Managed to not prepare a thing before Saturday morning, stumbled to the market, bought some ice, beer, chicken, corn, added those items to the pile of camping stuff already in the Campmobile. Sure like having the extra space in the Westy now that the spare is on the snout rack. Filled it up with 89 octane and headed north from San Diego on the 15.
Overcast day, kept it about 60, oil temp behaved. Made the Cajon Pass in 3rd, 4000 feet give or take. Followed the sketchy directions out into an area I'd never been in. Dramatic rock outcroppings and scrub brush unlike the lower desert I'm more familiar with. Stopped once I got to the last town on the map and tanked up again, headed out past the last fast food franchise, looking for "where the power lines begin again" and "a blue water pole surrounded by four yellow water poles".
Found the unpaved road mentioned in the directions. Now I know what a washboard road is. Took it at 1 mph and my fillings still rattled loose. My friend hadn't mentioned the name of their place, so I drove about a mile up the washboard road, figured the first place I passed looked like it had pistachio trees (hey, it had trees, and I was sick of driving/vibrating). Made a sloppy three point turn (did I mention the washboard had soft sand on its edges?), fortunately the sinking feeling I got when the wheels hit the sand wasn't permanent. Rattled back to the first place, vaguely remembered the acronym from a photo my friend had shown me once.
Pulled in, more soft sand, got out, no one shot at me, figured this was a plus. Introduced myself, yup, right place, got to work. Met my friend's two sisters and her father and his partners in the ranch.
Simple, repetitive work slitting two inches ("And not two man-inches" explained one of her sisters) above the T-bud on the trees. Real quiet out there. Worked hard all day. Knocked off about 5:30, got myself some water and used a clean wet shop rag to clean myself off, changed T shirts, rinsed out the shirt I'd been wearing in my 10" dutch oven, wrung it out, rolled the collar up in the passenger side window to dry (worked pretty well!). Opened up a beer, pulled out my portable radio, commenced to cook some chicken in the 12" dutch oven, made small talk, showed off the Campmobile.
One of the guys that had shown up with his Navy buddy in the afternoon to work had a 4.0 liter Jeep which he managed to get stuck on a berm just off the washboard road, helped free that, got a couple of lungfulls of dust and popped my shoulder a couple of times freeing it.
People were amazed with the Campmobile. I wasn't expecting that, they continually remarked about how self-contained it was. This was the first time my friend's father had been to the ranch since his wife's death the week before, the work had slid due to her terminal illness. When we wrapped up for the day, her father (intelligent and articulate) expressed a casual interest in sleeping in the Campmobile, after four "stingers" (hard liquor drink) he said he was ready to turn in.
I motivated over to the Campmobile and made the downstairs berth ready. I was bemused, hadn't expected to be displaced from my little space ship, though I understood that spending a night alone in the trailer where he'd spent time working on the ranch with his wife wasn't attractive. I was happy to share the space.
Took a walk right after that to the end of their 30 acres thinking about why life has so many hard edges, what it all means, et cetera. Real nice sunset, very dramatic mountains in the last rays of light. Walked back, got the chicken and delicious corn, had dinner with everybody who hadn't eaten yet, volunteered to do the dishes, helped my friend's father's partners (very nice older couple) around the trailer. Made conversation and was a pleasant guest.
I elected not to go to the nearest wide spot in the road with a liquor license with my friend, her sisters, and three guys who were working there this weekend. Hung out with one of the partners and one of the worker's drop-dead-gorgeous 17 year old daughter, talked about the illness and death of my friend's mother, talked about how her father was doing. Got to be around 10:30, they were ready to turn in. I had thought I might sleep inside, but felt uncomfortable sleeping in the same room with this gorgeous 17 year old, so excused myself, went outside, hoisted myself up to the upstairs berth in the Campmobile with a borrowed blanket (my friend's father had my sleeping bag and my Indian blanket). Got settled in the pitch black, listened to the very pleasant rain like sound of the silver dollar leaves of the trees near the trailer.
What seemed like about three minutes after I'd actually fallen asleep, I heard a drunken argument between a friend of my friend's father's and her active duty Navy boyfriend. Ignored it until I heard her say "don't you f***** hit me!" God, do I have to get out of bed and do battle with a drunken sailor at three o'clock in the morning? They were right outside of the Campmobile, it was impossible to miss. They continued exchanging obscenities without violence (Thank You God) for another forty minutes or so. Really unpleasant. I do not understand ugliness like that.
If my friend's father hadn't have been crashed downstairs, I'd have split at the time. The things the guy was saying to her were inexcusable. My friend's father woke up and exited via the driver's door prior to sunup (couldn't figure out the side door amidst the clutter and darkness). I snoozed until the sun came up, climbed downstairs, took a leak in the porta potty, dug out the coffee maker and coffee and denatured alcohol one burner stove. Took another fast swipe at myself with a wet shop rag, changed t shirts again, got dressed to work (long sleeve shirt, Levis, big funky lifeguard hat). The girls were still snoozing. Packed my stuff back up in the Campmobile, folded its top back down. My friend's father came out, handed him a cup of coffee since it was just then ready, chatted about a '63 bug he once owned, the Campmobile, the fate of the post-79 Type 2s and the flawed Vanagon engine design. My friend came out and gave her dad a hug, we chatted for a while while I tried to comb the tangles out of my hair (and about a pound of sand from the sand geysers that guy's stuck jeep wheels shot up on our heads).
Went out on my own with the hacksaw and trimmers, did a few rows of trees, noticed my co-workers had headed back for breakfast early after their late start. Did a couple more rows of trees, my friend found me, headed back to the Campmobile, drank four cups of water, had a couple pieces of bacon and some pancakes, made conversation, said goodbye to my friend and headed home, didn't want to stick around after overhearing the ugly argument, sure didn't want to say squat to the guy. Figured this was the most graceful way to get out of there ASAP.
Tooled back towards civilization, had a harbinger of what was to come: woman in a minivan PLASTERED to my rear bumper, didn't take a tap on the brakes to heart. She could see that she couldn't pass due to oncoming traffic, but didn't back off. Irritating. Happily pulled over a bit as soon as the coast was clear and she hauled ass around me -- nice Christian sticker on the back of her mini van. Go figure.
Except for a period of time following an RV at 50 mph, the drive home was hellish, driver after driver tailgating me and making extremely unsafe lane changes to get around me, and I'm in the slow lane! Makes no sense to me. As always, no Highway Patrol to be seen at all, anywhere, ever. Since when is the speed limit 90? C'est incredible! Truly wouldn't mind a .22 revolver to shoot out the occasional window of a tailgating car -- I think that would really get some a*hole's attention.
Sun was out, oil temp was up around 240 by the time I made the top of Cajon Pass, was real happy to follow a semi slowly down the grade and watch the oil temp drop down to 190 by the time we hit the 3000 ft. mark. Campmobile ran great all the way home, I just can't figure the brutal and unnecessary driving habits of all them geeks in Ford Explorers and the like. I just do not get it. Kept to myself in the slow lane driving 50-60 depending on the grades and the oil temp. Should have put in 40 wt but the FLAPS was out and I had some 20-50 to use (this is the previous week).
Got home, took a shower, untangled my hair. Was very happy to see my wife and son and my mother, still recuperating from her own cancer surgery, resting on our living room couch. Felt very grateful that we were together after seeing how ripped up my friend's family was. Counted my blessings.
