Day 3 - LaPine to Sisters, Oregon - 51 Miles

Okay, it's not the shortest day's travel we've ever done, but it's probably in the ballpark. This morning we ended up sleeping in until 7:30 a.m. and, since such slovenly behavior seemed to be an agreeable idea, we then lazed our way through breakfast and camp tear-down for another three hours. After that, we had to travel to the park dump station where we spent another half hour finishing up the sewer tank evac. Part of the reason we took longer dumping, was that the park had provided only a short cut-off length of hose that I could make no use of for back-flushing. Not wanting to allow their lack of intelligent design to thwart my long-held belief that flushing the tank with fresh water was a must, I was left to "MacGiver" a connection so that I COULD accomplish my goal. This done, we were finally off just after eleven, which also must challenge existing records for the latest exit from camp ever.

Our first goal today was to gas up the rig. SOP of gassing up means that any time that the tank is half empty I start looking for a station. When we reached the camp exit we saw that it was six miles back to LaPine on the main highway, or, conversely, it was 21 miles forward to Bend, Oregon. Since 21 miles would not seriously drop us below half on the dashboard indicator, I opted for turning left and proceeding toward Bend. Before long, we saw a turnoff for a Shell station, so even before reaching Bend we had accomplished refueling. In the process, since you're not allowed to pump your own gas in Oregon, I had met and had a long RVing conversation with the female pump jockey. Once again I discovered that people just LOVE to talk about their camping experiences, as well as those of their friends and neighbors.

After filling the tank, we jumped back on Highway 97 and resumed our journey toward Bend. That didn't last long. Almost as fast as I can type this narrative, we were presented with the opportunity to exit the freeway and visit the "High Desert Museum." That sounded great, not just because the two of us adore museums, but it was almost lunchtime anyway and we were guessing the museum parking lot would probably lie beneath a shady canopy of ancient pines and firs, the perfect setting. Turned out that we were 110% correct. The parking lot designated for RVs was totally deserted and we had our pick of spaces.

Once the future lunch spot was scoped out, we gathered up our essentials and headed to the museum complex. Here's where some of the bad luck of the previous day reared its ugly head. When we came upon a large stone monolith with the museum sign attached, I motioned for Concetta to stand in front and I'd get a photograph to mark the occasion. That done, Concetta asked, "do you want your picture by the sign, too?"

Naturally I said, "Sure." But wanting to interject a bit more creativity into the mix, I went around behind the monolith, shimmied my way to the top and, balancing on my forearms, I said, "Okay shoot."

But try as she might, Concetta kept telling me the shot wasn't right. Little did I know that she had accidentally zoomed the lens to its maximum capacity and all she was getting was my head and shoulders.

Struggling to hold onto my perch atop the stone, my feet dangling off the back side in mid air, I kept telling her to shoot the darn thing before I fell off. "Just get me and the stone," I yelled and you'll be fine."

"But I can't get you both in in the shot," she protested.

"Finally I shouted for her to SHOOT because I was falling off NOWWWWWWW>......."

You can guess what happened, I imagine. Finally, arm fatigue proved to be my undoing. I lost my grip on the stone's top and fell off the monolith backwards. Initially I landed on my feet, but my shoes promptly slipped of the boulder I had originally used to boost myself up in the first place, and then I fell backwards onto the rock with a sort of painful finality that I'm sure every rock climber dreads.

Instantly, I leaped back to my feet, hoping, as we all do, that if you have the ability to rise from the fall, you'll probably live to fight another day. While that belief didn't turn out to be totally true, I did manage to hobble into the museum and spend the next hour touring the exhibits without collapsing into insensibility. But I fully expect that my ribs are going to be "complaining" to me for the next two weeks about how a dumb cracker, just short of his sixty-ninth birthday, ought to give up rock climbing and similar dangerous activities for good.

Which is part of the reason we landed in Sisters, Oregon tonight, instead of driving into the sunset and our someday destination of Portland, Oregon. That's also how we ended up with the grand total of 51 miles on today's odometer. Tell you what, though. The High Desert Museum is definitely a must-see should you ever travel Highway 97 in the Bend, Oregon vicinity. We only partook of the western history portion of the exhibits, but there is lots more to see, including hiking trails, a 1904 Sawmill, exhibits on the local Indian tribes, an otter habitat exhibit, and an building devoted to the "Changing Forest." Our guide, Bob Graham, for the Spirit of the West exhibits, was truly excellent, and I would be totally enthusiastic about returning and doing the rest of the museum's sights.

By the time we left the museum, it was 2:30 p.m. and getting dangerously close to cocktail hour. So, we immediately opted for stopping at the very highly rated Sisters/Bend RV Resort in Sisters, Oregon, just twenty miles away. Once at the resort, we discovered the camp is beautiful, immaculate, very scenic (we're beside the lake), full of helpful staff members, and.....expensive. Well, don't be deterred by that last bit. Everything is so beautiful here, we really didn't mind the $50.00 tab at all.

So, at this point we've set up camp, extended the awning that I thought yesterday might never work again, hauled out our camp chairs and had our cocktails, and Concetta has had her shower. I'm sitting here doing the blog, watching one neighbor spit-shine is Class A out the window, and another neighbor use her $2,000 dollar camera and extended lens to take photos of weeds.

I don't much fancy doing anything at all but rest my bruised ribs, finish up this bit of trivia, and take a hot shower myself. Hopefully, I'll still be able to climb into the driver's seat tomorrow morning when we turn our sights toward Portland. My buddy in Portland, whom we've promised to visit, just can't believe that we could leave on Saturday and NOT have arrived at his place already. But C'est la vie. When you don't have ANY time restraints, why rush? We'll get there someday. So until tomorrow, I wish you exciting destinations and memorable travels from the Davises, the Happy Wanderers.