Day 42 - Huntington to Prairie City, Oregon - 110 Miles

Anyone who has been reading this account of the travels of the "Happy Wanderers" and their adventures in the Northwest have probably noted that our GPS hasn't always been the most reliable of navigation tools. Most times we keep her turned off as more and more she seems to intentionally mislead us. Perhaps you've never had ANY trouble with your handheld or onboard GPS when you're traveling. Glad to hear it. But let me relate the latest adventures of our nemesis, Ms. GPS and your intrepid adventurers.

It started this morning when we set out to find the Baker City Oregon Trail Interpretive Center. As we approached Baker City about 10:00 a.m., I told Concetta that we'd just get off at the first opportunity and cruise through town on the business loop bypass of Interstate 84. I figured that we'd almost certainly see the always helpful brown point-of-interest signs somewhere downtown that would help us navigate to the Interpretive Center.

But when we had reached the old part of the city and had not encountered even one brown sign, we pulled over and consulted a "things to see" booklet that we had collected somewhere in our travels. We soon found the address, and in short order Concetta had succeeded in programming the ever-cantankerous Ms. GPS to take us to our destination.

So far so good, and all seemed to be going well. Ms. GPS directed us right back to Interstate 84 and told us to take the on-ramp headed west. This order seemed to be contrary to what my intuition was quietly telling me, but as usual I decided to just sit back, relax, and let Ms. GPS do her thing.

After traveling just a mile or two in a northwestern direction, Ms. GPS instructed us to get off the Interstate, and get on the frontage road. Concetta and I looked at each other because we had long since left the city proper behind and nothing but farm and pasture lands greeted our inquiring eyes in any direction we looked.

At this point we think that Ms. GPS really began to feel her power. Since Concetta and I had dutifully followed her directions to this point, she obviously wanted to see how much she could get away with. Or maybe she just wanted to punish us for ignoring most of her directions in the past, and leaving her deactivated most of the time.

What followed for the next half hour was nothing short of insubordination, if not outright insurrection. Once we had left the Interstate, Ms. GPS began to send us in a stair-step fashion across hundreds of acres of farmland in one-mile segments at a time. She'd say, "turn right at the next corner, then proceed for one mile until your get to some other Street." When we got to that Street, she'd say, "Now proceed down the present street for one mile and turn left on the next Street." When we got to that street, she'd say, "Now go down one mile......" You get the picture.

The land that we were traversing was flat, featureless pasture. We encountered almost no houses at all. When Ms. GPS had sent us on no less than ten of the one-mile stair-stepping segments, we finally got to "Sunnyslope Road." When we drove to the end of Sunnyslope Road we encountered the DIRECT ROUTE from Baker City to the Oregon Trail Interpretive Center. We knew this to be true because when we looked left we could see the Center way up on a hill above us. When we looked right, we could see the Interstate and beyond that the city. It was obvious that our obnoxious GPS lady had harpooned us big time and wasted no less than a half hour of our time by adding a needless thirty-minute meander to what should have been a five-minute drive from Baker City.

All I can say is that Ms. GPS is hugely lucky that she isn't spending the rest of eternity somewhere in a cow pasture adjacent to Sunnyslope Road. We've discussed all sort of punishments, including sending her back to the factory, but we may give her one more chance to redeem herself once we update her software. Perhaps she's just become misguided and simply needs some tough love.

So once we actually found the road to the Interpretive Center we arrived there in a heartbeat. At first we couldn't quite understand the reason for locating the Center so far from town and at the top of a mountain peak no less. But once inside, we understood. The building has been cleverly positioned to overlook the "tracks of the pioneers" as they coursed through the valley below. The center even provides binoculars for folks who would love to hike down to see the wheel ruts in person, but can't for some reason.

To accommodate those who Do want to hike, the Center has paved the mile down to the wheel-rut area. And the paved path doesn't just charge straight down the mountain. It meanders artistically down to the valley floor, so you can meander yourself and take note of the flora along the way. If the signage in the parking area is any indication, the Center may have even labeled plants on the paved path, too. I could see using the binoculars that a single covered wagon had been located at the bottom of the hill where it's 19th century equivalents had once passed.

You may remember that Concetta and I wanted to finish up our cruise along the Oregon Trail by actually visiting an Oregon Trail Interpretive Center in the state of Oregon. It seemed to be a fitting way to top off what has turned out to be a major portion of our vacation experience.

The museum, we thought, was pretty good, and some of the "mock-up" displays of emigrants and their wagons are truly excellent. We also thought that the whole story of the trail experience was pretty thoroughly done. Still, the museum is somewhat small overall, and probably rates a good, but no spectacular grade. The trail center that we found truly memorable from our RV vacation in 2016 was the one in Casper, Wyoming. That Museum rates an outstanding.

While we were enjoying the museum "walk-through," we were invited to attend an hour with a couple of performers who promised to acquaint the audience with the overland trail experience through instrumental music and old-fashioned song. Our morning's performers were Buffalo Bill Boycott and his sidekick, Doctor Jo. They advertised their program as: "A music extravaganza of songs and stories in celebration of the 175 anniversary of America's historic migration of 1843. The duo would be accompanied by a multi-media presentation of historical paintings and photographs, stories in Native American Indian sign language, information on the Oregon/California Trail, Mormon Trail, The Donner Party, Gold Rush and more. Buffalo Bill and Dr. Jo would be performing on the Fiddle, Banjo, Mandolin, Guitar with vocal harmonies.

Some of the music was a bit folksy, but the overall effect was pleasing and the audience seemed to get into the spirit of the thing by singing along, clapping when requested, and doing their best to help the performers pull off an entertaining show.

Once the show was done, we stopped briefly in the gift shop where Concetta scoped out a cool T-shirt for my "Shirts-around-the-U.S." collection. We also tried to locate a book on Concetta's latest research topic on emigrants and their descendants and how they contributed to Oregon society. Not seeing any such narrative, nor my favorite topic of freighting in the old west, we made our escape and headed to the RV for lunch.

We didn't get far before I realized that I needed to photograph the circle of wagons on the bluff near the Interpretive Center. I had resisted photographing the wagons when we first arrived since the sun was behind clouds at that hour. But at high noon the conditions were prefect. After fifteen minutes, and perhaps two dozen shots, I was satisfied that I had covered the topic and we again made for the RV.

Once lunch was over, it was our intention to find Route 26 and head for Bend, Oregon. Trouble was, I had misread the map and what I really needed was Route 7 which runs into Route 26. This took us just a bit of time to sort out as we headed northwest on Route 84 looking for Route 26, when we should have headed southeast looking for Route 7. Embarrassing as that was, I was not about to trust Ms. GPS to tell us anything. We did turn her on briefly, and Concetta put in an address in Bend, but Ms. GPS immediately insisted that she was taking us to Yakima, Washington, no ifs, ands, or buts.

With a sigh we turned her off, consulted the map, found Route 30 on the northwest side of Baker City, which ran into Route 7, which ran into Route 26, and we were off and running. We wasted perhaps ten or fifteen minutes, but on the positive side the dalliance brought to my attention the need for gasoline, which I had forgotten about. Cruising Route 7 until we found Route 26 allowed us to happen upon a filling station, so all was well in the end.

I know I've recommended a lot of different routes, but anyone who wants to cruise the eastern part of Oregon would do well to schedule a drive along Route 26. It's absolutely beautiful and very lightly traveled.

We had an added benefit as we ran across the old Sumpter Valley narrow gauge railroad a few miles before we got to our evening campsite in Prairie City, Oregon. All the narrow-gauge equipment seemed to be completely unattended, and I just gleefully wandered the grounds, camera in hand, shooting anything and everything. The sun cooperated. The sky was a brilliant blue with copious fluffy clouds on high, and a great time was had by yours truly.

Not since the days of my membership in the Carson City Railroad Association have I enjoyed shooting rail equipment as much. It wasn't until I ventured far enough into the rail yard to hear ethereal voices from somewhere I couldn't see, that I retreated back to the rig. I suppose that I could have just wandered into the engine house and met the fellows who were probably working on an old narrow-gauge locomotive today. But it was already late, and we truly wanted to find a camp by day's end. If they let me watch, well, I might be there still.

Someday I'd really like to come back and ride the Sumpter Valley Railroad. The attraction is reasonably close to Carson City and would make a splendid short RV trip for late summer. Steam railroads are always fascinating. And, if you decide to go in search of vintage covered wagons, or wonderful survivors of the steam era, we wish you exciting destinations and memorable travels from the Davises, the Happy Wanderers.