Beat up statue stands guard at RV park entrance

When you check into the Shoreline RV Campground in Crescent City, Calif., you will see this wooden fellow at the entrance. If you look closely on this backside, you will notice that he's kinda beat up. He gets whacked pretty hard by vehicles now and then. I liked his sunglasses so I took a pic. I thought he looked like a sea captain but the woman in the campground office said she figured he was a fisherman. Most statues -- in this case a wood carving -- do not have sunglasses, so I thought this one was unusual enough to show you here.

Famous roadside statue loses its head

Very, very bad news. . . Babe the Blue Ox has lost his head. The 10,000-pound mascot of Trees of Mystery along U.S. 101 north of Eureka, Calif., is currently headless, but with any luck for only another few weeks. Babe lost his head in late November. It just fell off. "We thought it was supported by steel," a Trees of Mystery employee told me. "But only two, two-by-six pieces of wood held it, and they'd rotted."

Nobody saw Babe's head fall off because it happened after business hours. Good thing, too, because a lot of people gawk up close at the famous ox and his lumberjack buddy Paul Bunyon. The giant duo has stood along the highway for 45 years, and earned Kodak a tidy profit in the years before digital cameras.

If you want to shap a photo of Paul and Babe for your own, you should probably wait until early February to visit Trees of Mystery. Babe should have a new head by then.

Photos: Big photo: Headless Babe. Small photo: Babe before losing his head.

Wood carver welcomes visitors near Oregon coast

It's not difficult to find an artist of one kind or another along a rural Oregon highway. For example, Mike Kain makes and sells what he calls "exotic wood furniture and wood carvings," from his workshop and showroom along U.S. 20 near Eddyville, Oregon -- a town with a city limits sign but little evidence of a town. If you are traveling this lonely road and notice Mike's business, "Amongst the Woods," stop to check it out. There is plenty of room to park any size RV.

Outside, there's a hodgepodge of weathered carvings -- furniture, a swing, and even a tree house with a single chair, presumably for soaking up the sun on the rare day it appears. Inside Mike's showroom is where the good stuff is displayed -- beautiful carvings, often of burl, most of it functional -- chairs, coffee tables, end tables. Mike says working in this remote location is good for business. "In a gallery, you get very few buyers," he says. "Most people just look. Here, most of the people who stop buy something." He said much of his work is commissioned. "Fireplace mantles are popular," he said. He also sells jewelry, glasswork, pottery and other art work made by his wife and friends. Prices on jewelry start at about $15. Prices on Mike's furniture and other creations are reasonable compared to what it would sell for in a big city. I told him that I thought his work would sell for two to three times more in Seattle, where I live. Mike is located at 25847 Highway 20, about 15 minutes east of Newport, along the Oregon coast (541-875-4200).

Old trailer keeps students out of the rain

Where do old RVs go when they die? Sometimes, it's to the junkyard. In rural areas, they often end up in a field where they gather moss. Near Eddyville, Ore., along rural U.S. route 20, a retired travel trailer provides shelter at a school bus stop. This part of the country gets a whole buncha rain. If you're a kid waiting for a ride to school, even a beat old RV like this is likely a very good thing.

Why RVing is like joining the circus

I came across a book recently about "Running Away With the Circus." But what it was really about was running away from one's present life and to a new one. Quitting an executive job to take up pottery-making would be an example. Retiring early to go full-time RVing would be another.

When you were young did you ever dream of joining the circus? I did. Oh, I was never serious about it, but I did ponder the idea of drifting from place to place gypsy-style. I have never understood my need to be a drifter. Some people need to plant roots firmly and then stay planted. I never desired deep roots, but shallow ones that could be easily replanted elsewhere.

I know people who love one place. They may try living in different towns, but never feel quite at home until they arrive in a special town where, for the first time, they feel complete. "This is it," they say, and that is where they remain forever.

I have never found such a place. My place has always been somewhere different from the place before. My house -- my very favorite house -- has always been my motor-house, the one that allows me to live as a gypsy without being so conspicuous that people think me odd. I like waking up often in a different place, but I especially like it when I awake in such a place in my very own RV's bed. I believe this is like having your cake and eating it, too.

At a recent RV show, I met many wonderful people, and among them were dozens who were about to embark on a full-time life on the road. Most were not of traditional retirement age, but younger. I did not ask them if, when they were young, they dreamed of joining the circus where they could drift about the land. But I have a feeling some of them would have said yes.

Right now, writing this, I'm feeling a bit of what I felt as a young man when I dreamed of joining the circus -- of seeing new places and having new experiences. Those people at the RV show — the soon-to-be full-timers -- they got me thinking about my persistent restlessness. Have you ever stood at the airport and watched a friend's plane take off to a place far away? Did you want to go? Did you feel envy? Did you feel left behind?

That's the way I feel right now.

How Towns Say Hello

I spent much of the 1990s traveling the back roads of the American West in a motorhome, writing and publishing my quarterly newspaper Out West as I went. Over that decade I snapped photos of the “Welcome to Town” signs of many rural communities. Here is a short video essay I put together back then. The quality is not too great as I had to transfer the essay from VHS to a digital format before posting it online.

No skateboarding dogs allowed here

I can't remember where I took this photo. But I do recall that I was pretty amazed that a sign was necessary to keep dogs from skateboarding in the park. I wish I could remember the town where I snapped this so I could return to get some actual shots of the local dogs in action. Whoever put up this sign is crazy: skateboarding dogs would be a great tourist attraction!