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Beverly Beach

Many-legged tree

August 17/Day 31. It’s good to be on “shore power” again, meaning I have an electricity hookup to the camper; I’m back on the grid. I’ve lived for a month on just the trailer’s failing batteries, so I’ve been very frugal with the use of power. After dark I keep only one light on at a time. When I finish washing dishes, I turn off the sink light and move in the dark to my reading light, and so on. I take very quick “navy showers” as much to save the electricity that powers the water pump as to save water.

At this campsite I also have water and sewer hookups to further embellish my luxuries. No more worry about overflowing the black water tank or using up all my fresh water. Actually, an RV is a careful study in living a frugal, green lifestyle. I am virtually forced into it, but it soon becomes a habit.

RVs are amazing inventions once you stop to think about it. Packed into less (sometimes much less) than 400 square feet are all the amenities needed to live a comfortable life. And without property taxes!

Efficient design means every cubic foot is put to its best use. A typical RV has two separate water systems, one for “city” hookups and one an onboard tank; it has two electric systems, one for shore power and the other 12-volt batteries; it has refrigerator, stove, oven, microwave, TV, air

Spencer Creek flows through the park, then fans out over the beach

conditioner, furnace, shower, toilet, queen size bed, closets, pantries, and room for guests. All of

Beverly Beach with historic lighthouse in the distance

Beverly Beach with historic lighthouse in the distance

this in a package designed to withstand hurricane force winds while rolling down the highway at 70 mph.

And just think of your back yard! The whole continent is yours! Two days ago outside my door was the Crown of the Continent, Glacier Park. Last week it was the geysers and mudpots of Yellowstone. Today I’m living in a rainforest that’s 100 yards from the Pacific Ocean. How can you beat that?

This morning after drinking  a cup of coffee, I bundle up (it’s really chilly here) and take a walk through the campground—which is the largest in the Oregon state park system. Afterwards I hike a nature trail that winds through this marvelously haunting forest, then head home for lunch. After lunch I cross under the bridge to the beach, where I walk for a long while with nothing

14-inch starfish swam up the mouth of Spencer Creek

but the eternal sough of waves keeping my company.

Back to the real world, so-called, I drive my truck six miles into the town of Newport to have Ford diagnose the check engine light. A porter ferries me back to camp; they’ll need to keep the truck until tomorrow.

Now, stranded in paradise, I ride my bicycle to the beach, which is flat, wide and mostly packed damp sand. I ride north up the coast against a stiff breeze, circling tidal pools and fording little creeks that run across the beach from inland hills, spreading out into broad films of shallow water on the sand as they stream to Mother Ocean. Finally, turning south, I find the wind is strong enough that if I sit upright, exposing my back to it, I can sail down the beach without pedaling. And such is my day, no more, no less.

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