Old Empty Roads and the Woman on the Mountain

5 A.M.

It’s a bit chilly. I’m wearing my ski hat and huddled under my sleeping bag like a burrito with trust issues. I try not to run the camper heater—it’s loud, and I’ve developed a thing about noise lately. (Blame it on age, nerves, or too many years in restaurant kitchens.) I’ve got a small ceramic heater that pulls double duty: keeps the chill down and warms my coffee.

Speaking of which—drumroll, please—my Nespresso machine was not broken after all. Just throwing a hissy fit yesterday. Crisis averted! This morning, I’m happily clutching my three-shot, non-fat latte like it’s the Holy Grail. Woohoooo!

The skies are heavy and overcast, with sunrise playing peek-a-boo now and then. This is my favorite time of day during the warmer months—when the world hasn’t fully woken up yet, and neither have I. The neighboring campers who rolled in yesterday—with SIX little rug rats and a St. Bernard that thinks it’s auditioning for security duty—are blessedly still asleep.

And speaking of sleep… I FINALLY got some last night. Actual, drooling-on-the-pillow, REM-cycle sleep. I feel human again. 

The toilet situation? Still dodgy. Pretty sure it’s the water pump. I’ve got an appointment in Caldwell, Idaho—fingers crossed they can fix it in a day. My next three nights are one-stop hops, and then, if the stars align and nothing explodes, I’ll land in Cottonwood, AZ to visit a dear friend.

Today’s agenda for me and Mr. Beams: Head back into Burns for a few errands—gas, ice for the cooler, and bug removal. Then, a side trip to Frenchglen just because. I used to cook for the UO photography workshops up here, so I’ve got history in these parts. Sometimes I’d come up solo, just for a day drive and some peace.

Finding wild horses is unlikely this late in the day, but both Beamer and I need to stretch our legs and get out of the box. (Literally. Camper life.)

Later on…

Sharing a couple quick phone pics from today. I made a stop at the Malheur Field Station and had a nice chat with the manager—friendly gal. Picked up a little info on staying there at some point later down the road. Beams hopped out to stretch his corgi legs and pee on everything in site. Then I drove down to Frenchglen. Not much had changed except a few new buildings for BLM or fire crews. The old general store is still clinging to life. Somewhere at home, I’ve got a black-and-white photo of me in my 30s, sitting with my guitar on that very porch. A good friend and fellow photographer took it. I’d post it if I could dig it up.

I kept going down to the south entrance of the Steens Loop—gate was closed at the north end, naturally. Gravel road wandering ensued. No horses spotted, but I wasn’t holding my breath this late in the day. I did swing by a couple of the usual watering holes and at the road’s end—gate closed again—there was a woman with two little dogs sitting in a camp chair, eating a sandwich out the back of her truck.

Plot twist: she turned out to be someone I met online years ago when I was first learning about the wild horses here. We even crossed paths once at the corrals outside Burns. No idea how we first connected, but she’s a walking encyclopedia on the horses in this area. What are the odds? No tourists, no other cars for miles—just us and the sagebrush. We swapped cards in case I come back to photograph again and then I gratefully scurried into the warm cocoon of my car and out of the winds.

Rounded out the day with gas, more cooler ice, and a giant Mexican breakfast at 2 p.m.—yes, it included a beer. Back at camp, I treated myself to a soak and a hot shower. Bliss.

Now I’m tucking things in for the drive to Caldwell tomorrow. Fingers crossed again for that water pump fix—I'm getting a bit tired of the trip to the porta-potty. Wish me luck, friends.