinations, trimmed with vintage velvet and with buttons made of paint chips.
- A swing coat made from a vintage 1950s tablecloth, lined with fleece and with a coconut-shell button.
- A swing coat made from my mother’s old Hawaiian-print quilt, with a coconut-shell button.
- A velvet party dress with a vintage-velvet collar.
- An upcycled cashmere sweater with vintage velvet trim.
- Overalls upcycled into dresses with vintage fabric skirts.
- A swing coat made from an embroidered dresser scarf.
- One of my knitted baby sweaters with a vintage velvet tie.
- A swing coat made from vintage brocade.
- A swing coat made from the quilt we used in The Epic Van for many years.
- Crowns made from lace and ribbon and bits and bobs.
- A swing coat made from a vintage, Hawaiian-print tablecloth.
- An upcycled denim bag with hella decoration.
I have a studio. Which, I guess, makes me a nomad with a little perch. It definitely makes me happy.
Carmel and Big Sur: Feels like home to me
- A panorama shot of Carmel Beach.
- Burrito and Waialua soda from Bruno's at Carmel Beach.
- Sushi!
- Tom on the Ridge Trail at Andrew Molera.
- A view of the coast from the Ridge Trail at Andrew Molera.
- Wildflowers.
- The small old-growth redwood grove on the Ridge Trail at Andrew Molera.
- A redwood trunk.
- A view of the amazing golden California hills from the Ridge Trail at Andrew Molera.
We’ve been visiting the Dahl House in Carmel for decades as the grateful guests of my step-brother Barry and sister-in-law Leslie. And after our visit to the eastern Sierras, we stopped here again.
Riding out dangerous Northwest heat wave
- The Epic Van in an epic heat wave in western Washington state, trying to hide in the old-growth Douglas fir.
- Even old growth trees at Rockport State Park can't block out the searing sun.
- Tom cools off for the first time in days with his toes in the Skagit River.
By Tom Nichols
We’re baking in the midday sun, even while sheltering under old-growth Douglas firs at Rockport State Park.
“I’m in the sun again and I’m about to cry,” Judy says, as our chair dance, perpetual jockeying on the checker-boarded forest floor, moving away from sunshine and into soothing shade. It’s our third day in the northern Cascades.
Blitzed by a record heat wave in the Northwest, worst since the 19th century, Judy and I scramble to stay as cool as possible while keeping close enough to a sports bar to enjoy the Phoenix Suns playoff run in the Western Conference finals.
Winging it: When you find a good spot, stick
- Light through the clouds in the Sierra.
- Tuttle Creek Campground is nestled in the foothills of the Sierra.
- Tom in his winter hiking gear along the Cottonwood Lakes Trail.
- Snow on a fallen log along the Cottonwood Lakes Trail.
- Snow in the Sierra.
- A view from the road up the Sierra, across the Alabama Hills to the Inyo Mountains.
- Wildflowers at Tuttle Creek in the Sierra.
- Yoga with a view of the Sierra.
- Clouds over the Sierra.
- A road near Lone Pine in the eastern Sierra.
- A storm in the Sierra.
- A rider takes her mule through its paces at Mule Days in Bishop, California.
- Clouds over the eastern Sierra.
- Tom crossing a creek in the eastern Sierra.
- A view down the road into the Sierra.
- Sunset over the Sierra.
- The lunar eclipse.
Winging It Rule #1: When you find a near-perfect campground, stick around for a while. (I just made up this rule, but I like it. Kind of like Jethro’s rules in NCIS.)
A winging success: Surviving the deserts, near-perfect camp
- The endless road through the Mohave Desert.
- Our lunch spot at Grimshaw Lake near the small town of Tecopa, California, in the Mohave Desert.
- Sand dunes in Death Valley National Park.
- Our campsite at Tuttle Creek Campground, with the Inyo Mountains in the background.
- Storm in the Sierra.
- Storm in the Sierra.
When you’re winging it, all camps are relative. It’s a balancing act between weather, availability, hiking access and routing.
Post vaccination: Back to winging it on the road
- The Epic Van in our campsite at Roosevelt Lake.
- Our view of Roosevelt Lake from our campsite.
- Blooming saguaro, our yoga view.
- Sunrise over Roosevelt Lake.
- A view of Apache Lake from Tom's hike on the Vineyard leg of the Arizona Trail.
We took off Friday for our first big post-vaccination jaunt: eight weeks through Arizona, up the eastern Sierras, then the California coast, then Oregon and Washington, and back past the Bitterroot Mountains in Idaho. We don’t have reservations anywhere. We’ll find our camp spots where we stop at night.
It’s a feeling of freedom similar to when we first got in the van and headed down the road seven years ago.
Turkeys, trails and chance meetings at High Jinks
- The Epic Van parked at Peppersauce Campground near Oracle, Arizona.
- A rafter of turkeys at Peppersauce Campground.
- A turkey at Peppersauce Campground.
- The trail sign at American Flag Ranch Trailhead.
- The Epic Van, lower left, parked at the trailhead for the Arizona Trail.
- The Arizona Trail headed to High Jinks.
- The High Jinks sign near Oracle, Arizona.
In January, we camped for two nights near Oracle, Arizona, in the Peppersauce Campground where, the first night, we were all alone.
The next morning we were greeted by a rafter of turkeys. (Trust me, I looked it up.)
Ringing in the new year with bourbon and cookies
- The Epic Van sharing Jeff and Ann's camp host spot.
- Jeff and Tom at camp.
- Sunset at McDowell Mountain Regional Park.
- Maker's Mark and Christmas cookies, a great way to ring in the New Year with Ann (and Jeff).
- My yoga view at McDowell Mountain Regional Park.
- Jeff and Ann cooking stuffed peppers over the fire.
- Ann's stuffed peppers topped with an egg.
We rang in a chilly New Year at McDowell Mountain Regional Park with our Yellow Pine, Idaho, pals, Jeff and Ann. We ate Tom’s Hoppin’ John around the picnic table wrapped in winter coats and blankets, toasted with champagne, then broke out our bourbon with Christmas cookies. When the alcohol no longer kept the cold at bay, at 8:30 p.m., we retreated into our respective vans. The only thing howling at midnight was the coyotes.
Looking backward, it felt like 2020 fell into a black hole of despair. We lost friends and family members to COVID. We feared for our own safety and that of everyone we love. We donated to food banks, heartbroken by the long lines of hungry people.
Our travels were severely curtailed with parks, campgrounds, museums, and historic sites closed. And we hunkered down for long stretches in Scottsdale with my sister, Nancy, and our 90-year-old mother, grateful that they remain well.
We found joy, hanging out with our son, Nate, taking short looping camping trips to southern Arizona, Utah and even up to Idaho, where Jeff and Ann installed a new bed in The Epic Van. We cooked a lot, read a lot, and put together a lot of puzzles.
On New Year’s Day, we got up with the crows, literally. They glide around McDowell Mountain Regional Park in pairs, looking for peanuts that Jeff puts out and monitoring the comings and goings of hikers, bikers, and horseback riders, all hitting the trails that head into the foothills just steps from our campsite.
Tom took off on a 10-mile New Year hike, while Jeff and Ann, volunteering at the park, manned and womanned the front kiosk, checking in campers and day users, sharing their expertise about the many mountain bike trails and the competitive track. They also ride the trails, checking for problems, picking up trash and monitoring visitors. And they cooked us delicious meals, like stuffed peppers topped with egg.
I took the slow roll, having coffee in our new bed, then unfurling my yoga mat in the sun, like a lizard, getting in an hour session (on my iPad) with a view of Four Peaks, gathering strength for 2021.
Yellow Pine upgrade, Part One: The bloodletting
- When we arrived in Yellow Pine, our friends Jeff and Ann were helping Nickie and Merle build a log house. Nickie, above, sprays some of the logs with borate, a preservative.
- "Log in the air," rang out whenever the boom lifted one of the trunks to bring it into place.
- Jeff positions a log to roll into place. Each one is individually cut to fit perfectly over the one below.
- Two of the volunteers on the log cabin construction crew drill the logs into place.
- Merle saws off the end of a log to level it for a post in the living area of the house.
- The road to Big Creek Lodge.
- A view of Big Creek.
- The grass airport at Big Creeck, lined with planes that hopscotch among the high-mountain airports.
- The original sign from the Big Creek Lodge.
- The Big Creek Lodge, where we had meatloaf sandwiches on the deck for lunch.
- A bear gives me the evil eye in the lobby of the Big Creek Lodge.
- Some wildlife that gave their lives to decorate the lobby of the Big Creek Lodge.
- The wall that held the television and speakers, and now has a few unsightly holes.
- Ann burning barnwood for her art piece.
- Ann routing the frame for the art piece, moments before routing her pinky.
- Ann, with her injured finger wrapped in purple, poses with the work of art she created for our holy wall.
- A close-up of the work of art, made from barn wood, with a box for my phone and pens, some vintage pieces of metal, including a bottle opener, a doorknob and a three-pronged hook, as well as a knob with an image of the world, a nod to our nomadic wanderings, and a metal mouse, commemorating the many that lost their lives in pursuit of a plague-free rolling home.
- Jeff's Covid hair, which he vows not to cut until after the election.
- Jeff and Ann making Jeff's famous five-alarm salsa.
- "Salsa in the blender," is probably as important a safety note as "Log in the air."
- A barrel of salsa, some of which left with us.
- As for me and my house, we will serve tacos.
- Huckleberry margaritas in Ann's glass cowboy boot mugs.
- The Epic Van heading away from Yellow Pine along the South Fork of the Salmon River, with smoke from local fires hanging low.
Somebody going to emergency, somebody’s going to jail. – Don Henley
Well, no one got arrested, but by the time we left Yellow Pine, Idaho, a guy we don’t know was lying at home with more than 30 stitches in his hand, and our friend Ann had routed off the end of her pinky finger.
Nomads and the civilised look at each other with disapproval and misunderstanding. Why would anyone want to wander the wilderness and live in a tent? Why would anyone want to live in a box and obey unnecessary masters?
Ali, Mostly we’ve found people think it’s really cool. Many tell us they dream of being able to wander the world. Are you a nomad?