Highways, Oat Milk Lattes, Sleeplessness and a Roadway Inn

Catchin’ Up on the Trail — May 17

Well, there’s a heap to catch up on…

A few days back, I left the comfort of Crane Hot Springs and set out toward Caldwell, Idaho, hoping to get the camper pump looked at and maybe, if the stars aligned, actually fixed. I’d booked a Harvest Host stop for the night nearby, so the plan felt solid.

The drive that morning was a dream—eastern Oregon showing off again with quiet, winding roads, sage covered hills, and hardly another soul in sight. Just me, the deserted highway, and that easy silence that makes you forget what day it is. That bliss ended at Camping World, where a guy who looked like he’d lost both his last helper and his will to live, tore into my camper trying to find the pump. After some muttering and a look that said “this ain’t gonna be quick,” I made a judgment call. I bailed. Canceled my reservation and just kept on rolling—it was only 10:30am, and I figured I had daylight to burn.

The rest of the day? Not much fun. The wind kept grabbing at the trailer like a kid yanking a kite string, and every bump sent me into a silent prayer for the safety of my beloved Nespresso machine. (Yes, I know—spoiled as a show pony, but some addictions are sacred.) No photos. No real meals. Just a bagel, a couple of hard-boiled eggs, and the steady soundtrack of stuff shifting inside Blue with every lurch. I finally pulled in for the night at a family-run farm store in… Tanghgie, Utah? Not sure how to spell it, but it had that unmistakable wholesome-Mormon vibe. Folks were kind, the produce looked righteous, but they neglected to mention the parking spot was ten feet from a roaring freeway. Beamer inhaled his dinner like a furry shop vac, then proceeded to mark every weed in sight while I collapsed like a sack of Idaho spuds.

The next day I made a pivot—ditched my next Harvest Host and rolled into Hurricane, Utah. Decided to treat myself to a clean, reasonably-priced motel with a working toilet and running water. Living the high life! I’ve already sprawled across both beds like a weary outlaw hiding out after a botched train job.

Yesterday afternoon I took a scouting drive to hunt for photo ops. The light was about as inspiring as a dry whole wheat sandwich—gray clouds smothering everything. But on the way back, wouldn’t you know it? The sky cracked open with the kind of light that makes you wanna pull over and grab the camera. Par for the course, right? By that time I was close to Hurricane and not about to turn around to go back to the cliffs. Still, I slept like a boulder last night. Woke up at 4 a.m. to chase the sunrise… checked the forecast, peeked outside—more clouds. Beamer seemed a little groggy and confused. “Is it breakfast time?” No. Took him out, and we went back to bed for more sleep. 

Today’s plan: clean out the trailer, do laundry, explore Hurricane, and hopefully chase some better light this evening. And here’s the thing—I’m starting to rethink this whole camper gig. I may fix Blue up this summer, take a few short jaunts around Oregon, and then hang up the reins before winter. Truth is, I like to be spontaneous when I travel. If the light’s right or something catches my eye, I want to yank the wheel and chase it. But with the camper in tow—especially one that shudders at the mention of gravel—it’s all just too much work. And unless you’ve got a reservation, good luck finding a place to stop that doesn’t feel like a Walmart or the uneasiness of a rest stop on the freeway. Add in white-knuckle freeway driving at 80+ mph, and yeah, I’m ready for a new plan. Even my trusty Pilot might get swapped out for something more gas-sippin’ and nimble. I only bought it for the towing power anyway though it IS a great ride.

Right now? Just grateful for a motel bed, good coffee, working plumbing and the fact that I’m not currently being passed by a semi on a mountain curve. Beamer agrees. Grateful for him too. Monday, it’s on to AZ and good friends.