Back in a driveway!

In a couple of previous posts I commented that I would rather finish the necessary work on Dod in a forest than in a driveway.  That was before I arrived at DJ's sisters home and discovered one of the best driveways I have ever seen.  We are in Pendleton, OR parked in a driveway that is only a stone's throw from the Umatilla River.

View from Dod's door.

View from my office window.

Jesse is okay with this stop too!

Full power, wi-fi, hot showers, great home-cooked meals and super hosts.  What more could you ask for?  This will be our home base until early August and we will take weekly trips to the nearby (10 to 20 miles away) forests to fine tune our boondocking skills.

I posted earlier that I didn't think I could meet my budget projections for July due to all the fuel expenses but now it seems possible that I may actually be able to come in under budget.  Even though it is not required, I am trading labor in lieu of paying for a site.  The house here was built in 1928 and is currently being considered for addition to the state's historical buildings list.  With a house this old there is always something to be done and I am more than happy to help with the necessary repairs.  I even mowed a lawn for the first time in several years and enjoyed it immensely. 

Loving life!

Southern Hospitality

When I was a kid, most of my relatives were in Texas and my family was in California.  Every couple of years we would load up the family  sedan with my mom and dad, my two brothers and I and make the 1500+ mile trip to somewhere in Texas.  I don’t remember the names of the towns from the earlier trips but the destinations were always memorable.  We always wound up at Ma and Pa’s home no matter what city hosted their current residence.

Even though the houses changed over the years, the furniture was the same; the home cooking was the same; and, most especially, the southern hospitality was always the same.  No matter what time we arrived there was a meal cooking on the range.  (We had stoves in CA but in TX they had ranges.)  As family (and guests) it was understood somehow that we were not expected to help with the purchase of the food, cooking or the cleanup after the meals.

Aunts and uncles always showed up shortly after our arrival:  Sonny and Sybil, Shang and Wilda, Billie and Millie.  Invitations, all accepted, were issued to visit their nearby homes where the hospitality was identical to that at Ma and Pa’s.  You couldn’t lift a finger without getting reminded that you were a guest and that whoever the host was would prefer to take care of all your needs.

When I visited my brother Rick and his wife Karen for the first 4 days of my journey, it became quite clear that  the southern hospitality we experienced as children had rubbed off on him in a big way.  I was transported back in time and ,as family, I was informed that anything and everything I wanted was there and that I shouldn’t ask but just help myself.

Being solo for the past 7 years, with the exception of an odd girlfriend (literally and figuratively), I ate most of my meals alone.  At Rick's house there were always other guests and family members at the dining room table enjoying great conversations, jokes and just a good time in general.


Rick and I settled into a comfortable schedule of working on Dod during the day and playing the "Do you remember?" game long into the night.  I don't know how many times we each said "Do you remember?" but each time the question was asked, we did remember.  Memories that had been placed deep in the backwater of my mind came rushing forward and , good or bad, I enjoyed reliving each and every one.


Thanks Rick!

Pedal to the Metal

For some reason, unknown at the time, when I left my brother's house in Bakersfield I wanted to cover some miles.  And I did!  Dod purred along at 65 and 70 mph with no problems whatsoever.  I was on the I-5 heading north for Oregon.  It is just a freeway through farming country with really nothing to look at except for  billboards and fields and farms.  I had decided early on that I would fill Dod's gas tank every 200 miles to be sure I didn't run short on fuel (his gas gauge doesn't work all the time).

After the first 200 miles I filled the tank and did the calculations to determine the mpg I was getting.  Yikes!  I only got 7.4 mpg on that stretch.  I immediately thought about my budget and how far I could realistically travel averaging 7.4 mpg.  Then the light bulb above my head flashed on!  How much better would my gas mileage be if I drove a little slower?  (Duh!) What was my hurry anyway?  I have nothing to do and the rest of my life to accomplish it!

The next 200 miles I tried to stay around 55 mph with the occasional 60 mph to pass a truck or another RV.  My mileage improved to 9.5 mpg.  What a relief!  As I traveled north, the scenery improved and it was much easier to take it slow and easy.

Mt. Shasta from Highway 97 in Northern California

With scenery like this to inspire me, I averaged 50-55 mpg on the third leg of my journey and achieved my ultimate goal of just over 10 mpg!