Roadtreking - Us and Them, Then and Now

The young runner on the tree-strewn forest road is Chelsea Behymer, son Chris' girlfriend. She's running out of the sheer joy of being alive and thumbing her nose at minor obstacles such as hundreds of downed trees  en route to a trail we wanted to hike. But first we have to drive there, them in a self-converted Sprinter, us in our cushy Roadtrek Agile.

The tree-clogged road presented a challenge they wanted to tackle. To Paul and me, it was a no-brainer no-go from the get-go, even though we followed them.

A recent van camping trip with son Chris, whose primary sponsor, Eddie Bauer, features the Live Your Adventure brand, and his friend Chelsea, made clear the differences in our travel styles and our generations, including their propensity for risk and ours for scaling back in that department. For starters, we joined them by invitation. How cool is that? I loved my parents, but I don't recall at any time inviting them to ruin a jaunt with me and a romantic partner. That's just one little difference. (If you have a few minutes, check out those links above.) Maybe we're getting rewarded for all the camping trips we did with our sons when they were youngsters. 

PK and I are Baby Boomers, although I am officially one year too old. We worked hard, scraped by for a few decades, and raised two incredible sons. We were frugal because well, we couldn't afford not to be. Now well into retirement, we've reached a comfort level that enables road tripping in luxury, at least compared with son Chris, and also compared with our younger selves. (Keep reading.)

Ours is the sleek silver Roadtrek Agile van above. Theirs is a spirited red Sprinter he named nevervan. Maybe because he wanted one for so long but never thought he'd find one he could afford. 


Chris and Chelsea travel in true Millennial fashion equipped with rugged mountain bikes, kayaks, the latest electronics, propane stove, cooler, and a trowel. No heater, no AC, no running water, and no toilet. Not even a fan.

He snagged a deal on this used Sprinter a couple years ago, and between kayaking expeditions, he, with help first from his father, and later, from Chelsea, fashioned a simple custom interior from which he can work and play. Our home is his mailing address, but the Sprinter is his real home, which he often shares with Chelsea and her little mutt, Peanut.(Naturalist Chelsea has work that takes her to far places for weeks at a time.) 

Our van, on the other hand, is a lightly used 2010 Roadtrek Agile on a Sprinter chasis and, like Chris', boasts a Mercedes diesel engine. Let's not even talk about the price difference because it is, frankly, shocking. They're going Spartan, mostly, and we're, well, not! 

But there are some perks to getting old, right? For the record, our van, the same 21 ft. long as Chris', is decked out with: cherry wood cabinets, unbelievable storage space, a refrigerator/freezer, AC, a microwave/convection combo oven, a generator, a tiny toilet/shower closet, a queen-size bed, swivel seats, blinds, curtains, a retractable step, awning, outside shower, furnace and on it goes. We love it, love it. But we also paid our dues. 

                                    Photo above: Chris riding his bike about 25 years after the photo below was taken.

Korbulic family around 1989. Chris, 3, has the long shorts, Quinn, almost 13,  the cute pink ones. Paul's kayak is atop our trusty Toyota Landcruiser and my road bike is ready for my training ride that morning for Cycle Oregon. We car/tent camped from Oregon to South Dakota and back. One of our best family trips ever. 

About paying our dues. We progressed through the decades from rough and tough tent/river/car camping (30 + wonderful years, half of them with our two sons), to sleeping in the bed of our pick-up (a couple awkward years) to enjoying the hell out of our FourWheel pop--up camper beginning in 2010, to our current state of luxury.

We've never wanted a hulking RV, but something that parks as easily as a large pickup, doesn't require an RV site with hook-ups, and gets decent gas mileage. No wonder our Roadtrek is named "Agile." It satisfies  our keen desire to travel comfortably but nimbly as we pile on the years. And my, how those years are stacking up.

We kinda noticed those years during our enlightening camping caravan with Chris and Chelsea. We also noted some, umm, traveling style differences. This is to be expected, of course, since we are 40 years older.  But they indulged us, and probably didn't notice, as they were too busy making every minute count: running, biking, hiking, gathering firewood, gnawing roots and herbs, gazing into one another's eyes, organizing their van, doing push-ups on picnic tables, and washing up in snow-melt temperature lake water. And I'm only exaggerating a tiny bit.

A few key differences

US and THEM

Choosing a campsite

Us:  We love Forest Service campgrounds, $5 a night, senior rate, or county, state or national camps, between $15 and as much as $35. We have succumbed to private RV campgrounds under desperate circumstances, which can run between $35 and $55, depending upon size of RV and amenities needed. Not recommended! 

Them: Dispersed camping: free (AKA boondocking)

Note: They seemed comfortable with the Forest Service camps we used during our two nights out, but Chris later revealed that those were the only times they'd stayed in designated campgrounds. We treated them to the $10 per night fees. Our first night out, the four of us were alone in a lakeside campground with a spectacular view of Oregon's Mt. Thielson. We also had clean odorless toilets, picnic tables, fire pits, and lots of wood for campfires.

I had to look up "dispersed camping," although we encountered it in the Alabama Hills near Lone Pine, CA, and in Death Valley. We didn't call it dispersed camping in our 20s, though, but 'finding a place to park and hide in the woods or wherever." The link above is an excellent guide, which I just discovered on the RoadTrekking Blog, which calls it boondocking. I was delighted to learn that many Roadtrek owners prefer boondocking. That's my kind of group!

As a person who grew up in the boondocks of North Dakota and has lived in Oregon boondocks for a few decades, I am pleased that remote terrain has come into fashion with owners of high-quality compact self-sufficient camping units. I'm excited to go boondocking along the East Coast. Is that even possible?

In the West, most ranger stations have behind-the-counter maps to how and where to camp free provided you can do without hook-ups. Of course, Chris and Chelsea don't need no stinkin' ranger advice. They've only been routed out of a "campsite" at 2 a.m. by law enforcement once. 

Mt. Thielson from a deserted Forest Service campground on Lemolo Lake in Southwestern Oregon, May 2016.

Settling into a campsite - Us and Them

Us: set up the camp chairs, pour some cabernet sauvignon and start thinking about appetizers.

Them: check the mountain bike tires, do a few calisthenics, hop on those babies and ride 45 minutes uphill over rocks, roots, and downed trees before returning to gather wood and assemble a campfire. 

PK may be wondering where the corkscrew is located as he watches the biking preparations "next door." Soon they'll be off and onto the same trail we'll hike tomorrow to Lemolo Falls. That's our Roadtrek Agile.




Dinner time

Us: Sometime between 7 pm and 8:30 pm, preferably during daylight. 

Them: Sometime before bed and after a bike ride or a hike, especially if they've had fewer than five or six hours of physical activity. Or maybe that should be seven or eight hours?

Plastic bags

Us: We're virtuous, we thought. We reuse purchased plastic ziplock bags until they fall apart, and take cloth bags shopping. We use the inevitable plastic disposable bags for trashcan liners and to hold  massive amounts of garden overproduction to drop at food banks and press into neighbors' hands. 

Them: No plastic bags. None. I've tried forcing ziplock bags on Chris to keep a hunk of cheese or a leftover from drying out. Nope. No plastic bags.

Upon encountering a road blocked by too many downed trees to count

Us: Complete agreement that the downed trees make the road a no-go. 

Them: (Who are in lead position) Let's get through by using the machete on the smaller trees and holding others up so the van(s) can pass under, and then just dodge around stuff. Destination: an up-close view of Lemolo Falls. We turned around, of course, with a bit of difficulty, perhaps a quarter mile down the pike, and took a log strewn hiking rail to the falls the next morning. But we followed them into  this obstacle course. It was, uh, instructive, to observe our differences.

Yes, this may be too many trees, they agree.  Below Chelsea bends another small tree for van passage.

Bathing (with environmentally acceptable soap, of course) in streams, lakes, oceans, ponds, snowdrifts etc.

Us: Unless the water temp is at least tolerable, we'll wait for a warm shower or take sponge baths.  

Them: Frigid water is not a problem!  It toughens then up, and I believe they actually like it. Plus after a few hours of running, mountain biking, vigorous hiking, rock climbing etc., rinsing off is imperative, icy water or not.

Leveling the van

Us: We use those orange plastic Lego-like thingies plus a cellphone leveling app for precision work. 

Them: Search around and you'll find the perfect rock or piece of wood.

The obvious difference between "them and us", of course, is that they're in the fullness of beautiful vigorous youth and PK and I are teetering on the edge of old age! 

We realize what's coming, but before it does, we'll be riding high, far and wide in the Roadtrek.

Warm Spring Falls is just a few miles off the beaten path near the North Umpqua River in Southern Oregon. The trail to it is maybe a half mile long. I think we should be able to get there again in 10 years, maybe even 20. When you're in the first third of a normal life span, you can't fathom the last third. But when that final third arrives, you know you must grab every bit of joy. Seeing waterfalls and wild birds, tending a garden, nurturing relationships, including with your adult children, all take on new meaning.  The "life is short" cliche becomes your reality. I need to get to bed and rest up. I very have important things to do tomorrow.

Dreamy French Polynesia

This image says it all; French Polynesia is the quintessential tropical paradise. The water and the air seem to be about the same temperature and texture; warm and silky.  The sea is absolutely clear and magically sky-colored. This photo was taken on the atoll Fakarava.

Damn lucky, that's how I feel after 10 days cruising islands and atolls in French Polynesia in the vast and spectacular South Pacific. By invitation from relatives, we relished experiences, saw places and interacted with people we could not have imagined. I would love to be back in the photo above, or floating on the turquoise sea, smiling at the heavens, which seemed very close to earth.

French Polynesia is stunning, but in the context of the vast South Pacific, it is insignificant. I appreciate anew that 75 percent of the earth’s surface  is water, and the meaning of human life, and all life on terra firma, is dwarfed by sea life. We’re not inconsequential, as we sail along on the deep blue in our fancy ship enjoying five-star dining and air conditioned suites, but we are in a bubble separating us from sea creatures, and even from indigenous people whose lives are enmeshed with the sea. I found myself admiring such people, with a touch of envy.

We were on an Oceania cruise on the ship Marina. It carried 1,200 passengers, 900-plus crew members, and four 5 *****-star restaurants plus the usual over-the-top cruise amenities. It was classy and we felt pampered and spoiled. The little orange boat is a tender carrying passengers to the pier and back again.

 The best part, though, was that the ship visited remote ports that don't see a lot of cruise traffic. The only company we had in a couple harbors was a working cargo ship that made room for 200 paying passengers. The other ports we had to ourselves,  all 1,200 of us, always outnumbering the local population. The exception: Papeete, our embarkation and debarkation port.

This cargo/cruise ship carries freight to and from Polynesia atolls and islands while its passengers enjoy paradise. If we ever go back to French Polynesia, and I would love to, we'll look into this more affordable option. I also like the idea of fewer people, although we'd have to forego the gourmet restaurants, the casino, the gym, the pool, and the espresso bar. To name a few.

The view from the Marina's deck in Mo'orea's harbor. Note that few folks are in the pool area. Two reasons: it is late afternoon and guests are thinking dinner.  It will be dark soon - just a bit after 6 p.m., as we are near the equator.  But perhaps the most important reason; the ship's demographics tend toward senior citizens, not unlike PK and me. Many are members of university alumni groups. The last thing I want to do on a vacation in French Polynesia - or anywhere else - is lounge around a pool trying to get a tan, or work on my melanoma. This attitude occurred long before I actually developed the disease. 

I love this photo of my uncle, cousin, and aunt, our companions on this trip. Here they're getting a good look at where the
open ocean and the Bora Bora harbor intersect. Big surf! 

They may have been captivated by reef sharks, which were plentiful almost every place we visited. 

On another day, PK seemed oblivious to the reef sharks behind him. That's

because sharks surrounded him. He had plenty to look at! 

But nothing to worry about.

We opted to arrange excursions from locals on piers rather than prearrange from the ship, which meant paying half the amount but also not knowing until we reached the pier what we'd do that day. On this day, we scored the remaining two spots on a 20-passenger boat taking cruisers to the Blue Lagoon. This sounded intriguing, so within a few minutes of alighting on the pier, we were on one of the small boats in the background. The lagoon was shallow (we weren't quite there yet) so we need to walk a short distance. The boat ride out and back turned out to be a daunting three hours. But the lagoon was gorgeous and the company engaging.

We visited French Polynesia during the rainy season, and the daily forecast most often featured scattered thunderstorms. We had brief bouts of fierce rain and wind, but it rarely mattered to what we were doing because of the short duration. The clouds made for dramatic skies, much appreciated by photographers and drama aficionados. That's a heart and dove sculpture on the pier, by the way.

This is the atoll Raroia. I didn't have a clue about atolls, but learned that they were formed by ancient volcanoes, which, over eons, sank, eroded and eventually disappeared, leaving a coral ring surrounding a lagoon. The ocean rushes in and out of openings with the tides. Raroia was made famous by author and adventurer Thor Heyerdahl when he landed the Kon Tiki here in 1947. Heyerdahl aimed to prove that currents and winds could have propelled seafaring Peruvians thousands of miles to the South Pacific without navigational tools or steering. The Marina was scheduled to visit Raroia, but turbulence between the open ocean and the atoll's largest passage prevented it.

This is what Raroia looked like as we approached, mere wisps of vegetated land. Raroia's population is around 200. Residents farm pearls, cultivate coconuts, and welcome occasional visitors. I'm certain they were eagerly awaiting our arrival but, alas, strong currents prohibited entry into the lagoon. Drat! This atoll was the most remote on our 10-day cruise. We were all primed after a lecture the previous day about the Kon Tiki, during which the speaker noted that at least one cruise passenger had purchased a ticket based solely on visiting Raroia. Thus we had an unexpected day at sea as we made our way to the next stop, the atoll Fakarava. As a consolation, we watched a  Kon Tiki film. But many passengers chose instead to baste by the pool, enjoying tropical beverages.

This Fakarava pier was part of a resort that allowed cruise passengers to crash, so long as we didn't use guest amenities.

The resort had netted off an area in which a few fish and some corals lived. Water clarity, net reflections, and light made for one of my favorite photos. Below are a few more images from Paradise.

Sunset on the island of Huahine, known as the Garden Island. Actually, it is two islands connected by a bridge. This was the last port we visited, and one of the most engaging and surprising. We saw the sights from a Jeep tour that included sacred blue-eyed eels, a pearl farm, and a stop for the real-deal homemade vanilla ice cream. 

Here's a piece of the Hilton Hotel on Bora Bora, an island made famous by movie stars, lush scenery, and premier diving.

And here's an occupied Hilton unit in a prime location. These luxury suites
on stilts rent for at least $1,000 a night. Probably more.

COMING ATTRACTIONS

A guide staring at stomachs. What could possibly go wrong? Plus thoughts about the Polynesian personality.

Contemplating crabgrass plus Cancer Club updates

That's me and my shadow capturing crabgrass before it runs amok in the garden. Rodale lists it as number one

on the list of worst garden weeds. 

I spent a couple hours this afternoon wrenching young crabgrass from the garden. I do this every year; dig clumps with a potato fork then comb through, seeking white tendrils snaking through the soil. I shake dirt back into the garden, dump the tendrils and grass into a bucket, and toss it into the orchard, far from the garden.  Over the years, the crabgrass invasions have become fewer and less dense. I'm making headway.

Combing the clumps with my  gloved hands to get every last tendril is daydreamy repetitive work, however, and the mind wanders. Mine wandered in the wrong direction, perhaps because I'm having a colonoscopy tomorrow, everyone's favorite cancer prevention procedure, right?

And that set me thinking, yet again, about the melanoma terrors I endured for 30 days from late December 2015 to late January 2016.

I thought about how the itty bitty pink mole required a five-inch incision plus a couple smaller cuts to remove lymph nodes for biopsies. About how PK and I put our lives on hold awaiting the surgery and biopsy results. About how agonizing it all was. And now, how our lives can go on almost as if it didn't happen.

Even a tiny piece of crabgrass root can regenerate. I couldn't help but think of crabgrass today as garden cancer. I'm using the surgical approach to cure. We tried "chemotherapy" on it years ago to no avail. I learned tonight that "prevention" chemicals are now being sold to keep it in check. I'll stick with the manual labor and avoid applying chemicals.

After the melanoma terrors subsided, I scheduled a mammography, (Benign results were back in a couple days! Thanks, Asante.) a dental appointment, and tomorrow's colonoscopy. I hate the colonoscopy prep, which I am enduring as I write. The procedure itself isn't problematic, veiled, as it is, by unconsciousness. And when I wake up, I can eat!

I've had two previous colonoscopies. The first was about 10 years ago after my primary care provider talked me into it, and I am grateful that he did. A precancerous polyp was biopsied. If I hadn't agreed to the procedure, the polyp would have eventually developed into full-blown colon cancer, which is infamous for being asymptomatic until it is advanced.

Another was performed three years later with good results. Tomorrow, who knows? But if something evil lurks, it will be caught early.  And la-de-da.

Crabgrass was useful in leading me to put things in perspective and also do some follow-ups.......

Updates in case previous posts left you wondering:

A post about the agony of awaiting medical test results generated a noisy response from readers, mostly via Facebook comments. It is clear that my experience was not unique, and that tolerance for delayed test results is low.

Here's an excerpt from that post:

....I'm approaching two weeks out from surgery where lymph nodes were biopsied, for God's sake. Isn't two weeks too long to wait to learn whether you'll hop back into your merry little ordinary life, or if you'll spend the next year or two in and out of treatment and, undoubtedly, a lot more long days and nights in the Limbo Lounge having your brain devoured by fear monsters? ....Do all poor suckers who get punched by cancer also have to suffer inattention from medical people? 

An earlier post explains about the melanoma and my induction into the Cancer Club.

In a later post, I pledged to inquire with my medical providers, at least, why timely results were not delivered and why my requests were ignored. Post excerpt follows:

But still. I think all medical care providers need to respect that patients are often anxious to the max, to the point of nausea, to blowing up the blood pressure gauge, especially regarding cancer test results and staging. Sharing test results in a timely manner should be a top priority in medical offices. Not necessarily for routine test results, but certainly those upon which a patient's life may turn.
Medical office managers might consider providing a form to patients listing options about how they prefer to learn critical test results, and then making sure somebody has responsibility for contacting patients as a part of their job. I know it's complicated. Doctors don't have time; office staff lacks credentials to answer medical questions etc. etc. But there must be a solution.

When I saw my surgeon on a Monday, 10 days after surgery, he was pleased to tell me I was fine. I was pleased to tell him I already knew because a physician friend who read my blog offered to show me the online results on a Friday morning, sparing PK and me a miserable weekend of waiting. The results had been available to medical offices since Wednesday! Three days they could have called me!

The surgeon was great. Very apologetic. He said that contacting patients with negative (good) results can be done by an assistant, but that patients whose results are positive for disease either must wait until their post-op appointment with him, or he calls them personally. He had no idea that I'd called his office three times and stopped by in person once.

I asked to speak with the surgery practice's office manager. I gave her a copy of the Beautifully Benign post (link below.)  I told her that results from my surgery/biopsies had been available for three days, not including the weekend, and that at least one of the three people in her office that I'd spoken with could have called me. She was receptive and promised to have an office training to reinforce already established rules about tracking patient contacts (one of my calls was not listed). She seemed to be in complete agreement that the surgery practice could do a lot better in sharing patients' test results in a timely fashion. I hope she followed through.

As for the dermatology office that took 19 days to deliver my bad diagnosis, I waited until my 3-month appointment to talk with my doc in person. By requesting paperwork ahead of time, I knew for sure that he could have called me five office days before he actually did.

He explained that my diagnosis was difficult, and after a group of dermatologists reviewed the slides and agreed with the first diagnosis, it was sent to an outside lab for a second opinion, which required more time. That opinion was "invasive" melanoma rather than "metastatic." Super bad either way.

The dermatologist didn't provide a reason why for not contacting me during one of those five days, but I cut him some slack because it was during the holiday season.

Another spot was biopsied at my three-month visit in early March - I'll be seeing the dermatologist every three months for an undetermined time. The benign results were speedy, delivered by phone and mail within a week.

Maybe my frank talk made a difference? I can only hope.

Earlier Cancer Club Posts

Welcome to the Cancer Club - learning the terrible truth

It was a beautiful day in the Cancer Club's Limbo Lounge - making the best of waiting

Beautifully Benign! But how about more timely results?  Get with the program, medical offices.
Back from Cancer's Brink - lessons learned 

Salmon of Grace and Ginger

My favorite salmon recipe! I've been trying for decades to find or create one this good. Credit goes to Grace McGran.

                         If you just want the recipe, scroll a bit. I'm not going to BS for too long.

But keep reading if you're curious about how I finally found THE best salmon recipe that will be my go-to choice for entertaining as well as dinner for two and relieving my angst about what to do with boxes of fish, mostly salmon, from PK's Alaskan fishing trips.

It's all about Grace. She lives in Canada. One reason I like (ha ha) Facebook is that it was the conduit for reuniting us a few years back. We had a 90-minute phone conversation last week. She and I met on the Oregon coast in the 1970s at roughly the same time that I met PK. It was a time of great change and upheaval. In our own ways, both Grace and I made choices during the few months we were neighbors that have reverberated through the decades. Think about it young people, when you reach a crossroads, what you do matters forever. 

Grace (she was then called Diane) and I made an instant connection back in the day. She lived next door. She was a gardener, a pie maker, and a cook. Oh, and she sang just like Joni Mitchell. No kidding. She was also a beauty, inside and out. 

I remember her making us a stir fry Asian dinner, during which I learned basic tricks such as; don't saute the veggies all at the same time. Duh. But I didn't know. 

We had fishermen friends and what seemed like an endless supply of salmon. I watched her tuck salmon parts into holes where she planted corn seeds. She made things grow and rejoiced in the results. I am trying to remember that we ever had a salmon meal together. Salmon excess was just so common in those days. I was fresh from North Dakota. I fed a lot of cooked salmon to our dog.

During our chat last week, however,  I asked for her favorite salmon recipe. 

She said something dismissive like, "Oh, it's just so simple. I don't have anything special." But then she provided general directions. Like me, she often wings it when cooking, using what's on hand and making recipe changes at her whim. Only a few things were mentioned as ideal for success: a cast-iron pan, fresh diced ginger, lemon juice or some other acidic ingredient, sesame oil, and maple syrup. Got it. Did it. (twice, to make sure.)

Salmon of Grace and Ginger, recipe

Perfect for two. 

INGREDIENTS

• skin-on salmon fillet, about a pound
• knob of fresh ginger, minced (I tried grating it but it was too fine)
• salt and pepper 
• avocado oil, or other high-heat oil, enough to coat the pan
• butter to taste, optional
• sesame salad dressing,  1/3 cup to 1/2 cup (recipe follows)
• scant maple syrup (optional)

DIRECTIONS

Use a cast iron pan or another heavy-duty pan. Mince a thumb or two of ginger. (I grated it my first try, and that didn't work as well as mincing.) Apply salt and pepper and chopped ginger to the skinless side of a skin-on salmon filet, about one pound. I understand from Grace, that this recipe can be baked after the initial skinless-side-down frying operation. 

NOTE: If you double or triple the recipe and do not own a huge cast-iron pan, you'll need to pre heat the oven to 375, fry your salmon in two or three batches, and bake in a preheated oven for 10-12 minutes following the frying step, checking halfway for doneness.

Heat the pan to medium-high and add avocado or other oil. When oil is sizzling, carefully place the fillet skinless side in the hot oil and fry for about four minutes. Use a wide spatula to turn the fillet to the skin side down. Cover and cook for about five minutes. Check for doneness after four minutes. Add butter to the top, if desired, and poke holes for butter to soak into the fish. Remove the fillet to a plate at the point of the desired doneness. I like it moist in the thickest area, barely done.  

To the pan, add the salad dressing and reduce for a few minutes. It doesn't take much time with salad dressing, which is more than half oil. 

You may adapt the dressing and/or use purchased Asian types. But you may want to try the recipe provided because it is delicious! I should call it Laurie's Glory Sesame Dressing as it was provided by that longtime friend about 20 years ago and is my favorite dressing and marinade, and now, salmon glaze.  See bottom of the post, following photos.

I've fried the skinless side of the fillet, turned it over and cooked it skin side down,  and fork-tested for doneness. In the meantime, I've applied a little butter to the top, as everything is better with butter. Correct?

I used this gourmet salt in place of regular salt the
second time I made this recipe. It cost a lot of $$ and
I couldn't tell the difference. Either way, tastes great.

The peeled ginger was how much I used to cover a
one-pound salmon fillet.

After salt, pepper, and ginger are applied, it's OK to let it sit for 10 minutes.

Avocado oil is a healthy oil which withstands high-heat frying. 

Start by frying, for a few minutes,  the skinless gingered, salted and peppered side
 at medium high heat in a cast-iron pan. Take care not to burn the ginger.

Flip it over (carefully) to fry the skin-side down. Cover and cook 4-5 minutes.
Test for doneness after 4 minutes or less. 

Pour about 1/3 to 1/2 cup of salad dressing into the hot pan and reduce for a few minutes, stirring to capture the browned bits at the bottom.  Then pour the reduction onto the cooked salmon and serve ASAP.  Heavenly!

Laurie's Glory Sesame Dressing, recipe

INGREDIENTS

• 6-8 cloves garlic, minced
• 1/2 cup olive oil
• 1/3 cup sesame oil
• 1/3 cup good quality soy sauce
• 1/3 cup Worcestershire sauce
• 1/3 cup rice vinegar (or balsamic), or fresh lemon juice
• 1 T Dijon mustard
• 2 T maple syrup, honey or balsamic glaze (my fave)

Use a food processor.

Process the garlic until finely minced. Add the other ingredients and whirr until emulsified. The mustard helps with emulsifying, I'm told. This dressing keeps in the refrigerator for up to a month.

Loving Death Valley, part 2

PK hiking on a loop trail out of the Zabriskie Point overlook. 

PK and I passed through Death Valley in the spring of 2015 en route to explorations of the red and gold glories in the American Southwest. That was our third visit to Death Valley, and we stayed only one night, thinking, somehow, that we'd "seen it." It wasn't true, of course, but still, we doubted we'd be back anytime soon.

Then the "super bloom" occurred, and due to an upheaval (Cancer Club) in our travel plans to Ecuador, we found ourselves instead on a consolation trip along the central California coast, within striking distance of the bloom. Of course, we couldn't resist.

We were not disappointed!  More super bloom photos.

Aside from flower extravaganzas, we rediscovered Death Valley's ever-present wonders. Rocks. Craters. Dunes. Canyons. Mysteries. PK indulged my photo mania by getting up and out of camp around sunrise, and going out again in the late afternoon, to catch the best light. We hiked for hours, stopping often to soak in the colors and forms and wrap our minds around how natural beauty grabs the heart and makes the soul sing. After that lyrical (ha!) phrase, I will lay off the descriptions and get to the photos, sans flowers. Death Valley don't need no stinkin' flowers to blow your mind. (But don't miss them if you can possibly get there before the rare bloom ends.)

You don't need to hike to enjoy Death Valley, but many gorgeous areas are accessed by easy to moderate trails. We saw hikers of all shapes, sizes, and ages in canyons and washes. (We wondered how some of them were going to make it! Black clothing? Flip flops? No water?) We both use hiking poles, wear sturdy boots or hiking shoes, carry water and snacks, bring a map and binoculars, and I always have my camera. Above, someone else is using it to take our photo at Dante's View. 

Dropping into Death Valley from the west through the Panamint Mountains, and I mean "dropping." Highway 190 goes from Lone Pine, CA, elevation 3,727 ft, at the foot of Mt. Whitney, to Death Valley, parts of which are more than 200 feet below sea level. The 70-mile drive previews what awaits. Right away, you know it's gonna be good down there.  

Death Valley in the early morning from atop Dante's View 5,000 feet above the valley floor.

Sunset at the Mesquite Dunes. Photo was taken from the road as we attempted to reach another destination while the amazing light prevailed. Since "amazing light" lasts maybe 10 minutes, probably less, ours was a futile pursuit. But at least I got this photo, and the one below. People walking around out there give it scale, and the scale is HUGE, as Bernie Sanders would say.

More Mesquite Dunes.

A favorite image from 2015 when we discovered Ubehebe Crater and the Little Hebe Crater Trail.

I'm skipping captions for most of the photos below. Unless otherwise noted, they were made at Golden Canyon, Zabriskie Point, Twenty Mule Team Canyon, or from along the road in the Badwater Basin, where we hung out a lot because of all the flowers. All these are roughly in the same area. Death Valley has MUCH more to offer.  

    

PK trudging up a steep trail in the Red Cathedral region of the Golden Canyon trail

If you go .... a few tips.

• Wear light-colored clothing to help stay cool.
• Wear a hat, wide brims are good.
• Carry a light pack to keep your hands free. Many trails require a bit of scrambling.
• Hiking poles are helpful.
• Camping? Only one campground takes reservations. To score a good spot elsewhere, arrive early in the day, preferably not on a weekend. We saw lots of tents pitched on rocky parking lots in overflow camping areas. 
• Talk to other tourists for ideas about where to go, what to see, especially if you're there for the super bloom. 
• Get up early. Midday is too hot and too bright for maximum enjoyment, especially for photography. 
• Check maps carefully and also the park-provided information. Many loop trails are easier starting in one direction rather than the other.
• Forget about your cell phone. It won't work in 99.9 percent of the park. 
• If you plan to get off the beaten path, be careful. A park ranger told us back country travelers should plan on changing at least one flat tire because of sharp rocks. We made a couple-mile foray onto a dirt and rock road before we turned around, shaken and stirred by washboard surface.  Eight-ply tires are recommended.

If you've never been to Death Valley, and want to do it justice, plan on spending at least 3-5 days. 

Chasing the Death Valley Super bloom - 2016