Drizzle

6/16/12         "Updait ,updat ."

         Primate wants to update our report. We met Christopher and Dr Bobo, AKA Bob, in the San Francisco Bay area where we spent the night. The next morning we crammed most of our gear into the trunk of Primate's '88 Honda Prelude. The remainder of our gear will accompany Christopher in the back seat. Primate turned right out of Dr. Bobo's driveway, pointing the car north. Yes, Primate has a valid driver's license. Scary thought, huh?

         "Primat driv goode ."

         "Well, Primate ... let's say your driving is okay, everything taken into consideration and we won't go into details about your two accidents."

         The odometer tallied the miles as we proceeded over the hot asphalt of I-5 in California's Sacramento Valley. The air conditioner in Primate's car isn't working, so we roasted in the heat of day under direct sun over straight stretches of highway punctuated by gentle curves that broke the monotony.

         Midway up the valley we passed a fire crew, busy wetting freshly burned grass by one on-ramp. Primate smelled the pungent odor as we passed.

         "Fire," Primate said. His forehead furrowed.

         We took a short break to taste stuffed olives at the Olive Pit.

         "PRimate like anchvi oliv ."

         "That's fine, Primate, but don't put your hand in the jar. Other people will be eating olives out of that."

         We continued towards the southern Oregon border and points beyond. How far would we get today? Dr. Bobo had noted three campgrounds in middle Oregon. Perhaps, we would stop at one of them.

         "Get tired driving," Primate said to Dr. Bobo.

         "Let's check out this campground then." Dr. Bobo pointed to his notes.

         Primate pulled off the freeway and into Pass Creek Park. A gaggle of two dozen geese ambled over short grass towards a small lake. We pondered our options. Dr. Bobo searched for other possible campgrounds farther north as he sat on a derelict flying saucer. We failed to find any, so decided to stop for the night. "Points north" will be there tomorrow. Per the manager's suggestion, we claimed an RV site, then laid out our sleeping gear on the ground, weary of little piles of geese crap littering the ground.

6/17/12         A fine drizzle drove Primate from his sleeping bag.

         "Time to be up," Primate said.

         Dr. Bobo arose shortly after and both, he and Primate packed their gear, then prompted Christopher to do likewise.

         As Primate eased the car out of the campground, I noted, "We added 520 miles to the odometer yesterday."

         "Making good time," Dr. Bobo said, "making good time."

         We hoped to do as much today as we headed north to Portland, then west to the Pacific Ocean. Overcast skies with stiff winds required a jacket for the final 100 yards to the water's edge to accomplish our first goal - low point of Oregon. Primate drove us through intermittent rain to our second goal - the low point of Washington State also along the coast.

         "Make goode tiMe."

         "Yes, Primate, good time," I noted.

         "Hey, Dr. Bobo, where's our next point?" I asked.

         "Oh, it's in Idaho, just across the border from the southeastern corner of Washington."

         "How many miles?"

          Dr. Bobo did some figuring. "It's 350 miles."

         We skirted Portland, Oregon, and proceeded east towards another, different Portland, the one in Maine. We'll zigzag to high points and low points in the northern states along the way, until we cross the continent. Then, we'll reverse direction, head westward and home again.

         East of Portland Dr. Bobo drove us up the Columbia River Valley, then northeast, to give Primate a needed driving break.

         Primate took over again in Waitsville, WA, and we crossed into Idaho at Lewiston and Dr. Bobo searched for the true low point along the river at the confluence of the Snake and Clearwater Rivers.

Primate Stands at Idaho Low Point.

         Hell's Gate State Park, only four miles out of Lewiston provided an ideal spot to stop for the night, 697 miles from last night's camp. Canned chili and instant rice, heated on a camp stove, never tasted so good.