Date: Thu, 12 Oct 1995 22:01:27 -0700 (PDT)
Sender: Vanagon Mailing List <vanagon@vanagon.com>
From: "Tobin T. Copley" <tobin@freenet.vancouver.bc.ca>
Subject: Big Trip Report: Last one! (part 13, long)
Part XIII: Home!
This week: Tobin and Christa make it home, but along the way buy
way too many doughnuts at Wall Drug, drop in on a vanagon@lenti
list member without any warning whatsoever, and plow through snow
on a closed interstate.
Hey kids! See a collection of fine photographs of Tobin and
Christa on their Big Trip at
--> http://www.teleport.com/~des/vw
And why not join us and other list members on a road
trip to the Beaufort Sea (on the Arctic Ocean) next
August? Check it out at
--> http://www.chaco.com/~coyote/trek
March 22, 1995 Murdo, South Dakota.
We woke up in our motel room and enjoyed a hot shower and watching
CNN on the TV. Our other TV channel choices seemed to be mostly
stations from either Denver or Detroit, which I thought was
strange. I went out to he camper and boiled some water for tea on
our stove. We sipped tea, stared at the TV, and I searched the
road atlas for ways to get west from here without being bound to
Interstate 90 for the rest of the trip.
We also realized we had less than a week left before we had to be
back home. Christa and I were kind of sad about this. We didn't
want our beautiful trip to end.
I had parked our camper at the top end of a slightly sloping
parking lot, so getting started in the morning did not prove to be
a problem. We also managed to find a gas station in town with a
slope just after the pumps, so we were treated to two easy starts
first thing in the morning. Who needs a starter?
The auto museum was still closed, so we patted our camper on the
dashboard and pulled onto I-90, where we'd spend the rest of the
morning. We watched the plains slowly glide by, taking our time
as one big truck after another blew by us in the left lane.
We read the constant parade of billboards for entertainment,
editing them for grammar and mis-spellings, or musing what would
happen if we could just shuffle a letter or two around here and
there. We passed one sign that read:
Either Way...
DOPE
Will Get You!
Another neat thing about the sign was that one side of the sign
had a little picture of a tomb-stone with "RIP" engraved on it,
and the other side had a guy in striped prison clothes holding on
to jail bars. Oooh, scary!
After driving by the sign, Christa and I were both laughing out
loud and I turned to her and chuckled, "That's almost worth a
picture!" "What are you talking about?" she replied, "it IS worth
a picture!" I threw the camper over to the side of the freeway
and stood on the brakes. As soon as we came to a stop, I threw it
into reverse and started backing several hundred yards up the
parking lane, with our flashers on. A minute or so later, we were
back at the sign again and we had no regrets about taking the time
to see it again. It was wonderful. Christa piled out of the
camper with her camera, and started trying to frame up her
photograph.
Standing by the camper, I became aware of how this scene might
look to a passing State Trooper. I though about it for a second
or two and concluded: not that good. A VW camper at the side of
the road with two young folks standing around, taking pictures of
the "dope" sign? Hmmm... We piled back into the camper and got
on our way before we got our camper disassembled by dope-crazed
American federales.
We got our second weird South Dakota experience a while later when
we pulled over for a "Scenic Viewpoint" the interstate highway
people had thoughtfully built alongside I-90. We pulled off,
parked, and looked... at a vast plain that looked more or less
exactly indistinguishable from what we'd been driving through for
the last several hours. We thought this was pretty trippy, so we
took a picture of us and our bus at the Scenic Viewpoint. (This
picture is up on David's web site: the scenic view--we know this
is the scenic part because a sign near the parking area tells
visitors which way to look--is in the background of the picture).
We were getting close to the cultural mecca of the Dakotas: we
knew this because billboards had been counting down the mileage
for the last few hundred miles. We knew we'd arrived when we
could see the 70 foot green brontosaurus looming on the horizon.
We could barely wait as we pulled off the freeway and worked our
way along the streets of the small town looking for a place to
park along a downhill slope. We parked, and nearly ran to where
we knew our cravings would be sated.
Finally, we were there: the place everybody stops along this
stretch of road, a welcome beacon of bad taste in the middle of
the Great Plains. Wall Drug in Wall, South Dakota. The
inspiration behind such cultural icons as "Where the Hell is Wall
Drug?" bumper stickers. But we were there for the doughnuts. The
best doughnuts for hundreds of miles. Christa had been looking
forward to Wall Drug doughnuts for days, and she wanted enough to
satisfy her craving. So I bought a dozen.
Two days later, we still had some of those damn doughnuts--as
usual, out eyes were bigger than out stomachs. But we managed to
gorge on three each almost before we reached cruising speed on the
highway out of town.
A couple of hours later we pulled over in Spearfish, and found a
really cool natural food store where we stocked up on Fantastic
Foods soups and other yummies. I left the camper parked outside
with the engine idling, my keys locked inside in the ignition,
Christa's keys in her pocket. Not that I'd suspect Spearfish of
having a real big problem with crime.
We parked on a hill in town and heated up a couple of soups. It
was nice to get something nutritious into our tummies after
feeling bloated from the doughnuts all morning. After lunch, I
proceeded to execute my Secret Plan To Get The Hell Off The
Interstate And Save One Hundred Miles Of Driving At The Same Time.
Instead of pulling back on to I-90 towards Sheridan, Wyoming, I
turned north on US 85 to Belle Fourche, then turned northwest on
US 212. It was so nice to be back on two-lane roads, close to the
land. We clipped the northeast corner of Wyoming, passing through
it and into Montana in half an hour. We spent the rest of the
afternoon putting happily through beautiful plains, rolling hills,
and low mountains. Our westy pulled strong up steep grades, happy
to have the monotony of the plains behind it. We joined up with
I-90 again at Crow Agency just as night was beginning to fall.
A little over an hour later we rolled into Billings, where we
filled up with fuel. Christa was looking through the AAA Camping
Guide for camp sites in the area when I had a faint recollection
that there was someone on the vanagon list from Billings. I
pulled out the big binder of vanagon@lenti messages I'd brought
along for technical advice, and after a few minutes of searching
found the person with the Billings address: a fellow named Will
Self. (Remember Will Self? The ascii-doodle guy? Hello, Will!
You out there?). I walked over to the pay-phone and flipped
through the phone book. Ah: a listing for "Self, Will." I
phoned, and a guy answered:
"Hello?"
"Hello, is this Will Self?"
"Um, yeah..."
"Hi, this is Tobin Copley from the vanagon list!"
(pause..) "Oh! Hi!"
"I don't know if you've been following our progress on the list,
but we've been driving around the country for the last few months,
and we just pulled into Billings, and we were wondering if you'd
like to meet and have a beer or something... Sort of put a face
to the name."
"Yeah, sure! That'd be great! Where are you staying?"
"Well, we don't have a place yet, but we were looking to stay at
an RV park someplace near here."
"Why don't you come by our place? I've got a level driveway, and
I brew my own beer. Got a new batch ready just the other day!
Come on over, love to meet you! Here's how to get to my place..."
Score! We followed Will's flawless instructions and pulled up
outside his place (the one with the vanagon out front). I backed
into his driveway to make push-starting the next morning easier.
Will and his partner Margaret were great. We sat out on their
back porch in old vanagon seats, drinking pint after pint of some
excellent ales and a stout. Will made his brew from scratch, too:
no mixes for him! We ordered a great vegetarian pizza, and talked
until far too late at night. In the wee hours of the morning, we
crawled into our camper, and slept like logs. It was blissful to
sleep in our own bed after weeks of sleeping in hotel rooms or on
friends' pull-out beds.
The next morning, Will showed off his cabinetry handiwork as he
demonstrated us how he had camperized his plain-jane transporter
vanagon. He had a huge bed in the back, and massive roll-out
drawers installed underneath. He had compartments for tools
installed in the rear, above the engine compartment, with a pull-
out insert allowing access to the engine compartment lid. Very
slick. We took a few pictures (see Will and Margaret for yourself
at David's web site!), then all four of us pushed our camper down
the street outside Will's place to start it. We jumped in, and it
fired right up when I let out the clutch. We waved to Will and
Margaret, and headed west once more.
It had been quite warm the previous few days, but this morning it
had turned decidedly cold. We cruised along I-90 heading into the
mountains, and I didn't like the look of the clouds on the horizon
ahead of us. After another few miles, I also decided I didn't
like how all the cars coming from the other direction were
plastered with snow and ice along every leading surface. And when
the wind clocked around and started gusting hard as a cross-wind,
and snow began to fall, I knew we were in for it. We flipped the
gas heater on, and made sure the curtain separating the cab from
the rear part of the bus was sealed up nice and tight.
It snowed off and on, then settled into a heavy snowfall with big
fat flakes as we began to climb higher and higher into the
mountains. Visibility dropped, and snow started settling on the
road. All the traffic settled into a single lane, and the parking
lane was full of heavy trucks chaining up. We pushed on, keeping
our distance from cars in front of us, feeling lucky to have a
snow plow breaking trail for us just a few hundred yards ahead.
Snow was building up on the front of our camper in a big way, and
our windshield wipers were starting to really strain against where
they had packed up the snow at each end on their sweep. I eased
over to the side of the road and jumped out to scrape off the 6
inches of snow that had accumulated on our windshield. We pulled
back on and continued our crawl west, stopping every 10 or 15
minutes to remove huge accumulations on snow from the windshield.
Soon we were among only a handful of vehicles still on the road.
Several times we pulled over to pick up people whose car had slid
off the road, and dropped them off at the next gas station so they
could call for a tow.
I wondered what had happened to the plows, since the snow was
getting really deep on the freeway. In places, we didn't even see
any ruts from cars that had gone ahead of us. The snow would
scrape occasionally along the underside of our camper, just to
tell me that, yes, the snow was deep. Jeez, I thought, if it gets
much worse, I might have to get out there and put on our chains.
That'd be cold! I was glad we'd bought those beefy rear tires in
California. The aggressive tread made for more road noise on
normal road surfaces, but I was glad to have the traction in this
weather.
About this time, I realized it was getting awfully cold inside.
Christa saw this too, and it looked like the heater had blown
another fuse. Oh, great timing! We pulled over into a rest stop
with an exit ramp that didn't look too bad, and I got out to do
the windshield snow removal ritual and to have a quick look at the
gas heater. As soon as I opened the engine compartment lid, I saw
a potential problem: the engine compartment had all but filled up
with snow! I scooped out the engine compartment, and realized
that the snow caking the heater must have shorted it out. I was
awfully cold, and over an inch of snow had fallen since we'd
stopped a couple of minutes before, so I decided to get us through
the snow without wasting time trying to get a soaked heater to
work. I walked around our camper, doing a quick check to make
sure everything was as it should be. We have a spare wheel
mounted on the front, but the snow was so deep on the front that
it looked like we just had a more rounded front end, with no
bumper, no spare tire, and no headlights. I knocked off nearly a
foot of snow over the headlights so other traffic could see us
coming. We grabbed more clothes from the back, wiped off the
windshield once again, and rolled out.
Visibility was so poor we drove along with our flashers on hoping
we wouldn't get run down by a snow plow when they finally got
around to plowing the road. On the final run up to the pass just
east of Livingston, things got a bit dicey. We had to thread our
way uphill through a freeway strewn with stuck, spun, and
abandoned cars up the steep grade. I'm talking literally strewn:
maybe 30 or 40 vehicles in the space of a half mile. The vicious
crosswind here kept snow from building up too deeply on the road,
but all the heavy-footed folks who had gotten themselves stuck had
done a nice job of glazing the hard packed snow into an icy sheet.
I could feel our rear wheels lighting up every now and then, and
I'd back off just enough to get a grip, then ease the throttle
back down.
A half mile from the summit, we encountered a problem: I gave too
much throttle weaving around a spun car and lost traction.
Totally lost traction. We slid to a stop, and when I applied the
brakes to hold our position we started sliding downhill. Ooops.
I straightened us out and tried to stop again. We slid to a
grudging stop. I tried to get going uphill again, but the wheels
spun at the first hint of power. Our problem was compounded since
without a functioning starter, we'd be really dead in the water if
I accidentally killed the motor trying to get us rolling again.
And our gas heater wasn't even working, so we'd have to fire up
the propane stove and curl up in bed to keep warm--which wouldn't
be that bad, except we had a deadline for getting home.
We had to creep nearly a hundred yards back down the highway
before we found a section of road that provided enough traction to
get us rolling again. We set out for the summit again, this time
a bit faster so we could get through the iced sections without
running out of momentum. Not a problem. We crossed the summit,
and slowly worked our way down the other side. In Livingston, we
warmed up in a small cafe and called some friends we knew in
Missoula. We were happy to hear they'd love to see us and give us
a place to sleep that evening. But we had to get there first:
we'd been driving hard for hours, and had only made a little over
100 miles. We had over 200 to go.
Back in the camper, I pulled out our little shortwave receiver and
tuned it to 530 AM. We'd been seeing flashing signs telling us to
tune to that frequency for hours, but hadn't had easy access to
the radio until now. We listened to scratchy bulletin broadcast
by the highway patrol, and learned that the section of I-90 we had
just come through had been closed for most of the day, and was
still closed. Travel on the section ahead of us was "not
advised," and was open "for emergency travel only." Well, they
didn't say traffic was _prohibited_, so we pulled out and headed
west again.
We pushed through the pass into Bozeman, than trotted along
through the snow towards Butte. Snow was still falling heavily,
and there was quite a bit of snow on the road, but at least this
section had been plowed and sanded. We blasted along at 30 mph,
happy to see the snow slowly diminishing. By the time we hit
Butte, the snow was behind us, and it had warmed up significantly.
It was dark by the time we got to Missoula, but our friends had a
warm fire, hot food, and beer. Nirvana.
We ran an extension cord out to the camper, plugged in our ceramic
heater, and slept cozy and warm in our own bed, for the second
night in a row.
The next morning we got towed uphill out of our friend's driveway
by his 5 litre Mustang. Not a problem. We cruised along I-90 to
Coeur d'Alene, where we filled up with gas and Christa managed to
get a couple of vegetarian burritos at a Taco Bell down the
street. It had warmed up a lot since we'd dropped out of the
mountains, and the sunshine put us both in a very good mood,
despite the fact that we were rapidly approaching the end of our
trip. Besides, we were back in VW bus territory, and saw at least
a half-dozen busses before we left town. (They were all
breadloaves, and they all waved).
We headed north up US 395 to Kettle Falls on the Columbia River,
then followed the river north along highway 25 to the Canadian
border. It was great to be on secondary roads again, and nice to
be back in familiar territory. Both of us were very excited about
returning to Canada, and visiting Christa's dad, who lives in
Rossland.
We had absolutely no problems with our sixth international border
crossing of the trip. There was no traffic at the tiny crossing
at Patterson, but the customs agent spent several minutes with us-
-talking about our trip, not trying to interrogate us. The agent
welcomed us back, and we put our camper in gear. We were pretty
pleased to be back on home turf again! We continued up the road
to Rossland, climbing a couple thousand feet in just a few miles.
We spent a couple of days visiting with Christa's dad, getting
acclimated to family, to being back in B.C., preparing ourselves
for our return to Vancouver. Both of us phoned family and
friends, and they were all glad to hear we had made it back and
looked forward to seeing us soon.
A few days later, we loaded our camper for the last full leg of
the trip and putted through the mountains toward Vancouver. We
took our time climbing the constant succession of steep grades
along highway 3, stopping for gas in Osoyoos, then again in Hope.
Early in the evening, we rolled into my sister's driveway in
Mission, were we were going to spend our last night on the road
and pick up all our clothes and stuff we'd stored at her place.
As we backed up her driveway, I could see a huge "Welcome Home!"
banner she had out for us. We had big hugs when they ran out of
the house, and I got to see my little niece again, who was only 3
days old when we had left. She'd grown a bit. =:O Their
Labrador Retriever, Jeffrey, was absolutely overwhelmed with
happiness at the sight of us. Their cat, Boris, apparently
couldn't care less.
My brother-in-law, Bruce, who had been a huge help in getting the
camper ready for the trip (including helping install the gas
heater), couldn't believe we'd managed to pull this trip off. He
collects "big ugly American cars," as he likes to call them, and
is partial to Rambler Marlins which I have to admit are big and
certainly ugly. He wasn't much on the idea of us buying a VW
camper and driving it around the continent, but I think he has a
grudging respect for them now--or at least as much respect as
he'll give anything that doesn't suck all the blood to the back of
your brain when you floor the accelerator.
The next day we loaded up our camper with all the stuff we'd
stored at my sister's place and drove home to our own apartment.
The people we'd sublet it to left it even cleaner than we'd left
it for them. What a treat! After all the stuff had been unloaded
from our camper, and our happy camper had been carefully parked
and thanked appropriately (Good Camper!), Christa and I sat
together contentedly in our little apartment. It was nice to be
home. It wasn't such a bad place, after all.
I hope you've liked reading about our trip every Friday. This is
the thirteenth week I've posted a report on this trip, and our
actual trip took roughly thirteen weeks itself. Perhaps someday
I'll be able to post a report for a trip Christa and I may take in
our camper down to Chile, around Australia, across the old USSR
from Europe to Vladivostok, or across equatorial Africa on the
Kinshasa Highway. But first we've got to drive to Inuvik, above
the arctic circle. Join us!
Tobin
-----
Here're the final stats for the trip:
Vehicle: 1976 VW Westfalia camper. Icebox, no built-in
fridge. 1970 cc FI motor, all stock.
Countries: 3
US states: 33
Mex. states: 11
Cdn. provinces 5
Border crossings: 6
Trip duration: 89 days
Total mileage: 14,986 miles (that's 24,112 km)
Longest driving day: approx. 850 miles
Flat tires: 1 (Sedona, AZ)
Speeding tickets: 0
Drug searches: 1
Max. outside temp: Real hot (90+ and very humid)
Min. outside temp: -40 (C or F)
Max. oil temp: 290 F
Usual oil temp: 225 F at 60-70 F/235-245 at 80+ F high humidity
Oil changes: 5
Valve adjustments: 6
Timing adj need ed: 0
Cruising speed: 57 mph (conditions permitting)
Mech. falures: 2 1) Split CV joint boot, P. Escondido, Mex.
2) Starter solenoid, New Brunswick, Canada
Fuel cost: About $900.00 US
Avg. mileage: Around 18 - 20 mpg. (only checked occasionally)
Rolls film shot: 12
vanagon@lenti list members met: 13
of these, number whose place we crashed at: 5
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tobin T. Copley Only Somewhat =============
(604) 689-2660 Occupationally /_| |__||__| :| putta
tobin@freenet.vancouver.bc.ca Challenged! O| | putta
'-()-------()-'
Circum-continental USA, Mexico, Canada 15,000 miles... '76 VW Camper! (Mango)
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