The Can seemed so much more spacious without the two land sharks milling about and bumping into things. At night (well, all the time), most of the floor space is taken up by large mounds of dog. But man, does Scotty love camping! He gets so excited, he forgets all the Dog Whisperer manners I drilled into him, and cannot stop pulling on the leash.
I wonder if he can smell bears and cougars. At the campground on the coast where we stayed July 9th through 11th, there was a sign that said, "Last bear sighting: _____________" and the blank was filled in in wax marker with 7/8/10. Dammit! Missed it by THAT MUCH! I kept my head on a swivel, but failed to catch sight of any bears. Cougars had been sighted there too, but not since May.
Annie seems to enjoy the sniffing part of camping, but has been limping quite theatrically lately, so we had to take short, slow walks with her, and then take her back to the trailer before letting Scotty pull us like a sleigh for a mile or two. And she wasn't able to pull herself up the two metal steps into the camper, so I got a lot of Collie Lifting in. She was mostly happy to lie still, as she does at home. We call her our Little Wet Blanket.
Tumalo State Park outside of Bend was a big hit with families. So much so that there seemed to be bicycle gangs forming amongst the camp urchins. The noise level was of an overcrowded-playground nature throughout our stay. Next time we head to Bend, we will be heading for more remote Forest Service campgrounds.
Annie, looking like she is enduring this little walk along Tumalo Creek.
Drew took me for a mountain bike ride that skirted along the edges of my abilities.
This is how I look on a mountain bike. The captain kept taking pictures of me while I rode. I must have looked funny.
This is what The Captain looks like on a mountain bike. Like Sven, your mountain biking guide and masseur.
Washburne State Park on the Oregon Coast, north of Florence, was much quieter, and the campers' ages trended much higher, like 60 years higher. And the trail to the beach did not involve any rock climbing, which can be a reality on the "ruggedly beautiful" Oregon coast.
I took Drew for a hike that skirted along the edges of his abilities.
Here is The Captain looking like he's running short on patience and knee cartilage in the mile-square temperate rain forest that is Heceta Head. It was in the high 70s with blue sky everywhere else and we were being rained on. We're almost there. (Then we hiked back.)
Yes, we hiked UP onto Heceta Head and then DOWN off of it to get to the lighthouse.
Now Scotty's an itchy mess and needs another trip to the groomer. I've gained all my New Year's Resolution weight back, in no small part due to s'mores. The yard has been neglected. And the same half-completed canvas has sat on my easel for a month.
This is the Lighthouse Keeper's house at Heceta Head. It's rumored to be haunted, so I was disappointed not to find any ghostly images in the windows.
I would buckle down, but this weekend is the Alpenrose Velodrome Challenge weekend, so we'll be planted out at the track, watching Dean race and eating booth food.
Everything gets put off but the fun. I guess those are okay priorities.