Adventures in Moving, Part I

And there's fire on the mountain, lightnin' in the air
Gold in them hills and it's waitin' for me there
Fire on the mountain, lightnin' in the air
Gold in them hills and it's waitin' for me there
Waitin' for me there

--Marshall Tucker Band

The Clark Fork at 9 Mile
Missoula County, Montana
Taken 7/10/08

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything, and you all can be excused for thinking that I dropped off the face of the earth. The fact is that I’ve been preoccupied with trying to empty and sell the house in California. Hence the title of this post, Adventures in Moving.

I’ve now made two trips to California in the past three weeks and frankly, I’m tired. I put the house on the market back in April (or maybe it was March), and on May 22^nd I signed papers agreeing to sell the house for considerably less than I had originally hoped. I had two conditions on accepting such a low-ball offer: 1) the house would be sold “as is” with me not making any further improvements on the property; and 2) the deal had to close ASAP, but no later than 30 days after the buy-sell agreement was signed. The buyer agreed to both conditions.

Now understand, I have never sold a piece of real estate before. Those of you who know me well will probably agree that I’ve never sold anything. Period. But I’ve always been a good student, and I read the documents before signing them. They mentioned certain things that I had to have done within seven days. It should have been my first warning when my realtor told me to not worry about the deadline.

After several calls to my realtor, I received, via fax, a set of documents I had to fill out, sign and fax back. These included such things as verifying that the house had a smoke detector, and that there were no problems with the neighbors. Things like that.

I got the forms back to California before my deadline and waited for the buyer to get all their financing in place. This was complicated by the fact that the buyer spoke no English and everything had to be translated into Spanish. You’d think that in California all this boilerplate documentation would be available in Spanish, but apparently that’s not the case.

Around the middle of June, I called the realtor to ensure that the deal would close on Monday, June 23^rd. Despite the signed agreement, the realtor seemed surprised that I would expect such a thing to happen. It was going to take at least two more weeks, she informed me. Thinking positively, I headed down to California with the intent of renting a U-Haul truck and emptying the house.

Kevin and I spent a week in California, meeting with the folk at the Title Company, and getting everything ready at my end. As it turns out, a U-Haul 17 foot truck isn’t really 17 feet long, and we filled the truck without emptying the house. Oh well, it was just a matter of a few days and the deal would close. Kevin and I left the house with stuff piled in almost every room and returned to Montana.

Once back in Montana I kept in touch with the title folk, asking for a firm date for closing. It seems the lender had all the funds in hand, but wanted those funds to “season,” whatever that means. After a week of daily talks with the title company, I was told that the loan documents would be ready by Monday, July 7^th. On that Monday, I received a call from my realtor saying that she feared the buyer was getting “cold feet.”

The realtor met with the buyers Monday evening, and called me late that night to say that everything was fine, and that they would be requesting the lending documents on Tuesday. Wednesday, July 9^th, she called to tell me that the buyer had backed out completely. She wanted to start showing the house again, but we had left it unshowable.

Panic.

I had been counting on the house sale closing to catch up on paying some bills—including the Missoula mortgage—and was not sure just what I was going to do next. Fortunately, I had a CD that I could turn in prematurely, which is what I did. That allowed me to buy a 16’ cargo trailer and catch up on some bills. It gave me some breathing room, but did not solve the financial crisis I was facing.

In another post I’ll write about the joys of trying to deposit a cashier’s check. Suffice it to say that Kevin and I spent a full day driving from bank to bank, trying to get the money into a working account.

Thursday, July 10^th, around 4:30 in the afternoon, Kevin and I pulled out of Missoula driving his Ford Expedition and pulling the new trailer. California here we come!

Looking West from Coeur d'Alene, Idaho
Taken 7/10/08, 5:30 p.m.

As we neared Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, the oldies Spokane radio station Kevin likes started telling us what we were seeing on the left side of our screen. Seeing? We were listening to the radio. Eventually it dawned on me that we were listening to a television live broadcast. Perhaps the fact that we were no longer hearing any music tipped me off.

The plume of smoke was visible as we climbed the hill on the east side of Coeur d’Alene, and the reports of the fire in suburban Spokane become more and more alarming. In the twenty minutes or so it took us to cross the Spokane valley, the estimates of the fire’s size jumped from 500 acres to 1200 acres to 1500 acres. A mandatory evacuation order was in place for a good bit of the Dishman hills area of Spokane.

Spokane's Burning
(Taken from a moving car)
7/10/08

We also heard about the 40 or so wildfires in the Colville Washington area which had closed portions of US 395. Colville is north of Spokane, and we were heading south on 395, so I wasn’t overly worried, but still. As we drove south of Ritzville on 395, the sunset was spectacular due largely to wildfires burning in the Wenatchee Washington area.

Sunset on the Prairie
Ritzville, Washington
Taken 7/10/08

If you think that high gas prices have cut down on travel, I suggest you try finding a motel room some evening without a reservation. The EconoLodge where I normally stay in Kennewick had no rooms and the desk clerk assured me that there were no rooms anywhere in town. This on a Thursday evening.

While I dozed in the passenger seat, Kevin drove us through to The Dalles, Oregon, where we got the last room at Motel 6. Yes they left the light on for us, but they put up a “Sorry, No Vacancy” sign after I checked in. When I asked why the place was filled, the desk clerk told me “It’s summer.”

Hollyhock
The Dalles, Oregon
Taken 7/11/08

Well, The Dalles is about three hours closer to California than Kennewick, so Friday morning found us back on the road taking the most direct route to Smith River. While we debated crossing over to the coast on Oregon 42, in the end we decided to stay on the Interstate as far as Grants Pass then cross the Siskiyou Mountains on US 199.

Some governmental agency has put up a sign at Cave Junction, Oregon, warning you that when the lights flash, US 199 is closed in California. The lights weren’t flashing, so we proceeded full steam ahead knowing that we were only two hours from “home.” As we crossed the California state line, a reader board at the “bug station” warned us that 199 was closed due to a wildfire at Gasquet.

Well, the two signs weren’t in agreement, and as Gasquet is only twenty miles from Smith River, we decided to proceed. Any other option would have entailed turning around to retrace our route for two hours to catch Oregon 42.

Once in Gasquet, we stopped briefly to visit friends, then tried to talk our way past the guys guarding the barricades. It didn’t work, and I’ll tell you more about our wild ride through the back country tomorrow. In the end, we drove back to our friends’ place and spent the night in their guest room.

To Be Continued.

The Columbia River--Portland to Kennewick

The Columbia rolling down from the Canadian Northwest
Looking East from Chanticleer Point
Taken 6/19/07

Roll on, Columbia, roll on
Roll on, Columbia, roll on
Your power is turning our darkness to dawn
So roll on, Columbia, roll on

Green Douglas firs where the waters cut through
Down her wild mountains and canyons she flew
Canadian Northwest to the oceans so blue
Roll on Columbia, roll on

--Woody Guthrie

In my last epistle, I wrote of the drive along the Suislaw River, ending with a late night in Portland. With this post, I’ll talk about the second day of my drive, June 19^th, 2007, on which date I drove through the Columbia Gorge, and spent some time in The Dalles, Oregon.

Getting a late start from Portland (due, no doubt to the lateness of my bedtime the night before), I drove east out of Portland on I-84, heading for The Dalles, Kennewick, Washington, and points east. In the olden days, I would have driven directly from Portland to Missoula, taking about 10 hours for the trip. But I’m no longer under strict schedules, and can enjoy the journey as much as, if not more than the destination.

Approximately twenty miles east of downtown, I left I-84 to drive the Historic Columbia River Highway. The sign pictured below should have been my first warning. But I do love a challenge, and what’s a 10% grade, especially if you’re going uphill in something more modern than a Model T. Mind you, I wouldn’t want to take the road uphill or down in winter driving conditions. Nor would I want to have one of the houses hidden in the deep foliage, living in constant fear of having someone’s SUV landing in my sun room. The sign warned of a one and a half mile ascent, but I didn’t clock it. I can only say that once I came out on top, I was in suburbia, with beautiful homes, large yards, fences, and narrow, twisty streets which lead eventually to Chanticleer Point, or The Portland Women’s Club, which may be the same thing. The signs were confusing. If I had to guess, I’d say that the Portland Women’s Club was responsible for the establishment and maintenance of the Chanticleer Point Overlook. But that’s only a guess. The photo at the top of this page was taken looking east, up the Columbia, from the overlook. In the distance you can see the Vista House which turned out to be my next stop.

You have been warned
Corbett Hill Road, Corbett Oregon
Taken 6/19/07

A few (OK, many) twists and turns later and the road deposited me at Vista House, the next major tourist overlook on the highway. And actually the last overlook as immediately after Vista House, the road dropped quickly to river level. Vista House was somewhat frustrating in that I saw lots of folks walking around with grande lattes, but saw nowhere to buy one for myself. Grande lattes do seem to have become the drink of choice for Americans in what I refer to as the Seattleization of the World. I wandered around Vista House, taking photos inside and out, and then turned the Saab loose on the old road.

For the next several hours I drove at 30 mph or less, stopping at Latourell Falls, Bridal Veil Falls, Wahkeena Falls, Multnomah Falls, and Horsetail Falls. I hiked many of the short trails leading to these falls, but only at Wahkeena was I tempted to continue beyond the base of the falls itself. Meeting a pair of what Gary would call “Women in sensible shoes,” I asked if the trail circled back down to the parking lot. They weren’t sure about that, but told me that it did go to the top of the falls. Now personally, the only reason I can think of to go to the top of a waterfall is to throw yourself off. You can’t really get a good perspective of the falls from the top. So, semi-reluctantly, I turned around and followed the women back down the trail I had just climbed.

At Multnomah Falls I was put off by a bus load of fundamentalists, and decided against visiting either the gift store or the restaurant. I do recommend the Sunday brunch at Multnomah Falls, however. Many’s the time I’ve headed home from Portland with the idea of having my first meal stop here. All you can eat for a reasonable price and quite a choice as well, with both breakfast and Sunday dinner options available. In fact, why not just eat it all. Life’s short.

A brief stop at Horsetail Falls, led me to try and get a good close up. Instead, I found myself at risk of falling into the pool, and my acrophobia kicked in. Unfortunately, most of the shots I did take were ruined by sunspots as I had reached the time of day where the sun was directly behind the falls. Horsetail Falls is just a couple of miles from my favorite Columbia Gorge campsight, Ainsworth State Park. Before I discovered the nighttime pleasures of Portland, I would camp in Ainsworth and spend a day at Rooster Rock, a clothing optional state park right on the river. There’s no camping available at Rooster Rock, and Ainsworth was the closest park with tent sites. The downside of camping anywhere in the Gorge is that the flat area is so narrow that you’re camped right next to the railroad and the trains run all night long. The upside is that you’re in an absolutely beautiful area, so you ignore the trains rumbling by just outside your tent. I’ve camped with tent and with camper, and Ainsworth even has spots for motorhomes. If you’re at all into camping, I recommend the park which can be reached by taking exit 35 and heading west about half a mile.

I wanted to stay off the interstate as long as I could, but it proved to be impossible east of Ainsworth. The first road I took was a dead end. The second paralleled the freeway for a few miles then became an on-ramp. Even though there were other chances to get off the highway, I continued east on I-84 to The City of The Dalles. (That’s its actual name.) Along the way I saw some fantastic sights, including one fellow windsurfing with a parachute. The wind caught him and lifted him at least twenty feet in the air. Unfortunately, I was driving 65 mph on I-84 and had no place to stop and take some shots of his acrobatics.

Once at The Dalles (the common name for the city), I had some geocaches to find, and exited I-84 at River Road. You can read more about my impressions of this seat of Wasco County by visiting my travel site, www.travelforaday.com/thedallesor.php . I ended up spending much more time than I’d planned, largely because while I found two caches, the second required some hiking up a trail south of town and I had entered the co-ordinates incorrectly in my GPS unit. I got close, but no cigar, when I decided to check what was going on. Once I had the correct co-ordinates, the cache was relatively easy to find. However, having found it, I next found that I had no pen with which to sign the log, and I was unwilling to use my Swiss Army knife to draw blood for my signature. I took some bad photos of me at the cache, holding the cache, showing the cache in position, etc., and figured I could always mail those in as proof of having found the darned thing.

See, I found it! I found it!
Eagle Falls Geocache, The Dalles Oregon
Taken 6/19/07

This sure looked like good rattlesnake country, and the rocks I was climbing did have me a bit concerned about what could happen. I was at least a mile away from my car (and therefore my cell phone). No one knew where I was. No one was really expecting me to show up anywhere at any specific time. And I saw no one else for the entire time I was on this particular quest. Who knows how long my lifeless body would have lain there before it was found, or eaten by coyotes. One of these days I have to learn to carry that darned cell phone with me. And by the way, hiking back from the cache I turned and saw a spectacular view of Mount Hood on the horizon—but the lighting was wrong to get a good pic. Not sure why I missed it hiking in.

Back to the car, which I’d parked in front of a house as directed by the instructions on geocaching.com. The pickup truck in the driveway had a license plate frame that read "www.geocaching.com," so I figured I was in the right place. As I approached the car, I saw a man working in the yard, so I stopped and asked if he were responsible for the cache I’d just found. He seemed surprised that I would make that assumption, but I pointed out that having people park in your front yard was a dead giveaway. He called his wife out of the house. She was the one who actually had placed the cache. We talked for a while, and I thanked them for introducing me to a new section of The Dalles, new to me, that is.

There are lots of geocaches in the area. I had set out to find four and actually found two. After the fiasco finding the Eagle Falls cache, I decided not to try for the second cache hidden in the same general area, but did drive back to Fred Meyers to look for one hidden near the interstate. Alas, even though my GPS unit said I was right on top of the cache, I never found it. Guess that means I have to go back. I did find one along the newly constructed Riverfront Trail. This trail is ten miles long and is an excellent place to get out, stretch your legs, indulge your inner rollerblader, or just get on your bike. There are lots of caches hidden along the trail as well, so make sure you have your GPS unit with you.

The Skyline behind The Dalles.
Doesn't this look like good rattlesnake country?
Taken 6/19/07

Leaving The Dalles, I filled the Saab and my tummy at Biggs Junction, returning to the Shell Station/Linda’s Diner where I’d stopped back in April. Instead of continuing on I-84, however, I crossed the Columbia on US 97, then turned east on Washington 14. I’ve written about this road as well, and recommend it highly as an alternative to I-84. The trucks I was following turned north at Paterson on Washington 221, and I followed suit. This road led us through the Horse Heaven Hills, and past field after field of corn, peas, beans, wheat, mint, I don’t know what all else. The smells coming through the car were intoxicating. Nothing like acres of peas to really make you hungry.

The northern end of 221 is Prosser, the seat of Benton County, about twenty-five miles west of Kennewick. This is wine country—Benton County being the second largest producer of wine in the US. Napa County California is first. I was pleased to note that the monoculture taking over Napa, Sonoma and Mendocino counties in California is not happening here, at least not yet. Still I was struck by the evidence of extreme wealth side by side with that of poverty. Huge mansions are being built on the hillsides overlooking shanties and trailer parks on the flats. I didn’t see much evidence of middle class America in this region. Rather disheartening, I think.

Usually I come into Kennewick from the south. This time I approached from the west and promptly got lost. Kennewick is a much larger city than I previously thought, and the signs seem to be there to direct people who know where they’re going. Those of us from out of town, or out of state, just have to guess where we want to end up. Eventually I found my way to Inca, my favorite Mexican restaurant, where I enjoyed my dinner of tostada de ceviche de pulpo (Raw Octopus Salad). Having decided that I was going to drive no further, I also enjoyed Inca’s special margarita, served, to my surprise, with three cocktail olives. For dessert I had their version of fried ice cream, scoops of chocolate and vanilla ice cream served in a hot fried tortilla, and drizzled with chocolate sauce and whipped cream. Ymmmmm. My impressions of Kennewick can be found at www.travelforaday.com/kennewickwashington.php

Dinner done, I checked into my motel, and collapsed for the evening—spending time on line getting plenty of geocaches ready for the rest of the way east. But that’s a story for another day. You can see a selection of my (mostly unedited) photos from the day's drive on Picasa