Four thousand miles behind us. The Adventure Machine was shuddering up a steep cliff along the Lost Coast as we approached four thousand miles on this trip. The gas gauge was again reading red. We had decided to take the scenic route along the coast to visit an abandoned lighthouse on the way to a campsite in Honeydew, California the prior night. We had well over a half tank when we diverted from the easy route along 101. It was only supposed to be a thirty-mile loop — how long could it take? Two hours for the first fifteen miles. Steep climbs and sharp curves made for slow travel and heavy gas consumption. It was already dark by the time we made it to the end of Lighthouse Road where we found no sign of the abandoned lighthouse we were told of from the tourist guide we picked up at the visitor’s center. There was, however, a quiet campground right on the beach, Mattole Campground. With only one other camper, and only eight bucks a night, we made camp rather than try to push on down the treacherous night curves of highway 211 and whatever other crazy back roads we needed to connect to get back to the 101. The moon was full. The ocean breeze blew chilly over the dunes. Nothing but damp driftwood to burn. But we’ve become quite resourceful when it comes to starting fires over the last month on the road — burning the wretched “Dung Bush” (a desert scrub brush we named Dung Bush because it smells like a port-o-potty when burned) for warmth near Death Valley was probably our most desperate firewood dilemma. Drying driftwood on the rocks along the river on Craig’s Beach near the Oregon border was a close second. Anyway, we had wood gathered and the fire was sizzling in less than an hour. I was just about to dig into my plate of hot dogs and baked beans when we heard Powder howl from two campsites over. I whistled and she quickly came. But from her cowering bad dog trot and tucked tail, I knew she had done something wrong. And the stench beat her back to camp. “You got sprayed by a $*@$!#& Skunk?!” I hollered, as Powder tried to rub her face on my pants. We had peroxide, but no baking soda — peroxide does nothing to fight the stench without backing soda. So Powder got to sleep out in the cold night oceanside air under a makeshift tent we made with the picnic table and a tarp. The next morning was damp and cold along the coast — especially while scrubbing down Powder with dish soap, shampoo, and conditioner. I can only imagine how comical the sight of me in full rain gear scrubbing down a soggy dog in the ocean on cold seaside morning must have looked. Nothing cut the stench. Even cruising the coast with the windows wide open didn’t help. Two hours after departing our beachside campsite, we made the long fourteen-mile trek and were back to 101. We were finally immune to the smell by the time we reached the Avenue of Giants. We hiked in awe under the cover of the magnificent Redwoods. We climbed inside the giants burned hollow from fires thousands of years ago. We climbed the stumps of ancient trees, touching rings that saw the year of 500 A.D. We tried to drive through the Shrine drive-thru tree, but the Adventure Machine was too big. And every time we returned to the van and opened the doors, the stench of skunk was enough to bring tears to our eyes. At least I wasn’t the smelliest one in the van for once. It was already dark and we were running on fumes by the time found a gas station in the Redwood Forest. Two hours later we were in Santa Rosa enjoying Erik’s homemade chili — save Powder who was not allowed in the house. And with a round of showers for all, we will soon be back on the road for what I hope is another four thousand miles as epic as the first — hopefully minus another skunk debacle. Now stocked up on baking soda and peroxide.
Posted on: Tue, 19 Nov 2013 21:07:07 +0000
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