Chapter Four: Grounded
Even the best-planned vacation can go awry. Of course, this trip did not start out as a vacation. Vince worked as a realtor full-time. I worked part-time in my position with the California Council for the Social Studies.
I hope you will come away from this series with an appreciation for the role of vacation mishaps that slow you down and help you enjoy the trip. Nothing is perfect, especially when traveling, but there is always something to learn and enjoy along the way.
This series was edited in 2024. As a new blogger in 2013, I wrote all ten posts in the third person. My pictures had never been processed, and some were not compelling. It had great bones, and I wanted to preserve the story as a travelogue.
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When you go all over the world for work, your dream vacation is your bedroom.
Jack Antonoff
The road between Coos Bay and Klamath, California, couldn’t have been more beautiful. The elegant veiled gown of fog draped across the beautiful landscape, succeeding in making it more seductive. Each curve in the road revealed yet another grove of tall, elegant, lacy redwoods, their symmetrical branches dangling moss speckled in mist. Every once in a while, the redwoods would part and frame the Pacific Ocean, gleaming white foam radiating a fine spray to the top of the cliff, feathering to the tips of the giant trees.
The GMC truck went through a series of jerks going up the grade of the coastal Highway 101 South.
Is he testing the brakes going uphill? That seems odd.
“What was that?” I asked.
Puppy Girl sat up on her blanket stretched between us, and looked first at one, then the other of us.
“That’s not me,” he answered as we entered California. “Only 10 hours or so to go before we get home.”
Is he joking around? Ten hours? We’ll never make it.
My skin felt clammy. I prayed silently for our safety. Vince clamped his mouth shut as if he imprisoned any negative words behind his mustache. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel. How far could we continue like this? He looked calm on the outside, but tension showed around his eyes.
I had visions of ending up at the bottom of the cliff, waiting for the rescuers.
We pulled over and watched a rescue operation, allowing the truck to rest and recuperate from pulling its unaccustomed load up the long, steep climb.
“Better get moving. It’s getting darker.”
I began to doubt our choice to take the long way home. It wasn’t any steeper than traveling on Interstate 5. However, it was much gloomier as Highway 101 South snaked through the tallest trees in the world with only one lane going each way instead of three. Even though it was only 12:30, I felt the hint of evening mist curl around my heart and squeeze. I did not voice my doubts. Vince pulled over again just north of Klamath, CA.
“I’ll be right back. You wait here with the dog while I check things out.”
Vince disappeared inside the Jet Boat Tours Store. Puppy Girl climbed into my lap and put her nose against the window, sensing something was wrong. The ride had come to a stop, and Vince had gone without her. Cars and trucks zoomed by on the highway, shaking the truck. Within minutes, he came back.
“The man in there says there’s a steep grade ahead, and they have a nice RV park here. “What do you think we should do? Do you have cell service?”
“No.”
I’m not going to second-guess you, but I think climbing a steep hill with a complaining truck pulling a trailer that might be too heavy for it is a bad idea.
“I’ll check us in.” he said.
I nodded.
Vince maneuvered the trailer into an available space at the Golden Bear RV Park using the two gears that worked. We worked together to hook up the water and sewer.
I remembered the last time I’d tried to show off my knowledge of motor homes. I rushed to hook up the water hose and forgot to put on a water pressure thingy. Water exploded into our GMC motor home and flooded it before we could even use it. Then, we had to drive the motorhome from Salt Lake City back to California. This wasn’t our first RV difficulty.
We had about a half hour before the tow truck was due. I grabbed two cans of Diet Coke out of the refrigerator, and we scooted into the little kitchen booth. It was starting to become my comfort zone.
“Whew, that was scary, miles and miles of nothing but trees on both sides of the road. Before the transmission started slipping, I only worried that the green fir giants were scraping the trailer. They were so close on that narrow highway,” Vince said.
“The drivers behind you seemed pretty impatient, too.”
“No kidding, I wasn’t going to race around those curves and tip over. I’ve never pulled anything this big before. I almost lost my lunch when the transmission started slipping as we climbed that little grade.”
“Can you believe the truck broke down just a few feet from an RV Park?”
“I have a feeling someone was looking out for us.”
To hear Vince giving off-hand credit to God cheered me. We did not talk too much about God. We went to church, and maybe talked about it a little, but nothing personal.
“The car rental agency in Crescent City, CA, had one car. We have water, and we have food. It’s enjoyable here,” Vince said headed out the door to catch a ride with the tow truck driver. The car repair shop in Crescent City will look at the truck on Monday.”
No phone service! I hope they have internet.
The campground office had a phone. I canceled our reservations for that night in Eureka, KOA, and the following one at Durango RV in Red Bluff. I had already canceled the KOA in Sacramento. The truck would probably be fixed on Monday, and we would be on our way.
The campground manager rode around on his bike back to the office. The campground was less than half-full. By September, the tourist season was almost over.
I felt like an unwelcome alien beamed down from outer space intruding on the closing season routines.
“There’s no TV service here,” I told Vince when he got back. “No phone, no internet.”
“And I ain’t got cigarettes.”
“Funny. You haven’t told any good Dad jokes recently.”
“Maybe I’ll dream some tonight. I could go to bed at 7:00. Let’s go to dinner before I fall asleep standing up,” he said, gently guiding me towards the door.
“We’ll be here until Tuesday,” Vince said as we drove to dinner. “The paper on the wall of the campground office advertised a “Prime Rib dinner at the Country Club Diner for only $15 a plate.”
I wasn’t very hungry and felt my plans unraveling again.
Tuesday?
“I told the woman in Eureka we’d be there Monday.”
It dawned on me that we would probably not even stay at Eureka. We would drive on to Red Bluff.
I headed back to the office to make another call. Prime rib was beginning to sound good.
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The unpropitious Country Club turned out to be a smoky bar just a half-mile from the campground. We ordered at the door and paid the sullen cashier-waitress. Vince misheard the total, reached into his pocket, and pulled out an extra five.
The woman glared at me with a challenge in her eye, gave me the change from the original amount and quickly latched onto the extra five without batting an eye or uttering a thank you.
The prime rib dinner, which sounded so good on the flyer, reminded me of a church potluck dinner, except that we didn’t have to stand in line to dish their food on paper plates.
The same glum waitress shuffled by our table and threw a rolled-up napkin at my side of the table. Wrapped inside were the plastic utensils. Vince asked her if he could have some, too. She walked away without a nod.
“You’re having burgers and fries. Whatcha need a fork for?” she muttered loud enough that I heard her, but Vince did not.
“Isn’t smoking illegal even in bars?” I whispered.
“It is in California,” Vince answered. He turned the ashtray in the center of the table absently as he said it.
“It doesn’t look like it’s enforced here.”
We were on Yurok tribal lands. Reservations have different laws and even have their own police force.
After about a half hour, Vince was almost done. My meal arrived on a foam plate: instant mashed potatoes and gravy, canned green beans with bacon and onion bits. The prime rib slab was real meat that I estimated weighed three pounds.
Since Vince was done, and the atmosphere dripped disapproval, I ate the vegetables quickly and decided to take the other 90% of it home.
The Yurok Tribal Police car rolled by the diner as Vince and I left. We figured the enforcement officers weren’t going to the Country Club to enforce the no-smoking law in public buildings. They looked like prime rib kinds of guys.
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By 7:30, the sun had set over the Klamath River. Vince lay curled up on the couch with his head resting on his arm. It had been a stressful day for the optimist. He would be uncomfortable when he woke up, but he was nowhere close to that yet. The book he dug out of the cabinet to read lay closed on his lap, and his chest moved rhythmically with each breath.
I read The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. Puppy Girl put herself to bed in the bedroom. She wasn’t stressed.
Puppy Girl had her tribe, and she felt cozy and safe.
“God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.”
Psalm 46:1
What is your home away from home?
Marsha Ingrao - Always Write 
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