I woke just after sunrise to a chorus of eager pets wanting out. I took the boys first, then started a pot of coffee and set out with Princess Comet of Baja for a walkabout. She gravitated toward campsites with other dogs—even though they weren’t active, her curiosity and deafness made her prone to trouble. She was determined to explore far and wide.
Kasey soon got up and headed to the showers, leaving the pets to roam. Three animals are a lot for one person to monitor. Comet started making her way off the compound, but since the area with hookups was empty, I let her wander a bit.
Then Lincoln attempted to follow us across the aqueduct, only to fall into the narrow, shallow chute. He was stuck, unable to get up. I called out to Kasey, but he didn’t hear me. I helped Lincoln back on his feet, secured Tad with a leash, and rushed just in time to catch Comet before she crossed the fence line. Lincoln was fine by then, and I whisked Comet back to the RV—under protest—just as the neighboring dogs began to stir.
With everyone safe and accounted for, Kasey returned refreshed from his shower and sat down for his Spanish lesson. I fed the pets—wet food for Comet, meals for the dogs—then poured coffee and served up cereal and bananas for breakfast. After eating, I cleaned up and stored the leftover dog food.
Small Moments, Lingering Thoughts
I finally sat down to read Heather Cox Richardson’s daily update—essential reading for anyone wanting real context on current events. Just as I got into it, Kasey asked for paper to write a thank-you note to the campground owners. I pointed him to a binder. Then came the pen question. I fibbed and said I didn’t know where one was—I just wanted to read and not be in caretaker mode. A few minutes later he said, “I found one.” I admitted the lie and explained why. I felt a little selfish, but also just needed a moment to myself.
While checking emails and taking advantage of decent internet, Kasey asked if I wanted to take the dogs for another walk. I declined—I’d already taken them out early and needed to catch up on a few things. His bewildered look said it all. He left, a little perturbed.
A Gesture That Moved Us
It was peaceful while he was gone, and I made good progress. When he returned, he’d finished his note and asked if I wanted to go with him to deliver it. I had just received an important email from Umpqua Watersheds and had to stay behind. He went alone, which worked out—my Spanish wouldn’t have helped much anyway.
When he came back, he was visibly moved. The young man running the campground, with his small child by his side, had been brought to tears by Kasey’s message. He really has a way of showing people they’re appreciated.
Kasey worked on his blog while I prepped the RV for departure. Most other campers had already cleared out. It’s a tidy, well-kept place—and it must’ve been terrifying when the fire swept nearby a few weeks ago, singeing only a few palm trees on the edge.
On the Road Again
I retrieved our battery packs from the central charging station, and once everything was stowed, we rolled out. I convinced Kasey to try a different camping spot north of the standard Guerrero Negro stop. If the road proved too rough, we’d just park and bike to the beach. Boondocking suits us better—space, quiet, and no generator questions. Two people yesterday had already asked if we’d be running one. We only do if absolutely necessary, and even then, briefly.
Campgrounds can be convenient, but peace isn’t guaranteed. Part of this journey is the reflection that comes with long stretches of road. I found myself staring at a giant cactus, imagining that the character Shrek might have been inspired by it—those stubby side buds resemble his ears.
Without reliable internet, I often wonder what I’m missing in the news. Is anyone pushing back against all the destruction? I try not to care, but I do. There’s a metaphorical hurricane looming, and pretending it’s not there won’t help.
Today I read that the current administration wants to gut a crucial part of the Endangered Species Act—habitat protection. This law has been a backbone of my life’s work. I can’t help but worry what kind of country we’ll return to in a few days.
I feel a storm of emotions. And I feel nothing for those who support this administration. When the red hats come, I won’t be sitting cross-legged and humming. I’ll be standing—arm in arm with my friends, my neighbors, my community.
A Bit of Magic and Sand
Eventually, we hit a dirt road that wasn’t too bad and found a good pullout spot about a mile in. We walked ahead to check out the road—it had a few dicey patches, so we stopped and set up camp there.
After feeding the pets (Comet preferred the dog food—Tad was not impressed), we grabbed our bikes and set off on the 8-mile ride to the coast. We passed a lone vehicle whose occupants had apparently been enjoying nude kayaking—we politely pedaled the other way.
When the sand got deep and Kasey buried his front wheel, we agreed to park the bikes and walk. The beach was a mix of sand and rock. We found some pretty stones and what looked like whale bones—or maybe ocean-warped remnants of something stranger, like a 3D printer gone rogue.
The ride back was smooth and fun. At camp, the dogs were energized—Lincoln even got playful. They chased and teased each other. He doesn’t bark much these days—he lost his voice months ago—but the joy was clear. Tad posed majestically for a photo.
We wrapped up the evening with a game of Rummikub.
Nearing the Border, Minds Back Home
Just a few days from the border now, and already I’m thinking about what could go wrong. But maybe nothing will. Maybe we’ll sail through, just like last time.
See you on the other side.
Are you coming through Red Bluff? We would love to see you!!
ReplyDeleteI sent Steve a message. Is this Pattie?
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