“Highway 101 is so windy you can’t drive very fast,” John said. “Saves
on gas.” We were inside the van. John lay reading on the bed, and I sat in
Catherine at the Naval Air Museum in Tillamook. It was aſternoon. We’d gobbled that day’s cheese
sandwiches, and despairing of our ability to locate open State parks, we dove off the highway as soon as we spotted the sign for Seal Rocks RV Cove. It was an immaculately tidy, nearly empty RV park with self-checkin and the bargain price of one twenty-dollar American bill. From our camp spot we could hear the ocean crash
into the shore. We snacked on fresh blueberries and milk so delicious we were almost fooled into thinking it was cream, and then I sat at the picnic table and read from my electronic book-reader in a state of perfect content until more rain drove me back into the van. “Te Execuvan costs us $10 an hour to run,” I told John, aſter some calculations.
the passenger seat with my journal, a half-knitted sock and my book- reader. At my feet, standing by, lay the Coleman stove and that night’s peeled potatoes and can of soup, ready to be whisked out the door at the first sign of clear skies. Resting next to the stove lay the coffee pot, filled and ready, a BBQ lighter, some cutlery and two bowls. We’d become expert at moving dinner quickly onto a picnic table, boiling potatoes and warming soup and perking coffee when the clouds parted, and then storing the stove safely as soon as the rain started but before it poured. We saved dishwashing for the next break in the rain. “I think the rain’s slowing down,” I said, peering out the window. “No it’s not,” said John. “It’s been raining for a week.” “But it’s WARM,” I said, “except at night, and we have a heater for that
because you’re a genius and you packed one. And all this racing around to make dinner works up a real appetite.” “What kind of soup tonight?” John asked. “Stew with meatballs,” I said, reading from the label of the can. “I like stew,” John said. Ten, a miracle – the seventh (save one) consecutive serendipetous
miracle we’d experienced on this wonderful journey through Oregon. Te rain stopped. It stopped long enough for us to boil potatoes and warm stew and make coffee. And then, it rained again. But we didn’t care. We were full of stew and coffee and across the highway the surf roared and the van was warm and dry. All was right with the world.
Catherine Dook’s books: boating book Offshore ($18.95) available from
oberonpress.ca; novels: Darling, Call the Coast Guard, We’re on Fire Again ($15.95) and Damn the Torpedoes ($16.95) via 1-800-665-3302.
RVT 147 • MAY/JUNE 2012 23
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