It’s just the other side of a massive hole in the ground, but the North Rim of Grand Canyon National Park might as well be the other side of the planet from the more-visited South Rim. Fewer visitors mean you never have to wait in traffic or transfer to a people-moving bus or elbow your way to a rim view. And the canyon—which shows itself so freely from the South Rim—is largely hidden from the North Rim except to those who are willing to walk and/or drive a bit to a vantage point, which makes the canyon feel as mysterious, elusive and awesome as it is.

An additional 1,400 feet in elevation above the South Rim also means cooler temperatures and different flora, including Aspens. The North Rim even has its own squirrel that’s not found on the other side of the canyon. The Kaibab Squirrel sports a distinctive charcoal colored body and a silver tail which makes it look like two different squirrels got their halves mixed up. Though the Kaibab Squirrel can literally see the South Rim from most of its terrain, it appears to have decided that the hike down into the canyon then back up to the other side is just too much effort—and you can forget about the 220 mile road route between the two rims of the park—so the squirrel remains local.

Sunset over Bright Angel Canyon with the Grand Canyon in the distance.

Despite our late fall arrival, we find the lone North Rim campground is still open for business—though without water services which reduces the nightly rate to just $12, down from the normal $17 rate. Even the coveted rim-front sites, which normally go for a jacked-up $25 a night, are available for just $12 and we happily snag site #14 which rubs right up against the lip of a dramatic side canyon.

As we’re filling out our site registration form Bob, the campground host, comes by on his bicycle and asks if he can take a picture of our Safari SE. We’re used to this kind of Airstreamania by now and we’re happy to oblige. Then Bob, who camps in a 1970s Argosy, explains that he’s taken Airstreamania to a new level, documenting all of the Airstreams that have spent the night in his campground since he started hosting back in May.

Bob tells us that 10 Airstreams have been in the campground so far on his watch, ranging from a 1963 which the owners had dubbed The Frog (rivet, rivet—get it?) to a bunch of 2008s like ours and he’s diligently logged most of them with photos and details about length, model and owners.

Light streaking through Angels Window which we later walke over via a narrow trail.

Now, we’ve hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon and back from the South Rim during an earlier visit to the park, so we know full well that it’s a serious walk. Unlike the Kaibab Squirrel, however, we are so enchanted by the canyon that we decide we have to do it from the North Rim as well. But we don’t begin to seriously plan a canyon hike until after we miraculously get dorm room reservations at Phantom Ranch, the historic lodge down at the bottom of the canyon—something akin to winning the lottery.

That’s when we head to the park’s backcountry permit office where Dave sets us up with camping permits for Cottonwood Campground, mid way between Phantom Ranch and the North Rim and with permits and reservations in hand the only thing left is the walking. And more walking.

At Coconino Overlook, near the beginning of the North Kaibab trail, on our way down into the Grand Canyon. It's still a long way down to Roaring Springs Canyon then Bright Angel Canyon and finally the Colorado River some 5,600 feet below us.

As compared to the hike from the South Rim, the North Rim route to the bottom of the canyon and back is steeper (descending and ascending 5,600 feet vs. 4,400 feet to and from the South Rim) and longer (28 miles round trip to Phantom Ranch and back, vs. 17 round trip from the South Rim). But we’re not complaining. The walk is gorgeous from the first steps as the North Kaibab Trail drops and winds steeply through the rim forest then through the distinct rock layers of the canyon.

Karen heads down the trail just below the Supai Tunnel.

We hike, virtually alone, until we reach Cottonwood Campground with a handful of clean, flat sites near a stream—which is a good thing since the piped in water all along the North Rim trails has just been turned off for the season to avoid freezing pipes. We relax on the bank of the stream in the last of the evening sun and use our SteriPEN to purify enough water to re-fill our Camelbak backpack bladders and get us through the night before scarfing down a delicious (seriously) freeze-dried Mountain House meal and climbing into our sleeping bags.

Karen in The Box, a dramatic narrow, high-walled canyon on the lower section of the North Kaibab trail.

The next day’s walk down to Phantom Ranch is even more breathtaking, mainly because it’s so varied. Gone are the layers upon layers of rock that we descended through the previous day, replaced with surprisingly wet and green stretches along the canyon bottom. Then we reach a section called The Box—4 miles through an increasingly narrow and high-walled canyon crossing and re-crossing the stream. The water thunders off the rock walls and the trail gentles-out to a leisurely stroll almost inperceptably downhill. We could walk like this all day!

Phantom Ranch at the bottom of the Grand Canyon.

And then we’re at Phantom Ranch which appears very much like the oasis it is. Trees, grass, clear water, nearly-tame deer plus a warm bed in the dorm and a hot shower followed by a hot meal in the ranch’s dining hall where the truly delicious beef stew dinner with fresh, crispy salad, fresh-baked cornbread and chocolate cake fuels us up for the hard part—tomorrow’s return hike back UP the way we just came down.

After dinner we sit in on a ranger talk in the dark outdoor amphitheater near the canteen. As the ranger is wrapping up, she casually asks if anyone is interested in going scorpion hunting. As feared, scorpion hunting is really, really easy since they’re all around us. Scorpions glow in the dark, so the rangers at Phantom Ranch use flashlights fitted with a black light bulb to almost instantly reveal a disconcerting number of 2” long scorpions covering the rocks near where we’d just been sitting. One of the rangers specializes in scorpions and has been stung many times and her stories of pain suffering sorry agony and grief make us suddenly wish we still had our boots on instead of the open-toed sandals we wore to dinner…

The Colorado River with some rafters taking a rest on the beach.

We’re not the only ones taking advantage of the natural and gastronomic wonders of Phantom Ranch and of all the interesting folks we meet and see down there, two stand out.

The first is a white-bearded, big-bellied, crinkly-eyed smiler who calls himself Meadow Ed (google him) who easily holds court with his stories from a lifetime lived on the trail—from the Grand Canyon to the Pacific Crest Trail where he is, no exaggeration, a legend. Like we said, google him.

The second stand out is a guy we only exchange about 10 words with. The first time we see him he’s running (yes, running) past us on the trail up the North Rim side as we’re beginning to re-pack our Mountainsmith packs for our own return hike.

Most everything gets down to the bottom of the Canyon by mule, including food, mail, cases of beer, trash (on the way out) and even many tourists.

Later that day, as we approach the half-way mark, the same runner passes us again, this time on his way back down toward Phantom Ranch before continuing back up to the South Rim from whence he came. Still running, he has enough breath to inform us as he flies past that he’s on track to make the entire 42 mile trip from the South Rim to the North Rim and back again, descending and climbing more than 11,300 long hard feet, in EIGHT HOURS. That’s like running up and down a 1,150 story building spread out over 42 miles. Incredible.

We spend the next few hours on the trail simply trying to wrap our heads around what that guy is doing. At the same time, we’re also getting sucked into the addictive nature of the Grand Canyon. Incredibly, we finish our own trip into the canyon and back without even getting sore (possibly due to residual fitness left over from our recent Half Dome hike). This makes us begin to consider upping the ante ourselves with a hike from the North Rim to the South Rim in one day the next time we’re lucky enough to visit Grand Canyon National Park. Stay tuned.

Karen relaxes on the banks of The Colorado River at the the bottom of the Grand Canyon.

Many of you have met Grady, our beloved canine companion. However, since moving into our Safari SE full time back in June we’ve had another official inanimate mascot: a pair of pink plastic flamingos that have decorated our “front lawn” in places as diverse as the Black Rock Desert and the logo for this blog.

This helps explain why, as we pull into Las Vegas, we can’t resist the enormous neon flamingo that beckons to us from in front of the Flamingo Hotel & Casino. Now, we’ve been full-timing in our Airstream for more than four months which has allowed us to happily drive right past hundreds of motels and hotels, but we quickly make an exception and settle into one of The Flamingo’s recently renovated GO rooms after tucking our trailer safely into the hotel’s convenient over-size lot.

Flamingos can be seen all around the Flamingo Las Vegas Hotel & Casino, not all of them are as real as these.

“We own the pink!” is the slightly racy new motto of The Flamingo and the GO rooms make good on that promise with funky, modern, minimalist décor uses strategic touches of pink along with brown and white and cream and tan making the overall effect not unlike being inside a giant box of Good N’ Plenty (in a nice way).

Even nicer is the long and roomy desk (plenty of room for both of our computers), an empty refrigerator (we figure GO rooms have to be the only rooms in Las Vegas that don’t force an overpriced mini bar on you), a sexy/chic quilted white patent leather headboard, a huge fan over the bed, a small TV in the bathroom and an enormous flat screen in the room.

They even have a very small flock of live flamingos in an outdoor landscaped courtyard.

From Las Vegas, we head for the intimidating-sounding Valley of Fire State Park, just 55 miles northeast of the strip—but a world away.

Red rocks like these are what gave Valley of Fire State Park its name.

The park certainly has no flamingos, but it does have some seriously red rock formations, hence the name. It also has two campgrounds, though we highly recommend Arch Rock Campground which is more secluded and features much more dramatic terrain than its counterpart, if you can live without a hookup (there is a free dump station nearby).

An nearly full moon rises inside the arch.

For $14 a night Arch Rock Campground lets us park our Safari SE right amongst the namesake rocks with a level site, a fire ring and a lovely covered picnic table. It’s so nice we stay an extra night and even put our flamingos out.

It's a tight squeeze between the amazing rock formations in the Arch Rock Campground in Valley of Fire State Park.

Some towns just have it all—like Page, Arizona which was literally created out of thin desert to house and feed workers brought into the area to begin building the Glen Canyon Dam in the ‘50s. Today the sleepy town is home to about 7,000 and a great home base for anyone interested in exploring awesome Lake Powell, created when Glen Canyon (and many other side canyons) filled up with water behind the completed Glen Canyon Dam.

The 710 foot high Glen Canyon Dam created Lake Powell.

Part of the Glen Canyon Recreational Area, Lake Powell is famous as a house boating destination and rightly so since the lake’s awesome sculptural sandstone cliffs and hundreds of meandering finger-like side canyons are best explored on the lake’s deep (as in many hundreds of feet deep) and crystal clear water from a fully-appointed houseboat that lets you take a hot shower, cook great meals, sleep in comfy beds and even (in some cases) soak in a hot tub and watch a flat panel TV. Yeah, they’re nicer than our old apartment in Manhattan was.

House boating on beautiful Lake Powell.

Every fall Page makes good use of the air as well as the water with the annual Page/Lake Powell Hot Air Balloon Regatta. In its sixth year, the event attracted nearly 50 balloons plus their pilots and chase crews. Hot air ballooning is truly a team sport since no balloon would ever get inflated and airborne (let alone back on the ground safe and sound) without a small posse of wranglers and drivers who handle the balloon and literally chase it from a vehicle once it’s in the air to make sure they’re on the ground with it wherever the pilot chooses to land.

Karen helps pilot Chris ready his balloon, Heaven's Quilt, for a flight.

Before attending the regatta, we’d never been up in a hot air balloon and we’re surprised to discover how similar it is to scuba diving. Okay, you’re not wet or breathing bottled oxygen (hopefully), but the changing buoyancy and slow pace gives us a very similar relaxed feeling (thanks for taking us up Bill and Chris). As pilot Cheryl’s t-shirt says: “It’s cheaper than therapy.”

A few of the 50 balloons in flight with the Glen Canyon Dam and Lake Powell in the background.

Hot air ballooning—like most specialized, slightly fringe, certainly expensive and possibly dangerous activities—tends to attract fascinating fun loving people (remember: interesting people do interesting things). Everyone we meet during the three day Page/Lake Powell Hot Air Balloon Regatta (hi Bill, Mike, Chris, Travis, Hank, Deb, Frank, Trina, Lee, Jan, Sarah, Bryan, Cheryl, Sean and Gary) is a unique character with great stories, great generosity and a great desire to have a great time with other great people. We’re told that a few jerks sneak into the ranks every once in a while, but they don’t last long.

Pilot Chris at the helm of Heaven's Quilt.

With so many fun-loving people gathered in one place, it’s no surprise that once the early morning flights are done, the tailgating begins. And by tailgating we mean full on hot breakfasts of scrambled eggs and ham and unbelievably delicious ginger pancakes cooked fresh on huge grills and served in cut glass dishes (thanks Deb!). Seriously. Did we mention the homemade bloody mary’s, deep fried turkeys, Jell-O shots and kegs of beer?

The Ladybug and a halloween jack-o-latern balloon were the most interesting shapes at the regatta.

These folks don’t fool around when it comes to flying (okay, not much) and they’re certainly serious about having a good time. The whole post-flight scene reminds us of the impromptu gatherings and good times we always have when we go to music festivals and that makes us happy.

A heliopter ride gives us an aerial view of the balloons glowing on Page's main street.

Balloons line up and glow on the ground along Page's main street.

During this visit to Page we don’t have a houseboat to retire to each night, but we do have our trusty Safari SE tucked snugly into site A3 in the Wahweap RV Park which has perfect lake views (book a site in the low numbers on the A loop for best positioning), which we take full advantage of during sunrise and sunset when everything—rocks, sky, water—turns pink.

Our Airstream with a million dollar view of Lake Powell from the Wahweap RV Park.

Located right at the lake in the midst of the protected recreation area, the RV park is also home to rabbits, road runners and coyotes and, in keeping with its natural surroundings, all the buildings have been designed in colors and shapes that marry well with the sandstone terrain. The main office and store is also equipped with solar panels which help power the place. The RV park is noteworthy for a bunch of more basic reasons as well, including super clean facilities, the cheapest and best RV park laundry room we’ve come across yet ($1 washer s and .50 dryers) and a free shuttle to and from Page. All for $43!

Boondocking in The Alabama Hills, in the shadow of Mount Whitney (right)!

We’ve all been there. That perfect backcountry spot—away from everyone and everything—where you can park your Airstream in peace and quiet with all the comforts of home, but without the need for a hookup or a city water connection or an RV park or neighbors.

Since we got our Safari SE back in June we’ve done plenty of boondocking (the Black Rock Desert, Bonneville Salt Flats, etc), however, The Alabama Hills outside LonePine, California, offers something unique.

The Alabama Hills lie just above Lone Pine, CA and are in the shadow of Mount Whitney, the highest point in the lower 48 (not visible in photo).

Yes, there’s peace and quiet and solitude and privacy and the right price (free) and amazing scenery including rounded red rocks and arches that make us think of Utah, not California. You even get peek-a-boo views of the cloud-shrouded jagged peak of Mt. Whitney towering above.

Karen (and Grady) lounging in front of our panorama windows with The Alabama Hills outside.

But on top of all that, The Alabama Hills, administered by the BLM, also offers Gene Autry and Randolph Scott—or at least their ghosts. That’s because this small area was used as the set for hundreds of Westerns including The Lone Ranger, How the West was Won, Rawhide and Gunga Din and we arrive just as the annual Lone Pine Film Festival is beginning.

The Alabama Hills have been used as a western/desert/mountain location for hundreds of films dating back to the early days of Hollywood. Here a photo shows a location from The Lone Ranger.

Every year during the festival, organizers go out into the Alabama Hills and place temporary placards in front of various locations, showing specific rocks and gulleys as they appeared in a famous movie still. We’re not even big Western fans, but we’re fascinated right along with the busloads of festival goers who are wandering around in the wind. What they made of our Safari parked beyond the fray is anyone’s guess. Maybe they thought it was a movie star’s trailer…

Mount Whitney towers over The Alabama Hills.

It’s been a long time since we’ve eaten anywhere outside our Airstream—something that’s made us richer and healthier. However, who can pass up a gas-station eatery that gets rave reviews from gourmands? Not us. So, just outside Yosemite National Park near Lee Vining, CA we pull into a Mobil station and belly up to the Whoa Nellie Deli where white-capped chefs have replaced microwave burritos with gourmet meals including fish tacos and elk steaks. The place is packed, but the $13-$27 price tags are a bit too rich for our blood (even though everything looks and smells like it’s worth every penny), so we drive above the service station to a lookout point over Mono Lake and make a sandwich in our Airstream.

We’re not here to eat, anyway, since this section of the Eastern Sierra Nevada range is full of things to see and do. First, we head down to Mono Lake Tufa State Natural Reserve, the incredible inland salt lake (it’s 2.5 times saltier than the ocean) that for years had been shrinking as an alarming series of previous lake level markers illustrates. The Tufa formations, big knobby spires of calcium carbonate (basically, big piles of Alka Seltzer) deposited at various intervals where the shoreline used to lap are so strange they look manmade.

Tufa formations in Mono Lake.

Our next stop is Bodie State Historic Park, an incredibly intact former gold mining town. Still-furnished homes, stores with fully-stocked shelves and vintage automobiles parked on the street make it feel as if the residents just up and walked away one day—which is essentially what happened.

The eerily-intact ghost town of Bodie.

Still nursing stiff legs and sore muscles from our recent hike up Half Dome in Yosemite National Park, we make time to soak out the kinks at the Travertine Hot Springs near Bridgeport. The natural spring is located down a dirt road (if we told you any more we’d have to kill you) and locals have done a fantastic job of creating a welcoming, comfortable, clean and free outdoor soaking pool without intruding on the beautiful natural setting. Whether it’s the water or the views of the Sierras, our muscles feel much better after an hour or so of soaking.

Sixty foot tall columnar basalt formations at Devil's Postpile National Monument

This part of the Sierras is also home to Devil’s Postpile National Monument. It’s doesn’t quite deliver a stunning monolith like Devil’s Tower National Monument, which we camped at back in July of 2006 in the very beginning of our Trans-Americas Journey, but the short steep trail to the top of the 60 foot tall columnar basalt pillar formation affords a unique view of these hexagonal pillars which, from above, interlock perfectly like parquet flooring. It’s gorgeous and mysterious but not at all devilish.

The top of the Devil's Postpile formation looks like parquet flooring.

Like many small parks and preserved areas we’ve visited, the US Forest Service run Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest in the Inyo National Forest seems to be bypassed by far too many people. The forest here boasts large groves of beautifully twisted bristlecone pine trees that grow slow, strong and long—more than 4,000 years. The single oldest known living thing on earth, the 4,700 plus year old Methuselah tree, can be reached via a four mile trail right from the visitor center which, sadly, just burned down.

The Patrirch Tree is the largest of its kind in the Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest.

You can also drive 12 miles beyond the visitor center out a dirt road to reach the Patriarch Grove where young bristlecones (a mere 1,000-2,000 years old) flourish at 11,000 feet in the shadow of White Mountain. The landscape is strangely lunar and the twisted, tortured, slow-growing trees look more like wind-swept sculptures than something living. However, the rocky, arid soil here is dotted with tiny up and coming bristlecone seedlings which we hope will ensure a future for these odd trees.

Karen walking among the ancient bristlecone pines in The Patriarch Grove.

A dead bristlecone pine. Some of these dead tress have been dated back 7,000 years.

Before hiking up Half Dome we drive up to Glacier Point for an overview of the pain to come.

We’ve been to Yosemite National Park plenty of times over the years, but somehow we’ve never hiked up iconic, valley-dominating Half Dome. When Karen’s sister says she wants to do the hike as well, the deal is sealed and we steer our Airstream straight for the park’s Upper Pines Campground near Curry Village, where we somehow manage to get a weekend campsite reservation and backcountry permits to climb Half Dome even on short notice. The three of us spend a cozy night carbo-loading, binging on Karen’s sister’s famous pre-hike brownies, sitting out the rain and hoping the weather improves before we have to hit the trail.

Karen and her sister take a break about 3/4 of the way up to Little Yosemite Valley with Nevada Falls in the background.

We decide to do the 16 mile round trip hike from Yosemite Valley to the top of 8,836 foot Half Dome in two hard-hiking days instead of one insane day by camping for one night in Little Yosemite Valley just below the dome. This means we’ve got to dust off our tent, which hasn’t seen much action since we got our Safari SE, and pack up our Mountainsmith backpacks which end up weighing about 40 pounds each.

Karen's hefty Mountainsmith backpack.

Luckily, it’s barely drizzling as we head out and we credit Karen’s sister’s Magic Poncho (a yellow monstrosity purchased hastily at the Curry Village Gift Shop when it looked like the rain was here to stay) for the improvement in the weather. For about four hours we head up a section of the John Muir Trail which climbs steadily and steeply before reaching the top of Nevada Falls, then onto the Little Yosemite Valley backcountry campground where we are relieved to discover that we still remember how to pitch a tent!

It’s damp and cold, but a group campfire and some tasty freeze-dried Mountain House camp food warm us up before we climb into our sleeping bags with one ear cocked for the aggressive female bear that the ranger warned us likes to roam the campground in search of improperly stored food.

To reach the summit of Half Dome you have to climb up a nearly vertical rock slope using these cables. Note the ant-sized people clinging to mountain.

The next morning is clear and sunny and we get fantastic views from the trail during the hike up to the base of the final climb to the top of Half Dome itself. The last 400 feet of the ascent require walking up a nearly vertical granite rock face using massive steel cables to help pull ourselves up—and to keep us from falling off. It’s not for the squeamish and a few hikers seem to be re-considering their need to get to the top.

These cables assist in climbing to the top of Half Dome over this 45 to 60 degree rockface that feels pretty vertical when you're on it.

We, however, haven’t climbed 5,000 feet up from the valley floor just to turn back at the summit so we head for the cables. When we reach the expansive top of Half Dome we’re happy to discover that all of our feet feel great thanks to our new point6 socks. The same can’t be said for our pecs and triceps, however, as this is one of a precious few hikes we can think of that works the upper body as well as the lower body thanks to all that hauling up the cables.

Eric on a ledge on top of Half Dome with Yosemite Valley over 4,000 feet below.

Then it’s back down Half Dome and back to our campsite in Little Yosemite Valley where we quickly break down camp, don our packs (why do they never seem any lighter even after you’ve devoured most of the food that was originally packed into them?) and continue another three hours very steeply down the brutal granite terrain of the Mist Trail.

Some sections of the so-called trail remind us of ancient Roman roads and the uneven, sole-beating conditions prove, yet again, that going downhill can sometimes be even harder than going uphill.

Then we get lost. Well, not really lost but poor signage at a cross roads sends us up the wrong trail for half a mile before we realize our mistake. This unplanned detour eats up precious time with sunset fast approaching on a trail that shouldn’t be navigated in the dark if you can help it. So, despite our fatigue, we hustle, spurred on by visions of the hot shower, homemade dinner and comfy beds we know are waiting for us back in our trusty Airstream. 

Our Safari SE with Half Dome in the bakground.

Our only Yosemite regret? We spot the 1928 Graeme Page car driven by Candelaria and Herman Zapp, two Argentinean road trip adventurers we’ve come to admire after reading their book Spark Your Dream. If you guys are reading this: hola!

We’re just going to say it: the giant redwoods are much more breathtaking and accessible in Sequoia National Park than they are Yosemite National Park, its much more well-known neighbor.

Yes, Mariposa Grove is lovely in Yosemite. However, the walk to General Sherman tree (the largest known tree in the world at almost 275 feet tall and more than 100 feet around) and on to the Congress Trail takes you past stands of massive trees with names like The Senate and The House, one after the other. The redwoods are so thick here that even though it’s raining as we walk, we stay reasonably dry just by moving from dry patch to dry patch under the umbrella-like cover of the dense forest. In fact, this Giant Grove area of the park is home to five of the top 10 biggest known sequoias in the world.

The General Sherman Tree is the largest in the world, as evidenced by a very tiny Karen in front of it.

You can even drive through a redwood in Sequoia National Park and even in our big truck we manage to squeeze through Tunnel Log (sadly, the Airstream is too big).

Our truck barely made it through the Tunnel Tree, buy there was no way the Airstream was making it.

For a different perspective on the park, we climb to the top of Moro Rock via a steep quarter mile staircase that ascends more than 300 feet up to the top of the granite monolith for views out over the western half of Sequoia National Park and the Great Western Divide which divides the watersheds of the Kaweah River to the west and the Kern River to the east.

As if that weren’t enough, we see five bears during a single day in Sequoia National Park, including a mother and cub which is something we’ve only seen once before. Not to mention the fact that Sequoia National Park has one of the best NP signs ever.

The outstanding entrance sign at Sequoia National Park.

Not that we’re ever going to stop going to Yosemite. In fact, we’re headed there next!

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Does the B in BF Goodrich stand for Badass? Because that’s how our truck looks with our brand new BF Goodrich All-Terrain T/A KO tires. We now feel like we can make it through no matter how bad the roads get in Central and South America during the next legs of our Trans-Americas Journey and we’ve got a ton more confidence on anything that’s rocky, mucky or slippery even with our Airstream in tow.

Faithful readers of this blog may recall a particularly embarrassing post a few weeks ago about a silly mistake that resulted in a pretty big hole in the window of our Safari SE. Well, hole no more! Thanks to the team at Airstream (thanks Jim) and the team at Sky River RV in Paso Robles, California (thanks Jana) we now have a new rock guard panel in place. It’s already a bit muddy, but that’s the way it should be.

At Sky River RV we also get the chance to walk through their huge inventory of Airstreams. They even have a SkyDeck—the big motor home/party mobile with the roof deck that has bench seats and umbrellas and everything—which we’ve never even seen before. It’s always so fun to see what’s inside other silver packages because it always makes us appreciate the smartest things about our model and covet smart things we see in other models. Anyone else completely in love with the Safari 23’ FB layout by the way??????

But it’s not all business. Paso Robles is a fantastic wine growing and wine making region and while we’re in town we discover a new label to love and confirm our love for an old favorite.

First, the newbie (to us, anyway): The Tolo Cellars tasting room is in a wonderfully restored 1880s farmhouse with exposed beams and the original (and working) old gas stove in the kitchen. Jennifer pours us tastes of their wonderful wines, descriptions of which are both clever and clear. For example, Tolo’s 2001 Asini is described as “Slap your well-hewn leather with a licorice rope! Bear with us: This wine evokes hints of licorice drops on a plate of rich cherry and blood red rose petals.” We describe it as delicious.

Even better? As we talk and sip it’s revealed that Jennifer lived and traveled in an Airstream full time for a few years. Cheers to that!

Our long-standing and all-time favorite winery in Paso Robles, however, remains Fratelli Perata Winery, where Carol and Gene and team farm 31 acres of vines and produce loudmouthed, personality filled wines (we have prized bottle of their Tre Sorelle red blend with us right now). Full disclosure: Karen’s dad helps bottle, top barrels, organize the wine library, build owl houses and do whatever else needs doing round the winery, but the wine was great even before he started pitching in!

Sadly, we are in Paso a few weeks too late for Fratelli Perata’s annual dinner for its growing number of devoted wine club members—an event that features food, food and more food all served with free flowing and perfectly paired Fratelli Perata wines. Have we made you thirsty? Good. But you’ll have to visit the winery or join the wine club to quench that thirst since it’s practically impossible to find a bottle of Fratelli Perata any other way.

It's a long way up to the Pinnacles up on the far ridge.

While in Paso we also carve out time for a visit to nearby Pinnacles National Monument which has some fantastic rock formations (hence the name) and a population of almost 20 endangered California condors. A ranger helps us spot three of the huge and, honestly, fairly ugly and menacing scavengers (picture a vulture, then double its size) perched in a tree on the hillside above the ranger station (click here to watch the birds in action via the park’s Condor Cam).

The odd rock formations called the Pinnacles.

Anxious to see some more of these huge birds, we head out on the five and a half mile Condor Valley/High Peaks Loop trail. It’s a blazing hot day and we literally drag ourselves up the first section to the highest point on the route which delivers us into the pinnacles themselves. Many of the smooth spires are used by rock climbers but the only climbing we do is on the trail as it negotiates its way over enormous rocks via a series of steep and narrow stairs which pass under low rock overhangs and up inclines so steep that the park put in hand rails (thanks for that, by the way).

Karen climbs along a stretch of very narrow trail that hugs the rock.

It’s a unique trail through even more unique terrain (there’s even a short tunnel through a huge rock), but we don’t see a single condor! If you’re in the area on November 1, however, you’re guaranteed to see condors. That’s the day Pinnacles National Monument officials will be letting the public observe the release of seven condor chicks—not as rare an event as it used to be but still something worth seeing for yourself.

Almost every time we check into a campground we’re asked the same question: how many children and how many pets? Which got us thinking….about getting a dog!

His name is Grady. He doesn’t bark. He doesn’t shed. He doesn’t drool (or have any other unpleasant bodily functions). He just sits quietly and adorably on the arm of the lounge in our Safari (which he’s color coordinated to match) and relaxes on our Astroturf front lawn right next to the flamingos which he never, ever chases.

Grady also loves to ride in the truck (which dog doesn’t?) and play in the great outdoors, so he’s the perfect pet for us.

Did we mention that Grady is stuffed?

Grady hanging out in the Airstream.

Grady trying to keep cool in the Black Rock Desert.

Grady enjoying Lake Shasta.

Grady visiting Canyonlands National Park.

It seems like we’ve got about a thousand modifications to make to our truck as we prepare to cross the border into Mexico this November and then begin the Central and South American legs of our Trans-Americas Journey.

We just knocked that number all the way down to 999, however, with the installation of a brand new hand-crafted Nicktane fuel filter installed by Ken Imler Diesel, the kind of legendary diesel engine guru that people drive for miles (we did) to visit so they can have their trucks worked on in his shop in Sacramento.

What our Nicktane filter does, essentially, is super-filter our fuel to ensure that any water or other gunk in it doesn’t reach the engine where it could do real damage. Don’t freak out. Dangerous fuel is not such a concern here in the US, but it’s something that could really derail us in Central and South America where dirty fuel is often the norm.

Now we’re heading slowly but sure to the border confident that our truck can deal with any fuel we throw at it. Whether we get through the 999 other things on our list is less assured…

Having our Nicktane Fuel Filter installed at Ken Imler Diesel in Sacramento.

We admit that we feel compelled to travel south down the Oregon coast in a bit of a hurry since we’re on our way to visit Karen’s parents in California, but that doesn’t mean we let much escape us. Here, a must-do list (from north to south) even if you’ve only got a few days to get from Astoria, Oregon to Eureka, California.

1.  Eat at Mo’s

It’s not even lunchtime yet, but we stop at Mo’s Seafood in Cannon Beach and get a cup of their “World Famous Clam Chowder” to share on the beach as we look out at Haystack Rock (which is a rock and is, pretty much, shaped like a haystack). It must be said, however, that we are skeptical (of the chowder, not the rock). How can a world-class chowder hail from anywhere but the east coast? Still, we figure if it’s good enough for Bobby Kennedy, who allegedly hauled gallons of the stuff onto his plane after a campaign stop here, it’s good enough for us. It’s also good enough for you. This chowder is awesome—not too thick (it’s made with milk, not cream), full of clams (not potato filler) and simply delicious. Cheap too at $4.95 for a very shareable bowl.

Haystack Rock.

2.  Sip a microbrew on the beach

We stop in Pacific City, Oregon anxious for a look at the famous fleet of Dory boats, a unique flat-bottomed contraption that’s brought ashore by launching it out of the water and landing high up onto the sand. Dramatic, to say the least. Sadly, there’s not a Dory boat to be seen when we arrive at the water’s edge. We do see a likely looking brewpub called the Pelican Pub & Brewery and drown our disappointment in a couple of very fine pints. As we sip, it occurs to us that this is the first brewpub we’ve ever been to (and there have been many, folks) that’s actually on a beach. It’s a nice combination that should happen more often.

Cape Blanco Lighthouse.

3.  Buy a lighthouse

Lighthouses can all start to blend together after a while: desolate wind-swept location, steep, narrow, windy stairs, white paint, big bright light. But the Cape Blanco Lighthouse north of Florence, Oregon stands out for a couple of reasons. First of all, it appears to be pretty much run by a bunch of passionate and knowledgeable volunteers who give a darn good tour. Second, most of the tour takes place right in the lens room about a foot away from the actual original Fresnel lens and it’s very cool to see a working lens so close. Then there’s the view which is jaw dropping, even among lighthouses which tend to have pretty spectacular views, that being a big part of their job. Anyway, we can only imagine how cool it must be in the lighthouse during the annual whale migration. While we’re wondering that, our tour guide explains that the Bureau of Land Management is planning to relinquish responsibility for running the lighthouses and Cape Blanco Lighthouse will soon be put up for sale for a song. Anyone can buy it, and turn it into a house or a B&B or a restaurant or whatever as long as you continue to maintain and operate the light since sailors of all sorts still rely on lighthouses, even in this age of the GPS. As our guide points out, technology needs to be recalibrated. Lighthouses don’t move.

The Fresnel lens at the Cape Blanco Lighthouse.

4.  KOA in the woods

As advertised, the Bandon/Port Orford KOA, a President’s Award winner in 2007, is incredibly wooded—so wooded, in fact, that it almost feels like pulling into a state or national park campground (okay, except for the laundry room and the hot tub…) We park our Airstream in cozy site D7 and even though there are other RVs on either side of us we’re insulated with a buffer of such thick trees that we never see or hear our neighbors.

5.  Help the California State Park System

We weren’t planning to spend much time in Jedediah Smith Redwood State Park since, by all accounts, the forest of old growth redwoods is too thick for many trails so there’s not much here but a campground and a drive through the trees which we figured we’d get enough of in Redwood National and State Parks further south. But we pull into the campground just to see what it’s like—and we never leave. The sites are literally in the middle of groves of coastal redwoods and the site we choose, site #3, provides a snug curved pull through with giants on both sides that seem to hug our Airstream. We simply can’t resist. Plus, it feels good to pump a bit of cash into the struggling California State Park System which has been the target of shut-down threats from Governor Schwarzenegger as he looks to close parks as a way to overcome a state budget shortfall. Our $20 camping fee covers entry into ANY state park in the region for 24 hours, so it’s a bargain to boot. But it’s the chance to literally camp beneath the redwoods that clinches the deal.

Our campsite among the Redwoods in Jedediah Smith Redwood State Park.

6. Gawk at The Redwoods

We know it’s not grammatically correct, but we feel compelled to call them The Redwoods as a kind of ode to the stature and impact of these most impressive trees. Anything that grows to be nearly 400 feet tall and more than 2,000 years old deserves a little nod, don’t you think? Before packing up our Airstream after a lovely night in site #3 in the Jedediah Smith Redwood State Park campground, we drive the Howland Hill Scenic Drive. We are disappointed that we have to leave the Airstream behind, but this five mile gravel road is too narrow and curvy for trailers of any kind and there truly are a couple of narrow S-bends that would have been an alarmingly tight squeeze with the Airstream in tow. It’s an awesome drive with The Redwoods so close you feel like you could roll down the window and reach out and touch them. However, unless you have an enormous sun roof, driving through The Redwoods always feels like half a perspective since you can really only appreciate the base and lower trunk. To get the full effect, we return to the campground and walk across a footbridge over the Smith River (the only major river in the state that hasn’t been dammed) and wander along the one mile long Stout Grove loop trail. Here we get the full effect of The Redwoods as we crane our necks and try to see the tippy top of the massive old growth giants all around us.

Barely enough room to drive the truck between The Redwoods.

In our pre-Airstream life (i.e., back when we had a permanent address before giving up our Manhattan apartment and putting everything in storage), we were Netflix addicts. We loved the movie selection, the cost-effectiveness and the convenience of home delivery in those signature red envelopes.

Once we got over our amazement at the fact that our Safari SE has a DVD player (??!?!?), we began looking for a viable replacement for Netflix that would work for us out on the road full time. We recently found the answer in another high-tech movie delivery system that uses a lot of red.

Redbox is a company that has installed bright red kiosks inside thousands of big chains (Albertson’s, McDonalds, Wal-Mart, etc). Find a Redbox, peruse their movie catalog, make a choice and the machine spits out your DVD—all for just one dollar per night. Key for us, shameless nomads that we are, is the fact that you can return your movie to any Redbox kiosk so you don’t have to stay in the same place to successfully return your movie. Even better? The company is constantly offering codes for free movie rentals. Okay, maybe that sounds a bit like an ad–but go to their site and sign up for these offers and soon you’ll be watching free movies like we are!

Okay. So Mount Rainier in Washington state isn’t actually called that because it’s “rainier” than most (English explorer George Vancouver named Mount Rainier after his friend, Rear Admiral Peter Rainier). But the Mount Rainier region does get an extraordinary amount of rain (about four feet a year). Then there are the years when things go just plain nuts.

Record rainfall in November of 2006 to the tune of 18 inches in 36 hours foiled our first attempt to visit Mount Rainier National Park since the catastrophic flooding closed roads, ruined trails, wiped out campgrounds and diverted entire rivers. The park is actually still repairing damage done by that monster storm, which becomes apparent when we head out of our prime site in the White River Campground (more on that later) and head out on the Glacier Basin Trail.

A flyer tacked up at the trail head warns that the first mile of the 3.5 mile (one way) route was washed away and dramatically re-diverted by flood waters caused by the November, 2006 storm. A new makeshift scramble through this devastated section has been identified by rangers and marked with yellow caution tape and walking through the area gives us a good look at the destructive power of so much water. The landscape only enforces our belief that water always wins.

Entering Mount Rainier National Park on a foggy evening.

Drizzle and cloud cover persist as we reach Glacier Basin itself. A five site primitive campground here is a favorite base camp for climbers summiting Mount Rainier, which remains hidden behind thick clouds the whole time we are up there—tantalizingly close, yet invisible.

We have no trouble at all seeing the most rambunctious marmot we’ve ever encountered. Unlike its usually-lazy brethren, this one is up and at ‘em, scurrying across the gorgeous meadow like a cat, nibbling grass and flowers from one end of the small lake to the other and scampering up the nearby hillside emitting its trademark squeak as it goes—like a noisy child’s toy that had been wound up too tight.

We descend in the same drizzle and begin to think we might have better luck getting a good look at the mountain if we stopped calling it Rainier and started calling it by its Indian name: Mount Tacoma. The rain has stopped by the time we return to our Safari happily at home in the best campsite in White River Campground and, perhaps, the whole park.

The best campsite in the park and maybe the best one in the entire park system.

Site D29 is a pull through literally right on the banks of the White River. That’s great enough. However, this site also offers an in-your-face view of Mount Rainier just upstream. If the clouds would just scram we can see it from the window in the bedroom of our Safari.

It’s so idyllic that we decide to stay for another night and the next morning we are rewarded with bright, clear and sunny skies and our first clear shot of the mountain. Airstream insulated coffee mugs in hand, we drive the 10 miles from the campground to Sunset Point for even better views (and shots) of Mount Rainier. By 7:30 am the clouds are already rolling back in, but after two attempts and two years of waiting, we finally get our hour with the mountain and we can now leave the park satisfied.

Worth the wait: on our second morning in the park Mount Rainier is finally crystal clear.

After a quick run up to Mt. Baker in the lovely Cascade Mountains of Northern Washington (made quicker by peak-obscuring clouds and a persistent drizzle), we steer toward North Cascades National Park, an amalgamation of four autonomously run areas with so many interesting trails we actually turn to a ranger for advice about the best all-around hike in the area.

His pick is the 7.5 mile Maple Pass Loop which is just outside park boundaries. Built by the Forest Service and originally intended as part of the Pacific Crest Trail, the loop begins in dense rain forest and heads up to the cut off to Lake Ann where we stick to the spur that continues steadily up the hillside, giving us an Osprey’s perspective on the fishermen dotting Lake Ann’s shores below us in stealthy pursuit of the steelhead trout she’s stocked. 

Karen heading down the Maple Pass Loop trail just outside North Cascades National Park.

As we switch-back our way up to Maple Pass—which is really more of a saddle than a pass— the terrain becomes steep, rocky and barren. We continue past Maple Pass along the ridge to an adjacent, much higher pass point and head back down the valley next to the one we just hiked up. This steep trail takes us above and then past jade-colored Rainy Lake and across hillsides dotted with huge patches of red, white, purple and yellow wild flowers which are still in high bloom since summer came so late this year. It’s a lot of color for nearly 7,000 feet.

Wildflowers on the Maple Pass Loop trail.

Once we finish the hike we begin to consider where we should spend the night and remember that other Airstreamers have consistently advised us to seek out President‘s Award winning KOAs whenever possible. Sure enough, the KOA in nearby Winthrop has snagged the award for many years running.

To get there, we leave the forest and head to lower ground. As much as we love mountains, emerging from the steep slopes and lofty peaks into a roomy valley always feels like that first, satisfying morning stretch and entering the Methow Valley is even more satisfying. If there were beauty contests for valleys, this one would be wearing a crown and a sash right now: wide, green, (benefitting, as it does, from rain generated by its mountain neighbors) and full of horses. It’s also got something we are not expecting: fantastic architecture.

The picture-perfect Methow Valley.

House after house impresses us with innovative design—half-submerged in the earth, angular roof tops, unexpected colors and materials. From small houses to obviously opulent vacation homes, each one shows signs of functional creativity. It’s hard to find just a simple box.

The valley delivers us into the small town of Winthrop which is an architectural marvel of a different kind. A strict architectural code was imposed years ago, dictating that all storefronts be designed in an Old West style so everything kind of looks like the set of “Gunsmoke.” Somehow, the town has managed to adhere to the rules without committing the cheese ball, theme-park crimes that other Wild West places like Deadwood, South Dakota are so guilty of (we’re pretty sure the unchecked proliferation of tacky casinos, crappy buffets and fake whorehouses has Deadhorse’s most famous residents, Calamity Jane, Wild Bill Hickok and Wyatt Earp, spinning in their graves).

Downtown Winthrop, WA in all its Old West finery.

It’s fitting that the Winthrop/North Cascades National Park KOA is also a sight for sore eyes. Grass everywhere! Big trees! Roomy sites! Helpful staff! We’re sorry we can only stay one night.

Our Safari SE on its very first ferry ride.

The 30 minute ride goes smoothly, of course, and that’s a good thing since Toby’s Tavern in Coupeville, not far from the ferry terminal, has some Penn Cove mussels with our names on them. We were at Toby’s a couple of years ago in search of the area’s world-famous mussels, but the day we stopped by a strange marine bloom meant that fishermen had temporarily stopped going out for the delicious shellfish.

The whole point of today’s ferry ride is to try again. This time we call ahead to confirm that the mussels are available and when the steaming hot bowl arrives at our table it quickly becomes clear that they are worth the repeat visit. They are small, taut, sweet, creamy and not at all sandy. In other words, perfect.

Confession time: extremes are irresistible to us. Put “st” on the end of it—highest/deepest/longest/widest/oldest/whateverest—and we’re there. Needless to say, the chance to get to the westernmost point in the lower 48 is too much for us to resist, so we head out to Cape Alava.

The seven mile (round trip) trail is a lovely rolling meander through coastal rain forest, almost entirely on a cedar wood boardwalk, sections of which are warped and twisted by the perpetual damp into gorgeous wavy shapes that make it feel like walking on a mini-rollercoaster.

Karen on a stretch of boardwalk that takes us to the westernmost point in the lower 48.

When we reach the cape itself we’re whacked in the face by some of the most pungent-smelling seaweed we’ve ever encountered. It’s low tide and the beach is strewn with the stuff, more than a foot deep in places.

The Rocky Beach at Cape Alava, the westernmost point in the lower 48.

Just off the coast, very vocal sea lions are sunning themselves on massive boulders that ring an imposing rocky monolith that you used to be able to c