 
Sinbad and I on the Loose

The travels of a man and his cat in America

By  
JOHN LEE KIRN
Copyright © 2016 by JOHN LEE KIRN

All rights reserved, including the right of

reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

As if it really matters...
Contents

RUNNING FROM MOUNT ST. HELENS - 2004

LIFE AT SLAB CITY - 2005

DEATH VALLEY AND ELSEWHERE - 2006

THE NEW WINNEBAGO VIEW'S MAIDEN VOYAGE - 2007

CHASING DESERT WILDFLOWERS - 2008

CALIFORNIA BREAKDOWN - 2008

THE ROAD TO THE VIEW RALLY IN NEHALEM, OREGON - 2008

ABORTED TRIP TO TEXAS - 2009

SPRING WILDFLOWER TRIP - 2010

FAREWELL BLACK ROCK - 2010

ADVENTURES IN THE SOUTHWEST - 2011

GLACIER NATIONAL PARK ROAD TRIP - 2011

THE GREAT PLAINS TOUR - 2012

TOUR OF THE SOUTH - 2013

GULF COAST TOUR - 2014

THE DESERT HOMESTEAD SAGA - 2015

MOJAVE NATIONAL PRESERVE - 2016

[Bonus Book:  
LONELY, OH SO LONELY - 2016](../Text/ch18.xhtml#id1)
PROLOGUE

I have had cats all my life. Most all have adopted me looking for a home and a good life which I gladly gave to them. After tragically losing a young cat during a particularly bad period of my life I was so devastated that for the first time, I actively went out and adopted a cat. That is how one year old Sinbad came into my life and in doing so he helped me with my own life. Sinbad was a medium long hair orange/ginger cat. He very much looked like a Somali. Sinbad was destined to be the first cat I ever took on the road traveling. We started out in old 1967 British Land Rover 109. Unfortunately those journals have been lost. When I grew tired of wrestling with these beasts I purchased a used 1995 Isuzu Trooper and we car-camped out of it for a few years. During this time the first motor home came into our lives, an old 1976 Winnebago Brave that we refurbished. I loved that old classic RV we nicknamed _The Box_ for it was just that−a huge box on wheels. Finally, longing for something with a bit more comfort and reliability in my advanced years I bought a used one year old 2006 Winnebago View. Our stories here begin three years earlier in the fall of 2004. Sinbad was now five years old.
Sinbad and I on the Loose

RUNNING FROM MOUNT ST. HELENS  
October 2004

Early one Sunday morning I was reading about the events occurring at Mount St. Helens in Washington. The volcano was showing some activity for the first time since the mountain destroyed itself back in 1980. My wife walked in and asked what I was doing and I told her adding "I ought to go see it". She said "You should" and with that I began to prepare for the trip. I took most of the day getting things together including cat food and a litter box for Sinbad. It'd be a good test for him in the new to us 1995 Isuzu Trooper. We left at four-fifteen Monday morning making it as far as a rest stop two hours up Highway 101. Unusual for me, I was tired already so just I lay down in the back while it was still dark. An hour later with the sun rising and feeling refreshed we were on our way again moving north on Highway 101. We stopped in Crescent City, California for gas then continued on into Oregon.

Unlike entering Nevada, in Oregon you genuinely feel you're in a different state. Everything is greener and more lush. The people in Oregon appeared to be either doing well or were simply down and out. There was no in between. In Nevada everyone looks like they are on the run, hiding out from the IRS or have been relocated as part as a witness protection agreement. A lot of little stores and shops were closed up-out of business. The lagging economy was evident. Still, tourist places we had seen when the kids were along on family vacations like the Trees of Mystery with giant Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox standing out in front, the Prehistoric Gardens with the full size dinosaur replicas and Safari USA where we petted baby lion cubs all were in business and looking well cared for, not run down and in disrepair.

Midway up the coast, just before Newport we pulled into a campground at five-thirty P.M. There was no problem getting a spot even though I had been seeing many tourist RV's and campers on the road all day long. I was better prepared and set up after a trip the Bonneville, Utah salt flats a month earlier trip so things went smoother except for having Sinbad along. He's really no bother but is something I have to be aware of all the time. Early on in the drive this became evident in that he'd step on buttons rolling down windows, locking and unlocking doors, folding the mirrors in or heating up the seats. The worse one was locking doors. I realized how easily I could be locked out. So I was always aware of having the key with me at all times. One good thing out of this was I discovered what this other " _lock_ " button was for. Pushed down it prevented any of the windows to be operated except from the driver's control, so that problem with Sinbad was eliminated.

The next morning we were on our way at nine A.M. The upper half of the state was distinctively different from the lower half. It seemed better off with more tourist businesses along the arts and crafts line and a drive-up coffee/espresso trailer every mile or so.

Reaching Tillamook, Oregon I thought best to get gas for the towns pass that point were far and few in between. I had forgotten that they pump the gas for you in Oregon. It's the law and a very strange experience. The attendant told me just Oregon and New Jersey are the only states left that do this. He even washed the windshield. I felt I should have tipped him.

Rounding the bend of the state, through Astoria where even more closed businesses were to be seen and a stop alongside the road for the other half of my submarine sandwich before we crossed the Columbia River. Once across the river it was only ten miles of Interstate 5 before the turn-off to Mount St. Helens. I was starting to get excited. Sinbad was asleep.

A sign stated that the road was closed forty-three miles in. A lot of traffic was coming out but only I and maybe one other car was going in. Why was everyone leaving? An evacuation was in effect? No, the road would be closed. Maybe there was no place to stay so I began to take note of all the possible places to pull off into for an overnight camp. Then I began to start feeling a bit silly as if I was driving to go see an accident. Was I just another gawking spectator ultimately being in the way?

Then a turn in the mountain road and the volcano came into view for the first time. I was impressed. This volcano was big, much bigger than I remembered. I don't think we came in this way from the west when we as a family came here a few years after the big eruption. A lot had been built up too. It was a nice road with view sights, tourist information and more than one visitor center. The lack of funds didn't seem an issue when developing the area for the tourist.

Suddenly a large view site turnout appeared filled with dozens of cars and several large camera trucks with satellite dishes on the roof. This is it! We pulled in and backed in to a spot on the upper level. I was feeling very grateful for getting a spot to park and began to set things up for the long wait. I thought to myself others around here are set up for the long wait. I can too. _I'll just be like everybody else._ I set up the camera and spotting scope on their tripods and was ready, looking like a pro having done this sort of thing all the time.

A lady on the level below us had towed her little hotdog wagon up and was doing a brisk business selling dogs and nachos. I watched the news crews prepare for their broadcasts including an interview with the enterprising hotdog lady. I took a few pictures, looked through the scope, and walked around a bit.

I came upon a guy talking to a young couple who obviously had just arrived as I had. I overheard him say how the volcano blew that morning. My heart sank. "I have the pictures. Come over and I'll show you." They walked to the back of his van where he pulled out a large big buck digital camera with a massive two-foot long lens attached and displayed the pictures to them on the camera's LCD screen. I peered over a shoulder and saw what I had missed seven hours earlier mostly a large puff of smoke. Slowly I walked back to Sinbad and the Trooper and thought, _now what?_

Well the thought occurred to me that I hadn't even been to the end of the road where it had been closed off. I should at least go see that. It's not like I'm going to miss anything now. So putting everything away we moved out. A few turns later another pull over view site and _Oh my god!_ There were close to twenty news camera trucks. This encampment was huge including support vehicles, rented RV's to live in and several tent structures to work under out of the weather. Thinking this would be the place to be I soon found the view site was restricted for MEDIA ONLY.

Further up the road we came upon more volcano chasers all having set up camp alongside the road so I figured where to stay for the night was not to be a problem. The closure of the road was at the Coldwater Ridge Visitor Center. This was a big complex with lots of parking. This would be a good spot to set up camp. Many were there set up with cameras and tripods but no news trucks. One lady, just like one at the previous turn-out was doing an oil painting of the volcano. All in all everything seemed to have a big circus-like event, football tailgating, outdoor concert atmosphere about it. I had noticed a dirt road a mile back going up a ridge and there were a dozen or so were camped along it. I felt this was more to my liking and I would go back to it for the night but first, into the visitor center. It closed at six P.M. A glance at my pocket watch showed it to be five-fifty-five. Maybe tomorrow.

Back to the dirt road I set up camp, cameras and spotting scope, ate dinner and then took down cameras and spotting scope. It was too dark to see anything. What was I thinking? I noticed one lady there in the back of her small pick-up truck with Ohio plates. I wondered and later wished I had asked her if she drove all the way out west just for this. Yes or no, I admired her spirit. Overall most were Oregon and Washington, maybe ten percent California with a couple of Colorado, Idaho and a few Canadians thrown in for a good mix.

That night it rained. In the morning I couldn't see the volcano which otherwise was so close that it filled up the entire view out the back window of the Trooper-clouds. I knew before leaving home that a weather system was moving in for the week. Also the thought occurred to me on the drive up that this thing could blow at night. So that in itself cut the chances of seeing anything in half. Now with clouds obscuring the view, and no activity expected for days, what am I doing here? I pulled up stakes and went to the visitor center for some postcards. The gates were closed not to open until eight A.M. so they run everyone out each night it seemed. Once in the parking area I discovered the center didn't open until eleven A.M. Heck that was an hour and a half away so Sinbad and I held council and we decided to head out for home.

Motoring along the thought slowly began to germinate about the feasibility of making it all the way back home in one day. Could it be done? I'd be going back via I-5 and should be able to camp somewhere along the way if need be. We pressed on going sixty-five and seventy mph most of the time. Soon after crossing back into California it grew dark and Sinbad became fascinated by the trucks and cars we passed. He had his nosed pressed to the glass for most of the time until we pulled off the interstate at Williams. Perhaps it was the lights as we never traveled during the night before.

In the end, fourteen hours later at eleven-fifteen P.M. we pulled into the driveway. Seven hundred thirty-eight miles! Something I could never have done in the Land Rover. The Trooper is such a pleasure to drive.

Sinbad traveled well enjoying each time he was able to get out be it at camp of a rest stop. I had my act together and came back with a much smaller list of alterations to make to the Trooper Still space is at a premium compared to the Land Rover 109. I jettisoned some more unneeded gear, and removing the other rear seat help even more. A few more trips should do it where it won't feel like a lot of work to set up camp. Before with the Rover it was the other way around, it was just a lot of work to drive it.

Thursday morning I checked the news and what do I see right off the start? Mount St. Helens blew. Oh well, it was a nice drive. And besides, Thursday was the one year anniversary of my first day of retirement life.
LIFE AT SLAB CITY

February – March 2005

Slab City is an abandoned 1942 Marine Corps Training station in the California desert east of the Salton Sea. In 1954 it was dismantled leaving only the concrete slab foundations in place, hence the name. It has become a winter refuge for those wishing to escape the cold from their homelands up north. It is free camping which in turn has attracted some of those who do not have a home in the typical sense.

Salvation Mountain is what can be termed as an art project created by Leonard Knight over two decades in the making. Leonard passed away in 2014 after being moved to a care facility where he lived for over two years. He was eighty-two. More can be found about Leonard online.

The following is an account of my first solo trip in my first RV.

Monday

My first day at Slab City; now that I am here the last two days full of driving seemed worthwhile. I suppose just the getting here is the hard part. First and foremost I need to learn how to relax. It is very peaceful here. The weather is perfect mid seventies with a slight breeze T-shirt weather that later on evolves into shirtless weather. The pace of the residents here is slow and relaxed. Generally it seems everyone is just going about his or her day doing what needs to be done towards _survival_ as some might call it. I suppose _existing_ would be more the word for it as there is not much activity to speak of. One diesel pick-up passes by on the dirt track in front of the Box (my 1976 Winnebago Brave RV with all the shape of a box on wheels) with two fifty-gallon empty water drums in the back and returns within the hour with both filled. This is an important piece of knowledge to have−where to get water−if I were to be a long-term resident, especially in the fact that I pulled in yesterday with water dribbling out of one of the rear faucets. It could only have been happening for the last thirty nine miles when I had stopped for lunch outside of Coachella.

We are in the area where we camped one time before visiting Slab City. Dogs are barking but not all the time and far enough away for it not to be bothersome. And it is nothing earplugs cannot silence at nighttime. Again I am struck with the peacefulness in the air, no traffic noise, no emergency vehicle sirens, no dogs barking directly across the street and no noisy kids, everything I left behind at home. As for kids, the school bus comes by at seven A.M. I had forgotten about that. I will take notice at what time in the afternoon it returns. Otherwise there is a fair amount of vehicles coming and going on the main road through Slab City. People going into town for food, supplies, mail, or maybe even a job, for some of these people look to live here year around.

This morning it is a little nippy but not too bad. I awoke at six A.M., force myself out of bed to heat coffee then crawl back under the covers to read. I feel lazy doing this for it is not what I do at home. All of this is new for me. Then finally it comes time for me to face the fact of having to use the toilet in the Box. This is not something I have ever done before in the past as we were always in a campground with restrooms or pit toilets or in the desert where I can dig a hole. Here none of those options are available. Of course this brings to mind the same thought as with obtaining water. These people out here must deal with the fact that the holding tank in their RV gets full and has to be dumped periodically. Where do they go? Where is the closest place? I know I will not be here that long for this to be a concern for me yet it is a vital piece of knowledge to be had. And then there are those living here outside of a trailer or camper, a whole different and even more challenging set of problems to deal with.

The day lingers on. I spend most of my time lying on the bed reading. Every once in awhile I'll get up to do something: refer to a map, eat an apple, let Sinbad out for a walk, fix lunch, or see what is going on in the neighborhood. There are so many potential stories out here to be told. Here is one: While reading I hear this man yelling "HEIDI! Heidi, come here!" I look out the back window and see an old man, hunched over, hobbling along. Wearing dark blue dungarees held up with suspenders, a dark plaid shirt and blue ball cap he shuffles along hollering out that same phrase over and over "HEIDI! Heidi, come here!" I feel sorry for the old guy knowing his pet, most likely a dog, has wandered off. He heads west for a quarter of a mile, which much seem like over a mile to him, but no Heidi. After over a half an hour of fruitless searching and yelling he turns back. I watch to see where he goes and see that it is the fifth wheel trailer several hundred yards on the other side of me. Nearing home his wife, fashioned out in a flowered blouse, rose colored polyester pants and the typical puffy blue rinsed hair-do of elderly ladies, meets him part way. I feel for them. _Why don't they unhook the truck and drive around looking_ I think to myself. It would be a lot easier on the old guy and he could cover more ground. Sometime later I hear a diesel truck on the dirt road in front of me and it is them. Shortly they return and stop a fellow on a scooter and talk with him so I know they haven't found Heidi. I hear the description−a small tan and black dog. Later in the afternoon he is back out on foot again. He only yells his line once but searches nevertheless. I can imagine how they must feel. If it were Sinbad...well I don't even want to think about it. Hopefully I'll have a good ending to this story.

There was another story on the road out to here after getting gas in Coachella. I had eaten my lunch in some flash flood ravaged desolate industrial area outside of town and had just pulled back on the road when I saw this hitchhiker. He was a scruffy looking character with long hair down his shoulders and an equally long beard flowing down his chest. He looked weather-beaten and probably around my age. The worst part, as I came up to him on the road he held out his cardboard sign - NILAND. _Oh man, should I? He's going to Slab City no doubt. Oh gee, why did I have to see that? I don't want to have talk to anyone. I don't want to answer questions. Maybe he's the quiet type. Surely he wouldn't care to be silent just as long as he gets a ride. Maybe he smells. I'd have to smell that for an hour. Maybe I should turn around or maybe not._ I stewed about this for the next ten miles feeling like a jerk for not helping this guy out. _Well, someone else is bound to pick him up, someone nicer than I. What if he sees the Box in Slab City?_ This raised another whole set of probabilities for me. I can see it now: "Hey buddy, why didn't you stop and give me a ride, you some kind of asshole or what?" _Yeah, you're right_ would probably be the correct reply.

Tuesday

I make progress. This morning I set up the rug, table and chair outside. Maybe I will spend more time outdoors today rather than being holed up inside the Box all day reading. Sinbad is happy to be outside too. Today I feel a sense of getting into this lifestyle...loafing. Still the mornings are rough. I miss getting my wife her morning coffee. Being in the surroundings of the Box this memory is more persistent than if I were alone in the Trooper. If as the day wears on that proves to be the worst of it, I think I'll make it.

I go for a little bike ride this morning before breakfast and have a stomach ache the entire time, so perhaps I should have eaten first. Anyway, the squalor! For all of those who appear to live here most of the time, I could count on one hand those who have a fairly tidy homestead. The rest have all their possessions−and there's a thin line between the definition of possessions and junk−scattered all about. There are some areas where no one is living that are thickly littered with trash and junk. The refuse is so worthless that even I am not interested in getting off my bike to investigate. Those who are living/existing here, their habitat leave a lot to be desired. They could just as well drag their living quarters across the street to the refuse lot and be perfectly comfortable at _home_ with no noticeable change in appearances. Most are old, beat up, weatherworn, dilapidated trailers, motor homes, fifth-wheels, campers, none of which will ever see the road again. I even see a few long-term residents living out of tents and one Indian tee-pee. When I return to the Box, it doesn't look so shabby after all. In fact, if it weren't for some of the high-end diesel motor homes and fifth wheels here, I may be considered among the elite.

Later on before lunch I take a walk that eventually brings me to the top of Salvation Mountain. It appears that Leonard has done a lot of work on his house. I am happy to see him giving a couple a tour down below. That guy must be pretty old by now but he's still getting around just fine. I wander on down and soon he comes over to greet me. I tell him how we had been here before and he confirms that most of the work since then had indeed been on his living quarters. I don't stay long for it is approaching lunchtime and I know I will come by later in the week.

I do more reading, sitting, looking about watching life go by. You have to be alert for not much happens and when it does it can be easily missed. I get a little restless so I go for another bike ride on my side of the "city", which proves to be not as trashy. It would be hard to guess but I suspect a couple hundred camps are here. It sounds like a lot but the area is big and everyone is spread out so there's no congestion.

I fill the solar shower around two-thirty P.M. and it has cooled a bit since the sun is behind some clouds. I think it best to do my shower now and I feel better afterwards. The best part of my shower is I see the old man walking a tan and black dog. I think Heidi might have come home. Tomorrow I will go by and find out the story. I also catch the school bus on its return trip today, which was at three fifty-five P.M. So I have that to do tomorrow also.

Wednesday

With the start of each new day I find myself becoming more and more comfortable with being here. The Box is slowly taking on the appearances of an old geezer living alone in the desert. I have empty tin cans and bottles sitting on the counter-top, papers and eyeglasses scattered about the table. The few dishes that I do use are half washed, just rinse and wipe. Clothing is not an issue for I wear the same thing each day. Still I sense a slight bit of squalor forming in my own life. Is this an inevitable aspect of living like this? My main concern at this point is I'm running out of reading material. I'm down to my last book. Fortunately it is a thick one. I do have my Dad's letters to go through but don't feel like this is the best place after all for getting into that, or I'm just not in the right frame of mind for it. [These were letters my father had sent home while he was in the Navy just after the Second World War. I lost my father in 1954 when I was five years old] Food will not be an issue. I'm not hungry much and I miss my wife's cooking. Water too will not be a problem. The water in the tanks is funky and needs to be dealt with. I left water in there after the last outing and now it smells. Not bad, but I know it could be better. I plan to pick up a bottle of bleach on the way home and let it slosh around inside for the trip. I never turn on the radio nor listen to any of the music I brought along and I'm just fine with that. I can list the appeal of this place: The weather, temperature, the peacefulness, the wide spacious uncluttered view and the solitude.

I will try to describe some of the scenery and characters in the neighborhood. Directly across from me, a couple hundred yards on the other side of the ravine, is what I call 'The Mexican Encampment'. There are four large and one small travel trailers arranged in a square formation. I don't know if they are Mexican or not for I only see one fellow doing anything there. A couple times a lady is present and I think I heard Spanish spoken so it got tagged 'The Mexican Encampment'. Except for one, the trailers look to be of fifties vintage. One has a solar panel on top angled skyward. The fellow I observed wears a sleeveless shirt and black Levis. For three days now, although nothing has yet happened today, he has been working on establishing a solar panel on another trailer. The first day was building the support for the panel. The second day was mounting it to the roof. All of what's been done so far normally could have been accomplished in a few hours. I doubt I will be here long enough to see its completion. They have a shaggy dog chained to the ground and two cats. I saw the lady out with a black & white cat on a leash with a young cat running loose. There are two other dogs always running free. One is large and the other medium size with stubby legs. They have a collar and a harness on and I think they live in the Encampment but later I'm not so sure. George and Ralph, I call them, have their routine always exploring the neighborhood trying to root out ground squirrels with no luck. They are never a bother and Sinbad always keeps a watchful eye when they get near. Only Ralph, the short legged one, came close one evening evidently trying to snatch a hotdog from the barbeque. Sinbad tipped me off and besides the barbi was too hot for George to make a snatch and grab.

East of the Encampment a hundred yards is 'The Fighting Irishman'. He received that name for he wears the same t-shirt every day from the fighting Irish of Notre Dame with the number 12 on the back. Each day he takes his dog for a walk, usually in the direction between Salvation Mountain and me. Now the only reason I write about this fellow is he's doing his thing out of a tent. It is a large family size dome tent with a fly over it. Off to the side, and not very far off by that account, is a little porta-potti size tent with a blue tarp on top, which I suspect, is just that, his toilet. He has erected a shade structure in front of his tent with all of his gear stacked on a couple of tables. I never could see a car there, but today returning from my walkabout I see he has a Trooper. He parks it in the same exact spot that is blocked by the tent.

Behind me is 'Red Shirt'. He is an old geezer living out of a little old fifties style trailer. Everyday he has on this long sleeved bright red sweatshirt. There is a beat-up old Ford pick-up next to him and an odd looking camper van. I have never seen anyone else there nor him going to the camper van. I never see him go anywhere either. He ventures no further than the ditch next to his bleached white trailer. There he tosses his garbage or washes out a rag. For the most part he is inside that cramped looking trailer. _What does he do all day long in there?_ This one is really bothering me to know. If that wasn't enough, I never see a light on. Does he have no power? There is a propane tank outside. Then the question arises, what about a toilet? Maybe there are things I don't want to know.

I have the usual contingent of vehicles drive by in front of us as they negotiate the ravine in getting to the main road. It is a short cut but one I cannot do in the Box so I have to go the long way around on the "street". There is a couple of diesel trucks, one if not both from "Camp Heidi" (I haven't found out about the return of Heidi yet), a couple of military style jeeps usually running an errand such as getting water, a VW or two and then there's "Radio Man". I can hear this guy coming before I see him. He is another geezer driving a white Saturn. I suspect he is hard of hearing and has the radio cranked up because of that. It's always a talk show. I find this amusing.

There are other cars too but they are not noteworthy although are regulars passing by in my front yard. Finally there are a couple of motorcycles, scooters and bicycles that make their way through my front yard. And just as I was writing this an older fellow slowly made his way by on a bicycle with bags hanging fore and aft and a backpack on his back. It all makes me wonder.

On my afternoon walkabout I get to see more than from a bicycle seat because I am moving slower. For all the refuse that is scattered about there is absolutely nothing of any use. I suppose the reason is that the residents have picked it all over long ago. These people are after all a resourceful lot. I come across several more burned out rigs. It makes one wonder what happened and where did they go afterwards? My guess most of these were due to the occupant falling asleep with a cigarette. I imagine the firestorms that must have been coming out of these tinder dry stick homes. One incident, the nearby cottonwood tree and creosote bushes were fried in the process. No doubt it is enough to make a neighbor worry. It is best to camp away from your nearest neighbor.

After my walk I come to realize that the Box is not so bad after all. In fact after seeing a lot of what is out here I'm pretty well off. Being unfamiliar and uncomfortable in it makes me a bit nervous. I just need to give the Box a chance and respect it more for its potential. It is better than having nothing at all. I need to allow it to serve me until we are able to do better and upgrade. When that time comes I'm afraid I will have a hard time letting it go. I should do as I have often thought about; put it up on blocks and have it as a little retreat for me in the desert. Slab City would be ideal. No investment in property. No taxes. I would worry though that it would get vandalized from what I've seen here, so this is not an option.

Thursday

It is a wonderful day in the neighborhood. I get out of bed by six-thirty this morning and it doesn't seem as nippy. After a cup of coffee and wiping the dew from my bicycle seat I go out to do surveillance on the school bus stop. Only one kid shows, a teenage boy. When the bus arrives right on schedule, there are only two other kids on the bus. Back home I do some maintenance on the Box. I check all the fluids and everything is right up to snuff. I am surprised thinking at least I would have to add some oil. I just don't give the Box the respect it deserves. I then do a little bit of housekeeping. Things are not as bad as I may have led on before. Just put a few things away, tidy up, sweep out the floor and things look ship-shape. I wash the front and rear windows in preparation for the drive home.

This has become an issue. I keep thinking about what to do regarding going back home. I am content to stay here. I have enough supplies although the reading material may run out. On the other hand I feel good by getting out, feeling I purged the wanderlust out of my system for a while and am kind of energized about finishing up some projects at home. And most of all I miss my wife to share my adventures with. I thought several times about the prospect of her driving down here and meeting me when I come again. Maybe stay until she's had enough (twenty-four hours worth most likely) then she could return home. I think that may be an interesting and fun thing to do. Maybe not from her viewpoint and I'm sure she'll tell me so.

Sinbad is really doing great and I am happy to have him along. After a couple of days he is content just to sit inside and look out. I don't even have to shut the screen door. If he decides to go out then he lets me snap the string on and out he goes. He will go outside and sit, roll around in the dirt or just lie there and sun bathe. After a while he will come back in. His only problem is his string gets wrapped around these little tuffs of grass and he won't pull hard enough to free himself, so he will meow at me and out I have to go to free him. Sometimes as I look at him I get the feeling he might be bored but maybe that's just a human point of view.

I walk over to see Leonard this morning. Mainly I want to leave him with a donation. As usual, when I arrive he is giving tours. He sees so many people−two hundred in a day sometimes he tells me−that he doesn't remember my having been there two days earlier. I sit for a spell while tours are being conducted and then finally, I just have to ask. "When are you ever able to get any work done with so many visitors?" He says that it is a problem at times. But the man is so conscious about people coming by that he feels if someone has stopped and he hasn't greeted them, he hops on his scooter and rushes over apologizing for not having said hello.

While we talk he is re-arranging ladders. I ask if he needs any help lifting something into place. He is elated by my offer. Pointing to a muddy wheelbarrow he asks if I have ever mixed adobe.

"Ah, no" I reply and immediately think _what did I get myself in to_? Mixing adobe looks like WORK.

"Later on I could use some help with that, but till then, do you want to paint some flowers?"

Now this sounded more to my liking. I tell him sure and that I will be right back. "I'd just like to go and get some water and check on my cat."

"Thank you so much. Lord that would be a great help."

As I wander back to the Box I think even more as to what I have got myself into here. But maybe I reason, it will be a good experience and a memory I will not forget. Oh how that was later proved to be so prophetic.

Back at the Box I get my water, camera, an apple and change into my sleeveless shirt. I return finding Leonard struggling with the same two ladders.

"Hi Leonard, I'm here to paint flowers."

"Oh praise the Lord, thank you. I've have about seventy-five years of work to do yet. I tell you what. You don't mind painting to you? What I think I'll have you do is paint the waterfall" and I follow him over to the paint depository which is hundreds of one and five gallon cans of paint scattered about the desert ground. He picks out a gallon of deep blue.

"This is blue isn't it?" he asks. I ask if he is color blind but he said he doesn't think so. It is just sometimes the blue looks turquoise to him. I think Leonard needs to wear some eye protection. The colors are so brilliant in the blazing desert sun that it's nearly blinding. He isn't even wearing a hat both days I see him and later I call him on that.

"Usually I do," he informs me.

Leonard finds me a four-inch wide paintbrush that previously has been used for green. Over we go to a fifty gallon drum of dirty water and he rinses it out, slapping it dry against a twelve-by-twelve pillar. Up on the mountain he gets me started on going over the blue on the waterfall saying that after a build-up of six coats, "...it will last twenty years". I don't have to put on six coats, just one of the six. He says he will come back in twenty minutes and check on me.

Twenty minutes stretches out to over an hour with all the tours he is giving. Meanwhile I am getting into my task. I am enjoying this plus gaining an even deeper appreciation for what this man has done. Also I am fielding questions from tourists walking along the _Yellow Brick Road_ above me, most of who refer to me as "his helper".

"How long have you been helping Leonard?"

"What time is it?"

"10:30"

"About an hour."

Sometime later he comes by and is thrilled with what I had accomplished, especially having done the detail work in and around the flowers. "Oh I like to do detail work" I tell him.

He says he would like my help with something else later and I say sure. "I just would like to finish up to this point", as I hate not finishing something. "I like the sense of accomplishment you know." He agrees.

Then I add on a second thought. "Maybe we should do it now while no one is here" for I know he will get distracted. He likes that idea and I set down my paintbrush and follow him over to a wheelbarrow full of freshly mixed adobe.

My first thought is _Whew, I don't have to mix adobe._ My second thought is this old man did, and had done so while I was painting and in between tours. _How does he do it?_

He has four 5-gallon buckets and throws a shovel-full of adobe in each. He asks if that is too heavy. "Huh?" I lift a couple and say, "No problem. Put another shovel full or two in."

Oh he is full of praises and so thankful to have a strong hand to help out today. Then I discover we have to haul the buckets up to the top of his three-story "museum" he is constructing!

_Okay, I can do this_. And really it wouldn't have been too bad...BUT, this building is a pyramid of hay bales set in no particular order or fashion. Then on top of the already adobe covered and painted hay bales, he has other hay bales stacked in to use as climbing surfaces. As I crawl up this wall of teetering hay bales, lifting up buckets of adobe one bale at a time, I am thinking _would OSHA approve any of this?_ Anyplace else I'd be required to wear a hardhat and safety harness. And of course, this old man does this every day. _How does he do it?_ _How in creation does he get these hay bales up here_? At the top he asks if I have ever worked with adobe and shows me how to go about plastering it onto a hay bale. Then some more visitors arrive down below. As he leaves me on top to go greet the new visitors only then he asks if I am afraid of heights.

This is dirty work but I'm getting in to it. I dump a bucket of adobe. I grab a handful of the gooey mix and work it in with my hands, then another handful and another. Then I smooth it all over thinking how when this dries it will be hard as concrete and the water will run right off the smooth surface I'm leaving behind. Adobe is my medium. I write my name and date in the fresh adobe. After I finish with the fourth bucket I start back down for another load, _this time only one shovel full in each_ I say to myself. I also think I should bring my camera back up next time. At the bottom I wash up in that fifty gallon water clean-up center so I can get a drink and handle the camera. Now I discover why my finger hurts. There is a piece of straw jammed into it like a splinter. I would never think so from straw. But I need to get it out and with what? I have nothing. Fortunately I am able to press it out backwards and then the blood starts to flow. _Let's see, didn't the Indians use mud for arrow wounds?_ So I don't worry.

Back at the wheelbarrow there is just enough for one shovel-full in each bucket. Good, it will look like I didn't wimp out when he sees the now empty wheelbarrow, plus it will be the end of this manual labor that I am not accustomed to. Back up I go. It takes four or five stages of lifting and climbing to progress to the top and at each stage I look up. _I don't remember it being so far before_. Midway I am whupped. Leonard comes back up and tells me how happy he is with what is getting done.

"I've wanted to do this for two months." It's then I learn that this isn't the top. He plans on bringing more hay bales up and applying more adobe! And then it has to be painted. It is only when I see him trying to fit in this automobile windshield as a skylight that I've been crawling around that I get an idea of how much more he plans to do up here. Fortunately some more visitors arrive and he gives up on the windshield. He is back down and off to conduct another tour. I get the four empty buckets and make my way down, not as sure footed as I was before, taking extra care on the wobbly hay bales. I am spent.

I clean off adobe from my hands and arms grab my haversack and go back over to the waterfall where I want to complete my painting. With the current batch of visitors gone Leonard comes back over to me thanking me for all my help. I am not too proud to tell him I am spent and let him know the deep sense of appreciation I have for what he has done, what he does, and all this in light of he being seventeen years older than I. He tells me that any time I want to help out I am more than welcome. "We are good friends." In fact if need be and I am a bit down on finances, he would pay me ten dollars and hour for a week's worth of work! I'm shocked and only can reply that I should pay him ten dollars an hour just for the privilege to work with him. To see how he lives and what little possessions he seems to own, I wonder how he could afford such a sum. Then I have to only consider with all these people stopping by many give him money without his asking. He never asks for money or imposes his strict belief in God and all God provides upon you. Earlier I was standing next to him when a gentleman slipped him a twenty. It went right into his shirt pocket along with a "God bless you". Yep, I think Leonard has a good thing going here.

While I finish up, Leonard is off on his scooter into town to check his mail. I clean my brush in the fifty gallon clean-everything-tub and put my paint, glitter jar and rags away. On my way out I find he has left me with a stack of postcards and two giant full color jigsaw puzzle pictures of Salvation Mountain. Thank you, Leonard.

Back at the Box I find I have been working for over three hours. It feels like a full day. Sinbad is happy to see me especially since I have some great new smells on me. Off with my boots and socks. My dogs were barking. Off too with the sweat-soaked shirt. A cool one is in order. I sit and reflect and groan. My back is sore. I shower and clean up which helps a little. I doctor my hand injury. After I finish my beer I still hurt. Looking in the medicine cabinet I find some ibuprofen. _I bet Leonard doesn't do this_ and I gulp one down.

Friday

I make a decision. We will leave Slab City today and go as far as the Salton Sea Campground forty miles north. It will be a change of scenery and I can dump the tanks there. I take my time. I get things squared away for the drive out leaving my bicycle for last. I want to go around and say good-bye to Leonard. When I arrive there is no one home. But I think I see him on his scooter talking to someone down the road so I pull up a chair. Leonard is happy to see me and I assure him I will be back, thanking him for the experience. He mentions how he sure would like for me to send some help his way and I tell him I will do what I can. Yesterday I told him about possibly being able to do this, thinking it would be a good piece for this year's Burning Man. [That year at Burning Man I had a large display of Salvation Mountain with a write-up about Leonard, directions on getting there, the free camping and all the fun in helping with the art project. It received a lot of interest. If only a couple followed through, then it worked] He then asks if I can spare him ten minutes. He has cut some sticks down the road a ways and wonders if I would like to help him load them up in his "Scout" which is really a Jeep Wagoneer. Of course, what else do I have to do?

After he finally locates his car keys we're off down the road about a mile. The "sticks" turn out to be some Tamarisk that he has cut early this morning. He tells me usually he only takes the dead wood but today he cut some green stuff. While doing so some guy stopped by and told him he shouldn't be cutting the green stuff. Leonard felt bad about it and was telling me how the man was right and he wasn't going to do that anymore. I told Leonard the guy doesn't know what he's talking about.

"Leonard, that stuff is Tamarisk or Salt Brush. It's not a native species. It was introduced here long ago and since has taken over everything killing off the native plants by starving them of water. The Park Service and Bureau of Land Management go out and try to eradicate the plant but it's nearly impossible since the root system goes so deep. You're doing everyone a service by cutting down what you do."

He says that makes him feel better but he still isn't going to cut green stuff anymore. We stop a bit further along the road for he has his eye on a large tree branch. Seeing it I can't imagine getting it into the Jeep with just two people. It is huge, eight inches in diameter and nearly twenty feet long.

"It has a nice arch to it and I know just where I can use it. I'll come back some other time and get it" The only way I figure this could be done was to chain it onto the bucket of his skip-loader but he says the tractor wasn't running at the time.

"Maybe this afternoon I'll get it running."

No he informs me, he has brought bigger stuff than that back with the Jeep. Then I find out he chains it to the Jeep and just drags it up the road. Well, okay. It is not like there is a lot of traffic out here. Do what you want to do; there's no one to tell you otherwise. I like that philosophy.

The sticks we have loaded amounted to hardly anything, eight branches in all. I think Leonard just wanted me along for company. On the way back to Salvation Mountain I delicately get on the subject of money and the donations he receives. He tells me that a box of postcards costs him eleven hundred dollars for twenty-six thousand cards. The large 11"x16" two hundred piece jigsaw puzzle photo of Salvation Mountain cost four thousand dollars a box of puzzles and he had four boxes made up last year. He has an order in for two more boxes. So Leonard does all right on donations alone.

Back at camp I load up the bike and roll out of Slab City. I am ready to go but I will miss it, especially the mornings and late afternoons, dogs barking and all. I stop at the store in Niland and get a small bottle of bleach for the water tanks. I walk down to the Post Office for ten postcard stamps. I discover where everyone gets their water. Leonard told me at the corner market and sure enough in the back is a spigot. Some ZZ Top looking fellow, in a thoroughly thrashed pick-up from Oregon is washing up at the time. The town is fully occupied by the down and outs, a few near-to-do-wells and several unsavory looking individuals, a very interesting slice of society. I feel like I don't fit in. In order to feel more comfortable walking the streets of Niland, next time I need to have several days' growth of whiskers, some oily long hair would help the image, and my clothes need to be many times more dirty and worn out than they currently are. And I could stand to lose about twenty pounds too. Scrawniness is a big factor here.

Up at the Salton Sea Campground I am undecided as to what to do when the Ranger lady at the kiosk asks me if she can help. "I am not sure if I want to stay or press on" I tell her. She invites me to take a drive through which I do. Right away I know I'm staying. I pay the seventeen dollars and immediately go to the dumpsite. With that accomplished I feel much better and ready to relax then drive home tomorrow, which probably will be a two-day trip. I elect the 'parking lot' style camping as we can be close to the water, which I discover Sinbad is not too fond of. Still, there is hardly anyone here and it is peaceful save for the traffic on Highway 111 and the frequent Santa Fe freight trains rumbling by.

I walk up to the visitor center for a look around. I am once again in the world of polyester clad tourists and the sight of these people scares me. If I ever evolve into wearing white tennis shoes with white socks half way up my calves, fashion designer off-the-rack Bermuda shorts, a brightly colored polo shirt with the name of the most recently visited tourist destination stitched just above the pocket and my hair oiled with a liberal amount of Vitalis topped off with a golf visor, I hope my wife backs over me with whatever RV we own at the time...twice.

I walk around looking at the displays in the Center bending over for a closer look at some fossils. I am not sure if I can straighten back up! I think it is just my butt that is sore from yesterday, but my back is tweaked really good too. I immediately flash back to the sight of Leonard this morning scrambling into the back of his flatbed looking for the Jeep's car keys.

One camper of note here is the young man camping behind me at the end of the lot. He is in a wheelchair. All by himself, he rolls around doing what needs to be done as any other camper normally does. I admire that he is not allowing his disability to get in his way. He has a Dodge van with sliding rear doors on each side. His chair is on the driver's side and an icebox, with a twenty-four-can pack of Bud-Lite next to it, on the passenger side. The rest of his gear he gets out of the rear, which has a lift up door and a long strap attached so he can pull it down. It kind of looks like he has his bed laid out on the picnic table.

I have a dinner of canned spaghetti and meatballs with a leftover hamburger patty from last night's barbeque. We are parked parallel to the shoreline. The people in front of me are from British Columbia in a fifth-wheel. She is a nice looking lady, too young looking for the old geezer with her. In front of them is a young couple with a little guy less than a year old. Dad is holding him out on the beach trying to keep is little blue ball cap adjusted; a young family just starting out with so many miles and adventures ahead of them. Behind me is that young fellow in the wheelchair. The wind picks up and he puts everything inside that can blow away. It is dark now and I see no light on inside his van.

Sinbad has still not come to terms with all the water, the waves, and the noise they make. He just doesn't know what to make of it and sits and stares a lot wondering if it is going to come up and get him. We go for an evening walk and all he wants to do is go down to wheelchair camp. Why? I do not know. I finally get him to go around the campsite where we then walked into some brush. He flushes a mouse out but it gets away. I then try to show him the water and he is having none of that. I have the wounds to prove it.

Saturday

I wake up to the sound of sprinkles on the roof. After my morning cup of coffee and a granola bar we pull out at six A.M. with the sunrise just beginning. The drips stay with us all the way up through the high desert. At Four Corners (Kramer Junction) east of Barstow the skies clear up enough to stop raining. It is nine A.M. After getting some _insurance_ gas to get us into Bakersfield I pull over for a bowl of cereal.

Just past Wasco on Highway 46 connecting Highway 99 and Interstate 5 I am having a grand time tooling along singing Desolation Row with Bob Dylan. It is flatland here and a simple two-lane road. The car in front of me makes a quick left turn and I glance in his direction of travel just as I see an on-coming car turn in right to the same area. Then I notice a white car has plowed into a chain-link fence encircling a small electrical power sub-station. Steam is rising from the engine compartment. The driver's side door is caved in. Looking as to where the on-coming car went, he has pulled up near another car halfway into a ditch further on. And then I see the body, midway between the two wrecks. The guy is laid out spread eagle on his back, in the dirt. It is several hundred yards before the shock of seeing that body dissipates enough that I think _should I stop?_ _What can I do? I don't own a cell phone, surely one those two who stopped or someone else who does will have a phone._ I can't turn the Box around on this road. The image of that lifeless body in a blue plaid flannel shirt and blue Levis stays with me for the next hour. Had I been looking farther ahead I most likely would have seen the impact, as did the two drivers in front of me had. The white car must have pulled out from the side road from the right and was t-boned by the car now in the ditch which must have been two cars in front of me. The dust had just had time to settle when I rolled by. No doubt the man I saw was not wearing his seat belt but I'd be hard pressed to say which car he was thrown out of. I now see the importance of having headlights on while driving these two-lane farm and desert roadways.

I think I might stay the night near the Harris Ranch on I-5 but it is only one-thirty P.M. when I reach that spot. So I keep on going. At Santa Nella, a favorite stop when my wife is along for we like to go to the Anderson's Pea Soup place. It is only three P.M., too early to call it a day. A few more hours and we will be home. I give my wife a call to warn her, grab a burger at Carl's Jr. (groan...urp!) and motor on the rest of way, seeing the aftermath of another bad accident on Highway 580 past Hayward, arriving home at seven-thirty P.M., safe.

[In the thirteen years after this was written I returned to Slab City only once. At the end of the first day there when I found myself thinking _what the hell am I doing coming here?_ I knew Slab City wasn't for me anymore. It had changed, for the worse if you can imagine that. More squalor, more undesirables to be around, no, I had since discovered many nicer places on the road to call "home".]
DEATH VALLEY AND ELSEWHERE

May 2006

It was the end of May approaching Memorial Day weekend and I chose then to leave on a road trip I had been meaning to do for some time. Nice thinking to leave into a holiday weekend. Considering rising gasoline prices I shelved my idea of going to Eureka and Saline Valleys north and west of Death Valley. I just gave up, figuring on going to the coast staying closer to home. Yet as my time to leave grew nearer I pulled my original plan down from the shelf and said "Gasoline prices be damned, I'm going".

Sinbad and I left home on a Tuesday at eight A.M. hoping to avoid any commuter traffic. It was nice to be on the road again in the easier to drive Isuzu Trooper but I soon found myself just not into the trip as much as I thought I would be. There seemed to be a pattern developing here with road trips and me and it was very disconcerting. Maybe all there is to it was the fact that when I was working, the chance to get away and go somewhere was so much more appreciated, but being retired now every day is like a holiday for me.

Four and half hours later we were at the junction of Highways 89 and 50 just on the outskirts of South Lake Tahoe. I decided to fill up the tank at a nearby Chevron–eleven gallons at $3.60 per gallon. I guess I could have went on but the fear of running out of gas always is a bother with me not having any auxiliary fuel tanks as I did with the Land Rovers. I needed to know the Isuzu Trooper better. Up Hwy 89 through Luther Pass, Markleville and Monitor Pass then down out of the High Sierras on the eastern side. This is beautiful country and I always enjoy this route. I turned south onto Hwy 395 probably my favorite highway in the state if not the entire country. Forty miles further I rolled into Bridgeport, a small quiet little town with not a sandwich place to be found. Oh I'm sure there had to have been at least one somewhere but I wasn't really trying very hard. I was just not into it for some reason. I chanced upon a diner advertising 'Homemade Mexican Food'. Well the burrito was okay, but "homemade"? Not in the sense I was used to around home. I should have known better so far away from the border without a Mexican to be found for miles around. Still as I sat outside in the warm sun sharing my burrito with a blackbird, I really appreciated how peaceful and quiet this little town was. No traffic noise, no Harleys, no sirens, no dogs barking; it was like Heaven.

Sixteen miles further down the road was the turnoff to Bodie Ghost Town but I decided to save that for a return trip as I had been there several times before, and my wife wasn't with me. Perhaps this is part of my problem−it's not quite the same exploring around without her to share in my adventures. I moved on to Mono Lake and turned on Cemetery Road along the north shore stopping at the County Park. This lush green little oasis later on in the trip will prove to be a very useful piece of information to have and a lifesaver. I walked out on the newly constructed boardwalk noticing how everything was in good repair with informative signs all the way to the shoreline. It was not how I remembered it from years ago−a battered weather-beaten walkway a hundred yards from the water. The designating of Mono Lake and its surrounding area as a National Scenic Area by the National Forest Service showed. The slowly rising water level too was apparent after the State Water Resources Board ruling years ago for the City of Los Angeles to restore the water level of the lake to the level as it was in 1964. It is estimated that ten to fifteen years from now this goal will be met.

I drove out the road a few miles further to Black Point off onto a gravel road. Here I could see the two islands, Negit and Paoha, which once again are "islands" made so by the slowly rising lake level. Years ago there was a land bridge to these islands providing access for predators (coyote) to the migratory bird nesting areas. Now the birds and their chicks are safe once again, hopefully forever. I was tired, had a headache and needed to find a campsite for the night. I drove around to the south shore then on out a four-wheel drive road where I had camped in the past with the Land Rovers. At eight P.M. the sun was down but it was still light out. I called it a day and hoped for a good night's sleep with no more headaches.

It was so cold that night and I had to dig out my sweatpants and stocking cap while not wanting to get out of the warm sleeping bag to do so. Thankfully the headache was gone. I had discovered that the batteries were dead in my flashlight and realized also I did not have a back-up can of fuel for the stove. Why don't I think to check on these things at home? A very peaceful and quiet morning greeted me at dawn. Not even a hint of a breeze. _This is what it is all about and why I take these road trips_ I reminded myself. Yet in the Trooper I'm faced with the all too evident fact that I needed some organization, more space, less crap or a combination of all three. Its moments like this I missed the 109 (1967 Land Rover).

In Lee Vining I bought two batteries (later I discovered the flashlight took three−whoever would design a flashlight to take an odd number of AAA batteries?) and a spare can of propane. I toured the visitor center and one other store, but just went through the motions of doing so. I was simply not into it. Why? _What's with me?_ In the visitor center I overheard the young lady suggest to a couple of guys that the mini-mart store at the Mobile station was a good place to get food to-go. It was ten A.M. and I could use something myself so I drove up the hill on the closed Tioga Pass Road and found the two guys already there. I picked out a Monster Lemon Muffin pre-packaged in Anaheim, CA, ( _how long has this muffin been on the road)_ and ordered a sandwich to go from the deli.

"I'll have a turkey on whole wheat to go please." In a couple minutes I received my sandwich, split open at the top, packed with turkey and a slice of provolone laid across the top, all tightly wrapped up in Saran Wrap. "The sandwiches come dry," the young lady advised me as I stared at what would be my lunch later. "You can find the condiments over there." 'Over there' were a couple of bins with packets of mayo, mustard and catsup. By this time I not only realized this sandwich would have to be eaten like a tostado, but there was no way to get these condiments in the sandwich without destroying the thing (later I noticed on my receipt a separate charge of one cent for 'to-go'!). I sat outside and ate my Monster Muffin enjoying the wonderful view of Mono Lake with more peace and quiet as an added bonus. A sign posted on the lawn read: PLEASE DO NOT FEED THE GULLS. ENCOURAGE THEM TO EAT THEIR NATURAL FOOD. Good point. A similar sign should be posted on the door warning customers of Whoa Nellie's Deli.

Back on the road I enjoyed the drive down to Big Pine. This is where I had planned to gas up and head east into Eureka Valley and the unknown beyond. Concerned about running out of gas, I brought along my five-gallon GI can. For miles and miles now, and even early on in the planning stages at home, I contemplated whether I would need to bring extra gasoline or not. I eventually decided I should be okay but since I had the can along I decided to put in three gallons of 'insurance'. I wanted to do a test also to see how the fuel can rode inside−any fumes?−and let it sit on its side in the sun at camp, to see if it would leak at the filler cap in the event I wanted to carry a gas can lying down up on the roof rack.

Once on the Eureka Valley Road the first twenty-five miles was paved. I had forgotten this thinking the entire road was gravel. The next eighteen miles was a well-graded gravel road all the way to the sand dunes. This was very nice compared to the teeth rattling washboard road I remembered from the last time out here in the 1967 Land Rover 109. It was so bad then that the winch lever vibrated free and is probably still lying on Eureka Valley road somewhere to this day. I reasoned since this is all National Park land now that money is available to keep the road well maintained.

At the Eureka Sand Dunes I found one guy in a white van in a newly established camp area and a mile away at the end of the road another fellow in a tent. I set up my camp midway between the two. Although it was not hot air temperature wise, the sun was intense so I set up a shade structure, a first with the Trooper. It went up fine and I stood back to admire my creation. I opened a beer to celebrate then sat down in my shade to enjoy the quiet afternoon writing up my notes. A few flies were buzzing around pestering me and this was about all the animal life to be seen. Yet the landscape was a minefield of little burrow holes everywhere, many of them caving in under foot as you walked about. I sat my notebook down on the table to review the map when a big gust of wind flipped the notebook up spilling my full bottle of beer all over me. _Why? Why all on me and not off in any other direction?_ It couldn't have done any worse. The flies now were concentrating on the free beer on my soaked pants. As it dried on my legs and feet it became a sticky mess and I couldn't stand it any longer. I stood up, stripped down and rinsed my pants out the best I could. _They should dry quickly in this heat_. I rinsed off my legs, feet and clip clops and while I was waiting for everything to dry I went for a walk out to the dunes in my underwear.

By the time I returned to camp the sun was setting low on the horizon behind a line of thin wispy clouds. The heat was over for the day and I tore down my shade creation. While doing this, the guy in the white van came by. He and his dog Blue were from Nashville, Tennessee. His van had at least eight antennas jutting skyward from the roof rack. He had all the appearances of being a storm chaser so I just had to ask. It turned out it was just into ham radio stuff. He and Blue had been on the road for three weeks and were ready to head for home after meeting up with a friend in Bishop. I had to ask another question−did he live out of the van all the time on the road? He confessed that two-thirds of the time was spent in motels, usually Motel Six which will take dogs.

Dinner for the night was something new for me. I had brought along several packets of the freeze-dried backpacker's food by Mountain House. First up on the menu was Sweet & Sour Pork in Rice. It proved to be very easy to prepare, no mess to clean up afterwards and best of all, surprisingly quite tasty. I was impressed. I was already looking forward to dinner for the next night. Maybe the days of Dinty Moore stew, tamales in a can, and Chef Boy-R-Dee Spaghetti O's were over.

Thursday morning I woke after a good night's sleep. I felt much better and more into the program. As in the past it seems it takes a couple days to find my groove for life on the road. Still this doesn't take away from the fact that living out of the Trooper was work compared to how I remembered it in the 109. I squared things away in the truck and moved down by the pit toilet to eat my morning cereal and take care of business. I was now ready for a nice drive to the Racetrack.

At the junction of the main road I found the road again to be paved as it wound its way up through Hanging Canyon. Once the road spit me out of the canyon it instantly deteriorated to how I remembered it from years ago−a horrible bone-jarring washboard instrument of torture. As I suffered along I wondered how I did this in the 109, as being in the Trooper was bad enough. After a few miles I saw the reason for the poor road conditions. The county road grader was parked off road. The crew was working their way up the canyon from the other side and this was as far as they had progressed before knocking off for the holiday weekend. Beyond the grader was just a slight improvement in road conditions. They still had more work to do. I rounded a downhill turn and square in my path was a watermelon size boulder and there was no stopping or avoiding it. _Wham! Bam!_ as it rolled beneath the undercarriage.

I was instantly sick at my stomach. I skidded to a stop twenty feet beyond and climbed out to look underneath fearing the worst. Miraculously there was no oil or transmission fluid spilling out onto the ground. I looked at the front differential and saw no damage. I then noticed the point of impact on a cross member. It was on a direct line, a narrow path between the front diff and oil pan with less than an inch to spare to either side of what otherwise would have been disastrous results. But there had been a second hit somewhere in the back. The rear diff looked good too but I couldn't find where the boulder had made contact. [Later at home I found the second impact off to the side on a skid plate] Then it had rolled into the exhaust system leaving a noticeable dent. I contemplated the thought of the exhaust having been ripped apart. Although everything appeared okay this didn't take away the nausea and shaking I was experiencing as I stood there in silence. The more time I had to think about what could have been, the worse I felt. I was over fifty miles away from the nearest point of any assistance notwithstanding the cost that would be involved to bring a tow truck all the way out there and then the repair work needed in a non-descript little town on Hwy 395, even if there were such a facility that could handle the repair. All the while these thoughts were running through my mind I took pictures and went about moving the boulder out of the way of the next unfortunate soul that happened by, probably days from now. When I went to move the rock it instantly became apparent this was no ordinary rock. It had a ringing sound to it as if it was of steel or iron, not the dull sound of an ordinary rock. If I had the room I would have brought it home with me; it was that odd.

I drove on slowly still shaken from this near disaster and began to question my plans for the Racetrack and beyond into Saline Valley. I had a few more close calls with similar sized boulders left in the roadway by the grader and a couple skidding incidents which I imagined would have sent me off over the side into a ditch. I kept telling myself I had no business being out here alone. Finally I was into the broad flat expanse of Death Valley proper when I saw a snake in the road. I had both feet on the brake and I was still not stopping. I thought a brake line had been broken from the accident. Finally the Trooper skidded to a stop. Evidently it was just the marbles I was driving on that prevented any normal braking action. I went back to take pictures of a not too happy gopher snake. He was hissing, bluffing and striking out at me. At least this wonderful diversion took my mind off of the watermelon rock incident and I settled down some at last. On the move once again I decided the condition of Racetrack Road would dictate my plans.

The washboard road was hell even in the Trooper. The noise, the rattling about, the vibration, all was overwhelming. Finally I reached the junction of Hwy 190 at the north end of Death Valley. Scotty's Castle was to the left six miles, Ubehebe Crater and the Racetrack Road to the right two miles. I had planned on lunch at Scotty's before venturing out to the unknown but decided to turn right and check road conditions first. On Racetrack Road the first few hundred yards told me the story for the next twenty-seven miles, constant Class A washboard, just as I remembered it from all the other times I had been on it. There was no change, no improvement and I knew it'd only get worse. _That's it. I've been there, I've seen it and I've had enough of getting abused and thrown about on these roads._ I stopped, made a three-point turnaround and drove out up to the top of Ubehebe Crater. I had the place all to the hurricane-like wind and myself. Sinbad wanted no part of it. I felt good about my decision, as I've had enough 'adventure' for one day. I did not want to think about what may lie in store for me the next several days of poor condition dirt roads miles from nowhere. "Let's be play it safe Sinbad."

Up at Scotty's Castle there were only a few cars; practically not a soul to be seen and I had the cool shaded green grassy picnic area to myself for lunch. Sinbad enjoyed the cool grass to munch on when I wasn't looking. It was now on to Stovepipe Wells and out of the Valley. Death Valley has always been bad juju for me. One time the brakes failed coming down from Stovepipe Wells. Another time a timing chain gear broke at Wildrose Canyon. Both incidents were with my first Land Rover, a 1971 Series 88. Nearly every time I've been here some misfortune had taken place. Back in the Trooper I enjoyed a leisurely drive down the Valley all the while thinking _I'm not ever coming back again_. _Why should I? I've seen it all many times before, I always have bad experiences here, and the Park Service had just charged me $20 only to do a drive through!_

At Stovepipe Wells there were only one other car and one RV with their generator running their air conditioner. After I parked a beautiful pale yellow BMW 1200 motorcycle pulled in. The rider went inside the store to buy an ice cream. I needed a bag of ice, briefly looked at all the souvenir crap and then walked back out into the 110-degree heat. I said goodbye to Death Valley (maybe for good) and started the long pull up the Panamint Range towards Wildrose camp.

Midway up this road is a shady rest area where one can cool down their car and top off the radiator. There in the shade was parked a red, white & blue painted Mercedes expedition type truck. It had huge knobby truck tires, stood what seemed over three feet off the ground, complete with a cab-over roof rack, cargo carriers, off-road lights, a covered motorcycle on the back, and lettering up front: ALEMANIA GERMANY. The couple were in their mid to late forties. He was lying on the bench of the picnic table in the shade while the pre-maturely grey woman read the Death Valley Gazette at the table. I discreetly took a couple of pictures neither of the two taking any notice of me. I felt I had to say something.

"I'm sorry and I don't mean to bother you, but I had to take a picture of your truck for this friend of mine who lives in Boston. He'd love this." I rambled on. "I know what it's like. I had Land Rovers for over twenty years and people were constantly pestering me about them. It became so bad that I sold my '67 109 a couple years ago and bought this." The lady in her German accent said "No problem", nothing more. The guy never raised an eyelash. Some would think they were rude but I understood completely and could well imagine the attention they drew having most likely driven this monster all the way across the country.

From previous trips I knew that Wildrose Campground was fully exposed to the sun so I decided to press on to the higher elevations of Thorndike or Mahogany campgrounds, which have shade from the Pinion Pine and Juniper trees. It is a steady seven-mile long grade on a paved road to the charcoal kilns past Wildrose. At this point it gets steeper and rougher. The Trooper started to skeeter about so I shifted into four-wheel drive. After three miles of being thrown about I reached Thorndike Campground and saw it to be empty. I drove on three more miles to the top of the mountain where Mahogany Flat Campground stood all the while being bounced around with gear clanging about in back. I guess I am getting old because I found myself getting tired of the rough roads very easily. The Trooper did a great job though and at the top the first car I see was a late-model Mustang convertible. _How did that get here?_ I wondered out loud. Most likely someone drove it not complaining about the rough road as they did. Four-wheel drive, who needs four-wheel drive? It is moments like this I considered selling the Trooper, buying a mini-van and taking up golf. But the discomfort and humiliation was worth it with the spectacular view from 8133 feet elevation all the way down to the Valley floor at Badwater 280 feet below sea level. There were quite a few campers there so I bounced back down to Thorndike sniveling all the way.

With camp set up it soon became apparent why I had this camp all to myself−the flies. The campground should be re-named Fly Campground. There were flies at the Eureka Sand Dunes although not as many as there were here. _What in God's name do they have to live and breed off of here other than the pit toilets?_ This was what I thought about as I watched one walk around the rim of my beer bottle. It had been a drama-filled day. I was tired and the flies eventually drove me inside the Trooper long before dark. Incidentally the Mountain House freeze-dried meat lasagna that evening was very good.

Friday morning began my fourth day on the road and it felt like I had been out twice as long. I had a restless night and was spent. When I climb inside the Trooper each night I would sit there for awhile looking about studying my plan to move crap around, get undressed and crawl in the sack while keeping in mind the morning, setting things where I would be able to find them when I awoke. I was tired of the work involved and was constantly reminding myself that I don't remember it being like this in the 109. _Maybe I am just getting too old for this sort of thing too._

I had woke up at seven A.M. and planned to be rolling by eight thinking I'd be out of there before the flies woke up. I wasn't. I decided to move down to Wildrose Campground and have my cereal while enjoying the morning sun. As soon as I started the vehicle the CHECK TRANS light began flashing. _Why? I don't need this to start my day off with!_ I shut off the engine, re-started and the light remained off. Cautiously I drove down the hill to Wildrose. There I checked the fluids, ate breakfast, took care of morning duties all in the glorious sunshine, with no flies.

We continued on Hwy 190 towards Lone Pine leaving Death Valley and all its issues behind me. I noticed on the map I would be going by Darwin and remembered an article I had read long ago about this little town off the main road and the nearby Darwin Falls. Having seen pictures of these falls I had always wanted to see them in person. I nearly missed the unmarked road just past Panamint Springs. I backed up on the highway and turned onto the poorly maintained dirt road. _Washboard! Why did it have to be washboard?_ After seven miles of this I came to the parking area just as a young girl was pulling out in her Toyota Corolla. We slowed down as we passed each other and I asked her if the water had been turned on yet for the day. She told me it was flowing well. She went on to inform me that once at the base of the falls if I climb up the left side, traverse over and continue on a little further I'll be treated to an even better sight with a fern-filled canyon and a better waterfall. "It'll involve a bit up scrambling," she warned. In a vain attempt to impress a young lady of the adventurous abilities of this old man I replied that I was up for some scrambling. She then said there were two guys there now and with a "have a nice day" we parted.

After a half hour hike along a broad rock and boulder strewn riverbed I reached Darwin Falls and was smacked in the face with the revealing fact−the waterfall looked just like I remembered it in the picture except it was only about twelve feet high and never really fell. It was just two small rivulets of water gliding down a rock face. Pictures can be deceiving. Still it was lush and shady at the base around a shallow pool hidden among the trees, plants and reeds. The water was clear, clean and cold. There was none of the usual human detritus; in fact I had not seen any litter at all along the entire trail. The two guys were not there so I figured they had moved on up to this other area the girl had told me about. In little time I had seen all there was to be seen there so went about seeking this route to the upper falls.

To the right of the falls was a sheer rock wall so I could see what she meant by going up to the left. The rock surface although dry was polished smooth by years of water flowing over it. I was facing a climb equal in height to the falls with narrow hand and footholds. I studied the route, thought about it, and then took my first few tentative steps with the sun bearing down and streams of sweat equaling Darwin Falls itself pouring from my body. After about a four-foot climb I sat down and reviewed what I had just covered which from this new vantage point looked about eight feet. Then I looked up at what I had yet to cover. My second revelation of the day then came to me: it was very clear to me that I was no longer the adventurous, agile, risk-taking hiker that I had once been in my younger days. I no longer felt having the sure footedness and confidence I always did in the past. I knew going up is always easier than coming down. I was out here all by myself once again, with absolutely no business attempting to do what I was doing. A simple slip would surely result in an injury that I did not even want to consider. At least with age comes wisdom for I had the maturity of mind and common sense to not climb any further, abort the mission and retreat, nervously and unsteady as an old man on the front steps of a rest home. I soaked my shirt in the pool of cool water, took one last look at Darwin Falls then sad, dejected, disillusioned, demoralized and broken-hearted I hiked back to the trailhead. I beat myself up all the way thinking how unfair it was that at this stage in my life when I had the freedom and desire to do everything I've always wanted only I now did not have the skill, agility or courage to do them in these advanced years. Getting old sucked!

I stopped the Trooper at the junction of 'washboard road' and the parking area. To the right was eight miles of rough Four-Wheel Drive Recommended road to the town of Darwin. That had been my plan. I turned left back to the highway and moped the fifteen miles of smooth paved highway to town. _I wonder what those mini-vans cost?_

Darwin though was a nice detraction for my low self-esteem. It had all the appearances of a ghost town except people do actually live there, all forty of them. I only saw two and they never raised their heads to watch me pass by. No stores, no services, no nothing of any kind. Just a lot of run-down derelict houses with junk (or maybe it was 'art') strewn about in yards. If one ever wanted to drop out of society or hide from the law, this was the place. I walked around, took a few pictures then left the town of Darwin to its loneliness.

I drove on to Hwy 395 and aimed north for the White Mountains. I filled up with gas in Independence and felt I should call my wife to let her know I was okay and ahead of schedule. But just as I was reading the directions on the pay telephone some asshat pulled in to get gas with his rap music blasting leaving it on all the while filling up. _That's it, I'm out of here._

At the edge of town I pulled into a county park to clean the mess I had made of washing the windshield while at the service station. It was a nice park, with large shade trees being torn apart by the strong wind coming down off of the Sierras. A small shallow stream flowed through the park. I took advantage of this refreshing feature and proceeded to soak and clean my feet but this didn't last long. The ice melt water from the mountains was freezing cold to my feet. Sinbad enjoyed getting out sniffing around but stayed clear of the stream. He doesn't like bodies of water. I continued on to Big Pine then retraced my track east from earlier in the week on State Route 168 to the Bristlecone Pine Forest.

Everything had changed from when we were here many years ago. There was now a nice visitor center at Schulman Grove complete with boardwalks, interpretive signs and the usual array of souvenirs to be had. I paid the $2.50 entry fee and almost felt like asking the young blond Ranger lady with the translucent silver-grey eyes, _why so cheap?_

Back outside I found the air invigorating at this 10,100 foot altitude and immediately started off on the four and half mile Methuselah Trial leading to the oldest tree, over forty-six hundred years old. A hundred yards into the hike I asked myself _what was I thinking_? It was late in the day, I was tired and hungry, plus I had just learned earlier in the day how incompetent I now am in the wilderness. I stepped aside to allow a couple coming towards me pass by. They were in their mid-thirties. I asked the attractive blond wearing a straw hat if they had just walked the entire trial. She said yes and as her husband carrying a daypack came by he added, "Yeah, we hiked here from the campground so now we're going to try to thumb a ride back. Don't feel like walking the five miles back down the road to camp." I really don't think I said anything in reply. I probably just had a dumb look about myself with my mouth hanging open. I let them get out of sight before I turned around and followed their tracks back to the visitor center. I took the one-mile Discovery Walk then drove back down the road to the campground taking note before I left that the center and nearby Nature Trial were both 'handicapped accessible'. Good to know for when I return.

That evening I set up a minimal camp expecting to depart for home early in the morning. Just how early I did not know at the time. I had another restless night waking for good at two-thirty A.M. I gave up going back to sleep, crawled out of the sleeping bag, put on my clothes, placed the water jug and ice chest inside and quietly drove away at three A.M. in the morning. Right away I was having fun for driving at night is always a pleasure for me and it was comforting to have my little buddy by my side. We reached the little Veteran's Memorial Park on Hwy 395 outside of Big Pine an hour later and took time to eat some cereal and brew another cup of coffee. By the time we hit Lee Vining at five-thirty A.M. a bathroom was in dire need. Fortunately I had discovered that little County Park on the north shore when we first came through here four days ago. The only question now as matters were reaching critical mass, was could I make it in time and were those bathrooms open twenty-four hours? Thank goodness they were and I was now ready for a pleasant drive through the Sierras and on home.

With the morning sun rising in my rearview mirror I turned onto Hwy 89 and began the climb up to Monitor Pass. Approaching Markleeville I had to take a double look through the windshield−snowflakes! _That's kinda neat_ I thought, but kind of neat turned into not so neat a few miles further on. The temperature dropped, the wind picked up and a barrage of snowflakes slammed into the windshield. I looked off the side of the road to campers in their tents along the Carson River and smiled imaging what they might be thinking waking up to this.

Past Markleeville the snow was building up on the road and visibility became poorer. I was following the track of one car that had passed through earlier and had one car following close behind me. At Pickets Junction I pulled off to the side to let him pass, slipped the Trooper into four-wheel drive and began the climb up Luther Pass. Now I was seeing the occasional track of a car that had come down the grade and had skidded out of control into my lane. The snowfall was turning into a blizzard and this no longer was any fun at all. I barely had time to be upset over the fact of all my beautiful desert dust was being washed away when a snowplow came rolling down the grade with a string of cars in tow. I made my own fresh tracks off onto the shoulder getting out of its way.

_Little Trooper, take me home._ We arrived there safe that afternoon.
THE NEW WINNEBAGO VIEW'S MAIDEN VOYAGE  
A Learning Experience  
November 2007

In September of 2007 I felt an upgrade RV from the BOX was in order. I was on my way to look at a used BT Cruiser RV when that morning I saw on Craigslist a used 2006 Winnebago View at a car dealer on the way. I stopped by just to look as I was familiar with this new model of RV by Winnebago but never thought I could afford one. They are built on a Dodge Sprinter chassis with Mercedes Benz diesel engine and drive components. When I saw it upon arriving at the dealer it appeared like new. They had just taken it in the previous day and hadn't even detailed it yet. The previous owner had traded it in for the new 2007 model. It was priced at nearly twenty thousand dollars less than the new sticker price. I knew I would never get an opportunity like this again and it wouldn't last through the weekend on the lot. I bought it and it has since proven to be one of the best investments I have ever made.

Now on with the story.

I am not sure what time we leave home as I am not feeling well having just concluded two weeks of being sick, coupled with the fact that this will be the longest time I will be away from my wife in forty years. I stop at Safeway in Healdsburg for groceries, $93.46 worth. I have not had any breakfast and my stomach is upset over leaving but feels I should have something in it. I see a Starbucks and a mocha coffee sounds good, so I do the unspeakable for me−I step into a Starbucks for the first time in my life. I have to admit the white chocolate mocha is very good. I make a stop in Santa Rosa at the stereo shop and pick up another antenna for the new Sirius satellite radio I installed in the motor home. I feel I have buggered up the original antenna installing it as I get intermittent reception. As I prepare to get onto the freeway I see a Valero station across the street with Diesel for $3.49. Not stopping and filling up there will later prove to be a fatefully bad decision. I plan on stopping at Catania for fuel but once there I see diesel is priced much higher. Ha, what a joke on me! The closer we get to the San Rafael bridge turn-off, the fewer stations I see. I pull off a couple times in a fruitless search for one. I am grateful for what I am driving though for if I were in a large Class A type RV or even the Box, I could not be making some of the moves I am around these city streets. The last chance I have I locate a Valero station at $3.90 a gallon! This kills me. I have forgotten that there is a direct correlation as to the closer you are to an oil refinery, the higher the cost of fuel, not to mention we are in Marin County. Mercifully, the pump clicks off at seventy-two dollars for I do not have the common sense within me to buy just enough to get me through the Bay Area and to some lower prices.

On through the mess of the East Bay we stop at Altamont Pass for a quick pee and a deep breath. I have to turn on the water pump in order to wash my hands, and then continue on the road feeling good about finally being on my way. A few miles further as I make the long sweeping turn onto I-5. I look into the mirror and see I am spewing a stream of water out the back! I quickly pull over and discover that the entire basin where the dump valves are located is filled up like a small swimming pool with my two new powder blue rubber gloves floating about like water toys. An open valve to drain the freshwater tanks is the problem and the fact that the pump is on, water now runs freely out at a steady flow effectively draining away all twenty eight gallons of my fresh water. I make a couple of stops in an attempt to find a water faucet, one being at a rest stop where I notice my first View, which is from Oregon. I motor on to Wesley where I finally am able to top off the fuel tank as I want to get a reading on my first miles-per-gallon usage. I joyfully discover a water faucet around the side of the mini-mart. With fuel and water tanks full, I celebrate by walking over to Carl's Jr. and treat myself to a hamburger and drink. Now with my stomach full too and I get on with the trip, satisfied and unconcerned. Meanwhile, through all of this, Sinbad cannot be any less concerned.

The drive down I-5 is pure pleasure in this new RV. Three hours later seems like nothing as I pull off at Lost Hills to an RV park we have used before, only that it is now dark and I don't remember exactly where it is. Finally, after asking at a fast food place, I follow a New Jersey pick-up truck and trailer into the park arriving just before the proprietor closed for the day. In spot #25, I reorganize groceries I hastily threw in, cook a microwave dinner and catch up on my notes all the while listening to symphony music. This Sirius radio, the microwave and the added space of the slide-out is pure luxury for me.

The next morning I wake up to new sights, new sounds and new smells. Be it a fancy RV resort campground or a stinky noisy old truck stop, this is what road tripping is all about and I love it. I look out my window and see the View from the rest stop next to me. They are a nice couple who have two homes, one in Oregon and one in Arizona, which is where they are heading to now. We exchange View talk; they soon leave, while we follow a bit later at nine A.M. The road today takes me through beautiful Bakersfield reputed by a former neighbor to have excellent restaurants (ah...right), over Tehachapi pass, the birthplace of Point Reyes peninsula and down into magnificent Mojave where I have never known the wind to NOT blow. Here I am able to hook up to the Internet sitting next to an Econo Lodge motel. I send off an e-mail to home and post my first dispatch on my new blog, _Sinbad and I on the Loose._

The tailwind out of town is nice until I make the turn south at Kramer Junction at Highway 395. Now it is a continual broadside of thirty mph winds but the View handles it nicely. Driving the old Box would have been extremely nerve-wracking. Imagine steering your garage down a windswept road. In fact, every aspect of driving this new RV is so nice that at the end of the day I am no longer wiped out as in the past. Soon we are on El Mirage Dry Lake for the speed time trials. The racers are here and I look forward to a weekend of speed.

I love seeing all the race cars and motorcycles and wish I my friend Glen from Massachusetts was here with me as he was at Bonneville. I walk the pits admiring the machinery and taking a few pictures. It is not good for me to be around this stuff. I wish I could do it. There are so many things I wish I could do or would have done but it seems I am too late in life. Yet I see these old people out here racing and it is very inspirational. Take for example, a couple who run bikes...fast bikes...motorcycles that go 200 to 215 mph. She is sixty-nine years old and a great grandmother and sets a new record at 218 mph. Her husband is eighty years old and goes just as fast. There is another fellow running a two hundred plus mile per hour car and he too is eighty. Seeing a car travel two hundred is one thing but to see a motorcycle go that fast is amazing as they rocket past. Oh and the great grandmother, she crashed last month at 184 mph but was out again the next day.

At night, I try to find a quiet spot along the shore of the dry lake but that is next to impossible what with all the kids buzzing about on their motorcycles and quads. However, the View is well insulated and with the symphony music playing the outside noise is hardly noticeable.

The next morning the slide-out motor no longer works and I have to crank it in by hand. This I know will be on my mind most of the day as I hate to be without the extra space and the hand wrenching is a bit of a chore. I try to isolate the problem and I am sure it is not the switch as bypassing it does not solve the problem.

I walk the pits again then position myself on the opposite side of the course so as not to have the sun in my face, and the wind will blow the dust away instead of at us. It is windy this day, Sinbad wants no part of it and finally at ten-thirty they decide to pack it in. No runs today due to the winds. Needless to say I am disappointed as I planned to stay another night then hit the desert towns on a Monday and hopefully locate a Winnebago dealer/service center about the slide-out. What to do?

An hour later, I decide to move on to Victorville and fill up for the first time. 18.2 miles-per-gallon and I am pleased. I figure I am spending just a little over half as much as I would have for the Box at the same distance and buying half as much fuel. I celebrate with the purchase of a Green Burrito at Carl's Jr. in Apple Valley. At two-thirty P.M., this burrito will ultimately serve as lunch and dinner for me all in one meal. I am amazed at the development of all of these high desert towns that I can remember being just a gas station and few buildings forty years ago. A few miles further we turn off for Lucerne Dry Lake and get lured in by Bureau of Land Management (otherwise known as BLM) signs to someplace other than I intended to go. This turns out to be another Off Road Vehicle area, but we should be okay, as all the weekend warriors have had to leave for their Monday morning jobs. With all the wind and dust, the motor home looks as if it has been dust blasted, but inside is nothing like what the old Box would have been like. The inside is still fresh and clean due to the tightness of the weatherproofing. This is very nice.

I awake to a new day and this morning before I go to leave I press the in and out button for the slide-out and IT WORKS! All I can think of is the rough road knocked some connection back into place. We putz along down the road to the town of Yucca Valley and send off e-mails and update the Blog. I am getting better at finding Wi-Fi internet hook-ups to pirate from. On into Joshua Tree National Park and we camp at Jumbo Rocks, space #71. In the afternoon, I go for a little walk down the wash but do not see anything photo-worthy except a shadow of myself on the rocks. I climb into bed soon after dark for I cherish this time snuggled up with my book and Sinbad.

In the morning, I do not have to turn on the heater, which is so nice to have. As I lie in bed watching the sunrise, I can hear coyotes in the distance. This is what I enjoy! I get out of bed, put on my sweat pants, sit on a rock with the sun in my face while I drink my coffee, and eat a granola bar. I walk up the road a bit to check out where the two large RVs are from (Michigan & Montana) when I notice a little cottontail who allows me to get about eight feet from him−and me without my camera! Then coveys of quail fly right by me. The sound of their wings beating is wonderful. I go back for my camera. While I get some shots of the little rabbit, a young man is sitting up in the rocks playing his flute. Perfect! This is why I choose to do what I am doing.

We leave camp at nine-thirty A.M. and make our way slowly the forty miles out of the park. I can go slowly as there are hardly any other cars on the road. We stop at the Cottonwood Visitor Center but it is closed for lunch, so I take that as a hint and eat my lunch too. Out the park, across I-10 through Box Canyon towards Mecca with the Salton Sea coming into view. It is getting warm. In Coachella, I get some groceries at a super market that you would think you were in Mexico if you did not know better. This is great! Another Internet hook-up then we are on our way to Anza Borrego.

All my destinations seem to arrive so quickly as driving this RV is so effortless and carefree. The arroyos we have camped in before at Anza Borrego, even with the old Box, are now just too unsafe to do so in an RV. Rains have deposited a lot of soft sand and after a couple of turn-offs I decide at each one _not a good thing to do_. Disappointed we move on down to the flats where we camp with five other long-term squatters: a woman with her German Shepherd from Idaho by herself, three old geezers (I don't qualify as number four yet, I don't think) and the last person I never see. At seven hundred feet in elevation and as far south as we are, the evenings are very pleasant but there is no moon and it is very dark. The silence of the desert; I always forget how it is. Sinbad loves each and every stop we make and is real good about going on walks with his leash. He goes along just like a dog would and is just as filthy afterwards too.

Morning dawns and we go the few miles on into the little town of Borrego Springs. I have always liked this town, as it is so peaceful and quiet here. I would love to live here someday. A stop to the store for hamburger, a steak, a cooked chicken and some little muffins for the after breakfast hunger I have been dealing with everyday. I am able to hook-up to the Internet then go up to the park's visitor center for lunch of much awaited sardines and crackers. I sit in the shade at the Center writing postcards and watch tourists come and go. Why are all the Europeans so healthy looking? One wonders what they think of _Fat America_. We swing by the post office to buy post card stamps then head south, over the hill and down to Yaqui Wash where I discover we have the entire area all to ourselves. By now, Sinbad's long orange fur is even filthier. When seven-thirty P.M. comes around, it is lights out.

In the morning I go for a little photo safari but about all I see are Phainopepla (a black bird) which really do not want me any closer than fifty feet. By the time I get back to camp, I have decided to move on once again. The nomadic urge in me is too strong to resist. We stop across the road at Tamarisk Campground where I find a pay shower. I had forgotten about it being there. The campground is empty and the shower is much in need.

I had plan to go to Bow Willow Camp further south for I had been there long ago with the Land Rover and always wanted to come back and stay, as it seemed so peaceful and remote. I pull in to Mountain Palm Springs just before Bow Willow to check it out and this seems ideal. There are three other vehicles: a fellow in a stand-up van pulling a car, an old couple in a mid seventies RV, and a big brown-skinned grey beard, who sits outside his small Chalet trailer with his headphones on or reads books. It is quieter here as we are far from the road and the view overlooking the Carrizo badlands is spectacular. In addition, this camp is free and Bow Willow I am told costs seven dollars a night.

The retired couple, Charles and Catherine, has a home in the San Diego area and come here frequently, as do the other two. She is a wisp of a woman while he is a big person. Their RV is squared away with that homey re-painted look as we did with the old Box. He took out the sofa along the side to make a fulltime bed for him and she sleeps in the overhead. Charles tells me all about solar power and concludes that I would not need it for I am always on the move.

There are palms up in the canyon I am eager to hike too. There are no birds or any other living thing to speak of. Bill says it has been so dry nothing is around. He tells me usually there is a big beautiful Golden Eagle in the palms. I hike up through another of the canyons and it is as just as the first. Bill is full-timing it and has been for six years. I cannot imagine living out of a little Chalet trailer, but my hat's off to him. I learn he has not only just had the Chalet. He has been through four VW Vanagons, two truck and campers and a trailer or two. He finds downsizing to this Chalet the best yet. He tells me he has to go back to San Diego for back surgery in a couple of months. He is wearing a back brace at times and carries a cane about though does not appear to need it for support. I find out he weighs two hundred twenty pounds and just lost one hundred fifty. He is a very nice fellow and pleasant to talk with. The fellow in the van parked across from Bill I gather is somewhat of a pest from an off-hand remark Bill makes.

His name is Charles also. He walks by our camp the first night from the retired couple's RV with laptop in hand. He has been sharing his photos of being a campground host in Washington State with them. I pray he will not ask me and as I am chowing down on my hamburger and I think this spares me the ordeal. Twice now, he has told me about volunteering as a campground host in Washington. He has been full-timing for three years after his landlord raised the rent four hundred dollars. (I later learn more about Charles from Bill the day after he left, and he had a strange side that I never was exposed to thank goodness.) Then there was the hiker.

Coming back from my first hike I walk by a small car parked in the lot. As I had not seen anyone, I was thinking _dead person, Donner Pass_. This stems from a Donner Pass incident years ago where when we returned to our car after a hike the guy behind the steering wheel in the car next to us sitting was dead. I check inside the car, there is no dead person, and the car has Florida plates. At dusk, here comes this college-aged girl hiking up the road with backpack and sleeping bag. She had walked on out in the wilderness of the valley down below and camped out over night! So much, I want to talk with her but it is growing dark and I figure I will catch her in the morning, as she did not appear to be leaving. Unfortunately, the next morning her car is gone. What was it like out there? How did she know _this is the spot?_ Any concerns about a snake wanting to snuggle up to keep warm or scorpions visiting her in the middle of the night? What did she think about out there all alone? Had she been doing this all the way out from Florida? What other excursions has she done? I have so many questions. Very unlike a woman in so many ways but then, maybe I just have not been out that much to learn there are many like her out here.

After the two canyon hikes I decide to go out in the valley where the hiker had come in from. I start by following a coyote trail. Again, after being out there for two hours I see no animal life except one jackrabbit. Not even a bird. Things are rough here after the long drought. Even the cholla cactus is struggling. The only thing interesting I come across is an old encampment illegals used many years ago coming across the border. I cannot imagine them traversing this harsh country, all those miles. I feel the soreness from the other hikes and I think I better not do as much tomorrow. In fact, I may move on. It is now just me and Bill left as the two Charles leave today.

The next morning I say good-bye to Bill and leave Anza Borrego State Park with some reservations, thinking wherever I go I may end up wishing I were still at Palm Canyon. As the day progresses it shows itself not to be a good day at all. I should have stayed put. I cannot seem to get it all together forgetting to lock cabinet drawers, problems with the radio again, and more. We travel through El Centro, which is an Internet black hole with several failed hook-up attempts, wasting a couple hours. A stop at a Mexican market does not have what I need. I should have known they would not carry bagged salad for example. I stop at a Walgreens and back into a sprinkler system with the trailer hitch leaving a fountain of water spewing skyward. _Oops!_ Finally, I come across a Vons Market and feel things are taking a turn for the better, well not quite, for I walk out the store leaving two of my three bags behind. Senorism is creeping in upon me ever so steadily

We continue on to Yuma, Arizona where Internet connections are plentiful and gas is cheap−like fifty to sixty cents a gallon less. I spend an hour online with my wife, which is nice, but have to cut it off at three-thirty P.M. for I only have an hour before sundown. Instead of going to a place up the Colorado River Bill had suggested, we backtrack on I-8 five miles to Pilot Knob, a free BLM site for the night. There are Border Patrol vehicles all along this Interstate−our tax dollars at work. It looks like a very boring and lonely job sitting in a truck all day perched on top of a knoll. The accommodations for "guests" in the truck bed have all the appearances of the local animal control vehicles back home. It is a nice night at Pilot Knob even though I can hear the traffic on the Interstate.

I clean up in the morning then drop off trash and recyclables at the Shell station. We go over the freeway to take a picture of a sign, which I may use for the Blog then drive a bit further to check out this place called Felicity – _The Center of the World_. It is the strangest place, like a monastery, a commune, a retreat, a cult. A woman is mopping floors and tells me it will open for the season this coming Thanksgiving weekend, but I am free to walk about. The buildings are all a light beige color and new looking, very simplistic and bare. There is a pyramid of polished gray granite, which you could go inside, if it were open. Behind are long rows of polished red granite triangular shaped monuments. Half of them are etched with writing and images. Some have listed the members of the class of 1949 at Princeton and the others another college of that same time period. Another row is devoted to famous French people of science, history, industrial inventions, the French Foreign Legion, a time line of history including descriptions of famous happenings and religions of the world and many more rows completely blank, waiting to be inscribed. All of this is at great cost for sure. Perched upon a hilltop is a new looking little chapel, very clean and sanitary in appearance. The whole complex leaves me wondering whom, why and what for?

We leave Felicity and drive the few miles south to Algadones, which I had read about long ago. Snowbirds flock here to go across the border to purchase cheap prescription drugs, eyeglasses, dental work, etc. I pass on going over the border for it would be more enjoyable to do so with my wife along rather than alone. From here we travel north twenty some miles out of Winterhaven to look for another long-term encampment Bill suggested. This is a nice little drive through agricultural land. I am not sure I end up exactly where he intended for me to go, perhaps it was just anywhere in this area. Some parts require a fee and naturally, I choose a non-fee area.

It is not as hot here as in Yuma, maybe due to the close proximity to the Colorado River although I cannot see it from where I am. This is a flat area with hills and mountains off in the distance. I count seventy six other units here widely spaced out on a bleak volcanic parking lot on a plateau. These are big coaches, fifth-wheels and long trailers−not the usual rabble I have been camping with. That may sound like a lot but this area is so vast it isn't congested. It is very quiet with hardly little or no activity from its inhabitants. The occasional car will drive by either coming or going. Some people may be away (Algadones?) but many are here yet I do not see them. They are inside their coaches, but doing what? I can see they have set things up for a long time: shade structures, covers on tires, solar panels erected, and so on. Just what do they do all day long, day after day? One can only read so many books, do so many crossword puzzles, and knit so many items before eventually going mad I think. I have a lot to learn. These are not Slab City folk or old geezers. They are long term or full-timers in big luxury units. It is very quiet here too, except for the occasional bomb explosion in the distance from the nearby military grounds. At dusk, I go for a walk flushing out a Gray Fox not more than thirty feet from me. If I encounter no other animals on this trip, this fox alone is worth the price of admission. He is very cat-like as he trots away with his big full bushy tail outstretched. I think of Sinbad whose tail is the very same way. The moon is half-full and the landscape amazingly bright. I look forward to the full moon in a week's time.

The next day we re-enter Arizona and travel up Highway 95 when I come across a sign MITTRY LAKE. _This is the place Big Bill was telling me about_ I exclaim out loud to myself. I was on the wrong side of the river yesterday. So with no hurry to be anywhere in particular we turn off, drive the twenty miles north and find several neat little camp spots nestled in coves of rushes along a tranquil small backwater littered with scores of American Coots squabbling and fluttering about. Now this old coot and his cat settle in.

A cold front moves in and for the first time in over a week, and I am back to wearing socks and a flannel shirt, but I am not complaining. The word from home is that it is in the 30's so I am smiling.

The urge to move on is unrelenting and we leave Mittry Lake in the morning, without breakfast. Within an hour, we are passing through the U.S Army Proving Grounds north of Yuma. With helicopters buzzing overhead, tanks and personnel carriers rumbling past and ordinance exploding off in the distance, this is a nice place to eat a bowl of hot oatmeal and observe my fifty-ninth birthday.

A left turn leads us north, bucking twenty mph plus side and headwinds the entire fifty nine miles to Quartzsite, Arizona. I am enjoying the drive though until all of a sudden a rock slams into the windshield from an approaching truck. Happy Birthday to me!

We pull into the first of the fourteen-day limit BLM sites (which are free) named Road Runner. As I fill out the form at the campground host's site, another View pulls in. These folks saw us and stopped just to say hi. He introduces himself to me, Roy and Judy King from Texas. The names are familiar to me from the View/Navion discussion group I follow online. We exchange View notes and Roy shows me his Internet access card used through his cell phone. This may be the way for me to go in the future. I mention to Roy the problem I have been having with the slide-out working and not working. "Are you setting the emergency brake when you stop? The slide-out will not work unless the emergency brake lever is pulled up." I slap myself in the forehead. I knew this safety feature before and had completely forgotten about it.

Quartzsite is the Mecca for RVers during the winter months. Snowbirds as they are referred to flock here in the thousands seeking warm relief from their frozen homelands. There are hundred's here from all over the country and Canada. After the first of the year, the majority will arrive for the big RV show, big Gem & Mineral show, big flea market and other big things I am probably not aware of. I thought this would be a haven for me in the years to come but I see now, no way. I can't do it. This is not my thing.

Quartzite too earns the distinction of being a Wi-Fi Internet dead zone along with El Centro for after an hour of searching I cannot find a hot spot. I pick up a few items at one of only two grocery stores in town then drive east of town to Scadden Wash. This camp area is closer to the Interstate and thus less desirable than the previous site.

I planned to stay here for five days hitting all of the free fourteen-day limit sites before moving on but there is nothing to do. Hikes in the brush reveal no animals, no interesting points to search out, nothing. I want to conserve money and stay put but the urge to move on elsewhere is too great. In looking over the map, I figure I can travel east towards Saguaro National Monument and loop back up to Quartzsite on one tank of fuel. I deserve that much I think. So on Black Friday, the biggest shopping day of the year, the day after Thanksgiving, we head out aiming east on I-10. Going fifty-five mph all the time I present myself as an obstacle on the road for the speed limit is seventy-five mph and the big trucks do not have a posted speed limit. I take all the two-lane roads possible towards our destination but at times, the Interstate is the only choice.

At Gila Bend, I find a Travelodge Motel right away and am able to get online, update the blog and send e-mails out. With this accomplished, we motor on south to Casa Grande for a few groceries and fuel. I drive over the Interstate towards the on-ramp when I see the top of an old RV ahead perched up in the front with all doors open. I think it is abandoned and pillaged. Once I turn onto the on-ramp, I can look down on the dirt slope and see an old lady walking her dog. The front end of the RV is jacked up well over two feet from the ground, transmission parts are scattered about on a blue tarp and an old man in greasy overalls is lying underneath the rig. These people looked down and out, late sixties in age and dirt poor from all appearances. I do not react quick enough to grab the little Nikon by my side for a photo as the scene stuns me. How long have they been here broke down trying to make repairs? No doubt for days I suspect. I wonder how they can sleep inside with it on such an angle as it is. I feel so bad for these people for here I am in my new Mercedes Benz powered motor home. This causes me to reflect while driving on that I have seen three or four old Boxes like what we had all of which were very rough looking, yet still rolling along. The characters inside were rough looking too, to a degree I could never achieve even if I tried.

It is now approaching late afternoon and I should stop at the first camp opportunity we find, which happens to be a private park before Picacho Peak State Park. The man here informs me that the State Park does have camping so I go the few miles further and check in at a very nice park. Arizona has everything over California: better roads, cleaner rest areas, no forms to fill out, free showers and they even rake the campsites clean−very camper friendly State Parks.

Saturday morning I am up for a shower before six A.M. and find other campers in the restroom/shower area. _Why are other people up this early?_ Then while showering I realize they are on Arizona time...an hour later. Oh, the shower is so nice, the hot water streaming down my body. This is my second shower of the trip. It has been pretty cool these past couple of mornings. I do not know if it is a weather thing, altitude (I find out later I was at two-thousand feet, no wonder!) or that far north which is not that much. I am very grateful for my comfortable little home I have while I look outside and see people all bundled up around campfires. I try to imagine the cold in the tent on the ground and do not want to think about it. Those days are long behind me now.

Today we move on to Saguaro National Monument, which does not have camping so I do not know where I will go for the night. Saguaro is not a good idea, especially as I enter the visitor center. I see couples together and the loneliness of traveling alone sets in with me for the first time. I feel lost for all day. I need to move on.

Two hundred miles later, I am in Organ Pipe National Monument. I feel better having had a nice drive on a two-lane desert road through forested valleys full of Saguaro. I am happy being here. Organ Pipe is quiet and I am in the campground that we could not stay in the last time here in the Land Rover many years ago, for they close during the summer. I recall our camp then was in the middle of the desert. When night fell the ground was carpeted with mice scurrying about. This traveling alone is something I am going to have to learn to deal with and accept if I intend to keep on exploring the country. I do have concerns as if I should venture into the visitor center or not. I hope that not as many people will be there, especially couples. Camp fees are twelve dollars and I decide to stay two nights. Sinbad is filthy once again and he gets tired of driving. I am thrilled that the slide-out is working as it should but now the tailpipe hanger is broke, but this is no problem.

It is now Sunday morning and I have a restless night. I guess it is leftovers from my feelings yesterday. I need to shake this. I dig out my road trip and Wildlife Refuge books that I brought along only to have forgotten about. What there is around this area would be too much for the motor home to do−more suited for the Trooper. Not to let yesterday's feelings control me, I take a hike that leads me to the visitor center and back which is two-point-six miles round trip but I think it is longer than that. Later we drive the five miles to the border just to look and that is about all there is to do too. There are long lines to enter into the US, but I think it has do to with the four day weekend as I learn there is some resort place down the coast about eighty miles. After an hour, we return to camp, eat lunch then lie down for a half hour rest/nap. When I get up and walk to the trash can, I discover my legs are stiff from the morning hike. The best remedy for this is to get my gear on and take another hike to loosen those sore muscles up. I climb a nearby peak for the view and hurry back down to enjoy a cup of tea. It began clear and warm for the day wearing shorts only but now there is high thin layer of clouds, which may mean another front coming through. Meanwhile Sinbad is full of debris. I try to use my comb on him, which gets about half the litter out, and leaves my white comb brown.

We leave Organ Pipe early Monday and drive four hours towards Quartzsite at a leisurely pace on a two-lane road with little traffic, enjoying the scenery all the way. I get fuel earlier than needed as I am still trying to get this Scan-gauge device working correctly.

Before going to our camp, we stop in town. I look around tents and stores in town and start getting into being a Quartzsite person. It is a lot like walking through the local flea market at home without all the stuff being out of people's garages here. It is all here, the tools and gadgets, all the foods and supermarket items in large lots, out of cases that have been sitting around for who knows how long. A couple places had dented canned food items for twenty-five and fifty cents each. There are huge lots of rocks and fossils and hobby craft stuff people make and try to sell. The shoppers are all older than I, heavy set or frail and not that great looking in health, the ladies wearing flashy clothes with rhinestones and tri-chem embroidery, the men with big bellies, white tennis shoes and ball camps from some golf club or whatever military organization they were in. Regardless, they all appear to be enjoying themselves and that is really all that matters. We settle in a different location, the third of the five free sites. I plan to stay at least one night in each one, but this camp, Hi Jolly, so far seems the best, which is not saying much. Maybe my standards are too high.

Tuesday morning is cold but at least not like at home. There is that thin overcast of clouds again and I doubt it will be as nice as yesterday. I plan to stay put for the day and look into the slide-out motor yet again. As I think about this, my thoughts turn to that this is a hot oatmeal morning. Then they drift on to going into town for a sit down breakfast of eggs and hash browns. However, doing so alone is not appealing, maybe some other time.

I have a good day and getting little projects done, doing notes, postcards and take a walk. During this time, I visit with my neighbors Bill & Louise. They are from Alberta Canada and live away from home six months of the year. That is as long as they can stay here in the States then must cross go over the border for twenty four hours before coming back if they want to. Bill says it is cheaper to live on the road than at home where it is eleven hundred dollars a month for utilities and upkeep. They just shut everything down and close the house up when gone. He is in his late seventies and she in her sixties. "She's much younger than I", he adds. He was a truck driver hauling mostly fuel up in the frozen wastelands of Canada. He did many runs down into the States also. He quit driving when he rolled his fuel truck, it caught fire and he received sixty percent burns over his body. I was shown the skin grafts. Bill is about my build. Louise is short and almost wide as she is tall. Poor thing waddles about. They both have arthritis so they cannot deal with the cold in Canada. They have kids, grandkids and great-grandkids and I ask about how it is to be away from family. Louise says at a certain age, it is not a problem anymore to be away from them. She is meaning they grow older and so do you. He is soft spoken and whenever she talks, he stops talking and she sort of takes over the conversations. They really enjoy talking about some of the places they have been to and seen. They plan to go to Slab City after Quartzsite having never been there before. I give them the DVD Leonard gave to me. They impress me as a very nice sweet couple. Once back at their camp though I can hear bickering, mostly from Bill. I think she asks too many questions. She has this obsession about building fire pits. It is a big thing for her moving the rocks about. I am sure he is fine with it as it keeps her from bugging him. I later see her raking the dirt. They are moving into town tomorrow to a RV park with hook-ups. They have an older Class A Winnebago and drag a pick-up truck behind it. Bill mentioned about them having a smaller Class C unit until last year, so perhaps they needed some "space". At any rate, they are not rich folk by any means. He also mentions how windy it was the last couple of days so it seems I planned my side trip to the east at the right time, as it is very nice here now.

Wednesday brings another beautiful sunrise in a peaceful and quiet setting. I go into town to shop for more hot oatmeal, saltine crackers, salad, tomatoes, hot dogs and maybe some dented cans of Chef Boyardee. This is when the motorcycle would come in handy. I have not used the bicycle once yet. I just am not sure about either of these and how they would have fit in for this outing. I guess I will learn in time what is necessary and want is not. I go back into the discount grocery store, the one with dented cans, and really score. The most I pay for any one item is a dollar forty-nine and that was the Minute Maid Orange juice ten-pack in boxes and the owner felt he had to explained to my why it cost more than the ten-pack of lemonade for a dollar. I buy a jar of giardiniera for a dollar forty-nine, Mezzetta Napa Valley Bistro Gourmet Mediterranean olives at another dollar forty-nine among other items. There are double stuffed jar of large olives (different from above) for two forty-nine, which was the most expensive purchase. They have Biscotti sticks, the brand we get from Costco, in boxes for a dollar and Starbucks coffee in the bags for four dollars. Across the street at another discount grocer, I find Saltines that I see are marketed out Walmart stores, a four-stack box for a buck fifty. These are much better than the Nabisco ones, which have that toxic odor about them (I later learned the "toxicity" was them being old and stale). I hit the two regular grocery stores in town and cannot find bags of salad, as they are small stores. There are no big stores here and I figure I will have to either buy a head of lettuce or do without. I have lunch of peanut butter and my new saltines while in the parking lot then walk into a produce tent next to my Dented Can Store. Lo and behold, she has bags of salad. I tell her she must be the only place in town but she does not know for sure.

After lunch, I visit another flea market. The stuff is very much like junk shops, just a bunch of crap: dishes, pots and pans, books, old tools and whatever lying out there in the Arizona sun or inside tents. The people running these places are one step above being homeless, or so they appear. Naturally, they live right there out of their trailer or old beat-up motor home. How do they make a living or maybe they do not rely on this as a living. All I see are very long boring days sitting there watching over your empire. I consider too, this is early in the season. Some are just in the process of setting up for the months to come. One longhaired Indian (many of the men have long hair) is pounding nails into the ground to hold his carpeting in place. I begin to take notice that all the places I walk into have carpet nailed to the dirt. I see how and why some come to live here in the winter for they have to spend hardly anything for food. Meat would be the most costly item of which I thought twice on buying a steak as it look somewhat past its prime−a lighter shade of brown.

We move to the last of the free sites, Palomosa, this one two and a half miles further north than Hi Jolly, which was same distance just north of town. There are fewer campers here and it is a bit breezy outside with cloud cover so no one is out. For all the units I see, there are not that many people out, ever. They stay inside and do what all day long? It makes me wonder constantly.

Dinner tonight is Kraft macaroni & cheese which I bought somewhere on the road after eating my Amy's macaroni & cheese. Amazingly, the Dented Can Store had Amy's, so I bought one (forty-nine cents) and will have it for next time. I finish my fourth book today, one my daughter gave me about Theodore Roosevelt's exploration down the River of Doubt in the Amazon jungle.

It is Thursday and I do not think I can ever grow tired of mornings in the desert. The view out my window is of Creosote Bush, Mesquite and Palo Verde, unobstructed all the way to the mountains in the distance. Normally I like to be outdoors sipping my coffee but it is a bit cold in the wintertime for that. Still, I am sure it is colder at home than here. Many times, I find it is nicer outside than inside once I step out. I turn on the furnace each morning (such a treat) for a few minutes just to get the chill off. Some of the nights I wake and cannot go back to sleep, so I read in the middle of the night. Part of the problem is that I go to sleep so early, like at eight o'clock. It is dark at five and three hours later, I feel it is like eleven and I am tired. Regardless, every morning I feel rested and not sore as usual. Several days ago, I noticed that I think I finally got over the cough, especially when talking. It took too a long time to shake that sickness as it has been over a month now, another sign of my ever advancing old age?

In the morning I take Sinbad for a walk or rather he drags me around. Then all of sudden he gets the notion he's had enough and pulls me back to the motor home, knowing where to go even though he cannot see it. Next I go for a walk by myself but see nothing but darkling beetles. On the way back, I talk to a couple of people who inform me that it is supposed to shower or rain tomorrow. This should be interesting. I would like to see the water rushing down these arroyos. I eat a little muffin then go into town and try to find an internet hook-up. No luck.

We stop off at the _brown meat_ store and buy a T-bone steak for some later date, plus another pack of hot-dogs. No mini-muffins are to be found and this is worrisome. I walk over to a junk pit next door. It is overwhelming all the crap he has, everything from rocks to pure junk that should be recycled or tossed in a landfill. I make the mistake of mentioning the upcoming rain and he goes off on all his preparations with tarps and all. He wears me out! Really, there are some characters in this town. You just have to get out and walk and they are there.

For days now, maybe nearly a week I have been dealing with this rattle in back. I have stuffed paper behind window screens. I have removed blinds. I have adjusted cabinets. I have beat on things around the stove trying to get it to rattle, all with no luck. I drive out very slow, stick my head in back and realize it sounds as if it is coming from the table side of the unit and echoing back to me up from the stove/sink side. I beat on things over there...nothing. The noise is still there. Grrrr. Now I drive in to the camp area, get out of the seat, go in back and let the motor home drive itself and I find it! The overhead screen at the skylight is not in all the way. This is the rattling. I had no idea. So now I know the screen and shade must be in all the way. Oh happy day!

This afternoon I am back at my previous place, in Bill and Louise's spot in fact. Why no one has taken this one, what with Louise's Fabulous Fire-pit I do not know. Lucky me! I have more Canadians in front of me. They also are from Alberta only these have a nicer big RV. She has feeders out and there are birds in their camp all the time. I take Sinbad for a walk or more like a standstill. He is always on the lookout for people coming by. When we are alone he just pulls me along. If he begins to think about going somewhere that I cannot follow, like under brush, all I have to say is "Don't go there, I can't follow you" and he turns back. Smart cat. Back in the RV, he always lies down for a nap as if he is worn out, but I don't think he is.

Each day there are dove and quail right outside the window less than ten feet away. I think I will bring birdseed with me next time as others do. A hummingbird comes by every once in awhile too, attracted to the red stripe on the side of the RV. These are the only birds of note outside of the roadrunners.

At night while reading, there are a few drops on the roof and I think _it now begins_ but nothing comes of it. This happens a couple times more during the night. In the morning, it does not look like rain clouds. This is very disappointing for this area as they could use some moisture. It is not as chilly though with the cloud cover holding in the heat.

I have not been able to bathe for a few days. I am not ready to use the shower in this unit. It would require heating the water, which takes a half an hour of propane use. I am not that concerned about the use of water or it filling the holding tank. It's that the shower would be wet afterwards and could pose a problem drying out enough to have Sinbad's litter box in there and not create a problem. I see it as too much bother for now. I do my feet in the shower using the white washbasin and the hand sprayer, which works very nice with a sliding on/off button so I do not have to turn the knobs. I wash my hair and dry it with the hair dryer using the generator. This is nice to have. With washed pits and dirty socks and underwear tossed, I start the day start "fresh".

As I work on my notes and blog, I notice the radio has quit. I check the coach batteries and the indicator lights are down to the last light! I start the engine to charge up the batteries and they were back up in ten minutes. I think the laptop pulls a lot of juice.

This morning there are over twenty dove and nine quail out the window. They are all scratching in the dirt as chickens do. It is very still and quiet out. A number of people have moved on this morning, to where I do not know.

Later this Friday afternoon it is finally sprinkling. I doubt it will do much more than that but it is nice and I am able to sit inside with the door open wearing a t-shirt. I have a view of my Canadian neighbors. It seems like a fair number of these Canadian women are short and wide. This one too sort of waddles about. Oh the poor thing, as I watch her get into the motor home. It is a bit of work for her, taking both hands to pull herself up and in. This must be why I have not seen her until now. Her husband is a tall fellow and much more active. A Gila Woodpecker works on the suet ball Louise left in the tree.

Saturday morning, and it is the first of December. It rained good last night and the RV is clean, but it is not enough rain to get the creeks flowing as I had wished. Lying in bed reading, the sound of the rain on the roof unnerves Sinbad. He is not too sure what is going on outside. I get some fairly good storm cloud photos this morning as the sun is coming up and will use one for the blog. The sky is clear and the wind is blowing. It is out of the south so it will push me on up the highway at a good clip but I decide to stay put for the day. I am finally getting into the mode of being able to stay settled, something I wondered if I could do, and as time passes I am adapting to this style of life more and more. As I do my morning duties, it dawns on me that it is the downsizing of everything around me; the simplicity of this lifestyle is what is so attractive. That is really it in a nutshell, the simple life. I wonder if people would understand if I tried to explain it to them.

We drive to La Posa South long-term camp area to get water. There is a van parked close to the entrance advertising windshield repair. I stop on my way out and ask about what he thinks of my _birthday gift_ , not intending on having him do anything, just information. He says it would be easy to do. "You'll be very pleased, if not, you don't have to pay me." The cost is forty dollars and when we got to talking about insurance, deductibles, the hassle of doing it at home I figure why not. He shoots some epoxy into the hole he drilled into the rock chip and it just vanishes away. All is left is the hole and a bit of a blemish which looks like a small bug splat. It is amazing and I am very happy with the results. Afterwards I wish I had taken a photo of what it looked like before.

We get to talking. He is probably in his late twenties. He lives in Washington and fell into this line of work after being tired of working for other people. He was looking in a magazine and saw 'Glass Repair' and thought, _I could do that_. He took a three-day course, bought his equipment, some old windshields and practiced. That was three years ago. Last summer a couple of RVers up in Washington had him fix their rock chips. They told him if he went to Quartzsite in the winter, he could make a fortune. He did not even know where Quartzsite was but knew he did not want to spend another winter in Washington. He packed his van and came down. That was ten days ago. Big motor homes he charges a hundred dollars and on down to cars for forty dollars. "It is all the same processes just that with these big multi-dollar rigs the people have the money. They don't care. Some just say _fix-it_ and don't even ask the price. Some do not want to deal with their insurance (they will get higher rates) or know their deductible is too great, or as in the case of motor homes, the replacement of the glass is very costly." He said my Mercedes windshield alone would be probably eight hundred dollars. He figures that for the month of December he can make...get ready...$10,000! That is $333 a day! He said, "Figure it out. A couple big rigs, a few cars and there is $300." He cannot imagine what January will be like when the hoard is here. In just the fifteen minutes I am with him, another person stops by complaining about the loose gravel down the road (the very same road I received my gift on) and says he will bring his truck by. The kid says, "When they see me working on a windshield, then more begin stopping. It's word of mouth after that." He tells me of one lady in the LA area makes two hundred thousand a year doing rock chip repair out of her van. He said, "Of course she is young, good looking and probably has big boobs." He is single and does not own a home. In fact, he is sleeping out of his van while down here. Therefore, his van is his home, office and workshop. I tell him next year I'll see him here with a little trailer all set up to do business. He can make enough in two or three months to last him the entire year. I try not to think about a lost opportunity here for me as a career. As I pull away, I notice two big bags of gravel in the back of his van partially hidden under a tarp. (just kidding)

We leave Quartzsite and travel north to Parker, cross over the Colorado River to Vidal Junction then turn south to the very same latitude we were at this morning in Hi Jolly. A hundred mile drive out of the way for no more than the sheer pleasure of the drive through the desert on a two-lane road is wonderful. The signs welcoming us to California are not necessary. The terrible conditions of the roads are enough notification we are back home.

Reaching the town of Blythe, which is only twenty miles from Quartzsite had we drove directly west, I decide to drive through town for the adventure. Here is a place that owning a lumber company or even a hardware store would be a lucrative enterprise. I have never seen a community with so many businesses and stores boarded up with plywood. If there is a town more dismal and depressive than Blythe, I am not interested in seeing it. Six months residence here would justify suicide.

The intent is finding something along the west side of the river to camp but the only place seen is the Cibola National Wildlife Refuge, a pleasant and tranquil spot along a backwater of the river. Unfortunately, I am down to my last hundred dollar bill and have no change for the ten dollar fee, yet it is still early in the day so we press on to ultimately Slab City out of Niland.

We have been to Slab City many times in the past and each time I forget about the dogs. Their barking is incessant. At times, the frenzy of barking would rival the start of the Iditarod dog sled race. I wonder how the people stand it. The new RV is wonderfully sound proofed compared to the old BOX and with the music turned on low the barking ceases to be a problem. That is until the next morning when I want to be outdoors for my morning sunrise worship service. _This is one of the reasons I left home_ I think to myself. I eventually realize the problem area is the squatters who live here full time, or so I hope. Therefore, before breakfast, we move off to the outskirts of the 'city' and find conditions much improved. We settle in near the pet cemetery. Yes, people who reside here, for either long term or short, sometimes their beloved best friend passes on and there is a nice place set aside for their final resting place. There are several dozen graves nicely laid out with rocks and tombstones crafted out of wood or stone. I can feel the heartache at every grave.

Soon Sinbad is tangled up in the undercarriage of the RV and as I try to get him out, my neighbor and his dog starts over to me. I have to head them off half way not knowing if the dog will see the cat. Ken is from Alberta Canada. Since he came right over as I pull in to park I feel he is lonely. He is in his late seventies or even maybe older. He lost his wife six years ago and this is the first long trip of any time he has taken. He has a little cock-a-poo dog named Mitzi, a friendly little thing. Finally, Sinbad comes out and I have to cut Ken off and go get my cat. I need to go by and visit Ken some more, the poor guy.

Another little rat-type dog comes over to visit Sinbad. Sinbad watches, as the dog comes closer and closer, just not too sure about Sinbad. The closer he comes the more I realize that Sinbad is probably bigger. Finally, Sinbad moves from his crouched position and that is all it takes. The dog freaks and Sinbad casually walks back into the RV. Later of course, the dog is all brave and all yapping away at a distance. I eventually shoo him away and one rock toss later, he is gone.

A big rig tractor and trailer unit is close to me the first night. I never see anyone around. It has Oregon plates and a sporty type car. I figure a young, rich type. Today I meet the people on their way back from a walk as I am going out. He is seventy-nine and she seventy-three. They look ten to fifteen years younger. I tell them so, which slightly embarrasses the woman. She has been a vegetarian all her life and he is too, starting during the sixties. They both have kids and grandkids from previous marriages. The fancy rig is their home. He built it or rather did all the modifications himself. He tells me how many hundreds of gallons of water, fuel, waste water it holds. I ask about a home and he says they go around building churches and doing church work and such and found themselves never at home much, so they got rid of it all and went full-time RV. That was six years ago. She is a little thing with grey hair and big bushy brown eyebrows. All the while we are talking, she stands with her coat half off around her back and waist twisting from side to side as a shy little girl would do. She is cute in this sort of childlike way. Nevertheless, even before I learn of the church involvement, she is the perfect image of a missionary type of person in the jungles of South America or Africa. He is tall and soft-spoken and looks not at all like pushing eighty. Meeting people like these two is inspiring to me.

The next day I walk over the hill and down to Salvation Mountain and visit with Leonard Knight, the creator of this monument. In 1983 he crashed landed here in a hot air balloon. "I only intended on staying a week," he says. Twenty four years and one-hundred-thousand gallons of paint later at the age of seventy-six, he is still at it. I find him sitting on his sofa out in the brilliant desert sunshine visiting with a shriveled up old geezer who has stopped by, a local no doubt. He brings me up to date on progress, the increased amount of visitors he has had since the Paramount pictures release of _In the Wild._ It seems a movie crew came out to do a bit on him for the movie. He said he had upwards to two-hundred visitors a day around the Thanksgiving Day weekend due to this recent exposure. I do not doubt it. He has been featured on National Geographic, the Travel Channel and several independent films. In a previous visit with Leonard, I first noticed how he would drop whatever he was doing to go over and greet anyone who stopped by. This would be followed with a personal guided tour, which could very well be interrupted be another set of visitors stopping. In between tours, I asked Leonard, "When are you able to get any work done with so many visitors?" He said it is a problem, The man is so conscious about it that if he feels that someone has stopped and he hasn't greeted them, he'll hop on his scooter and rush over apologizing for not having done so.

We leave Slab City the next day. I find an Internet connection at the library in Calipatra, gather e-mails and post a blog. We drive to a different branch of the Sonny Bono Wildlife refuge. The weather is poor and there is not much to see except for snow geese. We continue along a cattle ranch that is the biggest I have ever seen. It goes for maybe two miles long and I cannot see the end of it away from the road on back, maybe two full miles of black and white Holstein cows. They are dirty from standing in their own filth, plus it is muddy from the rains a few days ago.

On the way back to Anza Borrego, we stop at the Off Road Vehicle area at Ocotillo Wells. Being as it is the middle of the week only a couple of ORV people are here. The place is so vast we park off away from them and feel this will be fine for one night. I eat lunch, take Sinbad for a walk then go for a hike on my own. The weather is pleasant but with no sun. The bad thing about being in a place like this is it makes me think back to my desert racing days. I miss that and wish I could do it more, or would have done more, or something. As the day progresses a few more show up then finally, a big rig with a long trailer parks just a wee bit too close. I figure things may get worse (thinking back to the barking at Slab City) so we leave.

Back at Yaqui Wells a half hour later the sun is out, it is very nice, and I am happy we made the move. It is windy all night but is not a problem in fact I like it. There are no drafts and no whistling windows. Moreover, unlike being at home I am not worried about anything crashing down upon me so I am able to enjoy it. Actually, the gusts of wind that rock the motor home are comforting; a gentle movement as if being rocked in a cradle.

It is pleasant outdoors in the morning as I am able to go outside without pants on. Today we sit tight here in this nice spot. I work on my journal getting it caught up. The day is pleasant giving me an opportunity to hike the hills in the distance. Here it seems no one has been before and I walk through totally undisturbed cactus gardens filled with Cholla, Beavertail, Ocotillo, Barrel Cactus and hundreds of little fishhook cacti nestled in among the rocks. When I take Sinbad for his walk, he finds me an excellent snakeskin. I want to leave it on the dash but he keeps nosing around it and I am afraid he might wreck it so I stuff it in my art box.

The next day I hike the sandy wash down to Tamarisk Grove Campground, which is vacant. Across the road is the equally vacant State Park employee's residence, a neglected State Park green cinder-block building. The grounds are littered with palm fronds and other windblown debris. I walk around back and imagine what it would take to clean things up and call this home.

We return to the little community of Borrego Springs centered within Anza Borrego State Park. I spend the day just hanging out, watching Borrego life come and go. I wander in and out most of the stores, shops and even a real estate office. Yes, I could live here.

We move on out to where we camped a month ago, on the flats. Some visitors have gone with more replacing them but amazingly, the Idaho woman with her vicious looking German Shepherd is still here but has relocated further from the highway. I see now she is younger than what I thought before−an attractive blonde. What is she doing here for so long out in the wilderness by herself? There must be a story there. Is she running away from something or someone, looking for a new place to start a new life? On the other hand, maybe it is no more than what I am doing myself, just seeking a warmer environment for the winter.

It rains during night and the next morning I think I will be spending the day cooped up inside but by noon the sky clears up, somewhat, and I say _hike time_. I bundle up in layers, even with a knit cap on my head and start across the desert to distant Clark Dry Lake. By half way I am down to being shirtless, no hat and wish I had not wore my flannel-lined Levis and spaceman socks. The shoreline of the lake has a cracked mud surface producing amazing geometrical shapes and patterns. Large folds of thin mud curled back upon itself like paint peeling from a wall. The dried mud is copper colored with flakes of glitter-like mica. Naturally, I have left my camera back at camp.

For my last two days, I think I will throw caution−and a twenty dollar bill per night−to the wind and stay in the State Park Campground. It is just a few minutes out of town up the alluvial plain towards the base of the mountains. We back in to the most remote spot the campground offers at the mouth of a canyon wash. Most campers are down below in the developed area with hook-ups. There is only one camper from Oregon and us in the undeveloped area. Being at the base of the mountains, I notice in not too many hours we will be in shade, so after a quick lunch I gather my gear and start up the canyon to another palm oasis while the sun still warms the canyon.

For all of the times I have been to this park I have never taken the time to hike this short trail which is the mostly frequented due to its proximity to the campground and visitor center. Now here in December I have it all to myself, well almost. I meet a little old lady coming down from the oasis who confirms my thoughts when I shout over to her on the other side of the wash; I am on the wrong side having missed the trail somewhere back a ways. The nearer I get to the oasis the more water there is running in the stream. The sound of rushing water intensifies, echoing within the canyon, although the quantity of water is not that great. It only takes a few boulder hops to cross at any point.

The palm oasis is nothing like the others I have seen before. They are many more trees, densely packed, full and lush. I read where Hooded Orioles weave nests from the palm fibers hanging them high up in the trees. A species of bat, only two inches long, call these trees home sleeping in among the hanging palm fronds, coming out every evening to feed on insects. Many animals from all around rely upon this year-long constant supply of water, including the Peninsular Bighorn Sheep for which this park derives its name. Most interesting though is the Palm Beetle, a two-inch long insect that lays its eggs in the bark of the palm. Its grub is orange in color and burrows holes into the palm creating little homes for other small creatures. This explains why I see these perfect five-eighths-inch diameter holes in all the downed palms. _Why would someone bring out their Black & Decker drill and vandalize these trees_ were my initial thoughts.

It is only three P.M. but it is cool in the shadows of the mountains and I keep thinking a cup of tea would be nice but I do not want to leave this wonderful spot. I cannot stop looking back again and again for just one more view as I hike out of the canyon, feeling some sort of sadness as if I will never see this wonderful oasis again.

The next morning I wake to a thick canopy of clouds, which begin to cast down sprinkles as the sun rises. By all appearances, this will last the day and may even turn into showers, thus putting a crimp into my plans for the day, more hiking and some bicycling too. However, days like this make for good traveling and we have some miles to lay down for the long trip home, thus we break camp and sadly leave Anza Borrego Desert State Park.

My plan is to go to Red Rock Canyon State Park twenty miles north of Mojave. This is a beautiful little park full of cacti, Joshua Trees and marvelous geological formations created millions of years ago out of...yes...red rock. This park we have used for many years as a stopping off spot on the way to or coming back from other desert locations in the south. When we arrive I am pleasantly surprised that we have the entire place all to ourselves, not that that I suspected a great many campers there at this time of the year. As night falls I discover why no one is here...we practically freeze to death! Even reptiles have more common sense than I do. They are all snug in their holes in the ground hibernating until winter passes. I go to bed with long underwear, sweat pants, two pairs of socks and knit cap on my head and still am cold. It is so cold that Sinbad burrows under the covers to sleep curled up against my stomach all night. Who was warming who? I do not know but my belly was the warmest part of my body.

In the morning, it is thirty-degrees outside and a blistering two-degrees warmer inside the motor home. The sun has not yet cleared the horizon when my morning duty calls. I add to what I sleep in a hooded sweatshirt, flannel lined Levis, heavy woolen mittens and my NASA spaceman socks and walk over to the open-air pit toilets. Take my word for this, you do not even have to put it to a test, an ass gasket (paper toilet seat cover) provides no insulation whatsoever against a thirty-degree toilet seat. On the march back to camp, I envision a fortune being made by inventing insulated ass gaskets. Now of course this would necessitate a consumer base market for this product in order to make all the research and devolvement feasible, even before it went into production. A bit more thought on this and a look around the empty campground and I come to the conclusion that there are not enough dumb campers as myself out there to warrant any further thought on the subject.

Back in the RV Sinbad shows no interest in wanting to go outside as he is usually waiting at the door. Yes, my cat is smarter than I am at times. I do go for a little walkabout just to let my nose run though. I do the dishes (although it mattered to only a cup and a spoon, but any excuse to have my hands in warm water was reason enough) square things away and drive out a day earlier than planned. Thirty minutes later at Mojave I am finally, comfortably warm.

We drive into the Central Valley and stay to the little farm roads avoiding the Interstate and major highways as much as possible. Many years ago in doing this, I discovered Allensworth State Park and think a stop by to see it again would be nice.

Col. Allen Allensworth was born a slave and escaped from servitude in 1862 when he was twelve years old. He went north and joined the Union Army, which he eventually made a career out of achieving the highest ranking of any black at that time when he retired at the turn of the century. He came to California with his wife Josephine and had a dream to build a community, a _colony_ as he called it, for other African Americans to help themselves create better lives. In 1908, in Tulare County, he found the _Promised Land_ and put his plan to work. The little colony of Allensworth prospered for a short time but eventually faded away due to Allensworth's untimely accidental death (he was struck down by a motorcyclist), declining water tables and the realignment of the railroad to a different town nearby. A couple dozen of the original homes remain, lovingly restored by the Park Service complete with furniture and artifacts from that time period. It is well worth a visit.

Upon arriving, I am amazed to find a campground here for I do not remember one the fifteen or so years ago when I was here last. I am even further amazed to find this campground has showers, but the amazement does not end there. The showers are FREE! Here one does not need a fistful of quarters in order to take a bath.

Later in afternoon I notice on the electronic read-out panel for all systems on board the RV that the LP (propane) is down to its last indicator light, red, meaning _you better do something about this soon_. I go outside to check the gauge on the tank. The needle is resting on ' _E'_. The refrigerator/freezer is powered by propane. I think about this and figure if at some time before morning the ' _check_ ' light on the refrigerator begins to flash, I can just as easily open the door for the air temperature is colder than your refrigerator is at home. Then I figure that may not be a good idea as I do not want my bag of salad to freeze, so I decide to leave the door shut if the propane fizzles out.

The next morning all systems are going strong. I look outside the window and can see all of twenty feet. There is fog so thick you could scoop out a hole in it with a shovel. Of the twenty feet I can see, the ground is a blanket of frost. Inside the temperature reads thirty-five-degrees and I have a pussycat that has no interest to come out from under the covers. I lie back in bed and think about life for the residents of Allensworth one hundred years ago in the month of December.

We leave camp at nine A.M. and continue on the farm roads heading north. It is a bit of a challenge as I have only a California road map. We drive around the town of Hanford in search of a place that sells propane. Here for the first time I see Christmas decorations in all their glory. It is a nice feeling to not have been exposed to all of this for the five weeks previous. Ten days before Christmas is just right. Finally, only by chance I locate a mini-mart that sells propane. The proprietor is straight out of Afghanistan with his full rich thick black beard and mustache. I like this guy. He is bundled up against the cold more than I am wearing a heavy-duty army coat that further enhances his image to me of a mujahedeen rebel. In spite of the red light and the needle being on _'E'_ , the tank takes only eleven and a half gallons. I had two and a half gallons left in it. [I've since learned that propane tanks are filled to eighty-percent of the tank capacity which would be eleven-point-two gallons of this fourteen-gallon tank]

We pull off Highway 99 early in the day to check out a sign denoting a State Park with camping. It is a small State Park that I think the five miles out of the way drive is worth a check into. No one is here except the old ranger guy. They have showers (the wife wants me fresh and clean when I come home) and the ranger points out the one site that has electricity at no extra cost! How cool is that? We are in five-star luxury with all the lights burning, the radio playing and unlimited time on the laptop to catch up on all my notes and such. There is no Internet connection but the laptop I feel pulls a lot of juice from the batteries in the RV so I need to be cautious otherwise, but not now!

I take a little walk around the campground and discover a river slowly flowing by. It is the Merced River and I sit on the bank for a long time thinking how this very water had cascaded over Nevada and Vernal Falls flowing through Yosemite Valley several days earlier. Since I am only three hours from home, I hang here for a while in the morning and tidy up the ship and even break out my mini vacuum that I have not used yet. Hey, why not do cleaning and like in a nice setting rather than at home in the neighborhood?

Finally, we leave our last campsite of the trip and make our way home taking the scenic route avoiding the Bay Area. Early on, I have a narrow escape with a car coming onto the freeway. Hours later after surviving the first traffic congestion of the trip on I-80, we are immersed into even greater chaos through Petaluma and Santa Rosa, narrowly missing another accident. I think to myself how this day of driving has been the worst. We stop in Healdsburg to give the motor home a bath but the road grime is reluctant to come loose. It is only after the car wash the impact of being home very soon with my wife after five weeks on the road, really asserts itself and I get a bit emotional. It is nice to be home again, but thoughts of being on the road once again are already present on my mind.
CHASING DESERT WILDFLOWERS  
March 2008

Our first stop on the Desert Wildflower Tour would be the Antelope Valley California Poppy Reserve west of Lancaster, California. Expecting the hills to be carpeted with bright orange flowers I was surprised to find none at all. In fact no one was there; we had the place all to ourselves. Evidently it was too early in the year for them. I ate breakfast took Sinbad for a walk and on the drive out I finally spotting one lonely poppy by the road's edge. Lucky me! I was witness to the blooming of the first poppy of the season and everyone missed it.

Retracing our tracks from a few months before, we motored on to Joshua Tree National Park. Entering Joshua Tree will be an experience I will never forget, for we drove in FREE of the fifteen dollar entrance fee, thanks to my Annual National Parks Pass given to me by my daughter for Christmas. I felt like a VIP as the ranger swiped my card, verified my ID and wished me a pleasant visit. "Don't I get a map and park newsletter?" I asked. Since I wasn't handing over any money, perhaps he felt I wasn't entitled to the automatic free handouts.

So here I was, in the park, driving along at my usual traffic impeding pace and there was not a single wildflower to be seen. _What is going on here?_ I wondered. We camped for the night and left the following morning continuing our search for the ever-elusive desert wildflowers. Once we crossed over the ridge at Sheep's Pass and dropped down on the southern slopes the flowers began to appear. Faints patches here and there of small little violet colored blossoms and little more. I reasoned the further south we go, the more flowers we would see...hopefully.

We arrived at the Cottonwood Visitor Center at the south entrance to the park an hour earlier than last time, thus it was open, not 'closed for lunch' as before. Inside the place was packed with each and every visitor asking "Where do we go to see the flowers?" I could tell the park ranger lady's patience was at its ragged end, no doubt having answered this question so many times already, and here her day wasn't even half over. To the other ranger lady standing there with glazed eyes I asked "What are the people doing alongside the road with the little black trash bags bundled up along the way?" She was very happy to answer something that it seemed no one had asked before. "I believe biologists and volunteers are in the process of removing exotic plant life from the park." That sounded to me like a fun thing to do on a nice spring day in the desert.

I wrestled with the idea of staying at the campground there rather than to rush off southward. After several passes through the two loops of Cottonwood Campground, not finding anything that promising or level and not relishing the idea of parting with the twelve dollar fee. I decided to head for Anza Borrego State Park as the day was still young. As soon as we crossed the Joshua Tree Park boundary I noticed some boondockers on a side road. I had not noticed this area the last time through here. We drove in, liked what we saw and made camp for the night.

We spent the following week exploring Anza Borrego where wildflowers of all varieties were abundant. It wasn't till we ventured to the southern portion of the park did I finally discover some barrel cacti, cholla, hedgehog and beavertail cactus in bloom. All were in their early stages of bloom and I'm sure come April they will be in their full glory.

My desert guidebook didn't show all the flowers that I had seen and photographed therefore I had many unknowns. I planned to go back to the visitor center and see if I could identify some of the unknowns. I feared though the visitor center may be like walking into a K-Mart during a blue light special being it was Sunday and the weekenders are there.

Tuesday, March 18

What a difference a week makes! We came back through Joshua Tree National Park and the place had exploded with flowers of all colors, so much so that we encountered a couple of 'flower jams' along the way. _Come on people pull off of the road all the way_. Leaving half your car on the pavement makes it an interesting process trying to pilot a small house down a narrow two-lane road when an even bigger house is approaching from the opposite direction. Further on were valleys full of Joshua Trees just bursting with blossoms that should be opening by the end of the week.

We left the park at the Twentynine Palms entrance traveling north from there towards Amboy on old Route 66. The historical gas station/motel in Amboy had long been vacant for many years. An enterprising individual in just the past month has purchased, renovated and re-opened _Roys_ for business once again. A side trip along the original Route 66 from Ludlow off of I-40 east of Barstow is only eight miles longer than driving the Interstate and a lot more interesting.

We crossed under I-40 and continued north into the newly established Mojave National Preserve staying the night at Kelso where the Park Service had restored the old railroad depot there. This entire area nestled between Interstates 40 and 15 eastward to the Nevada border deserves some more exploration in a future road trip, but for now, onward to Death Valley and see what surprises the 'valley' holds in store for us this time.

Martin and the Swiss Miss

We left camp at Texas Spring above the Furnace Creek complex in the morning and continued our leisurely pace to the north end of the Death Valley. The first point of interest was the Salt Creek turn-off. I hesitated at first since I've seen it several times but turned anyway just to kill some time and see how the desert pupfish were doing. Two bicyclists were parked at the beginning of the dirt road and the guy asked me if they could get a ride in. They were not too keen having autos kick up a lot of dirt on them as they peddled the mile and half long washboard track. I said _sure, get in_ and Sinbad ducked under the covers in back.

They were Martin and Franziska (Fran-chess-ka) from Switzerland. Both spoke English well enough but conversed back and forth in German as we drove in and walked the boardwalk. Martin earlier said if I wanted to hurry along that they could find a ride out with someone else, but I assured him I had nowhere to go and all day to get there.

They had flown in to Los Angeles and hired a taxi to take them out of the city. I thought that quite smart and later wished I had asked where the taxi dropped them off at. Their goal was to hit as many National Parks as they could in five and a half months on a route that loops down south then north up to the Yukon. I asked why the Yukon but I think pretty much it was because it is there. Franziska was looking forward to seeing Las Vegas after Death Valley. That will be an overwhelming experience for her. From there they will go down to Zion, Bryce Canyon, Yellowstone, Glacier/Jasper and I'm sure others she didn't mention, including the Grand Canyon no doubt. They average around fifty miles a day. Martin who was thirty-two (Franziska a few years younger) had been to the States before with friends in a rented RV, but it was Franziska's first time.

I asked about preparation for this along with how Europeans are able to get so much time off to travel as they do, whereas Americans can't seem to get it together. In their case they quit their jobs for this trip. Martin explained that Europeans for the most part work and save for things like this. They, especially the Swiss, Germans and Dutch, save their money to care for family, to be prepared for any unexpected financial needs and to travel. "Europeans love to travel and see the world. I think Americans spend all their money as soon as they get it and don't plan." I thought he pretty well nailed it.

They planned for a year for this trip. Most of the information they needed to know was about expenses, the best places to go and stay and the best way to go about accomplishing their goal which was available from books and guides (and the Internet of course) written by other Europeans who had bicycled in the U.S. Other than the flight over here and the shipping of their bicycles and gear, the only expenses they really face are camp fees and food which Franziska was quick to add "Lots of pasta, bananas and water". I offered them some sodas at the end but they declined.

As we walked the boardwalk they both had camera bags with them but only Martin pulled his out. I asked if he would like me to take a photo of them together with his camera and he said okay while gingerly handing over his expensive Canon with a large zoom lens to me. Damn, that thing weighed over twice as much as my SLR and I wondered about him lugging this thing around on a bicycle. I took one shot and then went to take another at a different angle when he quickly stopped me. "It's not a digital! It has film in it and I don't have that many shots available." Well, I could appreciate someone wanting to shoot slides but on a trip like this, riding a bicycle, that seemed hardly appropriate. With the small ten-mega pixel cameras these days−the size of a pack of cigarettes−he could take thousands of pictures of equal quality which would leave lots of room for more pasta and bananas. They were a very nice and friendly couple. With more time I could have found out more, like what Franziska's early impressions of America was, and what their thoughts of Americans in general were, but I didn't want to grill them too hard. I bid them a safe trip and sent them on their way south while we continued on to Mesquite Campground near Scotty's castle. Sinbad crawled out from beneath the covers.

After a few more nights in Death Valley, we moved on to new adventures. We meandered up Highway 395 visiting the Japanese Internment Camp at Manzanar and then stayed at various campsites along the base of the Sierra Mountains. Each of these campsites afforded spectacular views of the snow covered eastern slopes and each camp had an icy cold trout-laden stream running through it. Best of all, the weather was ideal, sunny with very dry air during the day and the nighttime temperatures never became bad at all. Yet days later when we arrived at Mono Lake there was snow on the ground and I knew this would not do. I had planned on staying a couple days around the lake but now that was out of the question. Not only was that, but Tioga pass through Yosemite still closed so an alternate plan had to be devised. After lunch at the lake, we turned east for Nevada and lower elevations. This was a good decision as we spent a very pleasant evening at Walker Lake some three-thousand feet lower than Mono Lake.

The next day we blew on down Highway 50, "The Loneliest Highway in America", another one of my favorite drives. This was a bad decision. I say we blew down the road for the strong tailwinds out of the west made for great travelling. Yet our intended camp for the evening, Sand Mountain, was infested with off-roaders and their ATV's. Being the middle of the week, I thought we would be okay there. _Doesn't anybody work anymore?_ So after lunch I turned around and fought thirty mph winds all the way back to Fallon and beyond to Lahontan Reservoir, the nearest available camp area. The last ten miles were the worst. We were buffeted all about on a two-lane road with sand blasting us head on. The camps were situated on the beaches at the lake. Fortunately a site was located behind large dense ground-hugging tree and this afforded us protection from the now forty mph winds coming in off the lake. The following morning was quiet and still.

On the way out Highway 50, I was surprised to see the Salt Wells brothel had burned to the ground. A couple of double-wide trailers encircled by chain link fencing topped with razor wire, located about ten miles out from Fallon had always been a landmark I looked forward to seeing, nothing more than that, a drive-by look I assure you. Not only did I wonder under what circumstances did this fire begin, but no doubt the disappointment of returning customers who had driven all the way out there to have their pencil sharpened only to discover their little secret place was now a pile of ashes. Good thing that Salt Wells wasn't part of any plan for my upcoming sixtieth birthday.
CALIFORNIA BREAKDOWN  
May 2008

We got off to a late start yet again. This seems to be a reoccurring theme at the beginning of each trip. I wanted to pick up my new eyeglasses but the office didn't open until ten A.M. The plan was to go south from there, then over to I-5 and begin heading north. The more I thought about this that morning the less appealing interstate traffic became. After picking up my glasses we turned around and retraced our tracks north on Highway 101.

The plan for this trip was to venture into eastern Oregon and Washington with the only real point of interest being the John Day Fossil Beds in Oregon. While driving along I began losing motivation for the trip in part due to the high cost of fuel and still operating on a limited budget. We made it as far as Richardson Grove along the Eel River for the first night. I found the redwood setting very peaceful, relaxing and realized that all I am looking for is right here. There was no need to log in long high mileage days. I rationalized the money saved on fuel could be put towards campground fees, which I normally avoid. Sinbad and I held a meeting that evening and we cemented a new plan. I had been following online the exploits of a seventy-year old man boondocking around in Mexico. Through his blog I learned that George averaged only fifty miles a day travelling leaving most of his time to explore and enjoy wherever he is camped. I tried this out at the end of our last trip and discovered how pleasant it was. So it appears we will stay in northern California for the entire time and I am perfectly happy with that. Sinbad is too.

I went for an hour hike early in the morning, then moved the rig down by the river in a sunny spot I found while hiking. I simply enjoyed watching the river flow by, walking and sitting by the riverbank. We lounged around Richardson Grove until two o'clock that day. We then moved on up the road taking the Avenue of the Giants scenic route and pulled into the first campground we came to, Hidden Springs. As it was with Richardson Grove, there were very few campers out this early in the season and this was fine by us.

The next morning after my hike, I walked across the road to meet Fred & Ruth from Riverside. They had a small camper van on the same chassis/engine assembly (Dodge Sprinter with Mercedes diesel engine) as the View. I have seen these before on the road and was curious as to the gas mileage they get in comparison. Fred was equally happy to make my acquaintance, as they had been interested in Views also. They had a Rialta van a few years earlier but lost it due to a fire. Fred said he figures about twenty mpg on the average with this new van so this is only a couple of miles more than the View. He invited me in for a tour and I was afraid I might like what I saw; wishing perhaps something on this order may have been more practical. Once inside though I instantly knew otherwise. I felt I was in a coffin equipped with a small refrigerator and stove. My head almost touched the ceiling and I do not know how they can call the two bench seats 'twin beds'. They asked me to sit and visit but being hot and sweaty from my hike I said I couldn't. Ruth sensed I was about to leave so she quickly asked if I was familiar with "Born Again". I thought to myself _No, she's not going there is she? Maybe 'Born Again' is a brand of RV_. I was wrong and she launched onto a full-blown born-again Christian spiel. That I needed to repent for my sins (I don't know if there's enough time left in my life for me to account for all my sins). That I needed to make sure there will be a spot reserved for me in God's Kingdom. She used the word 'reserved', which caused me to liken heaven as a campground. _God's Kingdom Campground. Full hook-ups, pull-thru sites, showers and dump station. Good Sam discounts accepted._ Caught completely by surprise I stood there with the proverbial deer in the headlights look. I soon regained my senses and I assured her that I had already experienced the 'born again' feeling when I retired four years ago. " _I'm a new man_! _Praise the Lord!"_ I wished them a happy trip and returned to camp with the words of "...our savior Lord Jesus Christ" chasing me across the road. Back inside the sanctuary of the motor home, I was thankful for everything it was.

This sinner and his cat continued on their journey reaching Patrick's Point State Park later in the afternoon. After a cup of tea and with binoculars in hand, I walked through the campground underbrush following the barking sounds of Sea Lions below the cliff. Finally, I located a clear spot where I was able to see the ocean. Within minutes, I spotted a whale surfacing, blowing spray then diving deep with his tail fully extended out of the water. _Wow!_ I couldn't ask for anything more. I walked back to camp with the biggest smile on my face having been able to see a whale. See, God likes me.

We left the coast and started inland on Highway 299 through the Trinity Mountain Range towards Redding. These hundred-forty-two miles held promise for many camping opportunities. Soon on I detected something not right with the engine. _Is God changing his mind about me?_ On a long pull, it would falter very slightly as if starving for fuel, then resume on. I turned back towards Eureka not knowing what to do but it seemed to have cleared itself out and was running fine, so I turned back again towards the east. However, it started up again became no worse and did not take away from performance so I ignored it. I discovered all the Forest Service campgrounds were closed−too early in the season. Finally at Burnt Ranch, a campground was open and there we stayed.

The next morning I took off on an unmaintained trail down to the river but realized half way only mountain goats could navigate this. I turned back towards camp. Eager to find a wide-open place to camp along the river we moved out without any breakfast. Yesterday's engine problem was still with us only to manifest itself into a much more serious condition. _Okay, God is getting serious now_. It would just slightly hesitate on climbs then continue right along although with power really dropping off. This was the worse place to be, in the Trinity Mountain Range with all its ups and downs and hundred miles from any place of note. For the first time I was grateful for road construction where they stopped you and you had to wait for a pilot truck. I was able to place myself at the end of the line. Once through the construction, I had now no one behind me for miles until the next group caught up with us.

Turning back towards Eureka was not an option. I had passes to climb that way also plus all those on Highway 101 south towards home. Redding and the flat Central Valley was our only salvation. We had only two big passes to clear today. I was very concerned. Sinbad was oblivious to the situation. The first one at twenty-five-hundred feet I started up, bogged down to thirty mph or less and did a quick U-turn back down to the bottom. I figured this was it, stuck in Johnson City, population three-hundred. I turned off the engine and stepped out to pee. In the presence of danger one always has to pee. I started up the engine and went for it again. This time the turbo kicked in and I was up to a respectable speed before it seemed to shut off. We made it to the top not without an engine light coming on. It was the engine control unit. I fished out the owner's manual. _Bleed the fuel system and with four or five starts, it should clear up. If not, take to your nearest Sprinter Dealer_. It did not clear. I figured maybe a faulty electronic device. So from then on when the road grew steep I shut the engine off, started it up again and went for it. This worked to some degree. Now if we could only make it to Redding. Doing so required a final thirty-five-hundred foot pass. We were pulling a grade with the usual problems and then rounded a turn and saw the sign, Buckhorn Pass. "This is it Sinbad! We made it!" I hadn't realized we were on the final grade as it wasn't as bad as the previous pass.

Back on Interstate 5 we slowly headed for Redding. I found if we got up to speed the cruise control could hold it steady. A few hills did slow us down to forty-five mph where I flicked on the flashers for safety. We miraculously made it to Chico where I parked at my daughter's at three-thirty P.M. Reflecting back on what we had accomplished on limited power I was very grateful. _Thank you God!_

There were two places I could go for repairs, Roseville and Folsom each about one hundred fifty more miles on limited power. Although I-5 would be a farther route, it looked the least nerve wracking. The cruise control could keep us going at sixty mph with strong tailwinds and providing a second lane for cars to pass.

We arrived at the dealership at twelve-thirty P.M. I explained the symptoms and my thoughts to the problem with the service manager, a nice guy. He pulled out a flashlight and checked the turbo resonator before anything else and said "There's your problem". I was flabbergasted! I could see it separated at the seam. The failure was this plastic hollow canister, a component, nothing electronic. This is a common weak point with these engines of '05 vintage. I was aware of this and went to change it early on in our ownership to the improved version a Q5, only to discover the previous owner had already done that. Q5's never fail as does the Q3's and Q4's. However, here this one did. The discussion group I monitor for these Mercedes Dodge Sprinters have only heard of one Q5 failure. _Why me?_ _God, you making me take notice?_ I never looked at the turbo resonator having placed a false sense of security in knowing this part was fine. Had I looked, I could have repaired it with some JB Weld way back there in Johnson City and avoided two days of drama driving! GRRRR!!!

There is an aftermarket version of this resonator made from of a solid billet of aluminum, nothing more than a seamless metal tube. I was aware of these metal replacements, much better than a plastic canister with a seam. It is not a factory made item and yet surprisingly the dealer carried them. I could have another Q5 put in under warranty (free) or select the aluminum one, not under warranty and pay, but ah then never to worry about this happening again. He said all the UPS and FED-EX Sprinters go with the metal option as they cannot afford breakdowns alongside the road. Since I was already planning to spend big bucks on some electronic gadget I said do it. Two hundred thirty-two dollars later I was out of there at three P.M. and he gave me a Q5 anyway on the side (under warranty), which I could sell or give to some unlucky View/Navion owner broke down along the side of the road, who didn't know any better and thus be a hero. We blew on down to the Delta area and found a nice peaceful campground all to ourselves for the night.

Here it is one week into our trip and just two hours from home instead of the planned two thousand miles. I took note of diesel fuel prices in Rio Vista on Thursday before our next camp. It was at an outrageous four fifty-nine per gallon. The next morning Friday, as we left Brannon Island State Park (don't go there), they had raised the price by thirty cents per gallon overnight just because the weekend was here. It is a conspiracy I know it!

I had the transmission fluid checked when the repair was being done as I knew the transmission was working hard climbing those long grades in the Trinity mountains. The fluid was brown instead of red, as I suspected. It had got too hot. This will have to be taken care of and is something the owner cannot do himself. It's been engineered this way by Mercedes. I cannot even check the level as there is no dipstick. _"A trained Sprinter service technician must perform this service."_ Three hundred dollars! Yikes! So we came on home and will build up our travel purse for a later date and further adventures.
THE ROAD TO THE VIEW RALLY IN NEHALEM, OREGON  
June 2008

Wednesday–Humboldt Redwoods

It is close to eight P.M. as I write this in Burlington Campground within Humboldt Redwoods State Park. I met my new View owner friend, John the Gimp, here at three P.M. and we have been visiting and yakking like a couple of old women. I think this is going to be a good trip travelling with this guy as we are both quite similar in our easy laid back everything's cool mode about doing things. One good thing already is he talked with the ranger ladies before I arrived and arranged it so I could park in his camp as a second car and only pay six dollars. I like the way this guy operates. Also, there are hardly any campers out. Normally I would think this place would have a fair number of campers being school is out and all. It would be nice if this pattern held out for the next two weeks.

I took Sinbad out for his evening walk, and then went for a walk myself eventually winding up at the ranger station. The younger girl was there by herself and we visited for a while. She was at Big Sur for two years doing ranger stuff but it was too expensive to live there. She has a daughter and her mother does ranger work also. The three of them lived in a little cabin in the woods and paid fifteen hundred a month, which included questionable water that grew mushrooms in the shower. They soon transferred back to Humboldt. She has a three to ten P.M. shift. Ten o'clock sure seems late, especially for when business is as slow as it is. She does not like this shift and would much rather do mornings. The poor thing is so skinny. She's cute in her own way, but my goodness, she needs about thirty more pounds on her.

Walking back to camp I began talking to one Harley guy while his buddy was checking in. Both are probably early in their thirties. They are from Alberta and plan to ride down into Mexico, then hopefully Central America and maybe into South America. It really did not sound like they had done a lot of research into this. I rattled off a couple books and authors I have read of people doing such a trip and neither was aware of them. Oh well, good for them. At least they are pursuing a dream at a young age, even if the dream is a bit ill conceived. That's okay as it leaves room for more adventure.

Well I am going to bed and start on a new book about an eighteen year old girl who was the youngest to solo sail around the world.

Thursday-Hello from Clam Beach.

We are back at a spot where Sinbad and I were a few weeks ago. It is a few miles north of Eureka and half the price of a State Park. From here, I am letting John the Gimp select the route he wishes to go for after all, it is all new to him being from the east coast. I think we will go along the coast part a ways then move inland. He has an appointment in Eugene, Oregon to have solar panels installed. That should be interesting as it is from the same people I was considering getting panels from. Now I can watch for I plan to install my own. At this point, I am not sure if I will need them for my electricity use is very minimal compared to John's and my new batteries are much better than the stock set-up. He uses his heater more than I do due to his condition plus he watches TV and I do not.

Tomorrow we are going back into Arcata as he found out there are two sources for him to get his medical marijuana. That should be an interesting adventure I do not want to miss.

He showed me how to use the convection feature of the oven in these units. Up until now, I have only used the microwave part. Tonight I soloed and the fish sticks came out much nicer than when I microwave them, especially since the makers say "do not microwave". I am so proud.

Friday–Smith River

John changed his mind on the weed as he felt he did not have the necessary paperwork being in California. He has only Florida documentation. He has been up since four-thirty A.M. and pulled out at six-thirty or so with no word. I step outside and he comes back saying he went to "chase a rainbow". I could see it from here but whatever. Then he says he is in no hurry and closing in on seven-thirty A.M. he says he has "gotta go". I am finishing my cereal and tell him _Give me 5 minutes_ but he's "gotta go" and will meet me at Redwoods National Park. Okay, this is not going as well as I thought it would. Once he leaves then I settle down and figure I will do what I want in my own time. So I shave and take my time then move out stopping here to walk the beach, and there to look for Roosevelt Elk. At Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park he has left word with the ranger to tell me he is on up at the next park. So I putz along at thirty five miles an hour enjoying the drive through the redwoods at my own leisurely pace. I find him there dumping his tanks, which he was intent on doing today. He tells me he is just having a bad day and this happens sometimes with his condition. Therefore, we work it out that we will just go with the flow as to how things go. I suggest we have at least an end of the day destination set so if we separate we can rendezvous there. He agrees. Up the road we stop at a greasy spoon diner (you could slide your feet along the floor for all the grease there was on it) for a hamburger (where he bites his tongue hard enough to cause it to bleed) then decide to stay someplace free, which I am all for. A few miles further at Smith River, we park at an Indian Casino place. This is nice, on the dirt off by itself. We talk with another RVer who has just come down out of Oregon ten miles north where they stayed at Harris Beach Campground, very nice with full hook-ups at twenty-two dollars. Now John thinks we should go there as he can be plugged in and charge up his batteries! It is Friday and the RVer said we might need reservations. I asked if it filled up last night (yes), and the RVer says we could always come back here. I know we are not going to get in. I never go to a campground on a Friday. I tell John to go ahead and I will meet him somewhere. He agrees and we get maps out to determine "somewhere". When I return with my map, he changes his mind and decides to stay here! This is like traveling with a woman! I am not sure how this is going to hold together for two more weeks. He is tired and lays down for a nap around two P.M. or so. This gives me a chance to be alone where I walk down to the beach and watch the green tide roll in. It is this mucky green stuff. I cannot find anyone who knows anything about it. No marine life whatsoever. Pollution? Back at the RV, I am relaxing with a beer and writing. Seafood buffet tonight but at twenty-two dollars. I cannot afford it, but I sure would love a plate full of crab.

These RVers are in a Lazy Daze RV about the size of mine and have been living full time out of it for seven years now. She is sixty-two and he seventy-four. It was her idea and he was reluctant. They love this lifestyle. She was so much into life on the road and felt so bad for me (I only say that my wife doesn't share the enthusiasm for road tripping as I do, I don't go into the sordid details), fun, upbeat and a good looking sixty-two. I told Vince I was going to kidnap his wife. Although he was a bit overweight (too many Indian casino buffets?), he was active, tan and full of life. He is out there in the brisk air wearing only shorts while cleaning his RV. I had to put on a heavy coat. I enjoy talking to people like this. They make you feel good about yourself. Debbie, the RVer, is telling me what I can say to my wife. I told her I'd get further by talking to that wall over there, and be safer too, but I didn't say that.

Saturday–Edson Creek, north of Port Orford, OR.

As for John I think I have him better understood and I try to keep in mind that everything may be a result of his accident. I learned he was in the truck driving through Yellowstone when two trees fell down across the road and crushed him in the truck. The first thing he remembered was flying in the medical EVAC helicopter and he asked "Where are we going?" The attendant said Idaho and John said "Cool, I've never been there" and passed out again. He came to, days later in the hospital. The Park Service paid for the entire medical ($100,000) and the care and transport of him and his possessions. They offered $240,000 and his attorney said he could appeal but if it was denied then he could possible not get anything. Being not greedy, he settled for the two-forty. This was in 2001. He later learned that the first person on the scene was a vacationing doctor from Australia. He crawled through on the passenger side and held John's head still until they could get a collar on him. John says he owes him for saving him from being a quadriplegic for the rest of his life.

So I am seeing in him concern for details as to where we should go next and how to go about it. He will go over it several times throughout the day much of which includes changes of the mind. I am trying just to go with the flow but it can be taxing. Today we sort of went our own ways in the general direction with me leaving camp after him (again) and stopping here and there as I please. Meanwhile, he is doing likewise.

I came through a town and found him sitting in the sun on a street corner. He was doing laundry. He never said he was thinking of doing laundry today. It may have been a snap decision. I struggled for over an hour trying to get online which put me way behind "schedule" but somehow we met along the way, and that is how it has happened several times since. We stuck together for the last few miles arriving at a beautiful BLM Camp inland from the coast. We have the entire campground to ourselves, he at one end in the sun and I at the other. He wanted to be next to the creek to hear the water flow. I know how that is when trying to sleep at night. I went to the other end so I could listen to the birds plus I need some space. Perhaps he does also. Here you drive right onto the nicely mown lawn and camp. This grass looks like a golf course. There are birch trees, liquid ambers, pines, berry bushes, the said stream flowing, very peaceful all for only eight dollars with half off due to the my Annual Pass card daughter gave me for Christmas. We'll stay at least two days here.

Sunday–Edson Creek still

I finally had time to go for my morning walk/jog. I went up the road we came in on and found quite a few very nice cabin style homes along the way. I can see why people would like to live here in this forest, as it is very quiet and secluded. I would not like it that much not only for being unable to see far into the distance but the homes do not get sunshine for the full day. But here in camp the sun shone full on all day and the temperature climbed up where I was able to just walk around in shorts. Now that was nice. I did some sorting, reorganizing and throwing out of some items, mostly first aid items that I have been hauling around for twenty-five years or more. What got me going on this was trying to locate my sewing kit so I could get a needle and dig out a splinter. It was then I realized I need to go through some of this stuff and what better day than today.

John came by today, one of a dozen of times, asking if I wanted to stay a third night. This was fine with me since it is so nice and the price is right. Naturally, late in the day, he's changed his mind and we will "see how we feel tomorrow". It was approaching dinnertime and he was here again pouring over possible campsites after this one. Knowing of course, all of this was tentative and subject to change, several times over. He was wearing me down and I needed to get on with dinner, a barbequed burger.

It is now six P.M., dinner is done and so are the dishes. I am listening to soothing mellow music while writing this and looking forward to getting back to my book for the evening.

Monday

Yep, he changed his mind and decided to not stay another night here. Just as well, for last night, I discovered my new bag of coffee is whole BEANS, not ground! Panic!! Therefore, I would have to go to town anyway and find some coffee or someone to grind my beans! Ha on me!

(Later Monday) I am at the bottom end of the Oregon Sand Dunes Area north of Coos Bay writing this. It is suppose to be ten dollars according to my 'Cheap & Free' campground directory but found it to be twenty instead. The U.S. Forest Service has raised fees evidently since the book was printed last year. With John the Gimp's disability, he gets half off and we park two in a spot, with an additional "car" free. As I wrote, there are little issues and difficulties traveling with him so what do I do? Spilt away or hang in there? I feel I am prostituting myself in some weird way. Those who know me can appreciate the dilemma when it comes to saving a buck. A week from tomorrow he has that appointment in Eugene for the solar panel installation and for sure I have decided not to follow him inland for that. I do not care to waste the fuel and the solar panels may not be something I need after all. I suspect he will want to start working his way inland by the end of this week, maybe even sooner based on past experiences. Time will tell.

Tuesday

The morning held promise of sunshine but now at eight-thirty it is a light rain. Whatever John's plan for the day is I am at least going to check out a nearby BLM free camp. The write-up depicts it as a boat ramp and John does not like that. I at least need to check it out. If we move on north I see some BLM Camps twenty miles east of Reedsport that are designated as FREE.

I neglected to mention that once arriving here yesterday and the drizzle stopped, I took the one plus mile trail around Bluebill Lake and saw a beaver up close. I think that is a first for me. Naturally I didn't have my camera with me.

The umbilical cord has been severed.

When the rain stopped we both came outside. I told John I was going to drive up to the end of the road to see the ocean and planned on checking out the BLM camp after that, but would stop back by camp before doing so. He said he was ready to leave anyway. He wanted to go up the coast to Umpqua Lighthouse State Park, get hook-ups so he could run his heater, and be warm. I could find him there. "Sounds like a plan." I looked at the ocean, came back and visited with the Forest Service Ranger who didn't know of the BLM place until he read my book, then steered me in the right direction−right down to the other end of the road. He also looked at my Annual Pass Card and said he was ninety-nine-percent sure it was good for the half-off discount at Forest Service campgrounds. I do not think so but I am going to anyway quoting him if anyone asks.

At the BLM boat launch camp, I visited with the crusty old couple who have lived there for two and a half years out of their fifth wheel. First off, this place is nice, quiet, no one else here and best of all FREE. The host tells me about the wreck out on the coast and how twenty two million dollars are being spent to clear it away. Then he tells me about the twenty five million dollars spent on the railroad passing by which was used for two years until they discovered the tunnels the railroad went through were unsafe. He pointed out how the rails were all welded together into one smooth rail with no _clickity clackity_ when the train rolls by. Also there are cement railroad ties, all very interesting and new to me. Then he went on about the repairs to the bridge crossing Coos Bay. When were done talking we had spent over a hundred million dollars in just a matter of a few minutes!

At the road's end, I decided to hike out the sand road hoping to view the shipwreck. Just as I was ready to leave, a couple pulls up in their truck. They did not know much about this area but knew the story of the wreck for it had been all over the Oregon news. We started on separate trails and once on my way hiking through the woods, I felt as if a great weight had been lifted from me. I was free and unfettered and learned a valuable lesson: I am at my best when traveling alone. I think my serendipitous way of doing things was just too much for John's way of thinking.

It was not long before our trails merged and the three of us walked and talked for several miles not ever getting any closer to the shipwreck. They were a nice couple from the northern part of Oregon on their way home. He is a retired instructor who went back to work part time at a private Catholic school. After a couple of miles, it became obvious the shipwreck was on the other side of the forest covered sand spit. Nadine and I were ready to turn back but her husband insisted on going further. We stood there visiting waiting for him to discover his own folly.

Back at the RV, I ate lunch while my legs twitched through recovery. I called John the Gimp who was already settled in at Umpqua, informed him of my newfound digs, and I would stay the night here, maybe two. He said he was cool with that and asked for me to call tomorrow if I did indeed decide to stay another night.

I decided to follow the campground host's directions and park at the information turnout and hike in on that sand road to the beach for a view of the shipwreck. I had a grand time hiking through dense low forest at the dunes edge, along ponds with ducks and other bird life. At the ocean, I descended the dunes and stepped onto barking sands. Yep, it made a barking noise when you walked on it. Down the coast, I could see the wreck and I was seductively drawn to it walking a couple miles just to get a closer look. Now as I write this, I must have hiked close to eight miles today, much on sand and surely, I will feel it tomorrow.

Wednesday–North of Reedsport

We, meaning Sinbad and I, awoke to a foggy, drippy morning at the boat launch facility finding we still had the place all to ourselves. Soon three cars pulled up all of whom were going to get into the cold cold water and chase crabs. One, the older grey haired guy had scuba tanks while the other two would just snorkel. I would rather go to Safeway and get my Dungeness Crab than to freeze my testicles off trying to locate a freebie.

We went back over the long and high McCullough Bridge into North Bend where the library provided a good internet connection then into Coos Bay for the bags of salad I forgot to get on the last grocery purchase. We retraced our tracks north then stopped at Winchester Bay overlook for lunch. I had planned to turn inland at Reedsport and drive up the Smith River twenty-five miles to a free BLM camp. I missed the turn-off and reasoned anyway that the savings in the camp fee would be spent using the fuel for the fifty mile roundtrip, so I was not bothered much by my error in navigation.

Tankenitch Lake showed a Forest Service Camp and I wheeled in there and selected a site where the trees did not interfere with the satellite radio reception. Here the pay slot for the camp fee envelopes was taped off and a sign advised that the host would be around to collect fees, and she did in a matter of minutes. Camping was twenty dollars and I presented her with my Annual Pass Card and a ten dollar bill. She was quick to inform me that this card did not apply to a discount and I was quick to enter into my dumb mode. "Oh really? Gee, the Forest Ranger at Horsefall Beach honored it. I'm confused." She was very nice and explained that the Forest Service planned to shut down many campgrounds due to funding cutbacks when a management agency stepped in and took over operations. She went on to list forest service camps up and down the coast in this district that would accept it (not being managed by the agency) and those that would not. By this time I was genuinely confused which she agreed all of this was very confusing indeed. "They're always changing policy. In fact, I am to be at a meeting very soon. That is why I stopped by before I had to leave." She then said "Oh poo" and took my ten dollars.

After taking Sinbad for a walk, I headed out on a nearby trail. The sign stated the beach was a mile and a half so off I went. The trail was straight out of Alice in Wonderland or some other fairy tale. Dense woods, thick undergrowth on both sides of a soft cushioned path enveloped by shrubs and giant rhododendrons covered with pink blossoms. After a half a mile, the trail broke free of the jungle and opened out onto the sand dunes. I stood there facing a one-mile slog through the dunes in order to reach the beach and water. No thanks. I went back to camp and brewed a cup of tea.

Thursday–Siltcoos Beach

After an earlier scouting mission for a likely camp spot for the evening, we motored north to just below Florence, Oregon. There along a five-mile long sand spit we drove out to the south jetty and parked for the day. Here the wind was whipping up fairly good creating a wind-chill factor that was none too comfortable. Nevertheless, being the intrepid sniveling adventurer I am, I explored around a quiet little bay then ate lunch. I took Sinbad out for a walk and tried to introduce him to the shoreline of the bay for which I received a nice claw gouging of my left hand. After I stitched myself up, I hiked through the dunes towards the surf...without Sinbad! Here the wind out of the north did all it could to keep me from making any progress to the jetty. Walking backwards did not help much. I saved three Sand Dollars from the gulls, played with a little crab then decided I had had enough abuse and walked the jetty road back to the RV.

Five miles back down Highway 101 and we pulled into Siltcoos Beach Campground where only one other camper resided, then after a cup of tea, we both laid down for a nap. Naptime was short-lived by the incessant droning sound of a leaf blower. The blower kept on and on where I finally had to go outside and try to determine where it was coming from. It seemed to be getting closer. I walked around the bend of the camp road and was blown away (no pun intended) by the sight of the campground host lady giving each campsite parking pad and the road connecting them a blowjob. Good grief, this is a National Forest campground, not Thousand Trails or KOA! This woman was determined to get every offending pine needle off the asphalt. I figured once she rounded the curve and saw a camper, us, which she would stop from coming any further. I figured wrong. I sat inside and was amazed that she came right up to the front bumper and worked her way back blowing to beat all hell. She crossed over to the campsite across from us, shut the contraption down, unstrapped it from her meaty back and sat down at the picnic table for a break. Here she lit up a smoke then proceeded to fill the gas tank of the leaf blower. I watched, I waited (and with what I am ashamed to say later, with a slight bit of hope), but nothing came of it. With her smoke break done, she put on her helmet and ear protectors, fired up the screaming monster and continued on starting at our back bumper. That was it. Now Sinbad was disturbed so out I went. The idiot woman is trying to hear what I have to say over the roar of the motor, pulls her one ear protector off to hear me better, but to no avail. I threw up my arms and yell "Forget it. It's not worth the effort!" She says "I'm sorry sir. I have to clean the campground. I am almost done." On the way out tomorrow, I am considering letting her know what it was of the conversation that she missed out on. The lunacy of cleaning a campground of pine needles, that I came here to get away from infernal contraptions like leaf blowers, that she woke me up from my nap and scared the bejesus out of my cat. I am not so sure if I should mention filling a gas tank while smoking a cigarette or just leave her to be a possible contender for a Darwin Award.

Friday

It is just too nice of a morning to deal with Blower Woman when I leave. I went for a hike this morning discovering several trails that could keep me entertained for a couple of days. The beach is nearby without requiring trudging through a mile of dunes. There are over a hundred campsites within in the two campgrounds and I would be surprised if a dozen campers are here. With the weekend upon us, I think it best to stay put with a sure thing and enjoy what we have. A good internet connection is just up the road a couple of miles by the lake resort then we will come back and stay in the campground across the road far away from Blower Woman who I suspect may plan to do some pruning with the electric hedge clippers today. Or perhaps steam clean the picnic tables for some have bird shit on them. Lord knows what she has planned to disturb the peace and tranquility of Lagoon Campground.

All the beaches with dunes, from California up I have been coming across roped off sections of dunes protecting Snowy Plover nesting areas. I never mentioned it until now for I was waiting to see my first bird, and today I saw her. Just a little thing, smaller than a robin, was running across the sand from her protected area toward the water. She never took flight.

The Snowy Plover lays her eggs right out on the open sand in the somewhat sheltered dunes. The speckled eggs, half the size of a golf ball and oval, are very well camouflaged, blending right into the sand, therefore easily crushed by foot or tire. In fact, any type of disturbance and the parents will abandon the nest. The female will lay three eggs, one each day and many nests are found containing only one egg. Evidently, it takes very little to frighten the parents away. I learned in this area, the Siltcoos Beach, there are only one hundred twenty-three birds and only seven nests have been located. When the biologists do find a nest, they will place a wire mesh cage over it to protect the nest from gulls and crows, yet the parents can still get through. In the thirteen years this area has been under protection during the nesting season, the population has increased by a hundred birds−not much for thirteen years. A Plover's lifespan is two to three years.

When the chicks hatch (one each day) the male will protect the chicks for twenty-four days then they are on their own. If that wasn't harsh enough, the parents do not feed them. After they dry out from the egg-hatching ordeal, the chicks must work their way down to the ebb tide to feed themselves. To make matters worse for these little balls of fluff, if a biologist catches them, they get a leg band right way. For a week afterward, they run around in circles until they fully develop the muscles in that leg with the band. (I made that last part up)

Sunday – Siltcoos Beach

Today we leave Camp Leaf Blower and Waxmyrtle, the latter being the loop across the road away from the crazy woman. Siltcoos Beach provided many wonderful experiences these few days. Great hiking trails, seeing fresh deer tracks and bear poop, finding some pretty cool shells, spotting my first Snowy Plover, an encounter with the herd of Harbor Seals sunning themselves on the sand and great weather even if a bit breezy. The word has it that showers are expected for this next weekend of the Rally. This may cause a problem with the daily microwave/convection oven cooking seminars, the quilting get-togethers (I am not making this stuff up) and pot lucks where we will be sitting around the campfire wearing Good Sam Club vests with name tags and AARP buttons, sandals and knee-high socks singing folk songs and discussing who's awning is bigger and where the cheapest diesel is to be had. I have four days to kill before checking in so we cannot venture too far today as we are only a couple hours away from the festival grounds at Nehalem State Park. Therefore, I have lots of time to explore the coast leaving a full day to wash, wax and polish the motor home in preparation for the judging. (I am making that part up) There will be a two-hour presentation of all the modifications possible: suspension upgrades, the latest steps, nudge bar, installing multiple batteries, winch system, front and rear air compressors and hydraulic leveling systems. Why? It would be just more to deal with and more potential problems. I am all for keeping things simple. A published author and expert on drinking water safety and food dehydration will present a two-hour talk. Instead of installing a costly water filtration system I'll just continue buying gallon jugs of water at Walmart for fifty-nine cents and do you know how many Top Ramens you get in a case for only a few dollars? Then, ooh boy, a live POD Cast from a dealer near the "Mother Ship" (this is what the Winnebago factory is referred to as) in Iowa as to what to expect on the new 2009 models coming out. That is at three-fifteen P.M. Too bad. That is teatime for this boy. And all that is just for Saturday. Sunday is a morning non-denominational service in the meeting hall (I'll be on a trail communing with my own personal spiritual higher power), then a noon presentation on GPS and Geocaching. My GPS (AAA maps) work just fine. Finally, that afternoon is about the only thing I would be interested in hearing, "How to manage your RV without the need for generators, shore power (plugging in to an outlet) or expensive RV parks." Being I don't use the TV, DVD player, toasters, hair dryers, coffee makers, the air conditioner or run the heater all night as some do, my batteries never run low. I seriously doubt now that I will need the solar panel I was planning on getting. So why am I even going to this thing? When I find out, I will write about it. Meanwhile I am enjoying the journey; forget about the destination.

Oregonian Folk

We stopped in Florence at the Safeway store for a few supplies. Here I was able to observe Oregon people up close in their natural habitat. The temperature is fifty-two degrees, which permitted the indigenous population to cloth themselves in t-shirts, sleeveless tops, (two tank tops were noted), and shorts of varying lengths with short shorts not uncommon on the younger of the species. Sandals and flip-flops were in abundance. We then moved to the coast, at the North Jetty across the Siuslaw River from where we were a few days ago. Wind speed was noted to be at twenty to twenty-five mph creating a wind-chill factor of thirty-seven degrees. Clothing changed little except for the occasional hooded sweatshirt for the female of the species. Large sized dogs are very popular with black Labradors seemingly the more popular breed to own.

With my old insulated NATO coat, flannel lined Levis, knit cap and wool gloves I went out and braved the arctic-like conditions. No one noticed. Just a little over an hour later with nose running, face cold, sand in one eye and seriously sniveling, I returned to the motor home. The only thing worth noting out there is there were more driftwood on this side and all the seashells are on the south side. That and most of the people arriving here are not staying long. I suspect that it is due to the stinging wind-blown sand cutting their beach visit short, for they are not putting on more clothing. The funny part is the young families with a couple little ones in tow, spend more time getting out of the car, preparing, packing up and reversing the entire process than they do out on the beach. I am sitting inside my little home at the jetty parking area, listening to classical music and having a beer in honor of Father's Day, which I just discovered, is today. Later we will move back into town for just outside of it was an Indian Casino with free overnight parking. Wow, what a Father's Day gift! What I should do is take what I would pay for a camp fee and gamble, hopefully winning a tank of diesel fuel. However, I don't think I could tolerate the cigarette smell.

Tuesday.

I ended up driving further than I had planned due to the fact there were no places to stay unless we opted for private campgrounds. No thanks. We found a nice little county park on Whalen Island south of Tillamook, the cheese place. Nice, quiet, only a few tenters here, by a bay where you can dig for clams. When checking in, I was given a brochure that shows all the parks in Tillamook County. One is thirty miles from the Rally site and has showers. This will be good. I can clean things up (including me). See, I would not have known this had I not stopped here. These county parks need to be considered in the future since they are less money than State and Federal Parks and not as popular, therefore less populated.

I went for a long hike this morning before leaving Sutton Beach and my butt cheeks are still sore from the trudging the sand dunes. I think no more hikes for a while. I jogged some on the way back after noticing some bear poop along the way. This is the second bear poop I've seen but no bears. The trails are in dense forest, with soft paths of moss and pine needles, overgrown with rhododendrons, ferns, and other plants unknown to me, all by flowing streams. I thought of rounding some turn startling some hikers as I was running. They ask _why are you running?_ Gasping for breath, I'd wheeze "Bear!"

Wednesday

I woke this morning to what I felt was the best morning view I have had so far on this trip. I realized what it was...being in the open. Camped in the grassy field and the ability to see for miles with the horizon marked by tree-covered mountains is great. On the other side of me, out my bedroom window are the mudflats dotted with gulls and one lone Blue Heron searching for breakfast. This is what I enjoy about life on the road. Each day begins with new sights, sounds and smells. (later) Did I say something about no more hikes? I walked over to the neighboring nature preserve and came across a trailhead. Like a Siren luring a sailor to his fate, I was seduced into a one-point-five mile hike around the island. That was fine though for my reward was a Bald Eagle sighting.

(A week later)

I arrived home yesterday at three-thirty P.M. I left Camp Nehalem at seven A.M. on Monday under unpleasant conditions. You see, I was trying to get sick. Like Friday evening I went to a potluck...well let me back up. I was invited down the line for breakfast on Friday morning. These folk from Texas were having eggs, bacon, ham and other gut-plugging artery clogging items of delight to eat. To look at Roy and Judy, it shows that they eat like this all the time. In fact, they make no bones about hitting every Indian Casino buffet they see along the road. Now with that said, they are wonderful and friendly people, just in poor health. Therefore, that breakfast sat with me for the day. Then the potluck luck that night, which had a spread that would compete against any Indian Casino Buffet. One item was Roy's Road Kill Stew in a Crockpot. I had to try it. I went back for seconds. I went back for thirds but the Crockpot was empty by that time. Simply awesome. Now come Saturday and I am getting sick; sick in the sense of achy, slight fever and sore throat. I blame it not on anything I ate for no one else was that way. It was just the constant cold damp bone chilling Oregon weather for two weeks finally got its grip on this California desert boy. I skipped the potluck Saturday and Sunday evenings. I did mingle through the days, went to some talks and have to say the coolness of being outside made me feel better, but I was constantly taking aspirin and gargling. So as I was saying, I left early Monday while yet another Texas Breakfast was in progress. I said I had already ate (I hadn't), said my goodbyes while watching the eggs and pancakes sizzle in a skillet full of grease.

On the road, I could think of nothing else but a large mocha and Oregon is littered with espresso shops so this was not hard to procure. The large triple shot mocha felt soothing on my throat. It took a couple hours to weave our way through the mountains away from the coast over to I-5 at Salem. I have to remark, Salem is a very nice looking town for what I saw of it, the best of the trip for large communities. I then realized if the mocha was so good, why not a large chocolate shake for lunch? And this I did which I sipped and nursed throughout the day, and followed the same treatment the next day too.

While texting my wife and driving, I was considering trying to make the drive all in one shot but could not. Around Ashland she texted back to me that from Redding I would still be facing two hundred miles or four hours of driving. Any other time maybe, but being as I wasn't hitting on all cylinders I knew I'd be toast by the time I rolled into home at ten P.M. I called it a day and was set up in a campground near Dunsmuir at five P.M., exhausted. However, being back in warm California was all the medicine I needed even if the skies looked like Los Angeles with all the fires. For the first time on the trip, I was able to wear flip-flops and that night slept in my usual state of undress. Yesterday morning I felt wonderful (and happy that I had nipped this in the bud) with only a slight scratchiness left in the throat. Six hundred thirty-six miles all totaled.

As for the Rally, I began taking notes and writing about the people I met that Thursday afternoon when I pulled in. Come Friday I met so many more and found everyone so very nice, pleasant and friendly that I wrote no more feeling they deserved better than my making sport of them. All my fears for the event went unfounded. I had a good time, met many wonderful people as I said and learned a lot, mostly were items and features in my View that I assumed came from the factory that way only to discover were done by the previous owner. Would I do it again? Probably not to the extent of making a point of it. However, if one was being held and I was on the road nearby, then I most likely might stop by for a day or two.

There were supposedly around eighty units there with most having two people. I would say less than ten Views were with only one person like me. They were from all over the country plus two Canadians. Lots of dogs, and a few traveling cats. Sinbad did well with all the visitors.
ABORTED TRIP TO TEXAS  
September 2009

I am on my way a little after nine am. I listen to music from the 60's which brings back a flood of memories, wondering if they were better days. How can that be? Here I am retired and free and am thinking such thoughts. After a few hours of this and with melancholy sitting in I switch to techno music. Now I think of Burning Man and watch for Burners on the way home and began to wonder why I no longer enjoy that event. What is wrong with me? Why can't I seem to enjoy my place in life? Why do I seem too long for something that I know not what it is? I reach Lahotan Reservoir camp in Nevada just past four P.M. after battling wind and dust storms for that last hour or so of driving. I am tired and lay down for two hours.

The next morning I am feeling bad. I woke up in the middle of the night with a sore throat. This is not good. The last thing I want is to be sick on the road. I drive east on Highway 50 towards Austin. At night I feel the soreness going away, or so I like to hope.

I feel much better the following day but only drive nineteen miles to Hickson Campground. I don't do much. Sinbad is settling in to the routine. I think he'd rather be home but he'd rather be with me more. He can't have both. We have the campground all to ourselves. I sit around camp, lie down inside, read, nap and watch the day crawl by. By evening I'm not doing that well. Evenings are always that way when you are sick.

I make it through the night and am still improving although the throat is not one hundred percent. We drive on to Illiapah Reservoir just past Eureka, Nevada. These are all the same stops I made five years ago in the Isuzu Trooper. The reservoir is extremely low from before. It is very peaceful and quiet. There is an older couple here from Vermont with a tent trailer. They're birders I think. I'd like to go talk with them about Vermont but my throat just isn't up to the task. Someday I'd like to visit their state.

Every morning I wake up thinking about my throat. Is it better or the same? I think each day is a bit better. I finally take my first long walk. It feels wonderful to do so again. On the way to Ely we take a side trip to Ruth to view what was once the world's largest copper mine. I could not see that much since the view point was closed as the visitor season is over. In Ely I am expecting a great fuel mileage reading since there were tailwinds most of the way and drove fifty-five mph most of the time but get only 17 mpg. North of McGill is supposed to be a campground but my FREE camping directory is not that clear with the directions. The road turns into washboard and a sign warns me NO TURNAROUND BEYOND THIS SIGN _._ We turn around immediately and continue on north – two hours of lonely desolate highway to Wendover, Utah with no place to camp along the way. Any other time I would relish such a road, but now I do not. I turn the satellite radio on to sixties music. Again, those good memories return. Again, the melancholy soon follows. Fortunately I know right where to go to camp off the salt at Bonneville. I'm tired and hungry. I am looking forward to the Speed Week event but still concerned about my condition. Sinbad is beat.

Wow! The first thing I see before driving onto the salt in the morning is standing water, and you must drive through it! This was not so last time I was here five years ago. Egads! This is nasty stuff. Not something you want to get on your vehicle and yet people back east drive in this stuff every winter? Crazy! I crawl through it very slowly and am pleased to see only the tires and fender wells have any salt deposits when I reach the pit area. Oh but to see some of the other cars. They just blasted through the salty brine without care totally covering the vehicle in white salt crust.

It is nice to be among all the racing machinery once again. I see this old grey beard at the start line. His family is there with him all wearing these t-shirts with his picture. He is very quiet and pensive about his run, which is normal for these racers. It's a long wait to get to the start line. It's touching to see his wife and daughters there saying "Go Dad! Good luck!" and such. He's off and they watch. I ask his wife, how old he is–sixty-two. Then she and the daughters go on telling me how he had a quadruple by-pass five years ago, recovered and wanted to do this. The wife wanted me to know she just earned her motorcycle license recently. I tell them how guys like him are an inspiration to me. That I'm walking around here thinking I'm too old to start something like this and then I meet the likes of him. I get a lump in my throat and said good-bye.

Then there was the guy I met several days ago in camp. I was feeling poorly that evening when this Toyota pickup pulls in to the spot next to me. Off-road lights across the top and a high-end mountain bike in the back. I figure it's some young mountain biker here in Austin for the mountain bike competition. I check the guy out with binoculars and think I see a grey goatee. Upon closer inspection this guy isn't young. The next morning I walk over to talk with Ron from Texas asking about places to visit in his state. He looks in great shape, lean and fit. He tells me about some things I might be interested in Texas and then I have to ask him "How old are you?" He's sixty-five and looks ten years younger and I tell him so. He tells me his story: He used to weigh two-hundred-two pounds, had a stroke and his wife of thirteen years who was twenty-one years younger than he divorced him out of fear of having to take care of an invalid the rest of her life (they're still friends). He didn't blame her one bit. He turned his life around, got fit by exercise and dieting and now weighs one-fifty. I think he said it was six months when he started on this program. He likes to rock climb also, keeping it to simple bouldering instead of ropes and all. "It makes you think." He was returning from three weeks in Truckee with his sister who lives there. He pointed across the way and said, "See that hill? One like that was at my sister's place. I tried to ride my bike up and had to stop three times wheezing, catching my breath. Each day I tried again. Before I left I could go up non-stop, no problem. One day a thirty-something went whizzing on by me, but I didn't let it bother me." He said he feels all the same things I do. I demonstrated the difficulty I have squatting and standing up straight and he just shook his head. He just accepts it as part of getting older. I thought something was wrong with me because I was out of shape, but here's this guy who feels what I do. He too used to run like me, did marathons and now if he tries any running, his knees hurt him for three weeks after. That too was good to hear for I thought I should be able to overcome that, but now I know maybe not. Ron was an inspiration for me. He looked much better than I, and was in much better condition but taught me that what I am experiencing I may as well get used to it and not to expect any changes. He didn't come right out and say that but I got the message anyway. It's what is in your head that matters. Think and be positive. He went on to tell me about his friend who was diagnosed with cancer and the doctors said he had about six months left of life. He did a lot of research and is still here six years later. "I've never known a person with a more positive attitude than he" Ron said. Ron was a really nice fellow, good looking for a sixty-five year old, a good catch for any woman (wonder what his ex looked like) and I was very happy to have made the effort to talk with him. He was stopping off at Bonneville too.

I'm going through a lot of inner searching while on this trip wondering a lot about myself and am coming up with more questions than answers. I meet people, talk with them and learn a lot about what to expect from myself and not be so hard on myself. This is becoming a work in progress and a major part of this journey in addition to seeing places I've not already.

I have a lot to think about.

The temperatures are in the nineties and the glare from the sun off the salt is intense. Even though I am slowly feeling better I feel it best not to linger in these conditions for the four days of the event as it is very draining. I am okay with that and decide to leave the following day. I'll come back another time as I understand they have a meet in August for motorcycles only. I stop off at the car wash in Wendover and thoroughly clean underneath. I feel I washed all the salt off. I don't want the RV to look like it lived in Massachusetts.

I arrive in Delta Utah. There is nothing that great about Delta, Utah. I hope to find a campground or anything as I am quite tired from driving. I guess I don't have it like I used to. If I don't find anything I know not what I'll do for it's a long way to the next place. One of the things I noted about Utah, all the women mow the lawns−push mowers, power mowers and riding tractor mowers. You must wear a white t-shirt and jeans while mowing. Utah is a strange place. I have a cup of tea before I leave the Days Inn free Wi-Fi where I found two RV parks in Delta. I will go there and hopefully have internet services too.

I select Antelope Valley RV Park. Normally twenty-eight dollars but she knocked off three dollars since I didn't have any memberships for a discount. So why even belong to Good Sam, AAA, or whatever? At any rate, twenty-five dollars well spent for hook-ups. I have no choice as all the spots have hookups. I take a nice shower, get the AC going and brew a cup of tea. I am happy to have found this place that I celebrate with a skirt steak for dinner. There are not that many people in the park and those that are, are all big rigs–fifth wheels and large coaches. I'm the small guy. Those few RVers are from all over–Iowa, Indiana and the like, the mid-east. I watch a guy struggle to back in his huge fifth wheel. What a hassle. Why he doesn't take one of the pull-throughs I don't know. Probably the old lady wants to be in the shade.

That night I look through the visitor's magazine that Marva (now there's a Utah name) gave me when I checked in. I realize I am in the prime fossil area I long ago wanted to come to. I became all worked up about backtracking on Highway 50 to these areas. After more research I see I'd need four wheel drive, my Isuzu Trooper or old Land Rovers, to get to these sites. Oh well, another missed opportunity in my life. I guess I will continue on down the road and stay at another RV campground with the other retired folk in their fifth wheels and large motor coaches.

We stay next in a Forest Service Campground, Maple Grove, south of Scipio, Utah. It is nice even with some Mexicans holding a family reunion. The noise isn't bad. I watch one of the teenage girls come out of the outhouse crapper in bare feet. Yuck! Some clown has his generator running at all hours so I had to check it out the next morning to see who it was. It was the campground host!

Everyday is a struggle to keep going. Leaving the Salt Flats was a particularly bad day, a long drive with nothing to see and no prospects for it to get any better. The idea of dealing with the same, driving through gigantic Texas seems foreboding. Before I left a friend had told me it would be boring driving through Texas for days on end and if I didn't find it so, he'd find a psychiatrist for me. The next morning I start out expecting as much as the day before but no matter how much I try to be gloomy, I am enjoying the drive.

Somewhere in Utah I come to the proverbial fork in the road and am given a choice to make–go left and continue on to Texas or turn right and venture away from the plan. I went left for I knew there was a campground nearby and didn't want to give up just yet. What I didn't know was the campground is right in the middle of Capitol Reef National Monument. I have never been here. The campground has seventy campsites and is situated in a canyon on a grassy meadow within an old fruit orchard. The apples are delicious. The entire valley is the remnants of an early Mormon homestead of ten families. The nice part is there is an abundance of hiking trails among the Navajo Sandstone cliffs and canyons. This place is truly a gem and I decide to stay awhile. In the visitor center parking lot I see license plates from all over the U.S. People are traveling despite a sagging economy.

The next day I go for a hike up into a canyon that begins right out of the campground. Very pretty rock formations all red sandstone like in Zion. At a trail junction it veers to a natural bridge three miles away. My heart just isn't in to it. I continue on, meeting the only other hikers so far–two old grey haired women. The sight of these two old ladies lifts my spirits. Soon I find myself overlooking the highway below. Shall I go back the way I came or walk back via the highway? I do the latter. Down in the parking lot below is a trial leading to another natural bridge so I decide to do that one as it is only one-point-seven miles in. By now I have hiked over two miles and looking at the map I am facing another two miles back to the visitor's center then another one mile to camp. A half mile into this new trail I turn back fearing my feet would be hamburger by the time I reached camp. Maybe the truth of the matter is I just don't have it in me.

Back at camp I am pleased with what I did and having done at least that much. I also make the final decision. I scratch going to Texas.

I leave camp the following day. I'm doing okay as now I have made _the decision_. The drive out from Capitol Reef is on a Scenic By-way and they aren't kidding. It is spectacular. The aspens are just beginning to turn and in couple weeks should be gorgeous. I imagine that scene against a backdrop of red Navajo Sandstone cliffs and formations as far as the horizon. It must be truly magnificent and why this is a popular destination in the fall. I would not have seen this had I continued on with the plan to go to Texas. Fortunately I did not. I turned away as most every day has been a struggle to continue on.

I don't go through Zion National Park which was my plan. Coming from the north you have to go through a tunnel and if you're too big, you can't. Eleven feet four inches tall, seven feet ten inches wide including mirrors are the limits Thank goodness they tell you this at the turnoff to the park miles before arriving. Also you must be escorted through the narrow tunnel, requiring a fifteen dollar permit. Well, I am okay height wise but only had six inches to spare width wise. I'm sure the big coaches simply cannot go as they won't fit. Add to that, the park would charge twenty five dollars just to drive through, the park that is, not the tunnel. So I pull a U-turn as I don't need all that drama plus lack the patience to wait.

I stay the night in a Hurricane, Utah RV Park and get snowed upon for my final test of fortitude on this aborted trip. The remaining days driving home are uneventful, done in silence without sixties music to drag me down. I have seven hundred fifty miles to think and maybe get my head readjusted.
SPRING WILDFLOWER TRIP  
March – April 2010

It is the last few days of March and the weather report called for an entire week of rain. That is a good enough reason to no longer delay escaping the cold wet winters of Sonoma County. Every spring I like to begin the year's travels by heading for the desert seeking wildflowers and cactus blossoms. Sinbad and I left on a Monday morning at nine A.M. as the first showers began and arrived in Adelanto, CA. Four-hundred-sixty-seven miles later. I have fond memories of Adelanto. As a teenager along with my friends Larry, Gary and Cliff we would drive here from our southern California home to shoot .22's at anything that moved. It was all barren desert back then with very few buildings if any for miles around. Ten years later I would be returning to this area for some of my first motorcycle desert races on a little Hodaka 90. Today it is built up with huge tracts of homes, mini-malls, truck stops, a civic center, motorcycle parks and more. I located an RV park, Adelanto RV. It looked more like a squatter's encampment for the possibly homeless seeking cheap rent in their desert beaten trailer or camper. The office was closed. A woman who looked like she was living out of her car pulled up alongside as I read and re-read the self-registration instruction sign. It was the NO PIT BULLS part of the sign that caused me to pause. There had to be a story there. She was the 'assistant manager' meaning she worked on weekends when the owner was away. "Just fill out the envelope in the box, put in thirty dollars (the sign said thirty-three) and shove it through the slot" she said. "You can park anywhere." The envelope was no more than a business size envelope with 'Adelanto RV Park' stamped on it. If I were to put it through the slot now then leave to go eat, what proof did I have that I paid when I returned? There was no receipt. I decided to pay when I returned. I never went back. I went down the road, spied a Mexican food restaurant at a truck stop and stopped there to eat dinner. The food was very good, authentic but the beer was just cool. Instead of going back to the RV park we over-nighted with the truckers, saving thirty dollars and had probably a better night's sleep.

In the morning we pulled away, ate breakfast along the way by the side of the road and arrived at Anza Borrego State Park's Coach Whip Canyon Wash camp just after noon. This is a favorite remote camp area I had been coming to for years. This is the beauty of Anza Borrego–it is the only State Park where you can boondock camp. Although it was only seventy-five degrees it seemed warm to me coming from chilly northern California. I set up camp, pulled out the awning, carpet, chair and table and sat back to relax. Within the hours the wind picked up from a breeze to a hearty blow fest occasionally whipping up buckets of desert sand. By evening everything inside was gritty.

We left early for the little town of Borrgeo Springs which is surrounded by State Park land. If you ever go there, buy the bags of locally grown grapefruit that are for sale at stands. Four dollars a bag (honor system–leave money in the box). You've never had grapefruit so good in your life. From there I backtracked a few miles out of town to nearby Clark Dry Lake, the target for aircraft strafing run practice during the Second World War. I went off for a hike hoping to find more fifty caliber shell casings while the wind continued to blow unrelentingly. By a few hundred yards short of the lake I gave up and returned back to camp. A gusty evening rocked Sinbad and I to sleep.

Come morning it was peacefully still and quiet yet overcast. By ten A.M. the skies cleared and the sun shone brightly promising to be a wonderful day. I drove back into town and walked around checking the real estate offices. I do this every time I come here. It's a sort of a self-flagellating practice of mine for I have always had the dream of living out my life in little Borrego Springs. Prices were down for homes with one comparable to ours north of the Bay Area at half Sonoma County prices. Even a nice double-wide trailer at Roadrunner Trailer Park can be had for less than $40,000, not that I could ever live like that. Many of the businesses I remember were now gone, more causalities of the poor economy. I moved on up to the established State Park campground where I was given a senior discount of three dollars off the thirty-five dollar camp fee even though I was six months short of being the sixty-two year old age requirement. This is Easter Week and it showed with kids and their families about. I took an hour hike towards the far hills then bicycled up to my old camp from the previous year where came across a beautiful orange Coachwhip snake sunning himself in the road. I moved him over to the dirt to safety. We have to vacate the site by noon the next day but this will work fine as I planned to hike up into Palm Canyon.

The Palm Canyon hike is the most popular hike in Anza Borrego as it originates right from the campground. It is one hike I had never done probably due to its popularity. My plan was to get an early start and beat the crowd. I got a bit later of a start on the hike than I should have but fortunately no one was about and it didn't get too hot. It is a one and a half mile hike in which took me an hour and forty-five minutes to do, stopping many times for pictures and just enjoying the scenery. If you are lucky you may see Bighorn Sheep grazing up high on the rocky canyon walls. I've never been lucky. More and more people eventually began to appear and I thought it best to head on back. The return trip was only an hour thank goodness. I had misjudged my water and was down to one last sip at trails end. I wanted to stop at the visitor center but the parking lot was packed; there was a line at the restrooms and people milled around in the dozens. I looped through the parking lot and decided _next time_. I drove on to Yaqui Wells south from the little town and the State Park headquarters where I found one of our usual boondocking camp spots and rested for the remainder of the day with more wind for company.

The next day I wanted to ride my bike up the canyon to where I had caught butterflies twenty some years ago (I don't engage in such horrific acts anymore). I expected water in the stream as before but none was present. In fact it was nothing was I remembered it. Does the desert change that much in twenty years or has my memories deteriorated that much in twenty years? I left for camp on a different route with wind in my face, on an uphill slope, in soft sand. Twenty minutes later I made it to the road junction a bit beat. After a drink of water and a short rest I was ready to continue on back to camp. Now it was slightly downhill, the wind now pushed me along at a good clip and I rarely had to peddle any save for a few short hills. Seven miles total but it felt like I had done twice as much.

We left camp crossing the highway over to Tamarisk Campground and found it to be closed after everyone cleared out. "We are only open two days a week" the ranger ladies said. Welcome to bankrupt California. So it was back to Borrego Springs Campground. I missed getting our same site back by a few minutes and had to settle for the one across the way. I walked the campground smelling steaks on the barbeque along the way. We need to do this, bring steaks. I showered (the one good feature for this campground) and relaxed for the rest of the day.

The next day I took an alternate trail, longer, a bit more rugged, into Palm Canyon. This was a much enjoyed hike having the trail all to myself under cool overcast skies with just an occasional raindrop. I did not go to the palms as I had done that a few days earlier. I could either backtrack the way I came or take the regular trail out. I did the latter for it was quicker and I was glad I did. Off in the distance I could see a bus load full of college students across the canyon on the longer trail I just completed. I gave the visitor center another try and found it acceptable this time. I bought an easier to use bird guide. Now to use it. Around the center were all the cactus plants and flowers that are in the park so if you want to see and photograph it all with little effort, it's all there on their Nature Walk. Camp that evening was back to Coachwhip Canyon where we spent our first night. The wind was there waiting for us.

It is the still and quiet of desert mornings that I love. Around eight-thirty A.M. we left Anza Borrego State Park northward to Joshua Tree National Park. Several miles down the road my stomach began to gurgle (I've deleted the undesirable bits of my journal at this point. Believe me, you don't want to be reading it). Gradually I began to feel better and continued on to Coachella stopping at a market for some food including steak. I like skirt steak but here the Mexicans (you'd swear you were in Mexico by being here) call it "flap steak". On to Joshua Tree where I selected a fairly level site in Cottonwood Campground at the south entrance to the park. Despite my earlier intestinal problems I immediately took off for a 2.6 mile hike up to Mastodon Peak and back down having a wonderful time. I walked around the campground a little before having to return home to get out of the cold wind blowing outside.

Come morning we were greeted with more cold wind. We left camp and stopped off at the visitor center to pay our fifteen dollar entrance fee then motored slowly along the park road stopping along the way for anything that peaked my interest. The first campground I came to was White Tank with fifteen camp sites. At the very end I backed into #15 for lunch and liking the setting so much I decided to stay. Soon I was off for an hour and a half walkabout in the desert seeing nothing special. It wasn't until I returned did I discover Desert Chuckwallas living right close to camp. There's no need to walk miles out into the desert when everything to photograph is right at home. The wind died down as the day wore on but the temperature remained around sixty-degrees. Hmm...not much warmer than back at home in the North Bay.

It was a very cool night and I needed to wear something to sleep in. We left camp, putzed along down the road a few miles and toured the next campground, Jumbo Rocks, with no intent of staying - just looking. A few miles further we arrived at Ryan Campground. I stopped at the first empty site then drove the rest of the loop. That first site was all to be had and it was fine by me and claimed it. I got ready for a hike, ate six mini tortillas and took off for destinations unknown on a trail out of camp. I took my time watching birds along the way and keeping my eye out for a tortoise. I did fine a couple of burrows but no tortoise. A couple came along the trial and we talked. They told me of an old homestead further on over the ridge plus a mine shaft. I now had something for a destination. I eventually found the flattened home site littered with lots of tins. The idea crossed my mind as to look for the toilet area and walked around and around with no luck. I then tried to locate the mineshaft the couple had mentioned. Just when I was about to give up after thirty minutes of searching I finally found it. A grating covered the entrance s that squashed any hope of going in for a look. It was now time to start back but where was the trail? After about nearly fifteen minutes of looking I began to consider the notion of being lost. I started up a small canyon for a ridge knowing (hoping) I'd pick up the trial soon enough. Soon I spotted one of the trail markers I had erected. Had I not replaced that downed post when I was coming in I would have probably went up the wrong canyon. I beat feet for home in forty-five minutes, half the time I took getting there.

The following morning I walked up to a nearby homestead site for which the camp was named after, Ryan, and then moved on up the road to the next campground, Hidden Valley. I missed it and had to backtrack ten or so miles. A short drive around the camp revealed that all the sites were taken. Well it was a Friday after all. We left the park, drove through the desert town of Twentynine Palms then re-entered Joshua Tree at the west corner for Black Rock Campground. With one-hundred sites I felt sure we would get a spot. No such luck. Even though there was hardly anyone there, everything was reserved out. The park ranger lady told us of Joshua Tree Lakes RV Park about fifteen miles away to the east. I found the place out in the middle of nowhere. It looked to be in the developing stages but fit my needs and showers were a big plus. I asked the girl how anyone could find them since I noticed no signs along the way. "Well we don't advertise much as we don't want too many people here since we're not quite that ready." We picked a spot way out by the end with a nice view. About an hour later this yahoo from Idaho pulled up alongside leaving his obnoxious diesel engine running while trying to unload his fifth wheel. When the husband and wife started going back and forth shouting commands to each other, I moved up a row. Surprisingly by day's end the place gathered quite a few people from tenters on up, most all I suspect were overflow from the Joshua Tree. Why advertise when you can rely of the Joshua Tree rangers to send everyone your way? While there I phoned my aunt Florence in Glendale and told her we were nearby and would come by for a visit. She would be one-hundred years old in a little over a month.

It was a late start in the morning as we were not looking forward to driving into the cesspool of Los Angeles. I made a stop for groceries and fuel in Twentynine Palms then pressed on into the pit. Traffic moved along smoothly all the way thank goodness and only at the end for the last few miles was there any confusion in directions between Map Quest, the GPS and my trusty AAA map. Finally we were close-by, saw a Del Taco and stopped for a quick lunch. That was a first and last time for a Del Taco! It was now one P.M. After a two hour visit (I didn't want to wear her out) said good-bye and stopped for a quick beer (hell, she wore me out!) and made the escape from Los Angeles. Lord, that place needs a 9.0 earthquake in the worst way. I had two campgrounds picked out in Acton about a half an hour or so away. Again there was some confusion among the three navigation systems in use but finally arrived only to discover Robin's Nest RV Park was closed down. Back up the road a mile to a KOA and thirty-four dollars and thirty cents later we were camped with full hook-ups and Wi-Fi internet. It had been a long day and I was just this side of being toast.

In the morning I made a final dump of the tanks right at our spot and we were on our way to the poppy fields. The weather was gloomy, overcast and windy. It seems like every time I go to the California Poppy Reserve in Antelope Valley, weather conditions are always against me. I paid the eight dollar fee, parked and went out for some picture taking doing the best that I could under the windy conditions. I walked a trail to the top of a nearby hill wearing two pairs of pants, three shirts, a poncho, my bright blue knit cap and was barely comfortable. Meanwhile short pants, tank tops and flip-flops were to be seen on many of the visitors. In spite of the cold windy weather people were here in numbers, ever increasing as time wore on. Oddly half the people were Asians–enough to fill two tour buses. These people were tromping about in the fields ignoring signs to 'Stay on Trails' and oblivious to the shouting of park personnel "Stay out of the Fields!" They'd hog the paths making it difficult for oncoming pedestrian traffic to pass by. The concept of walking in single file is not in their intellect. The presence of these rude inconsiderate people with more bus loads arriving hastened my departure.

I left the poppy fields heading for Red Rock Canyon State Park stopping in the nearby dusty town of Mojave for a bucket of chicken for dinner. My favorite site, #6 was available as only a few campers were in the park. I went to go pay for our spot, twenty-five dollars. Back at camp I dressed as warm as I could although conditions were a bit better here than at the poppy fields, then went for a walk-about as I always enjoy doing here at Red Rock Canyon State Park. The next day I faced the all-day drive for home where it was still raining and...seasonably cold.
FAREWELL BLACK ROCK  
June 2010

It was great to be back on the road once again. I love driving my new-to-me 2006 Winnebago View as it is so effortlessly to do so and has all the comforts of home away from home. It feels like I am just driving a van and I have to remind myself _I have a small house behind me._ We made a stop at Camping World in Vacaville to get this little diamond shaped yellow plastic sign that states: _Pet Inside. In case of emergency, please rescue_. I saw one of these in someone's RV awhile back and just had to have one. I care about my cat. I have found since having Sinbad along on these road trips for the past ten years, I am more aware of not doing foolish things. I worry about him being left alone if I did something stupid and died.

The Black Rock Desert is situated an hour's drive north of Reno, Nevada. It is a huge ten mile wide by forty mile long dry lake, the partial remains of massive Lake Lahontan of Pleistocene times. You can see the high water mark, the bathtub ring, all around on the surrounding mountains in this area. We arrived at three-fifteen P.M., drove out onto the playa only about three miles and turned off the engine. I dared not to go further as the playa (what dry lakes are sometimes referred to as) was damp in places where it usually is not at this time of the year. When you see dark areas on the dry lake, those are places you do not want to drive into. The darkness means "wet" and you will certainly bog down and get stuck. Northern Nevada had had a series of late rains which made for lush green grasses, fragrant sagebrush with a few wildflowers thrown in for color.

Each time I come out here, I continue to be amazed at how quiet it is. This feature alone makes it always worthy of the seven hour drive. I had been coming here for over twenty years and it always feels as if I have come "home". The weather was very pleasant with a slight breeze and scattered clouds overhead. I rolled out my little carpet, set up the camp chair and table, sat down and stared out at the nothingness all around, while sipping a cup of tea - simply lovely. I looked over the notes I made in my little notebook, reading about the past two Burning Man events. This year I plan to not go, maybe never again. After fifteen years of participating in the event I have seen a lot of changes and I've had enough. It has become too big with upwards to seventy thousand people attending.

I read my Tristan Jones book until sundown, one of three books I brought along. I took a couple of sundown pictures which doesn't occur until seven-thirty P.M., fixed a light dinner (a diet meal), read some more and turned out the light at nine-thirty. I was asleep in no time. I've dispensed with all the bed clothing in the RV on this trip. It is just too much of a hassle putting sheets and blankets on the bed. I am reverting back to the sleeping bag. But the evening seemed so pleasant I thought I would do fine with just the comforter on me. Not! In the middle of the night I spread the Indian blanket on top and had to slip on my knit cap. In spite being cool, I slept good and had a hard time waking up in the morning.

I checked outside and saw that the carpet had blown over during the night. As I unrolled it a Kangaroo Rat scurried away under the RV. I didn't see him on the other side so figured he was up in the chassis somewhere. Sinbad eventually located him between the dual tires. I poked him out with the broom handle and he evaded Sinbad running up into the engine compartment. Poor Sinbad, he just isn't that good at catching mice; being an inside cat all his life has left him severely handicapped in the mouse catching department. After awhile we gave up and I went back in to eat breakfast. I then unloaded my Honda 90 Trail bike and motored up towards Trego Hot Springs.

Since I bought the VW Golf I have no need for the Honda 90 anymore around home so I plan to sell it after this trip, but now while riding it on the playa I begin to second-guess this idea. It is handy out here. But is it worth to keep just for one or two uses a year? I think not, but remain undecided on what to do. (I wound up selling it and have regretted doing so several times over the years since)

It seemed like a long ride but was only thirteen plus miles. I missed the regular route in to the hot springs and had come in too far below. This forced me to work my way through the lumpy bumpy terrain of sagebrush to the springs. I have a lot of memories of Trego, having spent many nights here and found myself a bit melancholy. Was it the memories or was it that things had changed? The Jan Barton Memorial sign was gone. So were the wood steps down into the water. Only a slimy silt-filled carpet remained. Surprisingly the place was quite clean from litter and trash and there were new signs posted all about. Warning signs, closed signs, historical information signs–all inevitable I suppose. Or maybe my feelings just knew that this may be the last time I will ever be here?

The water was the usual; hot at the spring source near the railroad tracks gradually cooling down as it flowed away down the narrow man-made dirt canal. Reeds and grasses choked the stream once the temperature cooled to a point where plant life could survive. I wandered around a bit, then got on the Honda, kicked it to life and puttered away glancing over my shoulder for one last look as I crossed the railroad tracks back onto the playa.

Several of the sand dunes on the playa were now fenced off with wood posts and rails. It is an attempt by the BLM and Friends of the Black Rock to keep motorized vehicles off of dunes. It is nice that they are being protected but the fencing poses an odd image, as if the dunes are corralled in from escaping. Two hours later I was back at camp.

I ate lunch (too much for my stomach bothered me all afternoon) and set up my shooting range for my little .22 rifle. My first shot was at a small fist sized rock fifty-feet away and I hit the thing! I shot at it again to see if it was just dumb luck and hit it again. "Careeeinggg" The bullet ricocheted off down the playa. I was very surprised to say the least. I then placed a paper target out a hundred feet and two tin cans out at hundred-eighty feet and two-hundred-twelve feet. First shot at the target–bull's-eye. I shot again. Another bull's-eye! I placed four out of five shots on the red bull's-eye. I couldn't believe it. I then tried the first can. Pow! I looked in the spotting scope and there it was a hole in it! I shot again. Another hole! I tried the furthest can and was able to hit it too. There were a few misses on the cans but the little .22 with the scope was dead on. I had wished I brought my Grandfather's .22 automatic. The plinking didn't entertain me as long as I thought it would. No challenge I guess. Soon I was back with my book.

The wind picked up around three P.M. and I retreated inside to read. A half an hour later I was taking a nap. It's a hard life out here. Thirty minutes later the wind was ripping along at twenty-five mph. The sky was overcast so at least the sun wasn't beating down on me now. I try my best to stay in the shade keeping a hat on at all times. This place takes a toll on the body and I feel the older I get, the easier it is for the playa to beat me under. My eyes were sore from the glare, dry air or whatever else I didn't know. Overall I felt drained without much energy to do anything. This is a strange place that can do that to you. I caught up my journal notes and read, taking it easy. I only had a salad and a few soda crackers for dinner – the stomach issues were still there. No more whole sandwiches for lunch. I would stick to a half a sandwich from now on. Lights out and I was asleep at nine P.M.

The sleeping bag worked well but I felt it was a bit warmer that night anyway. I was up at six-thirty A.M., ate breakfast and went for another scooter ride. The wind was howling and the little Honda worked hard beating into it. The plan was to ride over to the railroad tracks and follow them south towards the little town of Gerlach. At the tracks I saw fencing down in several spots by road on the far side so I went for it. Instantly I was in muck and mire and barely crawled out without bogging down to a complete stop having to put my feet down into the goo. Nevertheless I had that awful thick playa paste kicked up and plastered onto the bike. I retreated back over onto the dry playa surface and continued on south kicking away at the clods stuck to various parts of the trail bike. This didn't last long for soon the playa itself began to get soft. I figured it would only get worse for the southern end is the low end drainage for the playa. I then crossed over to the other side of the not-so-dry lake to work my way up the opposite 'shoreline'. This was easy going with the wind at my back. I continued on up to the eight-mile entrance which is where the Burning Man circus attendees enter from. From there I proceeded out onto the playa once again to the approximate spot of Black Rock City. No "streets" were visible and I found very little MOOP (matter out of place). It was time to head back to camp. This was a long hard ten miles straight into the teeth of the wind. The sound of the wind was deafening and at one point I stopped, switched into low range and motored on in fourth gear barely reaching twenty mph. By the time I returned back to camp I had had enough but the little Honda 90 probably could have done even more. I could sense a weather front rolling in and the skies looked gloomy to the west. I loaded the Honda onto the rack, put all the gear away and broke camp. It is difficult to get a good night's sleep when you are thinking about possible rain while out in the middle of this vast dry lake.

It was nice to just putz along Highway 34 with the wind behind me. No other cars were on the road so I was able to go at my own pace. I went as far as Fly Geyser just because it had been years since I was last there. The geyser is a multi-colored spire ten feet high atop several layers of travertine with pools of hot water much like a stepped wedding cake. The geyser was still spewing away water and steam. It is a shame one cannot drive in to it anymore for it has been gated off for over twenty years now being on private property. If people would all respect things and places leaving them better than they found them, maybe places would last longer for all to enjoy before being gated off. Well who am I kidding? If it were my property I'd have gated it off too. Anyway one has to enjoy the geyser from a half a mile away looking through binoculars standing behind a heavy steel pipe fence with a large sign stating trespasser's bodies will be fed to the coyotes.

I drove back to Soldiers Meadows road and made camp on the lookout point about a mile in. This spot provides a nice panoramic view of the playa down below, where I could watch the winds whip up alkali dust devils. I fixed a sandwich, only a half this time, and decided to go for a little hike up into the hills behind me. That little hike evolved into a rock gathering expedition.

One of the things I wanted to do on this trip was bring home more red shale to edge the cactus garden with. I knew places out here where get shale but cannot get to it now in a motor home. This exposed igneous rock outcropping would have to do. I carried a few flat pieces of the dark reddish brown volcanic basalt down the hill to the RV and returned with my backpack. Thin pieces like the shale I have at home were hard to find as most here were in slabs two inches or more in thickness. After some time searching I loaded the backpack, added a few pieces into my shoulder bag and staggered under the load back down the slope of loose ankle-twisting jumbled stone. I climbed up and stumbled back down two more times. I figured I had enough and quit. Well, I was going to quit anyway, enough or not. Then it was a matter of how to pack all this rock away for the trip home. Of course during all of this I saw a very nice Collared Lizard who posed for the longest time and I had no camera with me!

The rest of the afternoon was spent doing very little–no surprise there. I read, gazed down upon the playa, stayed inside out of the wind, ate a light dinner, read some more and turned out the light at nine P.M.

There was a definite change in the weather the next morning. The sky was full of thick clouds a few of which were dark and menacing. I was in no hurry to move on that day as all I had planned to do was collect a bucket of playa dirt for the cactus garden. I've collected buckets of dirt from Red Rock Canyon and Anza Borrego also which is spread out over the surface of my cactus garden finishing off the desert effect. I dug the dirt out at from the Eight Mile entrance at the approximate site of the Burning Man event. As I found a few artifacts on the ground I was pretty sure I was within the old Black Rock City limits. Now my little cactus garden will have some of the Burning Man energy in it even if I never go back again.

After "stealing" dirt, I then drove back up onto Highway 34−really just a two-lane road−towards Gerlach and stopped where Guru Road begins. The Guru Road is a dirt road that parallels the highway. People, locals for the most part, have set up rocks with sayings etched onto them plus artsy creations which are in a bad state of disrepair. There I ate lunch while waiting for the hail to stop, then walked the mile long road. I remember the road as to be not that great so felt walking would be better than taking the RV out onto it. I saw now conditions have been improved and it would probably be doable in the motor home. I timed the walk just right for the sprinkles started up again just as I was driving off to find a new campsite.

With the weather conditions as there were I opted to stay along the "shoreline" less than a mile from the road. This lasted less than an hour before I moved off the playa. I did so not so much as any fear of getting stuck but if it rained enough the tires would kick playa goop up underneath the vehicle which in the end is nearly impossible to remove. What gets left behind corrodes metal due to the high alkaline content of the playa dirt. My Land Rovers and the old Winnebago Brave motor home had the scars to attest to that. I ended up down the road at the county gravel pit. The gravel pit is a nice flat area sheltered from the winds (for the most part) and very few people ever come by. I once found a complete horse skeleton up the hill from it. There I spent the rest of the afternoon doing the usual, inside that is. It was too cool outside and if the wind was not blowing then sprinkles or hail fell. Sometimes it was all three. I thought if tomorrow begins as today ended up being, I would head for home where I knew warm bright sunny skies await.

The morning looked to be another cold (by my standards) and blustery day so I packed it in. We were rolling before breakfast and had a nice tailwind out from the north to push us along the eighty miles to I-80 at Wadsworth. We stopped at the rest stop just a mile onto the Interstate, ate breakfast, dumped the tanks at the free dump station and headed for home. I stopped again in Dixon for fuel and had the pleasure of seeing a woman pull away from the gas pump with the nozzle still stuck in her car. She ripped the hose clean away from its connection at the pump. You don't get to see that very often.

After a stop near home at the car wash to get the bug splats and playa dust off the motor home and the playa mud off the Honda we pulled into the driveway at four-twenty P.M. It was nice to be home. And so ended another chapter of my life for I never returned to the Black Rock Desert again.
ADVENTURES IN THE SOUTHWEST

Travelling with Claire

March 2011

March 1 Tuesday

I had a nice drive today. Claire, the name I gave the Australian lady's voice in my new Garmin GPS, took me down Interstate 5 then across the Central Valley on a road I had never been on before, so that was nice. She took me through the small destitute town of Albaugh. Oh the poverty. When the road ran out she wanted me to continue across a plowed field. And so that was my first encounter with some the antics Claire would pull on me in the years to come. We arrived at Allensworth State Park at three P.M. only to find it closed. I just did not think and should have expected as much with all the current California budget cuts affecting the State Park system. I was really bummed as I was looking forward to parking in a campsite and have my tea. Now I was forced into going on into Bakersfield. I didn't see any promising truck stops or parking lots along the way and gave up just before turning on Highway 58 towards Mojave. Using Claire for guidance she found for us River Run RV Park and at five P.M. with thirty-two dollars less in my pocket, we were camped. I was okay with her find. It was a nice park with Wi-Fi, plus we were hooked up to electricity. The only bad thing was the lady put us in spot #4. In spot #5 was a Winnebago View, same year as ours. It looked like we were traveling together. I never saw the residents and really did not want to only to have to talk _View talk_. I really love Claire for she does it all for me and I can enjoy the scenery without any bother. She brought me right to the park without my having to figure out how to get back to it after passing it on the freeway. This GPS thing holds a lot of promise I could see. I was not hungry even though I had no lunch - breakfast was still with me. I did stop to make tea at the first truck stop which I moved out of before finding River Run. Diesel was $4.09 to $4.11 but I vowed to not let the high prices ruin my fun.

Wednesday

When I bought gas in Bakersfield I had to go inside and leave my credit card. The machine card slot was blocked off. The guy asked to see my ID. I had to go back out and get it. I asked why as I had never had to do that before. He was reluctant to say (nice Mexican guy) but finally I got it out of him–a lot of people come in here to buy gas with stolen credit cards. This whole part of town looked just like the type. When I thought I had left the worst of society behind in Bakersfield, I was confronted with the same if not worse in Barstow. What a hell hole! Everyone looked homeless, alcoholic, a meth-head and just simply the type you would not want your daughter to be around. For that matter one wouldn't want their son around any of the women I saw either. People, I just don't understand. The View turned over fifty thousand miles in Barstow.

I drove on to Amboy and just before the town was a new BLM turnoff to Amboy Crater. One other RV was there from Michigan, an older couple with a dog on a chain and a parrot sitting in cage just outside their RV. And people think I am a bit off traveling with a cat. I did not see any signs stating not to overnight camp so I stayed, along with the parrot people. I contemplated doing the hike out to the crater but what for? There is just a bunch of lava, nothing else. I have seen enough craters already and it is not like you have a view to the center of the earth or anything. So I was content with a little walkabout nearby, unintentionally caving in kangaroo rat tunnels as I went along. It is dangerous business hiking around there, either on the sharp lava or risking a twisted ankle in a kangaroo rat hole.

Thursday

We left Amboy after taking a couple new pictures of Roy's−a preserved and still operating travel's rest stop on old Route 66−where fuel was $4.49 for gas and $4.69 for diesel. If you really need it, you pay for it. Years from now the prices at Roy's will be the standard no doubt (by the time this trip was over and I was back home, that line had already become fact). I drove leisurely on to Desert Center then east on Interstate 10 through Blythe on into Quartzsite, Arizona. I filled up in town where fuel was ten cents cheaper than in California. Next, a stop in one of the few stores, very small ones at that. I had a real good look at the average person who travels to Quartzite for the winter, known as Snowbirds. This is so much what I do not want to be around. And to think at one time I did. But that was when I was working at the post office and oh so desperate for anything, for then all I had to get me through my depression were my dreams of living this life which was just that, my dream. After finally finding a place to get online and sending e-mails, we pulled out for it was getting close to tea time. I knew where I wanted to go−Scadden Wash east of the town. But in a moment of dumbness I pulled onto the Interstate instead of the frontage road just a few feet beyond and was committed to seven miles of Interstate travel. I fully realized my mistake as I watched Scadden Wash pass by on my right as I continued to drive on. Fortunately the first turn-off, Gold Nugget Road, provided some flat camp spots off on a nice graded gravel road and that is where we stayed. It was warm and a bit much from what I was used to at home. Even though it was in the mid-seventies this was too much of a heat increase too sudden and I needed a few days to acclimate. I shaved off my beard thinking that would help. I had brought along a closet full of clothes for cold weather and hardly anything for warm weather. It looked like I would be wearing the same clothes for a long time.

Friday

Gold Nugget Road turned out to be a very nice place to camp. We moved on to Picacho State Park, sixty plus miles south of Phoenix. We went south through Gila Bend to avoid Phoenix, a bad place that I see on television watching _Border Wars_. More kidnappings happen there than any other place in the U.S., not that I am afraid of being kidnapped. We have been to this park before. It is a nice place and the last time it was six dollars and even has showers. I remarked to the ranger lady then how nice that was compared to the rip-off California Parks and they don't even have showers for the most part. Well now it had all changed. There was a big fancy new visitor center, all the camp spots have electrical hook-ups and the new fee is twenty-five dollars. Perhaps I should have kept my mouth shut the last time. But it is quiet and still worth the price, considering I took my first shower and it felt wonderful. Sinbad explored a wee bit when we first parked then came back inside, settled in and never moved much for the rest of the afternoon. Even though the temperatures were only in the mid to high seventies I still think it was more than either of us were used to. I went for a walkabout after my tea and zucchini bread just to see what was out in the desert. There was a hiking trail of two and three miles to the top of the nearby fifteen hundred foot peak, rated difficult for the shorter trail and moderate to difficult the longer. Cables are used and gloves required. I kind of would like to do it but I thought once into it I would be asking myself _why am I doing this_? Maybe next time.I notice people, people who look old and dorky, the typical look for RVers and the like. I think to myself _I do not want to look or be like that_. Then I think again how others must view me. I feel I am just another one of them and there is no escaping it−old, wrinkly, with soft fleshy pale pasty white skin, thinning gray hair, balding head, gray whiskers, and slow moving. About slow moving: I had been driving along at fifty-seven mph for the last few days and the mileage was nineteen mpg and higher. That was really nice. I used to avoid the Interstates in the past but so far on this trip that was almost all the road we had been on. It was nice with Claire in control. I don't have to think about where I will have to turn next or when it is coming up or how far to wherever it is we are going. She does it all for me. People can pass me by and while I enjoy the scenery. I am in no hurry to get where, I do not even know.

I finished the Chef's Salad I started previous night. These store-bought ready-made salads are nice and convenient. Then I did a word puzzle and didn't know what else to eat for dinner. I thought of the hot dogs which sounded good. I noticed we did not have a skillet in with the cookware. I knew what it looked like, but where was it? The relish I brought said 'S _ell by Sept '08'_ – three years ago! I wondered if it was still okay even if only a third of it was left. After dinner Sinbad wanted to go out for a walk. I really did not want to but felt bad for him being inside most of the time and he does enjoy his evening walks. The only thing was I usually do it when there is some light left. It was black dark outside−no moon. I could not see a thing and could only go by the sound of staying on the roadway. Fortunately he was okay with that. I did not want to go off into the dirt for there was cholla cactus on the ground all around. It was so nice out in the evenings – short sleeve temperature. There are thousands more stars in the sky to be seen than what I am normally accustomed to. After about five minutes he wandered back to the RV and was fine with what he did. He is a good little guy and such a great companion to have with me all the time out here on the road.

Saturday morning

Bathroom story: The bathrooms are about the best to be seen in a State Park, or anywhere for that matter−large, clean and all done in tile. Anyone would give them an A-plus rating. When I went in to inspect them upon arrival, in checking the showers I saw someone had left an Indian style silver ring on the bench in one of the showers. I left it there thinking whoever lost it would come back. A couple hours later when I went for my shower it was still there. I tried it on and it fit, but rings aren't my thing so I left it. The next morning I would check again to see if it was still there. Well come morning the bathrooms were in the process of being cleaned so I knew it would be gone. The campground host guy came by in his golf cart. "The restrooms are being cleaned. You will have to use the next one up the road, just past the ramada." I said okay. _I'll just pack this load a bit further._ Then he added "The boy scouts made a mess in there so they have to clean the restrooms." "Boy scouts" I exclaimed. "Maybe they will earn a merit badge for this." He said maybe they will learn a lesson and I replied "We can only hope." Boy Scouts. What has our society come to if you can't even trust a Boy Scout?

We left Picacho State Park and drove south through Tucson then east to Benson, Arizona. We made a stop at the ghost town site of Fairbank. There was not much there but I was glad I did see it. There are only a few buildings left standing and only one you can walk into. The rest, the BLM is afraid you may get hurt. Years ago this would not be an issue but that is how it is these days. I did the walk out to the cemetery which was a half mile away from town. On the way I was thinking _that you better have some good friends who are willing to haul your bones all this way_. The narrow road then turned off to the right and became an uphill trail. Now I am thinking these better be some _really good friends_. On top of the hill there were very few markers with only three having dates around the turn of the century. I estimated there were about thirty grave sites that were recognizable and was surprised to later learn that a hundred nineteen people were buried in the hard packed earth. I looked around and realized why this spot was chosen for their cemetery−it was the closest hill to town. Cemeteries usually are selected to be on top of a hill. We like to think they do so for the view, but in those times it may have been partly for the view but more the belief of being that much closer to heaven was far more important.

We moved on to Tombstone. I had to go there because it is there. I also had to go with an RV park as there was nowhere else to stay. Only three parks were available and the one I chose was on the outskirts of town away from all the hubbub of Tombstone. Right from my first sight of it, Tombstone did not look like a place I wanted to go to. It appeared all the touristy stuff was one street over from the main highway through town. I could look down the side streets and see bumper to bumper cars parked. RVs were not recommended. My guess was I would have to park in the OK Corral parking lot and walk the block to downtown and see "comedy gunfights", saloon gals dressed up and the locals in their period western outfits. Oh my!

I took a walk around the RV park, mainly to find another spot away from the yapping dog that was left behind in a fifth-wheel a row in front of us. Even with the radio going I could still hear the mutt. Robin, the lady running the place was very obliging. I had a spot picked out but just as I was walking into the office a couple came out having just checked in. They had a big coach with two yappers on the dash carrying on. "That's our welcoming committee" the man said as he walked by me. I asked Robin how about spot #19, "Unless the couple who just walked out will be close to that". She had just assigned them #22. I selected a spot on the other end of the park by the cabins and it turned out fine. Sinbad had a pine tree to claw on and wanted to crawl under the cabin. Robin used to live in Orange County. While chatting I mentioned where we live and it being a fifty- five or better community. Robin said she will be there, fifty-five, next month or so. My goodness, I thought she was my age. She was a petite woman with a bit too short red hair. She had that bit of a nervous twitch thing going on with her head. Later I find her standing outside sucking on a cigarette. Now I knew why she looked ten years older.

Sunday

Early in the morning and later after the one hour of ' _open window for Internet'_ , the bathroom door for the park was locked. I gave up and left Tombstone RV Park. I forced myself to go into Tombstone itself. Fortunately I found a specified area down the hill for RV parking, only a block from the attractions. The next fortunate thing was not many people were there...yet. I slowly walked the street and try as I did, I could not vision what I was seeing as 'authentic'. It all looked to be created for the sake of the tourist. It was like Knott's Berry Farm but not as well done as Knott's. At least I stopped and I saw and was soon leaving Tombstone. I had filled the fuel tank the afternoon before so we were ready to motor on down the road, through the town of Bisbee which looked far more interesting than Tombstone. I stopped and peered down into the huge open pit copper mine, skirted past Douglas and then turned north towards Portal stopping at a closed truck inspection station for lunch. I was going out of the way to Portal for my daughter had been here many times birding and raved about how nice it was. "Dad, you gotta go there." Looking into my Cheap Camping Guide book I saw that only one campground near Portal accommodated RVs and so I felt a bit more at ease driving in the ten miles to it. At Sunny Flat Campground we soon realized this was the place. It was a very nice setting within Cave Creek Canyon among an abundance of trees. I immediately felt we could stay a couple days there at ten dollars a day. I was keen on seeing some birds but after a couple short walks, although I could hear some, seeing them was another matter. And what I did see was just DBB's–dirty brown birds. There were other campers, maybe a dozen in all of which I am sure some are birders. I decided to settle for some pictures of the canyon walls as the sun set.

Monday

I slept warm even though I thought it would be cold as we are at five-thousand feet elevation. On the way to the pit toilet my neighbors informed me that the sky was gorgeous at six-thirty last night. Evidently I did not stay out late enough to capture the sunset photo I wanted. I would try again this evening. This day was bike ride day. I ended up riding ten miles down and back on the road we came in on. There was nothing much to see let alone take a picture of. Two hours later I was back at camp and knackered. I ate an early lunch (hot dog) felt better and then just laid low for the rest of the day. The evening photo opportunity was not very good so I called it a day and stayed in as the wind had been blowing all day and I was tired of it.

Tuesday

The wind stopped sometime during the night and it was a beautiful morning. We got an early start and I stopped to eat breakfast on the road, and ended up doing the same for lunch. Most of the day was filled with driving. Although it was only two hundred and twenty some miles, going along at fifty-seven miles per hour and making numerous stops, it took a while. We stopped at the White Sands National Monument Visitor Center for a brief look then finished the final fifteen miles on into Alamogordo, New Mexico in search for an RV park. That was our only option. Claire was taking me to a particular one when I passed the Roadrunner RV Park sign. We turned in there and that was good enough. I was able to dump the tanks at our site, take a shower and be online to do e-mails, struggling to put photos onto the blog on to ten o'clock that night.

Wednesday

White Sands National Monument opened at seven in the morning and that was too late to take advantage of a sunrise so there was no hurry to get going. Nevertheless we were on our way early, minus breakfast and morning duties. We were in the park at eight and we leisurely drove the loop taking a few photos planning on doing hikes on the way out. The wind was cold and it was easy to spot people from up north and Canada – shorts and short shirt sleeves. Me? I had layers on. I started out the Alkali Flat Trail not knowing that it went on for miles and miles. I have seen enough alkali flats in my time so I turned around after realizing I still had a long way to go and humped it back to the motor home. I had left my water bottle in the RV for the added space in my hiking bag and this was a big mistake. I will not ever do that again. Anyway, I had wanted to see this place for as long as I can remember and now I had. The most impressive sight was the top of some huge cottonwood trees barely poking out from a dune. Most of the tree was buried beneath white sand but as long as some tree shows, it will survive until the dune passes on by. After lodging a complaint at the desk about irresponsible dog owners and all the dog crap I saw, I ate lunch, wrote a postcard and left White Sands.

I drove the fifteen miles back up to Alamogordo and filled the fuel tank. It figured out at twenty-one mpg but that may be suspect as the machine shut off at $75, yet it sounded as if it was gurgling to a stop anyway. On down Highway 54 a few miles to Oliver Lee State Park, pressed up against the base of the mountains. It was a neat little park with a lot of history. I noticed an abundance of birds about and went to try my luck with the camera. Then I noticed the people next to me had a feeder out. That was why all the birds! I should do that. They told me they bought a cheap feeder at Wal-Mart. Later I realized long ago I had bought a box of bird seed just for this purpose and had forgotten about it as it was hidden away beneath the bed. I took some good photos, especially of a cardinal-like bird called Pyrrhuloxia. I visited with the feeder people, Debbie and Vincent (German) and their cat with a German name that means something tiger but KT was good enough. KT stays in a large cage and is quite content inside it. Naturally this did not make for a good photo of him. Sinbad would not be happy in a cage. Tomorrow was to be a long day's drive down to Marfa, Texas on our way to Big Bend State Park.

Thursday

Up and in no hurry this day yet we found ourselves on our way just past seven A.M. Nine and a half hours and four hundred-thirteen miles later we were in camp at Big Bend National Park. It was a good day. Claire continued to amaze me. She took us around El Paso on a route that said nothing about East on I-10 but soon there we were, heading east with the west Texas town of El Paso behind us. Further south on I-10 I caught my first and only sighting of the Rio Grande River near McNary. Next was my missing the rest stop I had planned on stopping at because I was gawking at the State Troopers on the other side. I ended up pulling off onto the on-ramp so that I could change out of my warm clothes into some cooler ones, pee, wash an apple and mix up my elixir. Next was a right turn at Van Horn and then south to Marfa, Texas. I missed a couple good photo shots in the flyspeck of a town called Valentine, population two hundred-seventeen. I needed to be alert and go even slower than I already was when passing through these small towns. I see something interesting and while I struggle in my mind as to stop for a picture or not, it had disappeared on a mile or so behind me.

Soon after, I wheeled a U-turn over to a picnic area that was ideal for it stood all by itself in the vast flat plains of west Texas. Here I realized that there are other places other than the playa in the northwest corner of Nevada that is deathly silent. It was wonderful standing there taking in the scene. Just as I was stepping out of the motor home with my ham, pickles and cheese sandwich, an Amtrak train whizzed by. The engineer tooted his horn, I waved and looked at the passengers dozing off with their heads leaned against the windows, no doubt bored with the unrelenting vastness of Texas. I wondered what those few who saw me standing there by my RV thought while a motorcyclist with a sidecar whizzed by. All his camping gear was in his homemade cage-style sidecar attached to his BMW. I thought that was so cool and he sounded as also as he motored on by me.

After lunch we moved on to Marfa and it wasn't even one o'clock yet when we arrived. I figured, why stop? There was nothing there and what would I do all afternoon? We continued on while I wondered why the town didn't promote the _Mystery Lights of Marfa_ for which the place was known for, and the only reason why I went there. A few miles further there stood a very nice building made from rock, and quite unique looking in its round shape. I stopped and discovered the land had been donated and the building created for the sole purpose as a viewing station for the mysterious lights of Marfa. Well this was a different story now. I thought, only briefly, about staying to see the lights but knew I would end up saying _that is it?_ There were roads and buildings off in the distance and I figured that was all it was. I had better things to do. Just seeing the land and setting was good enough for me.

We continued on through Alpine heading towards Marathon where I planned to fill up. There would be no other towns on the way to Big Bend and I wanted a full tank to explore the Park with. As we approached the town I became worried. _This place don't look all that big_ and Claire was telling me the nearest gasoline station was twenty-two miles behind me in Alpine! It wasn't till I was on the east side of this so-called town, which was marginally larger than Valentine, did I finally see one, then two service stations. I pulled into the Shell willing to pay whatever price they said, which turned out to be $4.19. There was a station in Alpine that had diesel for $3.69. So I paid an extra ten dollars for this miscalculation. (Remember my thoughts on Roy's high prices early on in the trip) But how was I to know? The red dots and circled red dots on my AAA map are nothing that can be trusted as for town size. I did a U-turn back to the junction of Highway 385 and began the final leg towards Big Bend.

At the entrance station was Ranger Cindy. I read the prices which was twenty dollars to get in, ten dollars with the Senior Park Pass (age sixty-two and older). I told Cindy I thought it was sixty-two and a half. "Well I'll have to get one of those." She said "Show me your driver's license and I'll give you one now, it will then only cost you ten dollars to get in and your camping will be half the fee." Yes, it was a good day. Cindy advised I go to a different campground than I was planning on even though it was a bit further away. "You'll get there at the same time for the other one is a curvy slow road in." Plus she couldn't assure me it would have spaces available. I followed her advice and went to Rio Grande Village Campground and picked a nice spot at dusk. After I brewed a well earned cup of tea I took Sinbad for his evening stroll. He is such a good traveler. That evening I was reading all the park literature given to me by Ranger Cindy and realized where I was planning to go, Chisos Basin Campground, was not for us. It was a steep, curvy road just as Cindy said and not advisable for trailers or RVs longer than twenty-two feet, plus not as many spots and no generators. I decided to make spot #52 in Rio Grande Village Campground our base of operations for the duration.

Friday

One of the bad things there in Big Bend was it is in the Central Time Zone and I was stuck on California time. So when I woke up at five-thirty A.M. (Pacific Coast time) it was seven-thirty here and the sun had been shining for awhile. I didn't know if I had it in me to get up earlier so as to get some good morning light pictures. I walked the nearby Nature Trail which led me down to the Rio Grande River. There I sat for awhile thinking about the people on the other side, no further than I could throw a stone, and the difference in our lives. I with my expensive camera and lens, them barely existing – having to cross the river each day and leave handmade art, animal figures made from copper wire, on the rocks along with a plastic bottle to place in a donation. Back at camp I became obsessed in capturing a photo of these beautiful red birds which I found out to be Vermillion Flycatchers. It was very frustrating for they were quite shy. Giving up on that I began to walk over to the store and checkout the showers when a Road Runner appeared in camp. Back I went for the camera and he, or she was very obliging in having his photo taken. They must be used to people. It looked to be too far to walk so I unload the bike and rode over. Once there I found that Internet was available so I went back to camp then drove over to post on the blog. I decided to wait until the day I leave Big Bend to do my shower. I would just get hot and sticky each day otherwise.

Back at camp I resumed my obsession with the Flycatcher and finally, captured some shots that I thought would be acceptable. I hadn't been drinking enough water and I could tell that when I would start wearing down. It wasn't really scorching hot, but it was warm and I was still not use to it. In the evening I re-did a portion of the Nature Trail in an attempt to get a sunset picture of the Sierras Del Carmen. At the top of the trail I visited with Melissa, a college student from Houston and then later a couple from Washington. After sunset it was back to camp and try to decide what to fix for dinner. Since you cannot run generators past eight P.M., I decided on a box of macaroni and cheese. While fixing it I wondered why my neighbors were getting away with running their generator. Well it wasn't eight P.M. yet. I still had my time calculations all askew. But the macaroni and cheese was great, so there!

Saturday

I awoke at five A.M. and crawled out of bed a half hour later, my time, again seven o'clock here. The first order of business was to return to the Nature Trail where the Mexicans had left their little art pieces next to the plastic bottle for donations. I just had to have one of those wire scorpions. I left them a five dollar bill. Back at camp and I readied myself for a three-mile hike to the hot springs near the Langford Ranch ruins on the Rio Grande. I charged along the trail over hills and down into ravines. As the distance seemed to grow I doubted as to their measurements. I never saw a soul along the warm and very dry route. I then began to wonder if my water supply, one bottle, would hold out. Here I was making the very same mistake as before−not enough water. Normally one bottle is no problem but these were different conditions and a second bottle would have been nice. I planned on limiting myself to using just half, saving the last half for the return trip out. Many times I almost decided to turn back, but thought _just a little further over that next rise or around the next bend._ As I neared the springs I ran into my neighbors John & Pat along with their friends from Minnesota. They had driven over to the parking area and did the short walk in. With their encouragement to press on I did, ultimately arriving at the springs which proved to be, to my disappointment, "developed". Not the natural bubbling from the ground spring I expected. I was told "just past them are the ruins" but I really didn't care to go. _Maybe just up to that bend_ _I would go_ I thought. This led on to a few more bends and eventually the ruins came into view. Okay, I did it. Now I had to get back as fast as I could before my water ran out. There was another fellow there sitting in the shade and I soon learned he had hiked in the long way as I did. He seemed surprised that I had done likewise and we sat and chatted a bit. He then asked if I wanted to hike back together. Oh no, I didn't see that coming. Well I didn't want to seem stuck-uppish but I did explain I never had hiked with anyone before so it might do me well to try it. I was afraid a slower pace would be agonizing for me and there was that water problem. In the end it was great. The slower pace was not as demanding as my pace coming in was. I didn't get as thirsty and the distance went by quicker with someone along. His name was Jim and he was from Ohio. He retired from AT&T, had went back to school and earned a degree in archeology which he now did as a consultant and assistant to PHD archeologist. Good for him!

Back at the RV I was spent. I really needed to rehydrate and cool down. I drove over to the store and took tomorrow morning's planned shower that day. I made myself a Dagwood sandwich and struggled with the computer and e-mails while recuperating. The rest of the day was resting at camp. I barbequed my flap steak for dinner which really hit the spot. Fortunately for most of the day there was a slight cloud cover which kept the heat down. I have learned that the last time this park had a drop of rain was July of last year, eight months ago.

Sunday

I was up what I thought early enough to go over to Hiker Jim's camp (#25) and try to see the Javelinas he said that came by his camp each morning. There were no pigs and Jim had pulled out already. I was disappointed for I wanted to thank him for the company and say good-bye. Well he is after all on Ohio time. Back at camp I said goodbye to my neighbors from Washington, John and Pat, then rolled out. First though, a stop at the dump station to rid the motor home of my few deposits. I never used the facilities in the campground as they were one seaters and the place was infested with those cursed Boy Scouts, plus groups of geology students here for spring break. I had a troublesome turd that would not leave the drain pipe. Fortunately I was able to eradicate him with a twig before the folks in the Lazy Daze unit pulled in behind me. I stopped at the visitors center in Rio Grande Village and again at the one at Panther Junction. The best thing at the larger center in Panther Junction was the life-size reproduction of the wing of a Pterosaur, a flying reptile from the age of dinosaurs. This was the largest known flying creature to have existed with a wingspan of thirty-six to thirty-nine feet.

We drove on to Castolon which was twenty-two miles in and then back out the same road unless I wanted to add on another eight miles and go to the end of the road at Saint Elena. I wound up going to the end, for what else did I have to do and I was here, why not? Castolon had some great old buildings for photos and I bought two cans of Lone Star beer at the store. I wanted to try their Texas beer which wasn't too bad. I am glad I drove the extra eight miles to the road's end for there at Saint Elena Canyon I was able to see the high canyon walls that I had envisioned to be along the Rio Grande. I also ran into my first real-life Creationist.

Some motorcyclists were there as I pulled in and parked. I stepped out and went over to the viewing point where one member of the group stood. He was in his thirties I would say, clean-cut, and a little dorky looking. He was probably the kind of kid in school who was not very popular and a good target to get picked on. I could relate. I said, "Now this is what I expected the Rio Grande to look like."

He came back with "I don't know how they can say that".

Huh? "Say what?" I asked, wondering who around here said something I didn't hear.

He pointed to the exhibit sign describing the steep narrow canyon before us and how it came to be. "Thirty million years ago. There were no people around here then. How do they know?"

"Ah...yeah?" I mumbled wondering if he was under the impression that I looked like someone who thought humans were on the planet thirty million years ago. Where was this guy going with this? He went on.

"The world may not have even been here." He waved his hand out in front of us. "All of this could have happened in a day. Like with one big earthquake."

I began to feel a bit sorry for this guy thinking he must have really missed a serious portion of his elementary school years. Or maybe science just wasn't his thing. Trying to be nice and give him the benefit of any doubt as to his level of intelligence I struggled for some type of open response. "Oh, you mean something like what just happened in Japan?" [Japan had just went through the now infamous Fukushima earthquake and tsunami disaster]

Now he was on a roll, fully confident in what he was talking about. "An uplift here and sinking there and there it is, just as you see it, all in one day. And this all happened only a few thousand years ago, not thirty million like it says here."

It was at this point I realized that it was I who didn't have a clue. He knew exactly what he was talking about and here I was standing next to my very first Creationist. I was excited. Honestly, for a moment I felt like I was with a celebrity, someone famous, like I wanted to have my picture taken with him to preserve the moment. But I assure you, it was for very brief moment for soon after I grew a bit uneasy, nervous. _What do I do now?_

Fortunately salvation was at hand and the group was getting ready to leave, and off he walked away back to his Harley. Yep, I was glad I drove those extra eight miles.

Back out onto the main highway and on through Lajitas and Teralingua both of which were pretty interesting and worth a re-visit when I had more time. But now I wanted to get to Marfa by dusk and time was running away from me. I was travelling the "scenic route" of Highway 170 which skirted the Rio Grande and Mexican border for most of the way. It was interesting seeing so many places where one can toss a rock and hit Mexico with it or walk across without getting your calves wet. On the way to Presidio I came across an abandoned movie set right along the river. Called Contrabrando, this was very cool to see and offered quite a few good photo shots. I was interested in seeing Presidio for I had just been reading about it in the book I was into, _Miles from Nowhere_ by Dayton Duncan. The town was not what I expected and did not appear to be a good place to live in either. Maybe it was the Barstow of Texas. Here we turned north for the remaining hour's drive up to Marfa.

We pulled in to the Mystery Light Viewing Center just after sunset and I was shocked at the number of cars there. Parking was at a premium and it seemed like a tourist lookout view point in Yosemite or Yellowstone. This was the furthest from what I expected. Silly me, and I thought I would be there by myself. Only three or four of the vehicles were motor homes and as the night grew on people began leaving. I overheard a local, well he was from Texas, somewhere, say that the last time he was here was with his family and did in fact see the lights. "They were a yellowish white and would move along the horizon sort of slow, then speed up, back up, flicker and be gone. Then you would have to wait fifteen minutes or so and they would reappear. I understand the best time to have any luck seeing them is between two and four in the morning hours." He was saying this in a sincere way and the fact they were observed by cowboys long before cars and traffic could be confused for the lights. Something is definitely happening here. Needless to say I saw nothing but I really didn't expect to either. Like you just don't drop in, see them and move on. You have to put in the time, maybe make several trips and catch it when conditions are just right to see the Mystery Lights of Marfa.

Monday

When I awoke in the morning with only two other motor homes and a car remaining from last night's observance. I don't think Sinbad slept too well for the passing trains on the other side of the highway seemed to unnerve him. I drove the eight miles back into town and bought some water and milk at Dollar General, a common chain of stores in the area, only they do not carry produce so I had to hit another store for apples. Last week I had bought two quarts of milk at Wal-Mart and even though the date showed March 24 they tasted just a bit off. I opened the second last night in hopes it was just the one, but nope−stale cows. I planned to do a two-hour drive to Guadalupe National Park, camp there for a day or two and do some hiking. What a disappointment. Parking lot camping is not my style unless I have to do so at a truck stop or Walmart, but not for a National Park!

I pressed on to Carlsbad Caverns where I made a big blunder. I drove the seven plus miles up to the top of the mountain only to realize as I neared the end of the drive where the visitors center and cavern entrance was...there were no campgrounds there! It all came back to me as that is why we camped down in White City at the base of the mountain when we were there long ago. A big dumb waste of time and fuel and all I could do was apologize to Sinbad, call myself stupid and shrug it off with a smile. Back down we drove where I stopped at the poor excuse for an RV campground to make my tea. Now do I stay here or press on to Brantley Lake State Park twelve miles north of the town of Carlsbad. I inquired in the gift shop where you sign in for your miserable looking camping spot and learned it was thirty dollars plus tax for one night. That decided it. The girl said I would have no problem getting in at the State Park, so off we went.

It was a slow slog through Carlsbad as they were doing all this road work on the well worn out highway through town. The town seriously needed a bypass. At the turn-off to the park it was another five miles in to what looked like dry desolation. Two vacationers, one towing a fifth-wheel and the other a pop-out trailer passed me on the highway just before the turn-off. They both turned in for Brantley and now the race was on. At the entrance kiosk into the park both stopped to go in thinking they had to pay a five dollar entrance fee, for I thought the same myself. But I then saw a sign PAY RECEPTACLES AT CAMPGROUND AHEAD so I motored right on by. Now I was leading. At the campground it looked to have an open spot or two and I stopped to get out and pick up a pay envelope. Mr. Pop-out passed me and took the first site. Fortunately the one next to it was empty and I took it. Then Mr. Fifth-wheel pulled in and I think he had to go on down by the mud puddle of a lake that had no facilities, just primitive camping. So for less than half of what White City was going to charge I had electricity and took a hot shower.

I regrouped inside and tidied things up a bit. I even took time to clean all my eyeglasses while my enchiladas were cooking. I had been seriously looking at all the stuff I had in the motor home and planned to weed a lot of it out. There were a lot of items I had never used. Most of the stuff is what I carried in the Land Rovers then transferred over to the old Winnebago Brave before the new View came into my life. The Land Rover things are mostly things of my dreams. Things I hoped and dreamed about doing when I was still working. Now that I cannot go off-road anymore where this equipment could be put to use, why was I carrying it with me now? Then there are things from the Brave, the _what if_ gear for breakdowns and fix-its that just are never going to be needed with the View. So out all this goes when I returned home. I also was learning I do not need to have so much extra with me. If I need it, I am never that far away from a store where we can get it. For tomorrow I planned to go see something I have always wanted to see.

Tuesday

We left Brantley Lake camp heading north on the road that would take us through Roswell, New Mexico, home of the famous alien crash landing in 1947. If the actual crash site was a place one could go and see, I would. The _UFO Museum_ in the center of town I could easily pass on and did just that when we drove down the main drag. It looked like an old movie theater that had been renovated and converted to a museum tourist spot. There were people outside lining up to go in. Maybe someday if I am in the neighborhood I might go in but today I had my sights set on a bigger trophy– _Billy the Kid's Grave Site_.

It was an eighty-eight mile drive up to Fort Sumner where the Kid took his last breath. Like the west plains of Texas, there was nothing to see except dead yellow grass stretching to the mountains in the far distance. In the town of Fort Sumner was _Billy the Kid Museum_. I parked, paid my five dollar admission fee and wasn't disappointed. I think every newspaper clipping about the Kid was there to read, so no bit of the history about his death could be missed. The place had a ton of collectables and artifacts from around that area and time period to view. It was a bit overwhelming as many of the items ran on into the modern era. An antique collector could spend the entire day there, but I was interested only in the Kid himself. The one bad part was this local Hispanic family with their whiny obnoxious kids. I vacated a room early to get away from them. It wasn't until I left and was walking back to the RV with my dollar bottle of water (so I could pack an extra bottle of water on the next hot and dry hike) that I realized the museum lady had said something about guns. I didn't see any guns, so I went back inside. They let me in at no charge. I had missed the main Billy the Kid artifact room when I was avoiding the Mexican monsters. This was the best part of the entire collection. Billy the Kid's spurs, his rifle he gave away two months before he was killed, his gun (which had a small grip and I learned he had small hands, but large wrists. This is how he was able to escape from handcuffs so easily) and even the door which he last passed through before he was gunned down by Pat Garrett. I left the museum and drove down the road a few miles where Billy's grave was, which after all was my main goal. Another lifelong dream fulfilled.

I filled up with fuel costing me ninety-one dollars. Not that it was any higher priced than other stops; it just took more at twenty-three gallons, with only three gallons left in the tank. We then drove north to Sumner Lake (another very low level lake) State Park where we found about the best camp spot yet in a long time. There were no other campers close, much to Sinbad's delight, and it was also very quiet. I dug out several maps trying to decide where to go next, cooked some rice that had expired in 2005 and finished the other half of my steak. I captured a nice sunset picture there.

Wednesday

The morning got off to a good start as I found what was bothering my toe on the left foot for the past several days. There was a small cactus sticker in it. I thought something else was going on, not to mention I was checking out the wrong toe before. I had to ask the ranger how to get out of the campground. I think had I listened to Claire she would have led me the right way. At both these last two places, the drive back out to the main highway didn't seem as far as when we came in.

We stopped in the town of Santa Rosa which bore little resemblance to our Santa Rosa back home in California, not to say it was bad. It wasn't nearly as big, the streets were nearly deserted and many stores were empty. I was able to get online at a Holiday Inn, made a post on the blog and caught up on e-mails. At eleven A.M. we drove through the little town in search for a new notepad which I located at V & S Variety store.

Back on the Interstate I planned to pull in at the rest stop twelve miles down the road and was disappointed to find it closed. I could go a bit longer without eating but I had to pee real bad by now so pulled over onto the on-ramp. Some miles further on was Milagro, which appeared to be nothing more than a Shell station even though the AAA map had given it a red dot status. The station on the other side of the highway was abandoned and there looked as if nothing else was in sight. There I ate my lunch and decided to call it a day at the nearest campground. This looked to be twenty miles north at the next highway junction. There was nothing further west until the city of Albuquerque which I certainly did not feel like dealing with today.

We turned north and immediately saw a sign stating the Villanueva State Park was not open until April 1. My Cheap Campground Directory stated "open all year". I took a chance and went for it. If in fact it was closed then there would be other possibilities onward towards Santa Fe. I was concerned now about the altitude and it being cold. The next sign stated that eighteen miles further on was a curvy road and that trucks and trailers were not advised. I was not looking forward to any such adventure today. The road proved to be a bit steep and curvy but manageable at a slow controlled pace using the gears while descending. Villanueva seemed just like a little Mexican town high in the Sierra Madre Mountains of Mexico with stunted little pines growing all about. Finally we made it to the opened gate of the park and there were other campers there. Whew! I hemmed on getting one with hook-ups or not and figured for the extra four dollars I could run the heater and stay warm. As I walked back to get an envelope I found better spots we had passed coming in, away from yapping dogs and people so I changed my site and we moved there only these were not with hook-ups. It was a nice setting by the bank of the Pecos River which might be its headwaters. After a cup of tea I relaxed the rest of the afternoon doing some more eliminating and re-organizing. This was a nice place that had some short hiking trails. The problem was by the time I get to these places I don't feel like going out on any old hike, and this really sat in with me here. I suppose the only way I can manage some hiking is by staying extra days to do so. Tomorrow instead of back-tracking I planned to continue on and skirt around Santa Fe. After that, I will decide which direction to go to enter Utah.

Thursday

Well it so happened that Claire took us right through Sante Fe itself which was a good thing. We got to see the town which overall seemed like a nice place to live except for the high altitude of six thousand plus feet which means cold and snow. We stopped at an Albertson's and stocked up on diet meals, cereal, Gatorade and the coveted already made salads. Happy about that so much so, that I treated myself to a small mocha at Java Joes. On up the highway the route proved to be a very scenic road. I enjoyed the red sandstone cliffs and Pinyon trees. The plan was to stop at the town of Tierra Amarilla (a double circled town on my AAA map) and top off the tank for there didn't look to be towns of any size (only single circled towns) the rest of the way through New Mexico to Four Corners. As it turned out Tierra Amarilla was of no size and only one lonely Chevron station was to be found where I had to pay $4.50 a gallon. Fortunately the tank wasn't down as far as usual and I only got pinned for seventeen gallons. That was enough driving for the day and we pulled in to Huron Lake State Park and paid the extra four dollars for electricity. It appeared only one other camper was here in a pop-up trailer. Patches of snow were all about and I readied myself for a chilly night.

I spent the afternoon doing more reorganizing and eliminating concentrating on the medicine cabinet and under the bed. I also shaved off my beard for the second time. I decided to keep it shaved for the remainder of the trip. I also removed my longtime faithful aircraft altimeter as the new GPS has that feature. I may as well sell it when I get home. As the afternoon grew late clouds began to build up in the west and a few sprinkles fell. At sunset the clouds were full and dark. I hoped a weather system was not rolling in. If it rained while I was driving at least the View would get washed.

Friday

It never rained. In fact the skies cleared and the moon lit up the outside. The night was not cold either but I did use the furnace since I paid the extra four bucks. Why not? We left camp and traveled ten more miles up the road to Chamas where several gas stations stood and I could have saved eight to eleven dollars in this single circled town. _Grrr._ I cannot trust the map to give me accurate sizes of the towns anymore. Like Marathon in Texas I paid the price for relying on the map and not Claire. I was able to get online at the welcome center, exchange e-mails and did a couple postings on the blog. We enjoyed a leisurely drive through the high country westward missing a couple good photo opportunities of the scattered snow covered ranchlands. There just was no place to pull The Little House on the Highway off safely. As we neared Bloomfield, New Mexico we were around pretty much the last of the campgrounds in the area yet it was still early in the day. So on to Farmington where I figured we'd have to settle for an RV park.

In Farmington which was about the biggest town we had been in outside of Santa Fe we had Claire take us around to the few RV parks listed. Mom & Pop RV was in the center of town, small and crammed together with big rigs and fifth wheels. The next one looked more like a mobile home park and I didn't even drive down the dead-end-no-turnaround space street. The last one, Martinez Enterprises, well the name alone should have said it all. The GPS does have a couple flaws in its database evidently. At least on the way to it we passed a large new Convention and Visitor Information Center. I back-tracked our trail on the GPS to the Center. The ladies inside were very nice but said there wasn't much to be had in the way of campgrounds. "Most RVers stay at Walmart and we have two to choose from." I asked about using their nice parking area or the vacant lot next door but they were not too sure about that. She found a brochure on Dad's RV Park (Mom & Pop's son?) so I was off to check it out, reluctantly, as it too appeared to be in the middle of town. On the way out of the Center there was a police car parked. I asked the officer about staying here or the vacant lot and he really never said I could not but suggested Walmart. "There's always a lot of RVs parked there." That did it. Walmart it was.

It had a nice side parking area backed up to a mobile home park which proved to be very quiet with little traffic noise. I had a spot of tea then cleaned out the slide-out of junk I rarely or never use like the large flashlight and the tire compressor pump. I took Sinbad for a little walk then went into Walmart. It was huge−one of those Supercenters. I think people get lost in there for every once in awhile I could hear over the public address system about a family is ready to leave and will Jose please meet them at the front desk. I had been thinking about another twelve volt plug-in wired directly to the house batteries so that there will be no more power problems with these wimpy plug-ins in the coach. In the store I found just what I needed plus a long extension cord so I bought both. This would serve us well, also when recharging using the power invertors. Lots of RVers especially the full-timers stay at Walmarts and this is why Walmart allows them to do so. You buy things you hadn't planned on.

Saturday

Camping in the Walmart parking lot was great, at least this one was. And those Supercenter stores are something else. This morning I went inside to use the bathroom and the store was completely clean including the bathroom. The night crew stocks, reorganizes the shelves and cleans the place up. I got to thinking it wouldn't be too bad a place to work on the graveyard shift. No people to speak of, warm and quiet.

We left the Farmington Walmart and headed west towards Shiprock where I mailed postcards off. The air was so filled with dust and smoke that I am sure Shiprock is no longer visible from the great distance that the pioneers could see it from as a waypoint in their immigration out west. We then turned north for Four Corners. Now, on Indian reservation land, the all too familiar sight of litter and debris scattered across the landscape became apparent. Why the Indians do not care about their land is beyond me. At Four Corners monument entrance stood a kiosk booth. There now was a fee to pay. I had seen the monument forty years ago when it was free. I didn't need to see it again at a cost. We turned around and left and soon were in Colorado albeit briefly, but the land was much cleaner since we were now off the reservation land. Fifteen miles further we entered Utah and on reservation land once again and yes, the litter returned, in abundance.

It was a bit early in the day to camp but not they many campgrounds were around so we started for a Forest Service camp listed in the Cheap Camp Directory. The first one, Nizhoni was eighteen miles in towards the snow covered Manti-La Sal Mountains. The last portion, about four or five miles, was on a well graded dirt road and we were now above seven thousand feet with snow patches appearing all around. At the campground, it was open thankfully, and better still, free as no water or services were to be had this early in the season. The bad part was only a few campsites were available that didn't require driving through snow. The little bit I did pass through was unnerving as The Little House on the Highway doesn't do well off pavement. I parked at one spot, which was not that level and then tried another spot. I was ready to settle for the picnic area parking then noticed the dirt where I was driving was a bit mushy underneath. This bothered me even more. Added to that was the wind had been blowing all day long. Could that mean a weather system might be on its way here? Just a wee bit of rain and we would be bogged down very easily. How could I relax or sleep thinking about that? So we left, driving the eighteen miles back out rather fast and set our sights for the next Forest Service campground further up the road. This one thankfully was only a couple miles off the highway. Whew! I turned in and...the gates were closed and locked! I was so let down. _Now what?_ We had run out of options. The next possibility was BLM land across from Newspaper Rock thirty some miles away. I really wanted to go see the Rock in the morning, early, when I was fresh.

As we drove through the town of Monticello I made note of two RV parks. If all fourteen sites at the BLM campground were filled, then we would have to come back. It was too far to Moab and I did not want to get that far ahead of ourselves just now. We fought the wind all the way in to Newspaper Rock and I was mortified to find a NO CAMPING WITHIN THE NEXT NINE MILES sign as we neared the Monument. _How can that be?_ Sure enough, at the turn-in, across the way where it should be, there was no campground. The dice were thrown and I had lost three times. The only redeeming factor was at least I knew where we could go and get a spot for the night...thirty miles back in Monticello.

So with that in my mind I tried to enjoy the Rock. Well, I was in for another disappointment. For some reason I was thinking I had read that this was a rock that the pioneers had etched their names onto as they passed by a hundred fifty years ago. Nope. It was Indian petroglyphs. I looked. I took pictures. I tried to clear my head and enjoy it. _I drove here, I'll not see it again, take it in and enjoy_ and I did. Before leaving I looked on the information board and there saw a weather-aged notice. The campground had been closed years ago due to the possibility of flash flooding. As we drove out I could just make out where campsites once stood. By the looks of it Nature had almost completely reclaimed the land. This is what happens when you buy an outdated Cheap & Free Campgrounds Directory off of eBay.

Back at the first RV park I walked into the office and found the petite young mother on her hands and knees cleaning up what looked like a windblown mess in the small room that served as her office while her two kids looked on. She apologized for not having any change for the twenty-two dollar plus tax fee. She further explained that the water was not turned on as the threat of frozen water pipes (there goes my shower) so she was only charging fifteen dollars. That was fine with me. There was Wi-Fi and no other campers except for one who looked to be living there and two others parked as if in storage. A few hours later as I worked on my notes, the skies completely clouded over and the wind was still gusting. I would have been very uncomfortable at that first Forest Service campground high in the mountains, on mushy ground with snow all around−for sure, very uncomfortable.

Sunday

I doubled up my sleeping bags to be sure I would be warm for the night. The comment of freezing water pipes from the RV park lady stuck with me. I was comfortable all night long. Two bags work great. I don't need any fancy expensive goose down filled sleeping bag. _Save the geese!_

There was no hurry to get to Arches National Monument as it was only an hour up the road. Since this camp had the strongest Wi-Fi signal yet for the entire trip I took my time catching up on the news of the outside world. I then decided to check the weather. _Showers and possible light snow with wind_ was forecasted to begin Monday afternoon and most of Tuesday. I started checking elsewhere in Utah. For the remainder of the week it never got out of the fifties. This was not what I wanted. _What am I doing here? What was I thinking? Why didn't I stay in Texas? Maybe I should go back south._ But doing that meant I would be driving headlong into wind and rain. Not what I wanted to do. I thought maybe the best thing to do would be go to Arches and hunker down till this system passed. Then the thought occurred to me, _what if I couldn't get in?_ Now a bit of concern set in and I rapidly got with the program to move out. I was shocked to see it was nearly ten o'clock. I had wasted valuable time. Panic began to rear its ugly head.

First off, to town just a half mile down the road to fill-up and leave a deposit in the restroom, then on to Arches National Monument fifty-seven miles north, all the time thinking what to do if the campground is full. My only thought was to drive, drive and drive some more in an effort to escape this storm coming in and get back into warm weather lands. The closer we got, the more I was rubbing my face resigning myself to a long drive day. We turned off the highway to the entrance station and now the blunder of Carlsbad reasserted itself. _Does this park even have campgrounds? I think it does._ I pulled up to the kiosk with my new National Parks Senior Pass and a ten dollar bill in my hand. I asked the young ranger lady, "There are campgrounds here right? Do you know if there is space available?" She said they received a call this morning that there were eight vacancies. I told her about being hesitant to pay to get in and then not being able to camp. She said "I see you have a pass there in your hand. You get in free." I explained how I was new at this. "I just bought it last week in Big Bend." She explained the benefits of the Senior Pass and said I had a fairly good chance of getting a spot. "The campground is at the other end of the park." The other end of the park was eighteen miles away. Off we went and now I was really concerned. Drive all this way, nothing is available, drive back out and waste over an hour of time. I wasn't even concerned about the fuel waste. I was driving and looking ahead to see if any potential camping people were up the road in front of me. Most of the cars looked to be day-trippers. I was looking and counting the campers coming my way. _Two, three, four...this is good. They are pulling out. Wait. What if they just came in and found the campground full?_ I grew even more concerned. We arrived at the campground and I said to Sinbad, "Here it goes" and right away I see a vacant site. Then another. But then I also notice RESERVED on the little pieces of paper in the little weatherproof boxes on each site post. There was a sign posted to check with the campground host before taking a spot. I slowly drove on and every site showed reserved or a leave date that was not today. I was dejected and down. I parked in a spot with a date ticket for tomorrow and prepared for my long drive–fix up an energy drink, polish an apple and go pee. I saw a couple people walking over to the campground host and I figured they were wasting their time. I thought about how my wife wouldn't believe the situation and would march right over to talk to the campground host. So I walked on down. The host was in the process of signing a guy up for a site. Another guy came back saying he'll take such and such site. The host said, "I goofed. I meant #41 not #31, I'm sorry" and he wrote three campsite numbers down on a camp map for the guy. The host looks at me and says "Hi". I said "Those spots you wrote down, are they available? I thought everything was reserved." "Oh no, it just looks that way" the host says. Another guy comes back and asks "Aren't there any on the other side?" "No, that is it" the host says. The guy walked away. Excitedly I told him "I'll take one, I don't care which. This is no time to be choosy." The first fellow with the map told me I am parked in #41 and he's taking #42. I cannot believe it. I jog down to check while the host finished up with map guy. I came back and told the host I'll go get some money and I have a card. "Bring back your "old people's card" and oh yeah, your license plate number too." I tap my head and say I have it up here. "Oh, CRS (can't remember shit) hasn't caught up with you yet" he says and laughs. I retrieve my money and card and am stunned that we got a spot, the second-to-last spot. I brought a $20 bill and he said he didn't have change. I said "I think I can come up with a ten...unless you can sign me up for two nights. I'll take that." And so he did.

As I set the RV level in our lucky #41 campsite I thought about how fortunate we were and it was going to take awhile for this all to settle in. My first thought was to just sit and relax the rest of the day, but there was still the entire afternoon left. I decided to go and hike as one trail left right from our camp. I dressed warm and took off. Soon I found I was dressed too warm. After losing the trail to Tapestry Arch I went back to camp with my baggie of souvenir Arch sand and shed some clothes. I took off again on a different hike which was a little longer at one-point-three miles. I went slowly taking in everything I could, still reveling in the fact we were here and got a spot. I hiked on to Broken Arch and met a couple coming my way. I am sure they were a bit older than me. I talked with the man who was wheezing and out of breath the entire time. I thought about this as I continued on. I am always thinking how I cannot do as much or what I used to be able to but my god, I don't get out of breath at the things I do. I needed to give myself more credit than I did. The trail looped back around to the first trail I was on and I tried for Tapestry Arch once again. I made it further but still lost the trail. By now it was tea time and figured I had had enough adventure for one day. I stayed inside, did up my notes and little else for the remainder of the day.

Monday

This was to be a day of exploring and hiking, first though, a drive-by of the parking area for the Devil's Garden Trailhead which was just past the entrance to the campground. I wanted to see if there was a place for me to lock my bike up and there was. This trail had longer routes so I planned to save if for tomorrow. Off to the Wolfe Ranch/Delicate Arch trail.

Delicate Arch is the one best known to represent Arches National Monument so it was a must see. It was a three-mile round trip and rated moderately strenuous. I didn't think it was strenuous but being at altitude made it a bit so. The wind was blowing something fierce and there was a constant cloud cover so I knew my photos were not going to be that great. Towards the end of the hike you are walking along a ledge of sandstone with a drop-off to your left. It wasn't too bad since the ledge is three-feet wide and sheltered from the wind. Finally you round the turn and I was nearly blown away, literally. Not by the view but the wind. It was like standing in front of a huge wind machine used for movie making. The arch itself stood along the rim of a deep bowl in the red sandstone. Not at all how I imagined it would be. All the footing was at an uncomfortable angle in the sandstone and all I could think of was slipping, then rolling and tumbling down into this huge bowl. You wouldn't just get injured, you'd simply die. I was watching people much younger than I scamper around and thought to myself _I use to be like that_ , _but not anymore!_ I was quite unnerved by the situation and wondering if where I stood would be as far as I would end up going. A young couple was standing beneath the arch to have their picture taken while the guy with the camera stood next to me, opposite the couple on the other side with this huge deep bowl between us, and nothing behind either the couple or us except open space hundreds of feet straight down. Just then a tremendous gush of wind roared through. The couple crouched down flat on the slickrock to keep from being blown off their feet. Then that blast of wind hit us and we hit the deck. To remain standing was nearly impossible and definitely not safe. No doubt we would have been blown off into nothingness. I was thinking surely there have been accidents and deaths here.

I finally screwed up the courage to inch my way around over to a group of thirty-somethings and confessed to them that thirty years ago I would think nothing of this. "But when you get older something happens. Maybe the cajones shrivel up." They laugh. I briefly contemplated standing beneath the arch then asked myself _why?_ Why would I even consider? It was not that important to me. In fact what really seemed important at the time was getting out the hell out of that windstorm and myself back onto some level ground.

As I walked back along the trail I was not beating myself up over my lack of bravado. I have experienced my new shortcomings several times already in recent years so it had become something to be expected. I have grown use to it and accept it. I may not embrace it, but I accept it. At least I am out there.

We moved on down the road to the next attraction, the Double Arch and the Window Arches. Both of these were short little walks. I was especially impressed with the Double Arch, probably over all the arches I had seen that day. I pushed myself to go up higher beneath the arch to a point where three girls were sitting. I just wanted to see the view on the other side. Well it wasn't worth the effort and now I was faced with getting back down. I slowly inched my way down, half sliding on my butt, forever scanning for the least most disaster-prone route. Evidently the terror must have shown on my face, although I wasn't necessarily feeling any, for as I neared level ground where two women were standing, the older one, around my age, repeatedly offered me her hand to help me down. I politely refused the assistance in an effort to preserve what little dignity and pride I had left.

I walked across the parking area over to the two Window Arches Trail and then took the ' _primitive'_ trail back to the parking lot, mainly just to be alone. It was good I did for it provided a nice view of the two Window Arches together. By the time I was back with Sinbad I was done. A spot of tea helped but I was tired. I feel the wind all day just beat me up and wore me down. After a brief rest I drove the short distance to Balanced Rock and then headed back to our campsite. I checked with adding another night so I could do one more hike tomorrow and was told I had to wait until morning to do that.

Back in our comfortable, sheltered and warmer than the outside _Little House on the Highway_ I slipped out of my hiking clothes put on sweats and had another cup of tea with some zucchini bread. I then set to work bringing the journal up to date. While I typed away frequent gusts of wind rocked the RV with great force. I wanted to get a reading on the wind speed but could not bring myself to go outside in the cold and wait for a gust to blast by. A few sprinkles began to fall. I could hear them on the roof but saw nothing on the ground. It said late afternoon the storm would begin. I thought if it went on into tomorrow I may have to cancel the hike to Landscape Arch, the biggest arch in the park.

Tuesday

I awoke before six A.M. to a very chilly camper but was warm inside my double-pack sleeping bag. When I opened the shades what did I see...brilliant clear blue skies! I was having my morning cup of coffee when I saw the campground hosts slowly walk by checking their clipboard. I pulled on my pants and stood out front with the camera making it look as if I was seeking that perfect morning light shot for when they returned back by. They greeted me and I asked if I could pay them now for an extra night−done deal. That saved me from going down there later and coming back. I ate my breakfast, gathered my gear together and hopped on the bike for a brisk ride down to Devils Garden parking lot.

I took the hike at a more leisurely pace enjoying all there was to see along the way. Crisp white clouds hung in the skies making for some dramatic−I hoped−shots using the polarizing filter. It was an easy eight tenths mile walk to Landscape Arch and I found it to be quiet impressive. The only thing was one could no longer get a really clear shot of the arch without having the far cliffs showing within the arch instead of open sky. The Park Service had closed the trail beneath the arch since a large chunk broke away ten years earlier. Further on lay several more arches.

A sign stated PRIMATIVE TRAIL whereas the trail guide pamphlet showed that portion of the trail to begin a mile plus further on. Well soon I discovered the sign was correct. Parts of the trail were a bit scary, walking along steep narrow ridges with drop-offs on either side. One couple I was walking with, Peter who may have been a bit older than I, was on his hands and knees in one section. His wife meanwhile was scampering around like a chipmunk. I was okay with it, but a part of the trail later on got to me as the wind would decide to blow just at the most inopportune time, like when there was a straight drop-off. It was a bit of a way straight down on either side of the trail ridge. It surprised me that the Park Service allowed people who for the most part are out of their element, to traverse these trails where some parts are somewhat dangerous.

I parted company with Peter and his wife as they continued on while I took the short spur to Partition and Navajo Arches. There I was with a woman who seemed in a hurry. I found out she had "someone waiting for her" so had to see it and get back. Later I saw the "someone" who, if he was her husband, I could see he wasn't that interested in anything around him. He looked like he just had stepped out of the car and the hike would be more than anything he would ever consider doing normally. She on the other hand had all the gear, looked fit and was another chipmunk.

Back on the main trail the sign read .9 MILE TO DOUBLE O ARCH. What else did I have to do? It was cold but the sun did shine off and on so I continued along the trail. I am glad I did for I forgot about Wall Arch which had collapsed two years previously. I wanted to see that and had it not been for my nosey nature, I would have missed it. A roped off area with signs dangling in the wind caught my attention off to the side of where the trail grew a bit more concerning. This was the remains and debris of Wall Arch. I would not have seen had it not been for that rope and the small notices waving in the wind like prayer flags warning you to KEEP OUT.

At Double O Arch there were several other people there mostly of the younger set. Two girls were sitting up under the arch and I thought I would go up the four or five feet of slope also. But I just could not see how I could manage this and one of the girls offered me a hand. Oh the humility, but without her help I don't think I could of gone up. Coming down was okay, just a matter of sliding on my butt. But even some of the sections on the return trip out the canyon left me wondering if I could go up a slope or not without any help. With a partner along, a helping hand is always useful, but hiking alone now has opened up a whole new set of possibilities in my later years. If I do a section where gravity is helping me, I needed to consider the return part when gravity is working against me. Is there a way up or down...alone...without assistance? What I took for granted before, I no longer could. Even on the hike back to the bike there were a couple spots I came to that caused me to stop and wonder _where did I come down at? This looks like it, but I can't go up this. There must be another way._

That hike was five plus miles and took close to three hours. I thought about doing the Sand Dune Arch hike right out from our camp after lunch. Once back at camp I decided not to do Sand Dune Arch as I was just tired of the cold biting wind even though it was nowhere as bad as the previous day. I felt I was 'arched out'. I spent the afternoon doing a few more things inside and starting up a rough draft for a new pack list for clothes and gear to pack for upcoming trips.

Wednesday

We awoke to another barely above freezing morning, and my double-pack sleeping bag arrangement was handling the cold quite well. We left camp early and took it easy on out the Park stopping to view some of the sights we blew by coming in. At the visitors center I ate my breakfast then toured the center. Inside I noticed the weather forecast for tomorrow, _twenty percent chance of rain_ −time to move on. So what to do? I thought about revisiting Great Basin National Park on the Nevada/Utah border and do some hiking there among the Bristle Cone Pines. Then we could take my much loved Highway 50 across Nevada slowly making our way back home. I was able to get online in Green River Utah and did a weather check for Great Basin− _snow and low of twenty-six degrees_. Yikes! I tried to think of other places to hang out then go home through Reno over Donner Pass. Reno weather for that weekend... _rain, snow_ and added _yuck_. I did not want to be driving in that! The only thing left to do was head south. For warmth we would have to return to where this adventure all began, the low deserts of Arizona−too far away−or...the place where I have had more misadventures than I ever cared to have, Death Valley. But it would be seventy-five on up to eighty-seven degrees there the next few days and with less mileage out of the way to return home. So if no other options entered my little mind as I was driving along, that was what we would do. Well, six hours and three hundred five miles later we arrived in Cedar City Utah around tea time. I filled up and was surprised to get eighteen mpg, what with all the wind we were in. Next up was on to Lin's Market for milk, water and apples. I also picked up some muffins as the homemade zucchini bread was about gone. We stayed the night in a nice little RV park. I didn't feel bad for staying there as I could get a shower and keep warm hooked up the electricity.

Thursday

It was a very quiet morning. Why? Because it snowed! About an inch and a half of snow blanketed the picnic table. I took some pictures and posted one of snow on the bicycle to the blog. We left when ready, seeking lower elevations and warmer weather out west. Overall it was a fairly uneventful ride of three hundred thirteen miles beating head-on into the wind most of the time. In Las Vegas I topped off the tank so as to have extra fuel to putz around in Death Valley with if I chose to go. The mileage worked out to 17.7mpg with headwinds so I was quite pleased with that. I stopped in a hospital parking lot for a quick lunch before we set off on the final leg up to Beatty, Nevada and then down into Death Valley itself. Beatty looked interesting and may be a place to come back to for a day. There was a little bit of concern if Stovepipe Wells would be full but as it turned out there was ample spaces left. We selected one on the end so the door faced the Valley and nothing else. This way Sinbad could feel better about getting out. A couple hours later a clown with his trailer moved in two spaces over from us thus blocking our sunset view out the side window. After he got set up he let his mutt dog run loose and started throwing a ball for it out in front of us. I wondered why Sinbad rushed in. I went out and talked to the guy about this amazing little device called a leash and how it was a requirement here. It was going to be a long weekend.

Friday

The day got off to a good start. Goof-ball next door left in the morning. Today's plan was to just putz around down the valley towards the visitors center. First stop was at the sand dunes just a couple miles down the road. Wearing clip-clops I walked on out a way and soon got caught up in looking for little animal tracks to photograph for the blog. I must have spent well over an hour there before moving down the road couple miles further to the Devil's Cornfield. There I walked out a way again doing the same thing. I made a couple stops along the main road to photograph flowers which I was surprised to see. I turned in to Salt Creek figuring _what else do I have to do?_ It was a gravel washboard road which isn't too fun in the motor home. Midway it came back to me – _I remember this. This is where I gave the two cyclists from Europe a ride in the last time. I don't want to go here._ But I was already committed and couldn't turn around. It was good that I didn't. At the parking area I saw that Salt Creek was flowing, something I had not seen before so I figured I would check it out. In the shallow water I saw the little Salt Creek pupfish swimming about and tried to get their picture with my little Canon point and click. The fish were shy and swum off if I came too close. I went back for the Nikon and put my new 70-300mm zoom lens on, then walked out onto the boardwalk. There I was able to get much better shots of the pupfish, including some pupfish making love which would be real nice for the blog. I was happy I went in to Salt Creek again. I stopped at the Harmony Borax Works, another place I have seen enough times already but it would make for good blog material.

Finally down to Furnace Creek which is a circus every time I have been there. I was disappointed to find the visitors center closed for remodeling. Temporary quarters were a trailer which was packed−literally, one could not get inside. Later it thinned out and I made a quick little walk-through then left. Next was a tour of Sunset Campground which had been re-done with spaces marked off and numbered. It was no longer a flat parking lot, camping wherever you please as before. Lots of changes were going on in Death Valley which I suppose is all for the best. We then went around Texas Springs and Furnace Creek Campgrounds, the latter I had never been in to. I think Stovepipe Wells is the best as it is centrally located and "Gas is cheaper there" said the ranger lady, only that they had no diesel. Incidentally, diesel was $5.68 at Furnace Creek and $5.28 for regular gas.

Now it was tea time and I decided to go back to the camp spot for my tea and muffin. As we neared camp I could see that new neighbors had moved in. A big diesel pusher with a radar dish set out along with solar panels. After tea I finally got around to adjusting the side mirror so now I could now see a full view on the passenger side. So it was a super day and was feeling so happy we came to Death Valley. The weather was ideal. Now I just had to find something to do for the next three days. Sinbad showed no interest in going outside, although I know he will when the sun goes down. This time I planned on putting on my headlamp for it is way dark out there with no moon.

Saturday

What to do today? I decided to not drive down the road to the sand dune parking lot and ride my bicycle up into the canyon on the opposite side of the road from the dunes. Instead I would ride up Mosaic Canyon which was right across from Stovepipe Wells. It was getting warmer and I finally had to shut things down of trying to get Wi-Fi on the laptop and get on with the day's program. On the bike it felt good to ride. The grade up the alluvial fan was not that steep but it is unending for two and a half miles. Routes I do at home seemed worse but the dry air was the deciding factor here for me. By the time I made it to the parking lot my water bottle was three quarters empty and I am not one to drink that much while riding a bike. Cars would pass me on the graded gravel road and all but one clown in a big truck would slow down as they went by. I locked my bike to the sign, drank the last of the bicycle water (I still had a full bottle in my hiking bag) and took off up the canyon. I had no recollection of the canyon but know we as a family had walked in thirty some years ago. I would tell people this along the way saying "Now I can really notice things a lot more so than back then with two little ones along". I didn't remember any of it so it was like doing the hike for the first time. One good aspect about diminishing memory as one gets older. It was a nice hike in and I went maybe a couple miles or so, about an hour's worth. At the beginning of the hike I wasn't too sure about my riding a bicycle up to the trailhead was a wise idea or not. I think I had drank too much water and it made me feel funny until it worked its way out of my stomach and into my system. Then I was fine. I ate my apple and slowly walked along as various people commented "Oh, you are the guy on the bicycle".

I was constantly looking for a special rock all along the way; one that wouldn't become an ordeal packing out. Finally I reached the end of the canyon where it sort of boxed in. I asked a guy coming out if there was anything up ahead worth seeing. He said it was pretty much all like this. The canyon became narrow and required some scrambling to move on. Realizing my scrambling days were behind me, I turned back. It was there, I found _the rock_. I took photos for the blog on the hike back to the parking lot. I was looking forward to all I had _put into the bank_ in regards to the ride down the hill. On the bike and I was coasting all the way. Wheeeee! I wanted to see how fast I would get up to without peddling and hit twenty-five mph at one point passing a car in the process. The last quarter mile I had to peddle finally for I was slowing down and I wanted to get back and eat! All in all I am glad I did it, but next time I think I will drive. Sinbad was happy (as always) to see me. I fixed a nice sandwich and an energy drink and felt fine for the rest of the day. The days were so wonderful, just the right temperature with a slight breeze. Considering the camps I saw yesterday, I think Stovepipe is the quietest. After doing the dishes and cleaning some rocks with the leftover dish water, I did my notes for the day and then just relaxed, thinking about tomorrow.

Sunday

We drove down the road to a place I saw on the map – _Historical Stovepipe Wells_. This was not familiar to me and indeed, once we arrived I had not ever seen it before. An older couple, who were just gearing up for a hike into the dunes, admitted that they too had not ever seen it before. This spot was the true Stovepipe Well. Sand would frequently cover the opening to the well, so early pioneers and miners stuck a stovepipe into the ground so as to be able to find this valuable source of water. After the couple took off I too put on my hiking shoes and thought of going for a little walkabout in a different direction. I didn't travel too far before beginning to come across rusted pieces of metal lying about, castoffs of long ago. Right off I found three bullets. Now I was really interested in the area and spent an hour just wandering around near the well in search of anything interesting. A few pieces of old blue glass and some nice rocks and that was about all. I also could barely make out the tracks of the wagons that use to travel through the area.

I hung around to just before noon then left for Mustard Canyon all the way back down close to Furnace Creek. I didn't think of it while there the other day, but the yellow soil of Mustard Canyon would be the ideal Death Valley selection for my soil jar back home. I ended up driving in on the loop, stopped the vehicle, climbed out and was disappointed to find the dirt to be nearly solid rock. Further along I did locate some crumbly samples and bagged them. I pulled back on the road and stopped at the first place I safely could for a bite to eat. I putzed along towards camp and as I neared Stovepipe Wells Campground, Village or whatever it should be referred to, I thought I could see someone in my camp spot. I stopped in the store parking lot to check the Wi-Fi connection (none) then drove in. Sure enough, someone with a fifth-wheel had moved in to our spot, unhooked and took off. My tags were still on the clip. It was just as well as I located a much nicer place at the opposite end near the tenters. Mr. Fifth-wheel could now contend with Mr. Generator. In our new spot I rolled out the awning as we were facing the other direction and the sun beat down on the door side. I tried to read a bit which made me drowsy so I decided to lie down that lasted nearly an hour. Up at five o'clock and I felt refreshed. I brought the journal up to date and waited for the sunset from our new vantage point.

Monday

It was a warmer night and I left the table window open hanging the Mexican blanket up over the slide out. This worked well. Sinbad went nuts for awhile with something new in the RV. It is his evening craziness. Mr. Generator pulled out this morning unnoticed by me. I liked our spot, #158 is a good one. After doing the dishes and such I went for a walkabout starting out for the airstrip to check out the ultra light that came in yesterday. It is an interesting machine and quite simple. The couple who owned it came out just as I was leaving so I asked a few questions while they suited up for a flight. It has a flight range of over three hundred miles and can stay aloft for five hours on one tank of fuel which I thought was quite a bit. The lady informed me that it was to be a hundred two degrees this Friday. She also advised me of their camp site and that they had two little dogs inside...just in case they didn't make it. They took off and so did I.

I planned on doing a long loop out in the desert. I saw some dunes in the distance but thought they were too far off to hike to. The next time I looked they seemed a lot closer so that is where I walked for. I saw a yellow-headed blackbird and better still, a horned lizard. He was very nice in allowing me to get some close-up photos and as a reward for being so photogenic I dribbled some water on him. That got a response and he took off. I guess the shock of the water was too much. I slowly made my way back finishing off my water as I neared camp. When will I learn to start carrying two bottles from now on hikes away from home?

Back at camp I made a sandwich and another for tomorrow thus finishing off the mayonnaise and both packages of meat. After lunch I realized the batteries seemed lower than they should be with all the direct sun we were receiving. Getting involved with the solar system I found out the controller was not allowing the juice to go on into the batteries. After a lot of fiddling and testing I took the piece-of crap out and connected the solar panel directly to the batteries. After a while it still didn't seem as it should. I would have to look into it more at home and do some research online. So other than that, the day was mostly spent just lounging around, doing some cleaning and rearranging, generally getting ready for tomorrow's long drive. There were a lot of people watching throughout all of this. There were fifteen campers left but all of tent row was filled out. I did not know how many spots there are for tenters. I walked over and sat out in front of the store for awhile watching people come and go−entertaining. The plan was to get up when I woke up in the morning, have coffee, a quick bowl of cereal in a paper bowl, dump the tanks and go. I was looking forward to a shower at the end of the day and a nice steak dinner in Boomtown, Nevada. Come Wednesday we would have only four to five hours of driving to go before arriving home.
GLACIER NATIONAL PARK ROAD TRIP  
September 2011

I was packed and ready to go the day before. In the morning it was all a matter of putting the cold foods in and lock up the house. I went out early to fire up the refrigerator so it would start getting cold. Usually this takes a couple tries as air gets in the propane line after a long sit, only this time it wouldn't start. I walked around to the side, took the cover off and saw the fire was going but the igniter kept clicking thinking it hadn't lit, and then everything would shut down. _Great!_ No refrigerator, no leaving. Well, as I told the neighbor when he walked by while I was fiddling with it "The good thing is, being retired I have all time and not like my limited vacation time is being taken away by this. Plus, good this happened at home rather hundreds of miles into nowhere." I drove into town to an RV store and lucked out with them having a dust covered package sitting on a shelf containing the correct thermo-coupler. I installed it in the parking lot and BINGO, I had ignition! We were rolling by noon.

We logged in two-hundred-thirteen miles that first day stopping in one-hundred-three degree Redding at an RV park along the Sacramento River. When the lady checking us in asked if we had any dogs I mentioned no, just my pussy cat. "Could you set us up in a spot away from dogs if possible? Sinbad likes to sit outside." So she made the effort and gave us site 64. We pulled in, hooked up and I sat on the step in the shade of the RV drinking a beer while Sinbad sprawled out on the cement. Just then an RV a bit larger than us pulled in two spots down in direct line of us. The middle-aged lady rolled out the driver side door and all hell broke loose as she beat back several barking and yapping dogs trying to follow her out. _Wonderful!_ I sipped my beer and watched the show.

She plugged in the electrical cord, connected the water line and hooked up her poop tube, all bare handed I might add. Then she brought out this short-legged hugely overweight belly dragging-the-cement dog for a pee. That poor pooch. She returned that dog to the RV and emerged with a large black poodle and a miniature black poodle that literally dragged her at a jogging pace across the road. They did their peeing. She returned them to the RV and came out with another even larger black poodle, taking it over to the doggy area. By now this had become beyond merely amusing. As she brings back the second large poodle I thought myself _If she comes out with another dog...no way._ Unbelievably though, she did, this time it is an ankle-biting Pomeranian that after it does its business she carries it back to the RV. Five dogs! I finished my beer imagining what it must be like inside that RV. The smell, scratched woodwork, torn and chewed cushions, dog hair everywhere.

Later, on my way to the pool I mentioned the story to the RV lady in the office, in a nice way not complaining. She couldn't believe it. "She told me she had two dogs and a cat and her mother." I told her I couldn't believe a cat could tolerate the mayhem inside that RV−that poor cat. The RV park lady apologized and offered us a spot along the river in the high-rent district but we stayed where we were. It was too hot for the dogs to be outside. They stayed in with the air conditioner chugging away.

And this why I so love road trips.

The next day we arrived in Lava Beds National Monument just after noon and took spot A6 as it was the furthest away and afforded a nice view of the valley below. As it turned out, this happened to be the primo camp spot of the campground. I toured the visitor center then walked the nearby developed (paved) Mush Pot Lava Tube trail. Back at camp I lounged around resting after the long day's drive. The sunset provided some pretty great pictures and was in bed soon after.

The following day began with a slow drive up the road twenty miles to the Klamath Basin Wildlife Refuge. Here I drove along the gravel road topped levees looking for birds to photograph, stopping near the end of the auto route to eat lunch. Afterwards, a short drive up to the refuge visitor center where I rescued a small snake trapped inside the building. Heading back to camp I saw a Golden Eagle eating a Great Blue Heron on road. That was too good a photo opportunity until a young kid drove by stopped and chucked the carcass off the road so as he said, "No Red Shouldered hawks would get hit". Yeah, right. Back at camp someone had moved into our spot removing my receipt tag. There was a tent, chair and cooler all set up with no one around. The campground host had left the day before so I had to drive back to the visitor center and report it. They called in Ranger Laura who followed us down to our camp at A6. She left them a note to vacate and an hour later the guy showed up. He claimed our tag was dated the 7th which it was. But that was the purchase date, not the vacate date. Oddly he still had my tag in his pocket, like if he didn't get away with his plan, whoever he was stealing the campsite from he could return the receipt to.

This is why I don't like road trips.

We left Lava Beds National Monument after a two night stay-over. The morning as I prepared to leave I was approached by a man interested in our camp spot. I told him we were leaving in an hour but he'd best hurry as the claim jumper up the road had his eye on it. Meanwhile, two very old ladies came by and got into a discussion with the newcomer. By now the newcomer had already paid for A6 and had begun moving in while I sat there eating my breakfast. The two old women didn't let him come by it very easily and after a lengthy discussion eventually moved on for easier pickings. I later thought I could have auctioned off the site.

North we traveled through Bend, Oregon then veered northeast. It appeared we would be in the vast high desert lands of Oregon with no place to stay so I elected to do an early stop at the last town which would provide a place to clean up, charge up and get online. That town was Prineville in Crook County which was that very weekend hosting the Run to the Cascades Motorcycle Rally. _Yippee!_ The one and only place to stay was the Crook County RV Park which was right smack dab next to the Crook County Fairgrounds where the event was taking place. I mean, we were like two hundred yards away from the sound stage where rock bands played non-stop, twenty-four hours long, for the entire three-day weekend. The good thing was the nine feet tall stacked sound systems were pointed away from us. Also, as the guard at the gate mentioned to me, "This is Friday and they may take a break for a few hours tonight for there is the _Ultimate Cage Fight to the End_ being held in the Event Center tonight." Now there is a date-night opportunity to impress a young lady.

Inside the motor home was nice as I kept the air conditioner on which drowned out Harleys firing up and the constant rock music. I showered, caught up on e-mails, posted on the blog and brought the journal up to date after a few days of neglect. It was $30.66 well spent and we were lucky getting one of the last spots available during the big event weekend.

That evening wasn't noisy at all. Even when I awoke in the middle of the night, it was fairly quiet outside. These middle-aged bikers can't party like the young ones. I went to dump what little I had in the tanks right at our camp spot. Unfortunately when I pulled the poop tube out of the holder, half of it had rotted away in places and was unusable. After cutting off the bad half I proceeded with the dirty deed and we were on our way.

We stopped at the John Day Fossil Beds, another one of those life-long places I've wanted to see ever since I discovered it existed. It wasn't how I imagined it−a vast desolate desert landscape. Instead it was hilly to mountainous land with trees and some very nicely colored hills much like the Painted Desert. I walked a few short quarter mile loops, found one tiny fossil leaf and then watched a rather large man lose his footing on a hard-packed sandy slope and crash to the ground on his hip. The show was right in front of me and he undoubtedly was very embarrassed. At least he saved his camera in spite of having lost his dignity. Had he been on the established trail this would not have happened to him. I ate lunch at the last stop then continued on down the highway to the next fossil site thirty miles on. Here was a large visitor center with a really great display of fossils, plus I could have watched them working on the fossils had it not been a Saturday when the curators were off for the weekend. Rather than see more dried up areas, and the hour was getting late with no for-sure campground, we moved on. I found Clyde Holiday Campground only twenty-six miles further in Mount Vernon. It proved to be a very nice State Park (Oregon always has nice parks) with green grass and cool shady trees. Twenty-two dollars in spot #19 with electricity, I'll take it.

It was cool in the morning. We were underway at nine A.M. heading north on Highway 395 stopping a couple times for old abandoned barn photo opportunities. Somewhere along the road we crossed the forty-fifth parallel, the midway point between the equator and the North Pole. No wonder it was cooler this morning. I stopped at a Subway on the outskirts of Pendleton for a sandwich then continued on into Washington arriving at Lewis and Clark Trail State Park on Highway 12 just before the town of Dayton. The park was nothing like the previous night's camp in Oregon. This place was in a very humid forest setting. I had to go pee and found the restrooms look to have been erected around the time when Lewis and Clark themselves passed through here. I think I had become spoiled to the high-life in camping and need to readjust my thinking a bit. Paying twenty-two dollars for this dusty overgrown jungle spot after paying the same price last night with watered green lawns in a cool comfortable setting was disheartening. If I was to find a better campground down the road a ways tomorrow I'll be...well, I just hope not. Since we are in a "jungle" I went right out with my camera on the nature trail but really saw nothing of interest.

We got an early start leaving camp before eight-thirty A.M. Just past Dayton I pulled off onto another road to view a Lewis and Clark site the jungle campground host had told me about. It was only two and a half miles in and there, in a meadow alongside the river was a recreation of their encampment using life-sized cut-out metal silhouettes of each member of the party. Even Sacagawea herself was represented. It was pretty neat to see but still difficult to imagine what the scene must have really looked like two hundred five years ago. I doubled back on the road and returned to Highway 12 which pretty much follows the route Lewis and Clark used on their return trip back from the mouth of the Columbia River in 1806.

Crossing the Snake River into Lewiston, Idaho I stopped for fuel and food then pulled off once out of town to eat the other half of my now soggy Subway sandwich. Soon we would be on the hundred-ninety-six-mile long Lewis and Clark Highway Wild and Scenic Corridor which on the map showed no camping. But as it was not yet two P.M., it was too soon to stop in Kooskia where an RV park billed itself as the last stop for two hundred miles. I pressed on and soon found Forest Service campgrounds all along the Corridor. I stopped midway at a very nice campground, mostly to ourselves and for only four dollars rent with my old people discount. It was now tea time but instead enjoyed a beer while getting the barbeque going for the steak I bought earlier in Lewiston.

The next morning we continued on and pulled off at the top of Lolo Pass for no other reason than I had to pee. There was a huge parking area for their newly constructed visitor center. In fact workers were still painting preservative on the logs of the building and moving boulders about along the entry into the center. Inside I immediately saw a wall full of books, but no bathroom. I'm sure there was a bathroom somewhere but I was too excited with all the books to be had. Off I went back to the motor home for my money, go pee in there and then back inside the visitor center where I bought my book, a journal by one of the members of the Lewis and Clark expedition. Maybe the bathrooms were hard to find but not the FREE hot chocolate machine. A new book and free hot chocolate; I was a happy camper. Coincidently we were there on the very same day, September 13, as when the Lewis and Clark expedition came through the pass two-hundred-six years earlier.

That night we pulled into La Salle RV Campground just outside of Glacier National Park. It appeared to be to the closest to the park and the write-up online appeared to be good. The truth of the matter was just the opposite. (I later found out I had mistakenly been reading the reviews of an RV park in La Salle, Wisconsin) It was an unimproved camp area where most of the campers appeared to be long-term residents. I took the electric only spot for twenty dollars. Full hook-ups were thirty-five. The showers were marginally better than the Washington park. The bad thing was I had passed much nicer looking RV parks back down the road. The old fellow running the place lived in Casa Grande, Arizona. He was there giving his son a break after they went in on this place together as an investment and the son had not had a day off in two years. I can only imagine how happy the former owners were when they unloaded this pit on the unsuspecting father and son enterprise. Tomorrow, we would be in Glacier National Park where I read it was twenty-three degrees at night!

We were up before six A.M. and on our way in a little over an hour. Too excited I skipped breakfast but did get an espresso drink next to the filling station. I wanted a full tank of fuel for all the driving through Glacier Park Montana. I stopped outside the entrance to wash the windows then walked over to get a lemon muffin and another espresso drink at a nearby espresso wagon. I did a quick walk-through at the Alberta visitor center. I was now ready to go in to Glacier National Park, a long awaited visit. A ranger greeted us in line before reaching the kiosk booth. I handed her my old people card where upon she said "Now you know you're too big to drive all the way through over Logan Pass". _No!_ _Say this is some sort of joke!_ Nope, I could only go as far as Avalanche Creek where there was a turn-around. I was extremely disappointed to say the least.

I stopped at the Apgar visitor center two miles in to get more information. I had found myself in the wrong line with ranger Chatty Cathy. After about fifteen or so minutes of standing in line I found out the size limit to drive the Going-to-the-Sun Road was twenty one feet. The motor home with the rear bike carrier on back is at twenty five feet. It is also too wide as the road was is narrow as the mirrors could hit the rock walls. Then there were the ten foot high rock overhangs. The motor home stands at 10'6". I was told it was not that far to drive all the way around the park and come in on the east side but she told me four miles of the road was too narrow and we'd have to take a detour of twenty-four miles. Then there was a twenty mile stretch that was under construction and long waits had been reported. She advised me of another detour of undeterminable length around all the mess. By then we would be at the East Entrance where we could drive in eighteen miles and be faced with a sign advising us of not going any further. "But I've seen tour buses go on to Logan Pass, so you should be able to"...and then she added those fateful two words _I think_. I really did not need all this added adventure (and uncertainty) so I never even considered trying the round-about detours.

Instead I began a leisurely drive up along Lake McDonald where for the most part all I could see was a ribbon of asphalt through a corridor of trees. Fifteen miles later I turned around at previously mentioned Avalanche Creek and slowly made my way back stopping at most every turnout. One stop I almost passed until at the last moment I saw something to read. I stopped, read the sign then walked down by the water's edge. There I waited for this guy to get out of the way so as I could take my 'award winning' Glacier Park photograph. Just then his friend who was patiently waiting said "Here comes a bear." Sure enough, a big black bear was making his way towards us along the shoreline. I ran back up to the motor home to get my long lens and my movie making SD card. The bear walked right by me and I was able to get both photos and movies. Glacier National Park came through for me and I was once again a happy camper.

Back at the West Glacier Entrance I ate lunch then continued on the highway outside of the park boundary seeing just as spectacular scenery outside the park as there was inside. We arrived at a Forest Service campground some twenty plus miles on and I called it a day at two-fifteen P.M. in the afternoon. The espresso lady earlier had told me this is exceptional weather this week here in Glacier country so for that too I was quite happy. Camp was at 4239 feet and some campers who were just leaving said it did not get into freezing range.

We decided to go on into Browning, Montana for breakfast but found no place to eat there except an East Indian café so continued on to Cut Bank. It wasn't till the third café listed on the GPS did I find C&L Café. It was very basic in furniture and décor but the misspellings on the menu boards made up for that for entertainment. That aside, the breakfast was good. I had the smoked sausage skillet with two eggs and hash browns. It took twenty-five minutes to prepare my skillet and by then I was beyond hungry. Onward I drove, eastbound on Highway 2 paralleling the Canadian border which was thirty-five to fifty miles northward on my left. After a bathroom stop in Chester, I elected to do an early fuel stop in Chinook as there looked to be nothing else for a long way after turning south on Highway 66. The day was growing long with miles upon miles of wheat fields and no campgrounds or RV parks around for hours of driving. My 'Cheap & Free' campground directory showed there was a BLM campground south of an Indian reservation off on some gravel roads near Landusky. Fortunately there was a sign on the road and I wheeled in. Several miles later I came upon a nice campground with ten sites and none of them level. I know as I tried almost every one. After about twenty minutes of effort, finally I had the motor home level in spot #10 alongside a smelly sulpher stream. I paid half price for the three dollar spot letting the BLM keep fifty cents in change from my two dollars as a thank you tip for being here. I took Sinbad on a little walk and gave him claw clip for today was his twelfth birthday. It had been a long day at two-ninety- miles fighting head and side winds sweeping down from Canada.

No one else came to our little 'private' campground that night. Who else would be out here miles from nowhere anyway? After a quick stop at the pit toilet we were on our way to the Charles Russell Wildlife Refuge less than twenty miles down the road, which I discovered that night on another map I had which had campgrounds! I drove in five miles or so on a gravel washboard road that didn't look like would give me much wildlife viewing. I stopped at the bottom of a green valley where I could turn around. There as I was trying to bet the RV turned around was a plethora of macro bug photos to be had among the flowering brush. I probably stayed there an hour chasing bugs. A few miles further I saw the campground, right by the road, spacious and flat! Grrrr. We continued on into Billings Montana and stayed at the KOA, the original very first KOA, the mother ship itself, and it was very nice. At thirty-one fifty it had probably the best of restroom and shower facilities I had ever seen for an RV park.

First stop after leaving that morning when I decided I didn't want to eat breakfast was to the grocery store. There I scored on frozen dinners ten for ten dollars. I bought a lot of other stuff including a six-pack of Mike's Hard Lemonade which turned out to be Mike's Margueritas, a mistake purchase but still fine. I also picked up a scone and a muffin for that skipped breakfast to eat at my next stop, a Starbucks. I may pay more than I should for a drink but I'll be darned if I'll carry the weakness further by buying their pastries. I sat there in a post office loading zone and ate my breakfast.

On to Pompey's Pillar to see Captain William Clark's name etched in the sandstone bluff when he stopped by here on July 25, 1806 and left his mark. The monument was very nice with a great visitor center but you cannot imagine my disappointment upon viewing old Bill's name after climbing the hundred fifty-foot tall rock pillar near the Yellowstone River. His graffiti was enclosed behind a framed bullet-proof faded Plexiglas window with a brass lock dangling from the hasp. Not only that, but three bronze plaques were embedded into the rock face further detracting from the image of the natural rock wall. Oh well, such are the times we live in. On down the road we arrived at the Little Bighorn Battlefield which made up for Pompey's Pillar. This wasn't a consideration for the trip. I merely saw it on the map and we were close by so why not? The battlefield was very interesting although try as I might, it was still difficult to imagine what took place there on June 25 and 26 of 1876. Small white marble headstones mark where individual soldiers of George Armstrong Custer's 7th Calvary soldiers fell. Dotting the grasslands are red granite headstones showing where Lakota, Cheyenne and Arapaho warriors died defending their homeland and way of life. A tall granite memorial stands atop Last Stand Hill with the names of the soldiers who died etched into it. Nearby is circular memorial to the Indians who fought and died in the battle. Along the low rock wall circle is a life-sized wire sculpture of three Indians on horseback riding into battle as a lone Indian maiden runs alongside the final rider. Attempting to avoid the tour buses disgorging loads of people like cattle was the only bad part of my visit there. So glad I saw it on the map.

A bit further down the road was the 7th Ranch RV Park which really was a gem, with the battlefield still in sight on the far hills to the north. It cost thirty-four dollars for the night to camp where no doubt soldiers and Indians had chased one and the other a hundred twenty-five years earlier.

I was close to being the last one to leave, probably because I was the last one to get up. But I'm the last to turn out the lights at night too. That's how it is when your biorhythm is synced to west coast time. It was now onward south into Wyoming with a rest stop at noon for lunch. We arrived at the Devil's Tower KOA just outside the entrance station to the National Monument and picked spot #18. The lady said they were full last night but today it was pretty clear. I had a beer and then drove into the monument and was asked by the kiosk lady if I was going to camp! I did not know they had a campground here. Oh well, I did have electricity, Wi-Fi and showers for twenty-four dollars at the KOA. On the three mile road to the visitor center we went through prairie dog town where I just had to stop and take pictures. These guys are so use to people that picture taking posed no challenge. The visitor center was very minimal compared to most others I've seen. I did not stay long but returned to camp planning the morning for a hike and picture taking for the next day. I had my heart set for a buffalo burger dinner but was disappointed to find the KOA restaurant closed for the season. So it was a frozen dollar meal instead. An interesting side note for this KOA was that while looking it up online I saw a news article on it. One month earlier the young family man owner and a septic tank worker died in an accident in the park. Both were found dead inside the system, probably overcome by the gases and lack of oxygen. So it was a somber feeling to stay here.

I showered in the morning and decided to stay there at Devil's Tower Campground, the park's campground. I drove back to the visitor center to park then walked the 1.3 mile loop around the Tower taking about two hours to do so what with taking pictures of birds and squirrels and avoiding the Asians from the newly arrived tour bus. I returned to The Little House on the Highway for lunch where I visited with Bobbie, another View owner same model and year as mine. She was from New Jersey and was taking this trip solo (except for two dogs) after her boy friend died two months earlier. Back down to the Park Service campground for six dollars and took more pictures mainly of Mountain Bluebirds which were fairly friendly. I tried my luck shooting video down into the prairie dog holes using the GoPro camera mounted to my hiking stick with some success.

We left camp and took a suggested route through Hewlett to avoid the road resurfacing going on the road through Sundance. This proved to be very scenic with gusty winds pushing us along. At Belle Fourche I bought a coffee at the Pony Espresso then continued through the confusing mountain roads around Deadwood, South Dakota.

The Crazy Horse site was first on my list and I was blown away by the development that had taken place in the past thirty-five years. It was overwhelming. It was apparent a lot of money had gone into the place. I watched the informative orientation movie in one of the two large theatres which pressed the point that everything around me was the result of donations and money earned from admissions and sales of souvenirs. If nothing else, it had the most extensive Indian history collection, a display the likes I had never seen elsewhere. One of the last things to see, which only by chance I did see it, was the opportunity to buy a souvenir rock from the excavation of Crazy Horse for a dollar donation. I bought one and have since lost track which rock it is from all of the rocks I've collected over the years from various places I've visited. It was very windy and cold was miserable. As for the rock sculpture itself, it seemed no thirty-five years of progress had been accomplished. I knew now that not in my lifetime will I see the completion of Crazy Horse.

Next was Mt. Rushmore which was equally over-developed from how I remembered it. It looked so out of place from the natural setting of the Black Hills of South Dakota with polished granite columns, buildings and walkways all of which I learned was granite from Minnesota not South Dakota. Flags from every state in the Union fluttered in the breeze and I was unimpressed and somewhat disillusioned. But I'd look at the visitors around me, many of them their first time at Mt. Rushmore and their faces were filled with wonder and admiration. So be it. I'd rather them to be having a grand time anyway. I did finally get my buffalo burger with fries and a hot cocoa at their restaurant. Buffalo tastes pretty good. No wonder the Indians revered them so.

Back up the road five miles to a luxurious KOA I had passed and stayed there for the night. I was tired. All the sightseeing was too much for me I suppose.

I was awake before six A.M. after probably what was the coldest night, even if it was just forty-four-degrees outside. I walked over to the Ponderosa Restaurant for breakfast. I ordered my usual eggs and hash browns and was somewhat taken back finding the hash browns were two triangle wedged processed patties. Oh well, again. I partially filled the water tank, washed the windows and was off hunting for buffalo.

It was a scenic and interesting drive to Custer State Park which took us through narrow rock tunnels and on pig's tail turns (that's what they called them) in the road. I stopped to photograph some Pronghorn Antelope and was beginning to wonder if I would ever see the Bison. Finally, we came to the tail end of a group crossing the road. Although I missed the entire herd, I felt happy to see and get pictures of what I did. Then, a few more miles down the road I saw another small herd off in the distance and stopped for a while. Soon they began to make their way towards us and in time I had them right next to us in The Little House on the Highway. I couldn't have asked for anything better. What a day! And with that we left Custer State Park to look for a camp.

Wind Cave National Park was just five miles further on and several miles into it we entered the campground which was vacant save for one tenter. I relaxed the rest of the afternoon, reviewing my pictures and wishing they were better after deleting most. We did fifty-seven miles our day of hunting buffalo. I must add Sinbad found them interesting to watch.

We were on our way at seven-thirty A.M. I saw more Bison and Pronghorn before reaching our first destination of the day, the Mammoth Site of Hot Springs, South Dakota. It was seven-fifty for admission at the senior rate and I viewed the video while waiting for the next tour to begin. By that time a big tour bus arrived packed with old people (okay, I'm old but these folks were ancient) and I felt all was lost. I tagged along with the first half of the group, refusing to use the telephones provided to hear what the tour leader was saying. I could hear well enough without all the nastiness of putting a germ infested receiver to my ear. Once the group neared the end I veered off on my own to look everything over more carefully. As more buses arrived I gave up and left thinking of lunch. On the way to a Subway I saw a Dairy Queen and pulled in to eat on the wild side. I had a double-decker burger, quite tasty along with a milkshake. I must consider Dairy Queen more often.

Next it was on into Nebraska and to the Agate Fossil Beds National Monument out in the middle of nowhere on Road 29. This I really enjoyed as only one other lady was there, some sort of a survivalist woman that she made clear to me. I distanced myself from her right away. Time was running out to take the two mile walk to the dig site but that was fine as I had seen all I needed in the movie playing in the visitor center. I drove on to Scotts Bluff where I grocery shopped then camped at a not-to-well marked city campground nearby just behind their "zoo". I don't like zoos so tried not to look over and through the chain link fence separating the two properties. It was a nice campground (except for the neighbor) where I showered and relaxed for the remainder of the day.

I was up early again and after a quick cereal breakfast, dumped the tanks for free, although the notice said there was a eight-fifty charge but no one said anything, and I motored on out before someone did say something. It could have been a fee for non-campers but it wasn't clear. I needed to start heading west for home but I had to go east just a wee bit further...like hundred twenty-one miles further. I wanted to follow the Oregon Trail back to Ogallala. I breezed by an old barn photo opportunity and pulled a U-turn to go back for it. Just as I finished with my photo, an old guy in his pick-up slowed to a stop across the road and even more slowly walked on over to me. He presented me with a Nebraska twenty-five cent piece. His name was Gordon and he talked with me a good fifteen minutes through the window as cars buzzed by his backside. The barn was his as was most of the land around there. He had donated the land for the Chimney Rock visitor center a mile and a half up the road. The guy had an interesting life to tell. He owned the land around Chimney Rock and the State wanted to build their visitor center right by the rock spire but Gordon told them they "would be going to the bank for a long time" if they wanted that piece of land. He didn't want the center so close. He said he had retired four times as he never was able to put any "money in a sock", so he kept on doing something new. He built houses out of straw, used to run wagon trains around the area to give people an idea what it was like for the pioneers, and he even ran chuck wagon meals too. Now he has some cattle on his land. In the winter he enjoys duck hunting and each year will shoot just one deer for the meat. His "hired hand" Patty (his wife), he said he had with him for fifty eight years. Gordon was seventy eight. He told me how he likes to help out those in need. For awhile he was hiring newly released prisoners from the state penitentiary. The first guy was in for drugs and his mind was all messed up. "He robbed me blind." One guy was in prison for dousing a man with gasoline and trying to set him on fire. "Only his matches were wet and he couldn't finish the job." Another was a Mexican fellow who was in for selling drugs. "He was a good worker for awhile. All of them though were only interested in the paycheck." Later at the Chimney Rock Visitor Center we saw a bronze plaque outside mentioning the land was donated by Gordon and Patty Howard, so he was the real deal after all.

I fueled up in Ogallala, crossed the bridge over the Platte River and turned onto the Interstate to begin our way home. This was our furthest point east. Two hours later I pulled off at Brush, Colorado and camped in a free VFW park next to a nice city park. There were some characters there that had all the appearances of this being their home. We were thirteen-hundred miles from home.

I was up early again (so much for my biorhythm theory) and the plan was to eat a big breakfast which would carry me through the day. The bathrooms there had a code which I didn't know. Next to camp was a city park and their restrooms were locked. A few blocks into town I discovered they were having a car show on the streets, a small affair. Thinking what few restaurants they had would be busy and that I was not really that hungry I decided to drive a few miles down the road to Fort Morgan. I punched in a random address to the GPS and Claire began to take me south, away from everything. I turned around in a couple of miles really frustrated with the slow start for the day when it could have been otherwise. Once in Fort Morgan a few restaurants turned up on the radar screen. I pulled in to a cheap gas station and asked the cigarette smoking lady behind the counter where I could go for a breakfast. She kindly mentioned two and I headed off for the one on my way. It turned out to be a Mexican restaurant and I was about to pass it off but turned back a block later. _Anything will do._ I had to get on with the day. Well Santiago's turned out to be a real find. I ordered their huevos rancheros which were very good and very filling and best of all, very cheap at $5.46.

We left there and entered the Interstate heading towards Denver. I was not looking forward to going through Denver. As it turned out it wasn't too bad and the climb up and over the Rockies wasn't like going over the Sierras – this was much more gradual. But I did top out at over eleven-thousand feet inside the Eisenhower Tunnel, one of the reasons for my choosing this route. The tunnel is a monumental engineering feat. The Little House on the Highway performed wonderfully and when I filled up fuel down on the other side at Parachute, Colorado it recorded 18.9mpg!

The day before when checking distances I thought going to Grand Junction would be too far but once over the Continental Divide and past the rich people's playground of Vail, I decided to press on. We rolled in to a KOA south of Grand Junction around three P.M. having driven three hundred forty-seven miles for the day.

The plan for the next day was to tour nearby Colorado National Monument. After a quick stop at the market we entered the park from its southeast entrance where we were in for free with my senior pass card. We climbed the twisty road to the upper plateau and were greatly impressed with the canyons and landscape which was much like Zion, the Canyonlands or Arches. In no great hurry I stopped at most every turnout, eating an early lunch at one. The steep cliffs along Rim Drive were right on the edge of the canyon. I have to admit, the curves with no guard rails was a bit unnerving even for me. The real clincher though was a narrow section with a sheer rock wall on one side and a vertical drop-off on the other. Fortunately no cars were coming as I used the entire road driving down the middle. This must be a hint of what the Going-to-the-Sun road in Glacier N.P. would have been like.

I stopped at the visitor center then took the steep windy road down to Fruita, Co. and turned east towards Utah. Ninety one miles later we pulled into Green River State Park in Green River, Utah. It was a nice park with level spots surrounded by green grass and healthy cottonwoods. I took Sinbad out for his obligatory inspection walk in a new location then relaxed all afternoon taking advantage of the free showers in run-down stalls but they were fine by me.

I was up and out of the park by seven-thirty A.M. I poked along the way through the town of Green River which pretty much looked worn out and tired. There were a lot of closed businesses which got me to thinking that I should have documented all the closed businesses I've seen for the entire trip. A pretty sad state of affairs and probably next year will be even worse. I drove on with no great hurry taking pictures along the way. I did see a dead bear alongside the road and that was a first. A road-kill bear. Yet I was unable to stop in time and there was no turn-around on the divided highway. By the time we reached Delta, Utah, it was time to fill up and eat lunch. I bought a Philly cheese steak sandwich from Hogies Yogi which was very good. It was too early to stay in this town so onward to Great Basin National Park. We arrived around two-thirty P.M., looked through the visitor center then drove up the mountain to the Lower Lehman Campground. Spots were narrow, not level and in dense growth. The Upper Lehman Campground seemed worse still so I scooted back down and took the second-to-last campsite. Sadly I was again in a too long of a vehicle to proceed on to the Bristlecone Pines at the end of the road. The regulations state twenty four feet and that is what The Little House on the Highway is−really a foot and a half longer with the bumper. Most likely it would be no problem but I vaguely remembered the places to stop along the way when I was here last in the Land Rover were small, narrow and not much to choose from. I felt it would only be worse with The Little House on the Highway so we stayed only the one night and would move on down Highway 50, the Loneliest Highway in America the next day.

At this point we were ahead of ourselves so I planned an extra night's stop at Hickison Petroglyphs camp midway across Nevada on Highway 50. I had stayed there several times in the past. It is pretty, quiet, sometimes having the entire campground of eleven free sites all to myself, and the night skies are just spectacular. We arrived around noon and tried to enjoy the rest of the day in the shade. For some reason though the flies and other pesky flying bugs were particularly bothersome. I tried to stay inside until the heat forced me out, where I then tried to endure the irritating insects as long as I could. All the while I couldn't help thinking perhaps I should have kept on driving. As the afternoon crawled by, the flies continued their relentless quest and I began to beat myself up for stopping so early in the day. Now it seemed too late to drive with it being hours from nowhere.

A couple cars came up the dirt road to view the petroglyphs and moved on. Two campers drove in, one an RV like mine and the other a couple in a VW bus, but oddly they did not stay. It was now past four P.M. and I was really upset with myself. I became more disgusted with my poor decision. I decided to take a walk and use the pit toilet bathroom. The one near our camp was littered with rodent droppings on the cement porch. Inside it was just as bad. Even I drew the line on peeing in there so I walked on up to the next pit toilet. This one was even worse. The cement was barely visible but for the carpeting of rat turds. The flies were thick, escaping in a dense cloud when I opened the door. I moved on up to the main restroom at the parking area for the petroglyph trail. This was the cleanest of the lot, and at that, it was still dirty but I used it anyway as I didn't have to stand in rat crap to do so.

Just then, the one and only other camper staying there returned having been away all the while we'd been here. His camp was a beat-up trailer and tent set-up which had all the appearances of someone "living" there. The driver looked to be one of the highway workers and he came barreling up the road in cloud of dust with Karen Carpenter singing as loud as the 8-track in his junky old Ford truck could manage. He slid to a stop at his camp, climbed out of the cab filthy dirty, plopped down in a camp chair, beer in hand−one that he had been working on while driving−and Karen was still carrying on with both truck doors wide open.

I returned to camp, thought about what I just experienced with the restrooms and concluded this is why all the flies and why the other campers did not stay. As Karen broke in to a new song "We've only just begun..." I said to Sinbad, "That's it! Let's get out of here. I don't care how long I have to drive."

I drove on at seventy miles an hour (I usually putt along at fifty seven) into the setting Nevada sun for over an hour when I nearly blew by a brand new to me camping opportunity. It was at Cold Springs, the little bar and gas station just east of Frenchman. They had fresh new camping pads in the back and here we stayed as the evening set in. I hadn't recognized it because this day just happened to be their one year anniversary of being open after the old bar had burned down a few years back. It had an all new look, very nice and I had a smile on my face once again.

The next morning I saw the only thing familiar to me, the pony express rider metal cut-outs as this was a stop on the old Pony Express Route of 1860. Before, Cold Springs was just a bar where you could get something to eat and fill up with gas. Now they had several little cottages to stay in plus the RV/trailer camping. Inside, the bar, restaurant and a little gift shop was all bright, new and wonderful. This is a great place to stop and stay the night if you are in the middle of nowhere Nevada on Highway 50, the "Loneliest Highway in America", even if you are not running from flies and Karen Carpenter. We arrived home later in the day after visiting ten states and travelling 4353 miles doing so.
THE GREAT PLAINS TOUR  
August – November 2012

On our trip last year at this time to Glacier National Park, we left Montana and drove south through the western portion of South Dakota and the panhandle of Nebraska. I was intrigued with the prairie and grasslands of the area. This year I decided to go back and explore the Great Plains States. But I didn't know what route to take or how to go about it with any sense of direction. Weeks later an idea came to mind. I could search out for the odd and unusual sites to see which would provide interesting photo opportunities. On the Internet I came across _Roadside America_ which outlines just those quirky sites in every state. Searching out the weird would dictate my route. I researched a state a day and when finished I had fifteen pages of ninety different goofy and oddball sights to see among nine states. The plan was set. We'd head east on Interstate 80 till we hit Nebraska then jump onto little back roads and start looking. We would travel north through the Dakotas, over into Minnesota then south through Iowa, Missouri, Arkansas, Oklahoma and up into Kansas.

We left home close to nine in the morning and drove straight on through to our first place to see, _Thunder Mountain_ at Imlay Nevada. There was no mountain there. It was an "art house" created by a man who renamed himself Thunder Mountain. His purpose it seemed was to build his home in respect to the Native American Indian who had been greatly disserviced by the immigration of the white man. The place could be seen from Interstate 80 and I had passed it many times in past trips. This time I made a point of stopping. I was wandering around the fenced off area when the caretaker, Fred Lewis, came up to me, a nice old fellow around my age who was just a friendly sort or simply happy to have someone to talk to. He offered to open the place up as so I could wander about as I pleased saying just to lock up when I was done. He also said I could go in after dark to take pictures even though it was posted otherwise. I doubted I would last that long being tired from the long day and I was proven right. The next morning I went back in for a few more pictures with the morning sun coming in from the east then locked the gate behind me. I felt Leonard Knight's Salvation Mountain at Slab City near the Salton Sea was better done.

We faced a long drive just to get out of Nevada and when we reached the border at Wendover, Utah two hundred seventy-seven miles later I was done. I was having trouble keeping from nodding off all during the day's drive. I hoped it was just a matter of three hundred fifty miles yesterday plus this day's long drive. The next two days I logged in three hundred and four hundred miles without fighting falling asleep at the wheel. I just blamed the boring scenery along I-80 although Wyoming would prove to be even more boring. At the end of the fourth day with 1341 miles behind us we were finally in Nebraska and camped near Bridgeport at a State Recreational site. A man-made lake was the main attraction to this campground. A small island sat in the center so boats and jet skies went around and around in an anti-clockwise direction much to our annoyance. Fortunately I was able to find a somewhat isolated spot away from the nuisance and only had to deal with the constant back and forth traffic on a dusty rutted dirt road in front of camp.

We made a hasty get-away the next morning to go view _Carhenge_ , a half hour's drive north outside of Alliance, Nebraska. Carhenge is a replica of the real thing, Stonehenge in England, only done with junked cars buried trunk first into the ground. It was very impressive except for the graffiti spray-painted on the automobiles. I took some photos and now had a sense as to the actual size of Stonehenge and felt I had no need now to fly over to England. After a cold cereal breakfast we moved on to our next stop− _The Museum of the Fur Trade_ in Chadron near the northern border of the state. This was a very well done exhibit of the fur trading enterprise that took place in the west in the seventeen and eighteenth centuries. There was a five dollar admission fee which was well worth it even if the exhibit was all a bit too much to take in for me. I had been noticing bank thermometers reading ninety-five and hundred degrees and thought it must be the sun hitting upon them. Later checking Weather.com affirmed the readings. My _Cheap & Free Camping_ directory steered us to a flyspeck on the map, the town of Cody where the little city park had camping, complete with hook-ups and showers for a five dollar donation fee. We headed there, an hour and a half drive away and found it was now fifteen dollars and they flat out wanted money, no more "donations". It was fine even if the hot & cold was reversed in the shower and you had to share it with wasps. The heat and humidity was becoming an issue now and the air conditioner did the job keeping The Little House on the Highway cool. That evening we were treated to a small thunder & lightning show.

We came up out of Nebraska into South Dakota on State Route 83. Where it intersected Interstate 90 at Murdo, South Dakota was supposed to be the movie set left behind from the film _Dances With Wolves_ , starring Kevin Costner. Having come across left behind movie sets in the wilds before, I had high expectations for this one. First off, it was not to be seen anywhere around Murdo so I stopped and asked. "Oh that is twenty miles west of here on the Interstate." Hmm...my plan was to see it _here_ , along with a metal art piece then head east to Mitchell for the famous _Corn Palace_. Well the Corn Palace I was sure would be too touristy for me and all I would probably have done was stand out front and take a corny picture of myself there. So it was west to the movie set. Right off I didn't have a good feeling about this one as there were huge billboards every mile urging the traveler to stop at the "1880's Old Town". When you see a lot of signs beckoning you to stop, this is not a good sign. At least there was that metal art piece of a human skeleton walking a T-Rex skeleton to see. We arrived at the so-called "movie set". It was a major tourist scene completely enclosed behind a ten foot high fence to prevent you from seeing anything except the protruding church steeple without paying your eight bucks. I am sure it was well worth the price of admission, but after touring The Museum of Fur Trade a couple of days ago, I wasn't ready for more of the similar. Plus it was hundred degrees outside and I didn't want to leave Sinbad inside that heat. The next day was predicted to be a hundred and six! Ha! And I was worried about being cold before leaving home. I looked through a crack in the fence peering up Main Street (my tourist-trap fears were confirmed), ate lunch and headed north to Pierre. We crossed the Missouri River and found a nice State Recreational Area, huge, clean, all to ourselves and with electricity to run the air conditioner. Also, the campground had unexpected free Wi-Fi somehow. I noticed at Big Tim's Café in Pierre, South Dakota they had a $6.99 special for _Tater Tot Casserole_ −I cannot begin to imagine. The evening at camp was terrible. At nine o'clock at night the humidity was so bad I was drenched in sweat doing nothing but trying to read my book. How do people live in this?

The next day was to be the hottest of this heat wave and it didn't disappoint as it was well over a hundred all day as we worked our way to where Chief Sitting Bull was buried, or part of him, or maybe none of him at all. As the story goes, Sitting Bull was "accidentally" shot in Fort Yates, North Dakota and buried where the "accident" took place. In 1953, members of his Lakota family in Mobridge, South Dakota drove north to Fort Yates at night with backhoe in tow and dug up the bones of their great leader. They were back home before the folks in Fort Yates knew what happened. Mobridge didn't try to hide their deed though. They sealed up the bones in a steel vault surrounded by twenty tons of concrete, burying the lot overlooking the Missouri River, erected a granite pillar with a seven-ton bust of Sitting Bull on top, then dotted the roadways with signs encouraging the traveler to stop and see _The Grave of Chief Sitting Bull the Indian Chief Who Defeated General Custer at the Little Big Horn._ Fort Yates meanwhile laughs at it all for they maintain all that Mobridge dug up were horse bones or maybe a white man who was buried on top of Sitting Bull. They say Sitting Bull was buried with quicklime so that he would rot quickly. Fort Yates soon after covered their grave site with a slab of concrete and a big rock to deter any other grave diggers from Mobridge. This is just one of many stories surrounding the grave of Chief Sitting Bull and the controversy continues to this day as to where the final resting place should be for bones they are not even sure are of Sitting Bull.

I had planned on visiting the Fort Yates site of Sitting Bull's grave also but their grave site was an iffy prospect to say the least. It would require a thirty-mile trek down a road that I would only have to double back on. It was supposedly marked by a small hand painted wood sign leaning off to the side held up by the prevailing northern winds. Then if I were fortunate enough to get that far, the grave was only to be that seven-ton cement slab lying off in the weeds somewhere, if I could even find it at all. I figured if Fort Yates cared so little, then I could too care so little and blew that grave of Sitting Bull off. Instead I went looking for an old school house that was covered by its now-deceased owner with over four thousand cups. I never found the school house and the locals had no idea what I was talking about.

The rest of the day we just poked along to Lemmon, South Dakota appreciating the hard working air conditioner. At Lemmon I did a drive-through scouting out what we came to see saving it for the next day when fresh. Thirteen miles south of town we checked out our campground which had only ten sites. No one was there so we continued on a few miles down a dirt road to see the monument to fur trapper Hugh Glass where the Grand River forks into the north and south branches which unfortunately is now buried under the water of a reservoir.

In August of 1823 fur trapper Hugh Glass, a habitual loner, was hunting by himself when he was attacked and horribly mauled by a Grizzly Bear. Two men, one being a young Jim Bridger who later was to become an historical figure in early mountain men lore, were left with him while the rest of the fur trapping party continued on. Hugh's condition was so grave that the two men had thought he was dead. They took his gun and possessions and left Hugh where he lay. But he was not dead. When Hugh came out of his coma and in terrible pain having been slashed from head to toe by the bear, maggots were already eating the rot on his back. He dragged himself with a broken leg to a stream where he sustained himself on berries and meat from a wolf kill of a buffalo calf, after he drove off the wolves. Fever and infection was his constant companion as he literally crawled the two hundred miles to Fort Kiowa, a trip that took him over two months. Glass seeking revenge eventually met up with Bridger but let him live. For all Hugh Glass had endured, he met his fate in an Indian ambush ten years later along the Yellowstone River.

We had our little ten-site complete with electricity campground all to ourselves and the next morning returned to Lemmon and toured the _Petrified Wood Museum_ which mostly contained an abundance of articles and furnishings from the 1800's on into the early twentieth century. It was very nice and so was the gentleman curator. Then down the street to the _Grand River Museum_ which held an impressive amount of fossils from the period of dinosaurs all gathered from the area. There was the "alternative creationist" viewpoints displayed along with the scientific. Most interesting and I was especially intrigued with the scale replica of Noah's Ark, a model that made some sense of what the ark may have looked like or at least could be of a functional design. Think of a massive oil tanker barge squared off at each end and there you have the model in the glass case.

This day was much cooler and the heat wave was done with. We crossed over into North Dakota stopping at the state line that ran through the Rosebud Sioux Indian Reservation Casino parking lot for lunch. Our first stop was to be the other half of the Chief Sitting Bull Grave controversy at Fort Yates but I had already scratched that. It was time to find a camp anyway.

The Missouri River had flooded its banks the past spring, a hundred year event I was told. Hence the campground I had planned on was still under rehabilitation from the tons of sandy silt that had washed in. The hour was growing late and the impending influx of the masses for Labor Day weekend worried me as I headed to Abe Lincoln State Park which no doubt in my mind would be more popular with the locals. _Would we get in or have to park on the streets of Mandan further on?_ Jared, the camp ranger, graciously provided us with a reserved site as we were "all the way here from California". This was a very nice shady park that only just recently was up and going again after the flood water damage was repaired.

Now it was Friday and the beginning of the holiday weekend. We were off to Steele, North Dakota to see the _World's Largest Sandhill Crane_. When we arrived I was surprised to find that I couldn't get any closer than a hundred yards to it. Police caution ribbon kept me back, along with a fellow missing a few teeth sitting in his car. He was on guard to keep people away from the "crime scene".

The Sandhill Crane stands behind the Lone Steer Restaurant and Motel. On August 12 (not quite three weeks ago) at around nine A.M. a man set fire to the restaurant. He is now in jail. I asked the guard if the arsonist was from around here.

"No, he is from Texas."

"Texas!"I exclaimed."Why would he come all the way up from Texas to burn up a motel/restaurant?" I wondered out loud.

"He was working on a road crew and staying at the motel. He went across to the service station and bought some fuel then set the place on fire" the guard informed me.

"He must have been pretty unhappy about his room or food to do this. How old is this guy?" I asked.

"50."

I looked around then asked if this little town had a fire department.

"Yeah, a volunteer fire department."

"Well, I wouldn't think the response time would be too great. Couldn't they have saved at least part of it?" This is when the story really got weird. He told me they just stood around and laughed watching it burn. Then he added that two other fire departments responded from neighboring towns and they too just stood by and joined in on the laughter.

I was at a loss for words and walked away to take more photos. Just then someone else wheeled in and the guard informed him he couldn't go any further. This fellow, looking all of like an insurance agent switched into _attitude mode_ and words were exchanged. The guard fired up his cell phone. I figured he was calling the owner who had hired him to watch over the "crime scene". Mr. Attitude took a few pictures, said he got what he wanted and then sped off. Within a minute a mini-van rolled in, the owners I presumed, held conference with their hired guard. The owners were of Middle Eastern origin. _Well now there's a clue._

The flag making companies are doing a brisk business in this part of America. I had not seen the stars and stripes flying in as great of numbers as I had since I entered Nebraska and the Dakotas. Not that there's anything wrong with that or to imply anything in particular, just reporting what I saw.

I pondered rather to drive the thirty miles out to Jud to see the murals the town painted only to have to double back to Jamestown. But we needed to kill time so we took the drive. It was well worth it. When you live in a tiny town of seventy-six people in the middle of nothingness North Dakota what better way to spend your time than to grab a paint brush, several buckets of paint and create very nice murals on the sides of the buildings.

We drove back to Jamestown where I decided to call it a day camping at Frontier Town RV Park that just so happened to be our next stop anyway, unbeknownst to me at the time. We had a shady but rustic spot and I decided to treat myself to a buffalo burger at their restaurant. It was small and I should have ordered the fries along with it for I left the diner still slightly hungry. Buffalo burgers taste like beef anyway and not worth the inflated price in my opinion. I walked over to Frontier Town and there was my next attraction–the _World's Largest Buffalo_ , a huge concrete sculpture. I could now check that off the list.

We bucked headwinds all day long in pursuit of the new day's freaky features. First was to Ayr, many miles out into the flat farmland to view a "Pioneer Village Caught in Time". Supposedly it was a bunch of old buildings relocated on Main Street by one resident. Well I saw nothing out of the ordinary in this town of less than hundred people as I slowly cruised Main St. Extra miles for nothing but time not wasted as we were in no hurry yet it was a waste of fuel. Next stop, Fargo, North Dakota.

Most people when they hear the name _Fargo_ they think of the Joel and Ethan Coen's 1996 Oscar-winning movie by that name. Most likely few people wouldn't even know there was such a place before that movie was made. Well the movie made Fargo famous and I just had to go see one of the main characters of the movie–the Wood Chipper. Okay, I have to admit, I was pretty giddy standing next to _the_ wood chipper in the Fargo Visitor Center taking pictures. The few other people in the center weren't the least bit impressed or interested. One little boy asked his mother what it was and why a leg was sticking out of it? "Oh it was something that was in a movie. Go over there and stand with your father." The only thing that would have made it perfect was if they hadn't cleaned the fake blood from it. But I suppose too many overly protective parents complained about it and some cleaning had to be done. Outside they had a "stunt double" on display, another identical wood chipper just in case a visitor stopped by to see the real deal and the visitor center was closed. That was thoughtful.

We drove two hours on into Minnesota not too concerned about it being the Saturday of Labor Day weekend and possibly not finding a place to camp for the night. There was a Walmart to stay at but just across the Interstate from that was a trap shooting range that provided overnight RV parking. It was a big flat grassy area in divided into three parking rows that reminded me of a drive-in movie theatre. For eighteen dollars you got a shower and electricity and we had it almost all to ourselves. It was ideal.

Sinbad woke me up at six A.M. as he does every morning. I hide his food at night so as he doesn't overeat in the middle of the night and puke somewhere, so I guess it is worth it. I didn't feel like having any breakfast so went across the Interstate to a McDonalds to get online and make a blog post. There I eventually ate a bowl of cereal before moving on.

Minnesota was like the last three states, cornfields and soybeans instead of sunflowers. But they do have a lot more trees which was a plus for the scenery aspect. I noticed too that everything was neat, clean and tidy. No litter along the roads, towns were perfect and lawns were all well maintained and mowed. Riding lawn mowers are a big item here–well they do have large yards. Flags, parades and picnics are in abundance due to it being Labor Day weekend. I noticed well groomed and dressed kids playing together or riding their Sting Ray bicycles. It is like taking a step back in time to the late fifties and early sixties. I liked it and found it refreshing to see.

Our first stop was to Starbuck, Minnesota which proved to be a big nothing. Was this some kind of joke that someone put on _Roadside America_ \- a deer fountain? I see this all around back home. Also in town was _The World's Largest Lefse_ , whatever a lefse was. On the side of a building was a huge photo of a group of people cooking a big sheet of dough on July 1, 1983. Lefse I learned is a traditional Norwegian flatbread. Then there was the _Hobo Statue_ on my list _._ Well I only caught a glimpse of the hobo while going through a road construction zone. No big deal. The twenty-five foot tall fiberglass ear of corn in Olivia had all of Starbuck's silly features beat.

We moved on to Walnut Grove to view Laura Ingalls sod house, but first there was a tour of their museum. For six dollars I walked through the various rooms and buildings all the while trying to keep ahead of and avoiding the annoying kids of the oblivious parents who seemed to be locals from around the area. The only redeeming factor was that excerpts from her writings accompanied the pioneer home artifacts so as to give one a real sense of the work involved living the pioneer lifestyle. The Ingalls "sod house" proved only to be the site of where the house stood, or so they want to lead you to believe for it could have been most anywhere along Plum Creek and who would know the better? The property owners wanted five dollars to look at a weedy creek embankment. I turned around and left thankful that I had taken a picture of an old photo of the site while back at the museum. This stop was a total waste of time.

A little bit of apprehension set in as to where we would spend the night for all campgrounds were filled with locals for the holiday weekend. One in Tracey thankfully had a grassy field overflow area for eight dollars. This was more than fine with us. With no lunch I was hungry when I turned off the engine just before five P.M. I went to sleep at dark and later awakened at ten by the sound of explosions. A nearby town south of us was shooting off fireworks, so I got up and watched the spectacle through the window for twenty minutes when they finally ran out of ordinance to shoot up in the sky. It was a pretty good show though and I fell fast asleep soon after.

I wasn't hungry so we pulled out right after my morning cup of coffee. Some miles later I stopped along the road near Hadley to cook up some eggs and bacon then moved on for Chandler to view their battered water tank from a F5 tornado back in June of '92. The little town left it as a memorial of one of the few things left standing after the tornado blew the town away. Just before reaching Iowa at the town of Blue Earth we came across a fifty-five foot tall fiberglass statue of the Jolly Green Giant. This was not on my list of sites to see and was a nice surprise find. Across the border to Britt, Iowa where the National Hobo Museum resided but unfortunately it was closed for the season and wouldn't re-open until the hobos caught a boxcar ride back to Britt in May. I was disappointed. Eighteen miles further up the road was McIntosh Woods State Park where we found a nice quiet shady spot albeit it a bit battered, littered and abused from the Labor Day crowd.

The next morning we were off a few miles down the road to Clear Lake, Iowa where Buddy Holly, J.P. "Big Bopper" Richardson and Richie Valens had their final performance before tragically dying in a plane crash later that night on February 2, 1959. I took a wrong turn and accidentally came across the venue itself, The Surf Ballroom, on the way to the crash site. The Surf Ballroom is still a functioning venue for performances and was utterly awesome. It had a big stage, huge hardwood dance floor, seating booths around the dance floor perimeter. All the lighting was off as I walked around exploring. I wanted to stand on the stage. As I was setting up my camera to capture the moment a lady who worked there came in. She turned on all the lights just for me. There were loads of photos and memorabilia to all the entertainers who had performed there. But the early rock and roll trio was the biggest draw for visitors and tourists alike. After I was able to tear myself away from the forties style ballroom I drove the few miles north of town and hiked between the rows of corn to the crash site a quarter mile in. There stood a memorial plaque and an assortment of gifts left behind by visitors in memory of the trio.

After viewing The Surf Ballroom and crash site, the plan was to head east in Iowa but I had grown tired of looking at cornfields for all the past week. I needed to make some cuts from my itinerary. I scratched the _Auto Thrill Show Memorabilia and Museum_ in La Porte City. I could live without seeing that. Further on eastward was Dyersville where the actual baseball field in the cornfield for the movie _Field of Dreams_ (another Kevin Costner flick) still exists. Although I liked the movie I am not a baseball fan and figured the long haul to Dyersville wasn't worth it just to stand on a baseball diamond. I mean, no way would that provide the rush for me as did standing next to the wood chipper in _Fargo_. Then even further on was Le Claire, Iowa resting along the Mississippi River and visit the Antique Archeology store where the History Channel TV program _American Pickers_ originates from. I am a huge fan of the program but what would I do once there? I'm too cheap to buy anything and what...have my picture taken with Daniele? I'm afraid I would embarrass myself staring at all of her tattoos, so all of those targets on my list went by the wayside.

I resigned myself for just the short ten mile trip east of Clear Lake to Mason City and see the First National Bank of Mason City that John Dillinger, Baby Face Nelson and their crew robbed in March, 1934. Three miles into the drive I looked over my notes while driving. The last line read: "Now an apartment complex but the bank name is visible on the building". _Whoa!_ I pulled over and re-read that. I didn't want to see an apartment complex! _How did I miss that?_ I made a U-turn and headed south on the Interstate for our next destination, _The Bridges of Madison County_. Yes, I am more of a romantic than a baseball fan.

It was nice straight drive down Interstate 35 through Des Moines and to Winterset in Madison County. I stopped at the visitor center and received directions to a grocery store, the city park campground and some of the covered bridges we could see driving The Little House on the Highway. The heat and humidity was an issue once again but not as bad as that evening along the Missouri River.

In the morning I was able to see four of the six covered bridges, three of which were used in the making of the 1994 film _Bridges of Madison County_ after the short novel of the same name by Robert Waller. One location looked to be an iffy prospect with The Little House on the Highway and country gravel road it had to negotiate. The other was west of us, not the direction we were traveling. It seemed the bridges were all subject to vandalism and/or arson. It is a shame that they've had to install security cameras on each bridge. That doesn't discourage the graffitists though. I was going to seek out Francesca's farm house, from the story. Then I met up with a couple from Denver at one of bridges. They had a better map than I which had Francesca's farm marked on it but as they informed me, "The house is no longer there". That was a shame.

We crossed into Missouri where right off year round fireworks sales was big business. I wondered what their fascination with fireworks was. I hoped to remember to ask. The first stop was the grave of Pete Kibble's foot in the Oakwood cemetery in Milan. It seems that Pete lost his foot in a railroad accident in 1917. He had his foot buried with the intention of joining it when the rest of him died at some later date. But Pete wound up hoping out west to find his fortune and never returned. Finding the cemetery was one thing but I wondered about my chances of finding the actual "grave". All I had to go on was "southwest of the flagpole". Within minutes I found the small tombstone "Pete Kibble's Foot 1917". I was really surprised and smiling even more so than the wood chipper. This trip was like a scavenger hunt but a whole lot more fun. I put a bouquet of fake roses I found lying in the grass into the ground and took a few pictures, still smiling the entire time.

Next, an hour drive away to Linneus, Missouri where a neighbor's brother's farm was and I was going to surprise her by taking a picture of the mailbox for her. I got close on the country roads but the route became narrower, just wide enough for the RV between cornfields. I had already run into one neighbor and any further on I am sure it would be a situation so I backed on out of that adventure. It was an hour drive to Tindall, Missouri but I was getting tired so opted for Crowder State Park just outside of Trenton and would do my great-grandfather's town and little store, if it was still there, tomorrow.

I didn't expect much at Tindall (pop. 65) except memories but I hadn't counted on the destitution and squalor. It was sad to see this once cute little farm town as now something on the "other side of the tracks". Junked cars left where they died amounted to more than cars that actually ran. My great-grandfather's store still stood and that was the only satisfying feature of the visit even though it looked to have been closed up for decades. His home, if it is the same house, had been vastly remodeled into a two-story abomination with columns in front. It sounds nice but it wasn't cared for. My Uncle Bill's house I wasn't too sure of either but if the home I saw was it, at least its present owner made an effort. The cute little white house we stayed in next to the store was worthy of a burn exercise for the fire department–if there were a fire department. There wasn't. If something catches fire here, it is history. I couldn't find anyone around to talk to. On leaving town I slowed to take a _trailer trash_ photo and was stunned to find a sign WILLIAM R. BERNIKING my great uncle Bill! It was so weathered and worn I was unable to make out just what kind of business he had. I knocked on an open door of a nearby home but there was no response. In the end, the sign made the six-mile venture to Tindall worth it.

We took the road west to visit Jamesport, supposedly the furthest west Amish settlement. A cute little town catering to the looky-loo tourist the Amish draws in. I liked watching them drive their buggies down hilly roads, a dangerous endeavor I must say with cars whizzing around them at fifty-five miles per hour.

We moved on to Marshal where there was to be a statue of _Jim the Wonder Dog_ but I was unable to locate the park and really didn't care that much for this oddity anyway. If it were Fritz the Wonder Cat, then yes. But the route took me through Chillicothe which was a gold mine of very well done huge murals. I took photos of all. After Marshall I went the fourteen miles to Arrow Rock State Park and called it a day well before three P.M. That afternoon we were treated to a thunderstorm which eventually brought rain. That was fine for The Little House on the Highway needed a bath.

The next day was _Castle Ruins_ at Ha Ha Tonka State Park which I almost blew off but since it was in the direction of travel I checked it out anyway. It was worth doing so. A turn of the century Kansas millionaire was in the process of building his dream home fashioned as a castle high upon a knoll overlooking the Ozark Valley. He was killed in an automobile accident in 1906 before his dream home was completed. His sons finished the job and in 1942 it caught fire and burned to the ground. The limestone walls are all that remain. The short steep quarter mile hike felt good to stretch my legs on doing a brisk pace.

The next point of interest was Mansfield where the last home of Laura Ingalls Wilder stood. Here was where she wrote all of her _Little House on the Prairie_ books. Having already been stung by the farce up in Minnesota, I walked into the gift shop/entrance to her final home, prepared. What the Walnut Creek gift shop lacked, this one more than made up for. Here they expanded on every item from the previous home with the addition of books written by others about Ingalls, patterns to make your own doll clothing or full size pioneer clothing, toys, games, bookmarks, pens, pencils, crayons, coloring books, Christmas ornaments and items for the "entire year", a mind-boggling array of collectibles, including the complete family tree of both the Ingalls and Wilder branches printed on imitation parchment. It was endless.

Probably the best part was the assortment of postcards many of which showed every aspect of the inside of Laura's mansion home. I saw every room of the house, every piece of the furnishings−her favorite chair, her dining table, her writing table as she left it, her bedroom, the bed she died in, her kitchen, her kitchen sink, her trash can, her rural mailbox, her bathroom, her...well come to think of it there wasn't a postcard of her toilet but there were a couple postcard slots empty−"sold out". I thought W _hy pay six dollars for a guided tour when I've seen it all here on the postcard rack?_ So I stepped outside to see the exterior of house for that was what I came for anyway.

When faced with the excessive production, distribution and marketing of goods (junk) in the name of someone who most likely wouldn't approve of if they were alive today just rubbed me the wrong way. I picked up three other brochures while there, other towns where Laura once lived, towns who are making the most of their good fortune in some way.

**Pepin, Wisconsin** \- Birthplace of Laura Ingalls Wilder. "Come see where the log cabin and barn use to be. See where the 'Big Woods' once stood. A highway now winds through the land that once was the Ingalls farm, probably following very closely the wagon tracks which Laura describes in her book. One thing that still remains is the 'beautiful lake' about which she wrote about."

**Burr Oak, Iowa** \- "revealing Laura's unpublished story." _Oooo is there another side of Laura we knew nothing about?_ "See Laura's only childhood home still on its original site." Upon reading that, what is one to think when the next brochure read:

**Independence, Kansas** \- "An official Laura Ingalls Wilder Homesite, 1869 -1871." Laura was 2-3 years of age while living there. I wanted to check that one out with the six dollars saved from the Mansfield home still in my pocket. After all, it is "official".

After seeing today's points of interest it was time to start looking for a place to stay. I was well into going the wrong way from where I had intended before I realized my error. Yet now heading towards Springfield, Missouri I was presented with more options so I'd make the best of my mistake. There were no nearby State Parks and being a Saturday, they could be filled with weekenders. A private RV park would be my best option. None we were approaching had glorious reviews then suddenly in Rogersville I saw Silver Bell RV Park and wheeled The Little House on the Highway in. I found myself in a mobile home park. Just as I was looking for a way to exit, there I finally saw the "traveler" area.

I parked and walked up the steps to the office and saw a sign RING DOORBELL. I did. No response. I pushed the button again. I couldn't hear a bell ring inside and there still was no answer. I walked around to each side of the building...nothing. I stood there weighing my options. I was tired. I wanted my cup of tea and I needed a shower for the humidity wasn't allowing me to go very long without. Then a little car rolled up in back and this huge man spilled out. I asked if he was the manager and he asks if I rang the bell, and then wonders where his wife is. "Maybe she's in the shower", now sorry about it all he ended with "I'll meet you at the door" as he entered from the back. He unlocked the front door and I walked in to their home/office and the reeking stench hit me like an open refrigerator door of rotten food. Greasy smells, cigarette smoke and windows that were probably never opened contributed to it all. He took my twenty-two dollars and pretty much let me pick any spot I wanted in the flat, easy to pull in, wide open paved and grassy area. This part was nice even though there was no shade but the temperatures were pleasant, finally, so no worries.

After I had my cup of tea I told Sinbad I'll be right back and left for my shower. This required a short hike through the mobile home park. I rounded the turn and saw a building smaller than all the trailers and RVs in the park. _This must be the laundromat_ I thought as I walked in. It was that indeed plus two bathrooms marked MEN - WOMEN. And they were just that, one bathroom each with a toilet, a sink and a shower. You lock the door to take a shower and anyone who wants to use the toilet is out of luck. The shower was a fiberglass stall with exposed plumbing pipes and a vinyl shower curtain that was constantly attracted to your body. But the water flow was good and temperatures were nice and I proceeded. Midway through my bath I noticed where the water pipes came in through the cinder block wall. A four-inch wide piece of cinderblock had been knocked out so that two small little half-inch pipes could come through. Anyone doing their laundry on the other side could look through easily. "Mommy, there's a naked old man taking a shower." No, this did not happen to me but that was my first thought. My second thought was _is the women's shower like this?_ I then followed the pipes and saw they went next door through an even wider section of knocked out cinder block. _This can't be_. _There must be a storage area in between,_ I figured. While drying off and getting dressed I decided to check out the women's side. It was the same set-up and although I wouldn't be able to see a woman in the shower, I would be able see her sitting on the toilet. I checked out their shower. It was vile! It wasn't a fiberglass stall but a disgusting dark gray cement enclosure. There was a nasty foul looking black mat on the floor with matching black mold growing up the walls. This was the worst shower I had ever seen in all my travels and I had seen a lot. If I were a woman, I'd use the men's shower without question, even if little kids could peak through and watch the show.

The next day we crossed over into Arkansas and in short time started coming across really great photo opportunities of old shacks and shanties but the road was so narrow and twisty with no shoulder to pull off onto. It was very exasperating having to pass by all these wonderful photo stops. Motorcycles were aplenty and the road was ideal for them. A motorcycle would be perfect for photo taking too. I made one point-of-interest stop after a long torturing climb. It was of several motorcycles hanging from a tree which wasn't worth the bother. Rather than to continue on this crooked road I doubled back hoping for better if for only in the fact we weren't climbing anymore. I was beginning to long for the flat plains again. Off the mountain and onto the flatlands I failed at finding the next two sites–a city park in Alma with a statue of Popeye (they're the spinach capitol) and a cemetery in Van Buren with an unknown grave from some unknown time. It was growing late and I was tired so the cemetery didn't get much effort from me. On to Lake Fort Smith State Park which in itself led us on a merry route for the campground was new and in a different location from what the GPS showed.

My luck seemed to be running low this day. I asked the woman in the service station directions to the park. Once I was back on the road though I realized I had paid little attention to what she told me for I was captivated with listening to her southern drawl. This happened again when I pulled off the side of the road to what once was a motel but now were permanent residences. I wasn't sure if I was on the right road to a campground. Outside one of the motel rooms sat this woman with seven little girls running around. She was rather large, wearing dirty shabby clothes and missing more teeth than she had but she was so polite and kind for she must have said "sir" at least three times in addressing me. The little girls, all barefoot wearing a hodge-podge assortment of clothes, were so excited that The Little House on the Highway stopped to talk with them. A couple of them were jumping up and down squealing with delight. I loved the moment. Then when checking in at the State Park Campground the young girl had the strongest southern speak of them all. I had to tell her with all respect, "I could listen to you talk all day". This slightly embarrassed her. These were the highlights of the day listening to the three different women talk with their southern drawl. I loved it. I knew then that my next Goofy-Things-to-See Tour was going to be through the South.

It seemed I was waking up before light every day now and this day was no exception. I knew I'd not be able to go back to sleep. Also I didn't want to do a rush start either, so I packed my gear and walked up the hill and took a morning shower. That was nice. Back at camp I felt more into fixing up my journal from the mess of it I did the night before from being so tired.

This morning I viewed a man's dream buried by progress. He was building a fancy home and resort plus a hundred thirty foot tall pyramid when "they", the civic powers, decided to dam up the river and form a lake which buried the man's dream. If the waters were low enough, the pyramid was supposed to be visible but it was not while I was there. What remains of his much vandalized cement home is fenced off with chain link. From there it was on to Bentonville, Arkansas where Sam Walton had his first 5 & 10 Cent Variety Store. From this humble beginning sprang the Walmart monster we have today. I had all intentions to make fun of this on my blog but was quite impressed with the little store full of period items of the day at 2012 prices. In the back of what use to be the warehouse for the original store is now a museum to Sam and his Walmart vision all of which was very well done, but I didn't linger.

Our next stop was Commerce, Oklahoma to see an old service station built out of the side of a brick wall on old Route 66. I found it in a seedy part of town and it provided some good photos of old gas pumps and other paraphernalia of old service station days. While taking pictures this guy came out from the ice cream shack across the way. He proceeded to tell me how this was never a functional filling station, when it was built, why, and on and on and on about the history of the area while his chocolate ice cream cone dribbled down his hand in the Oklahoma heat. As he put it, in 1938 a loaded gravel truck came roaring through down from the mines and plowed right into the side of the brick building taking out the entire side. From the rubble this little filling station was built. But fuel tanks were never put into the ground and it was all in the end just for looks. The current owner lived twenty miles away and filled it with Route 66 memorabilia thinking it would sell. But usually when anyone who came by at this point, they've by now had made enough stops along the way from everyone trying to cash in on Route 66 market and they had no need for anything more. His venture lasted for six months and here it sat, unmolested which was the surprising part to me considering the part of town it was in.

Then young man then was on a roll going on about Bonnie Parker of Bonnie & Clyde fame. She had an aunt who lived here in Commerce and Bonnie spent a lot of her time with her aunt. Bonnie married at sixteen to a "no-gooder" who ended up in jail for robbery or manslaughter, he wasn't sure which. This is when she ran off with Clyde. So a lot of the time the authorities were here trying to close in on the duo. Bonnie and Clyde did kidnap the sheriff and constable of Commerce where in the end they killed the sixty year old constable. "He was a mean guy anyway." But Percy Goode the younger Sheriff, thirty one years of age, was always nice to Bonnie and let her slip by on a lot of the misdeeds of her youth. And in that they feel she was instrumental in sparing his life. The Sheriff was to die ten years later of a heart ailment. It was here in Commerce they hastily left their apartment when the law was closing in and the famous roll of film in the Kodak was found that contained the photos of Bonnie posing with cigar in mouth and pistol in hand. This was his story.

With chocolate ice cream still dripping he went on to tell me how ninety mile per hour winds whipped through the area three days earlier and that was the reason the backside of the nearby brick building was ripped off and a pile of rubble lay on the ground. I took more pictures. Then he took off on how where the tan metal building now standing off in the distance, there was once a brick two-story rooming house where Harry Truman once stayed while the "show girls" worked in back. It was really a brothel and the "show girls" did a bit more than show girls. The young man was a wealth of stories, accurate or not they were at least entertaining. I eventually had to slip away under the guise I had to go pee for I was unable to retain any more information than what I had already heard. I was afraid I couldn't remember it all when I wrote it down in my notebook. I decided I needed to carry my notepad with me at all times from now on.

I had a heck of a time trying to find the campground at Lake Parsons. Why, I couldn't even find the lake! I asked two kids in a car and they said I passed the turn-off back down the gravel road and assured me there was a campground. I went back and saw only someone's driveway and what looked like another driveway going down a steep hill. I started on the latter a ways then thought better of it and backed out. I went back to the little town of Parsons where Claire, my GPS girl, said there was a city campground – Marvel Park. Well I finally found it and now knew how it came by its name. It was a marvel I ever found it. All it provided was electric and water, no bathrooms. At least hardly anyone else was there and it was quiet.

The next day I visited two museums. The first one in Chanute, Kansas, the _Martin and Osa Johnson Safari Museum_. I have Osa Johnson's book _I Married Adventure_ and have wanted to see the museum ever since reading her book long ago. If you only read one of her books, this is the one to read for it covers their entire lives of adventure film making in the 1920's. They were pioneers in a genre we are all too familiar with today. Imagine being a small town Kansas girl of sixteen, having your friend ask you to join her to see a vaudeville show in a nearby town where you meet this young man showing his silent film movies of his sea voyage with Jack London, then go back the next day to see the show a second time and then elope with this young man, not telling your parents until you are far away. It changed her life forever, becoming world famous at the time. But Martin's untimely death in the late thirties and then the outbreak of World War II pretty much pushed their names into obscurity.

From there we went to the nearby very small town of Piqua, the birthplace of silent film star Buster Keaton. His name is known worldwide and his notoriety has never died. Yet the differences in the two museums were light years apart. The _Buster Keaton Museum_ shared space with the Rural Water District office. The museum was in the front room off to the right of the building. It was a shame for Buster deserved a whole lot more. Their museum was in disarray having just painted the walls and the two ladies who ran the water district were trying to put it all back together. The fact was they had more pictures than they did wall space and were at a loss as to how they could display it all. I suggested a partition wall down the center which would give a lot more hanging space. She liked that idea and it could be done at little cost for them. They told me hardly anyone ever comes by. There is a yearly Buster Keaton convention in nearby Iola and it gets a large attendance. People come from all over including other countries. Yet only a dozen or so from this large gathering will make the short seven mile trip east to Piqua and their museum. Piqua needed to promote what they have. I threw out some ideas–little business cards (I always pick up one as a memento), some postcards to sell (they have abundance of material to work from). The only thing they had thought of were t-shirts but I think they need to start small for they didn't have much if any money to work with. They do the best that they can and good for them. [I returned a few years later. The museum looked much better. They built the partition wall and also gained a bit more floor space from the water district for few display cases.]

We stayed at Fall River Campground south of Eureka and it was a very nice, quiet, shady park with only one other camper there. Being an Army Corp Engineers campground I was able to use my old persons card (National Parks Golden Age Passport) and stay for half price at twenty dollars. I needed to work this advantage more so in the future.

The next day I found Laura Ingalls Little House on the Prairie, the actual house although it appeared the Ingalls only lived there near Caney, Kansas for two years. A reconstruction of their log cabin, based on descriptions in her books also stood at the site. Another odd thing was the house had three owners who were unaware of its importance. The current owner only discovered that fact in 1969. The lady inside said that Laura and her husband Alonzo made a trip out to the prairie there north of Caney in the early fifties but nothing looked familiar to her and she was unable to locate the house. Being as we were so close to the town of Coffeyville I decided to go ahead and see the scene of the crime–the Dalton Gang's final bank robbery.

On October 5, 1892, the Dalton Gang tried to do what never had been done before–rob two banks at the same time. Neither the James Gang nor the Younger Brothers had done such thing. The gang was comprised of Grat, Bob and Emmett (the youngest) Dalton, Bill Powers and Dick Broadwell. They rode into Coffeyville, Kansas wearing disguises for the Daltons had once lived there. That was their first mistake. The plan was to tie their horses up near the two banks but due to construction going on they were forced to park their horses a block away down an alley. That was their second mistake. Never deviate from the plan. The town figured someday the Daltons may try to rob their banks but they just did not know when, so they were always on guard. As the five men emerged from the alley someone recognized them as they split up and entered the two banks. The alarm was spread and citizens armed themselves with guns handed out from two nearby hardware stores.

The three that entered the Congdon Bank told the clerk "This is the hold-up. Just fill these sacks with the money from the vault and no one will get hurt." The quick thinking and daring clerk said that the vault was on a timer and couldn't be opened until nine-forty-five which was three minutes away, thus giving the citizens time to set themselves up. Then Grat uttered the now famous reply, "We'll wait." That was their third mistake.

Meanwhile across the way at the First National Bank Bob Dalton and young Emmett were busy cleaning out the vault. They decided to exit from the rear of the building. Unfortunately young Lucius Baldwin, an apprentice shoe cobbler thought he would surprise them from the rear. They met face to face in the alley and Bob shot Lucius dead. The two ran up the alley towards the other bank and ran into two more citizens, George Cubine, the owner of the shoe shop and Charles Brown. They too met the same fate as did poor Lucius.

When the shooting began the rest of the gang grabbed three hostages and pushed them out the front doors of the Congdon Bank in front of them. The hostages ducked out of the way and the townsfolk opened fire. Now all five of the gang had to run down the alley to where they had left their horses. Midway, Marshall Conley who was also the school teacher stepped from the jail and was gunned down by Grat Dalton in the alley. Three other citizens were wounded, one seriously.

Grat, Bob and Bill Powers died in the alley. Dick Broadwell made it to his horse and rode away only to die of his wounds just out of town. It was young Emmett who got away and lived even with twenty-three gunshot wounds to his body. He was later apprehended and sentenced to life at the State Penitentiary. He was paroled fourteen years later based upon his good behavior and the fact of his youth at the time, thinking he may have been coerced by his older brothers. He moved to California where he worked at real estate and took part in motion pictures. The entire gunfight lasted twelve minutes. In the end they had stolen $25,000 from the two banks and the money was returned. As they balanced the books at the end of the day, the Condon Bank was short twenty dollars and the First National Bank was a dollar ninety-eight over.

I started off the next day walking around Coffeyville's nearly empty old historic downtown searching out more murals by the same artist who did the Dalton shoot-out murals. At ten A.M. the Dalton Defenders Museum opened and I paid my three-fifty to enter. The short dumpy young woman minding the store seemed to be ill or extremely bored and her day had only just begun. I had the museum all to myself and felt I got clipped as it all seemed to be just a bunch of old history memorabilia of the town. But alas in the one room dedicated to the "Day of the Daltons", I got my money's worth. By this time the woman had nodded off in her chair looking all for being dead herself. This of course made for a funny-foto. She came to as I shut the door to leave and thanked me for stopping in.

Back across the state line into Oklahoma I found the bowling ball yard art guy, Chris Bisbee out in the sticks and grass of the Oklahoma countryside. He was an old retiree like myself that had this whim to create art out of bowling balls and I have to say, he did good. I found the shack he lived in equally interesting. As I was leaving he rolled up in his battered old sedan and we chatted for awhile leaving me with better directions to _The World's Largest Totem Pole_. This was nothing like I expected. The thing looked more like a fat cement tree with stunted growth and no branches. The artist's wood working skills making violins and doing inlay work on other wood pieces I found more interesting and well done.

The next two items I checked off quite easily going down Old Route 66 to Claremore, Oklahoma, then found an overnight spot at the Claremore Expo Fairgrounds. That afternoon we had a good short cloud burst that gave The Little House on the Highway a nice bath.

We stopped in Ponce City for the _Pioneer Woman Museum_ which was nice but not exactly what I thought they meant in "pioneer". It was about Oklahoma women who pioneered various aspects of women's life, including civil rights and aviation. There were some of the emigrant pioneers which I had in mind though. My other big stop for the day though was in Aline, at the _Sod House Museum._ Now that was way more than I ever expected. This was the only sod house of Oklahoma that survived as most soddys were torn down since they were only meant as temporary housing. The man who built this one continued to use it for storage and a chicken coop after he built a stick house, thus it was maintained to a degree. The State now owned it and had built a building completely enclosing the sod house in so that it was now protected from the elements. The inside was all refurbished as it once was, and it really gave one an idea as to how life was in a sod house. Even though it looked really cozy and comfortable, in reality they leaked water in the rains, provided homes for innumerable insects and vermin and were in constant need of fixing. You had to live with the snakes for they took care of the mice and rats. You also had to live with the wasps for they took care of the spiders and other unwanted insects.

I put in more miles than I thought I would for the day, two hundred forty nine miles to be exact but felt okay with it. We stayed at the Great Salt Plains and then hopped back over into Kansas. Of all the states we had been in I enjoyed driving in Kansas the most for some unexplainable reason.

I did a drive-by of some guy's yard-art filled front yard in a regular normal suburban neighborhood which I didn't feel worth getting out of the RV for picture taking. Then we continued on west to Pratt Kansas. There I wanted to see my grandmother's home where she was born–601 North Main Street. I slowly drove up Main Street admiring the fine old homes. 400 block, 500 block and...that was it. At the beginning of the 600 block was a parking lot for their community center. Her house was no longer there! You can imagine my disappointment. Why couldn't they have built their community center on the 700 block?! Well, the next stop was the next block over–204 N. Ninnescah, where her siblings my Aunt Florence and Uncle John were born. This I knew my grandma would have lived in. 300 block, 200 counting down 206, 202... _where's 204_? Again, nothing. My only guess was that one of the homes had been re-numbered or the information on the papers at home was incorrect. Let-down over this we motored on out of town towards Greensburg Kansas.

In Greensburg was _The World's Largest Hand Dug Well_. That in itself was interesting but I found the fact that this town was literally blown off the map in 2007 by a mile and half wide F-5 tornado was even more fascinating to me. Only five percent of the town was left standing as it took a direct hit that evening. The lady in the museum, which literally covered the well and documented the tornado, shared with me her own personal survival story.

Everyone in town knew a tornado was heading their way by the television and radio reports. Her daughter called suggesting that she come over as they had a basement and mom just lived in a duplex. But she, like a lot of the other old timers felt it wouldn't come to Greensburg. Thirty minutes later with sirens blaring her grandson called and told grandma to "Get your butt over here, NOW!" So she got into her car and drove the five blocks to her daughter's home. They had just crawled down into the basement when the tornado hit. She lost everything in a matter of minutes as did most everyone else. Her uncle was one of those old timers who didn't think it would hit them and he died along with nine other people. As she was telling me her story I hung on every word leaning against the counter. Then all of a sudden the siren blew. Scared me to death! I nearly hit the deck. I looked up to her and said "Is that something I need to be concerned about?" She just laughed looking down at me saying "No, that's just the noon siren." She told me where to drive around town to view the vacant lots with new homes dotted here and there in between. As I drove around it was close to impossible for me to comprehend what took place there and the feelings these people went through the evening of May 4, 2007.

Our next stop was in Mullinville, Kansas to view more yard art. This guy had his metal sculptures lining the road for as far as you could see and he definitely had some issues with the politics on both sides of the political fence. I didn't even care to stop at his shop which was open for I didn't have it in me to listen to him rattle on with his agenda. [I later saw an episode of _American Pickers_ where Mike and Frank visit the same place and meet the guy. It was good I didn't stop in. He seemed a few degrees off center.]

I debated on stopping at an RV park in Meade or press on further to one outside of Liberal. I stopped at the one in Meade which looked a bit sketchy but we'd been in worse. After an issue with dogs running loose, dog crap here and there and bathrooms second only to that in Rogersville, Missouri this park proved to be not a wise choice.

The next morning I was out of there just past four in the morning. I lingered around in town until daylight so as not to miss the scenery on our way to Liberal Kansas. In Liberal stood Dorothy's house from the Wizard of Oz, of course a made-up site, but as it didn't open until one in the afternoon I missed going inside. Being a Sunday it had the same opening time as the Dalton Gang hide-out in Meade which I missed out on also. Church obviously interferes with opening times on Sundays around these parts. There was just no way could I burn half a day waiting to see something that really wasn't that important to me to begin with.

We crossed back over into Oklahoma and headed to where I saw _No Man's Land Museum_ listed in Guyman. As I pulled onto the street I saw no cars around–well the entire town was dead with no cars around, but there it was, an OPEN sign on the door. I was so excited. Hastily I put my shoes on, my camera, money clip, pen and notepad and charged up to the door only to find it locked. CLOSED SUNDAYS Someone hadn't turned the sign around when closing up shop Saturday. I was sick. I looked around and then just sat there, hoping someone might just happen by and let me in–like the lady turning on the lights in the Surf Ballroom. After awhile, fully dejected, I left. Taking some little used back roads I came across some good photo opportunities and my spirit slowly returned. In Boise City, another dead town, I found their museum and encountered the same scenario. No cars, an OPEN sign and a locked door. We left and drove west out into the nothingness of the Oklahoma Panhandle to Black Mesa State Park. With only three other campers there and amazingly Internet reception, we were set for the evening. I researched some unusual prospects for New Mexico that evening plotted our route and realized we'd have to backtrack out of Black Mesa towards Boise. Oh well, I'd make the best out of it and stop off at the museum in Boise City that was closed. This was not the same museum I was all upset about being closed in Guyman.

So I was in there early in the morning and it is way huge, more than what I thought from seeing the outside. My god it was like going through someone's attic–they had a ton-pile of crap although it was somewhat organized. It was like walking through the exhibit hall at a State Fair. The woman steered me off into the far corner where the Dust Bowl information was, my main objective. There wasn't that much but the entire place was interesting although I couldn't really spend much time in there. It was a bit on the cold side and I wasn't feeling too well after a serious bowel disorder earlier in the morning. Fortunately it was just that one episode and I didn't get any worse, but felt weak all day.

I was looking through the stuff they had for sale which wasn't much. It was like looking around in a thrift store. The part of the museum which was the entrance and gift shop used to be a home for someone. The lady told me something about a guy who worked with Frank Lloyd Wright or something or other but I wasn't paying too much attention due to my stomach. I was hoping to get myself a copy of the book my friend Patty had leant me, _The Worst Hard Time_ by Timothy Egan, but they didn't have it. Then as I was just about to give up I saw a book by the same author, thumbed through it and thought _this looks just like Patty's book._ Come to find out it was a British reprint in hard bound with a different title. Score! She did have the American copy but I went ahead with this edition. I was very happy. But it got better.

I picked up a brochure to the _No Man's Land Museum_ that I missed out on in Guyman where it was closed and I had that meltdown. I looked through it and saw that I DIDN"T MISS ANYTHING! They didn't have a single item about the Dust Bowl or the 1930's. It was just a bunch of folk-art, arrowheads, quilts, barbed wire and photos of their Pioneer Days Queens. I was so happy to learn this!

As I was buying the book I asked the lady if there were any places which still had the remains of the Dust Bowl effect, especially if there was a homestead still standing. Eighty years later and most of this land were now healed over by Nature with grasses once again. She said there were some small dunes south of town almost to the Texas border. The Department of Highways had been fighting the dunes for years trying to keep the drifting dust from covering the road. Most of the houses were long since gone and the ones she knew of I would need a guide to find them. So off I went to get my baggy full of Dust Bowl dust. It is extremely fine dirt, like talcum powder. I could well imagine how impossible it was to keep these extremely fine soil particles out of their homes and lungs. After gathering up my baggy-full it was in the pores of my hands for miles on down the road. I then cut across the emptiness on a thirty mile long country road through Texas towards New Mexico. About midway through there it was the old abandoned wood house I had hoped for along with the added bonus of an old 1930's rusted car nearby. There were no dust dunes anymore, just grass in the fields. There were scattered clouds in the sky to add drama to my pictures. I shot sixty-three images and hoped just one would be good enough to make an enlargement and hang at home. The wind was whipping while I was taking the pictures through a barbed wire fence and the telephone lines were making a real eerie howling sound due to the wind. It was a really cool experience which made me forget all about my stomach. We moved on into New Mexico and stayed at Sugarite Canyon State Park which was at six thousand plus feet. The campground host lady said it would be cold that night. Not what I wanted to hear for I was already cold. In the end it didn't get too bad that evening.

In the morning on the way to a grocery store where the checkout girl noticed one of the grapefruit in my bag was all moldy and let me go get another bag–just how long have they been sitting there? I noticed a Visitors Center and pulled in. I asked the very uninterested and semi-rude guy about the road to Taos. I found out it was a climbing twisty two-lane mountain road with switchbacks and...that made up my mind right there and we didn't go. I was so glad I found this out before committing to it. So it was easy cruising on the Interstate to Grants, New Mexico and the Blue Spruce RV Park owned by an old broken down calf-roper by the name of Tommy. He was the best park owner of the entire trip, a real character and fun to talk with.

New Mexico didn't have much to offer as for weird things, and Arizona was pretty much the same way. Since the Interstate followed along old Route 66 most of the time I decided to pull off frequently, drive the route as much as I could and look for old signage to photograph from motels, service stations and such that still remained. This pretty much would be the plan until we hit California again. Just before camp at Hovolovi State Park north of Winslow I pulled off at the Jackrabbit Trading Post, a remembrance for me when a young boy on a trip back east. Inside I learned the man at the counter was the son of the owner from way back when I was there at ten years of age. I looked around and wanted a souvenir of some sort, more than the usual postcard to stick up in The Little House on the Highway. Then I saw the t-shirts with the HERE IT IS sign and the jackrabbit silhouette. The traveler would see these Jackrabbit signs for miles and miles much like the old Burma Shave signs and when they reached the trading post, there stood the huge HERE IT IS sign. I bought my t-shirt and drove on to the nice campground. That evening I began thinking, wishing I had bought a Jackrabbit travel mug. I couldn't remember seeing one but surely there must be. Would it be worth the twenty mile drive double-back trip to Joseph City? I agonized over this.

The next morning I had to do it. I would kick myself forever after if I didn't. Back at the trading post I took pictures while I waited for him to open as I had arrived an hour too early what with my clocks being all askew for the entire trip due to the numerous time zone changes. Inside I was to learn he did not have any travel mugs. _Sigh,_ something to do with suppliers and finding new ones but he would have some in a few months. Now I knew I would be making a trip back there for sure on my Tour of the South next year. But he did have some really cool cups and I bought myself a HERE IT IS coffee cup and a Route 66 sweatshirt for my friend Glen in Massachusetts.

Now the trip was pretty much over with a just couple more camps before reaching home. It is always nice to come home but my head was already full of anticipation for our next trip in the spring. After all these years I finally had found what I really enjoyed and in the end it was all that I had always thought about anyway, life on the road. Only now I just knew how to go about it.
TOUR OF THE SOUTH

April – May 2013

It is always hard to leave home. I like my house with all of its comforts and attractions. But I do find myself in a rut at times, on the borderline of being outright bored, so getting away I knew was the right thing to do despite the rest of the family being unsupportive of me following my dream. Sinbad and I left the house at eight A.M. and within the hour I was into it, enjoying the drive. I made a fuel stop in Livermore where I used the Gas Buddy app on the old iPhone my wife gave me to use. Using this phone and the travel apps was to be all new experiences for me. The app directed me to a Safeway store where I was able to get diesel for three ninety-five a gallon. I stopped for lunch on the road to Wasco and opened up a brand new jar of Planter's peanut butter–"No stirring needed". A pool of peanut oil sloshed on top of the peanut butter and I was unable to stir it in. As I ate my first stale rice cake left over from home (best-when-used-by date May 2012) I noticed the best-when-used-by date on the peanut butter jar was October 11, 2012! I had just picked this off the shelf at Safeway last week! It looked like I would be doing some grocery shopping sooner than I planned. We pulled in to the Boron, CA. rest stop at three thirty P.M. and called it a day after four hundred fifteen miles of driving, feeling good to be on the road again. I was woke up before six in the morning by a diesel rig firing up his engine right next to us and letting it idle for the following forty-five minutes. I gave up and moved out stopping in Barstow for breakfast and replacing the oily peanut butter at a Food For Less store. Heading east I had a hard time, yawning all the way. I finally gave in at a rest stop and took an hour nap feeling much better before dropping down into Needles and across the Colorado River into Arizona. I decided to not push it and packed it in at Kingman staying the night at Walmart along with a number of other RVers. A 2006 View (same as mine) parked next to us. They were from New Brunswick and he shared his transmission going out story with me, having just left the Las Vegas dealer who put in a new transmission only to have overfilled it with fluid causing the check engine light to come on. Now I would be wondering about transmission gremlins for the next eight thousand miles.

The following afternoon I had had about enough when we reached Holbrook, Arizona. In driving around the quiet little town I stopped at the visitor center/museum and asked the cowboy inside where I could park for the night. He suggested the rest stop on the edge of town (I passed it coming in and it looked promising) saying he didn't think the local police would mind. "We don't have any crime here and the cops don't have much to do anyway." So that was the plan until as I was walking back to the motor home I heard a train come through town blasting it's horn through the intersection right by that rest area a mile or so distant. No, something else would have to be found. As I was putting us further from the train tracks I saw a sign to the local VFW. I pulled a U-turn, pulled into the parking area just as the lady was opening up shop and she said it would be fine for me to park overnight. This was a resource I must exploit in future towns. I could still hear the train horns but nowhere as bad.

Another long day of driving brought us into Albuquerque, New Mexico and after filling up at a Chevron at three eighty-three a gallon (this Gas Buddy app is saving me a bundle of money) we parked at a Walmart again providing shade for the drug dealers who pulled in next to us to do their transaction while I ate dinner. It was a pleasant day's drive towards Texas until the wind turned on us near Santa Rosa, New Mexico where we had to beat head-on into it all afternoon.

I learned on the Great Plains Tour last fall that some of the quirky and oddball sites we seek out turn out to be duds. Well this one in Vega, a mural on the side of Roosters Mexican Restaurant and a metal Rooster standing out front, had about that much going for it. Also as in the past sometimes a site will have some other item more interesting or we meet up with a character. Here we met Martha. She had just pulled in for some Mexican food and seeing me taking a photo quickly deduced I was a tourist. She said I should go into town at Rourkes Hardware store for "It is the only hardware store on old Route 66 that is still owned by the original owners when Route 66 was all there was".

Next she asked if I was going to see the Cadillac Ranch and I said it was on my list. Well off she went telling me how the guy who built it is now in prison and had been there for five years now, something to do with his fondness for young boys and locking them up in a chicken coop. Long ago the guy's wife had gone off to France to study art, came back and all of a sudden he thought himself an artist and created Cadillac Ranch. She rolled her eyes and raised her hands up in unapproval of his so-called art. Then I was told he had dug all the cars up leaving holes behind, relocating the cars elsewhere and called the first spot the Cadillac Grave Yard. I had yet to see it so I couldn't verify any of it.

Interspersed with all the information she was giving me of where to go and what to see I learned she was celebrating her divorce of five years from her rich passive aggressive not so bright husband of thirty-three years. He had thirteen million dollars in assets; she ended up with two plus million and...well all of this was coming at me so fast I was unable to comprehend it all let alone ask any questions that popped in and back out of my mind just as fast. "Men think women just want them to jump in the sack with them when what they really want is someone to have an intelligent conversation with. They should have a site on the Internet where men and women can meet just to have an intelligent conversation." Next she was telling I shouldn't go south into Deaf Smith County for "They'll pull you over as soon as they see you're from out of state. They'll make up a reason for stopping you. Their motto is _Enter Deaf Smith County on vacation, leave on probation._ If you're stupid they'll get you. But you seem intelligent so you'll be fine but they won't care for the hat you are wearing and tuck in your shirt!"

Then I learned all about the big cross in Groom on the other side of Amarillo. I said that it sounded familiar and that I had Groom circled on my map for some reason and... "Oh you have to stop for that. At one time it was the biggest cross in the western hemisphere but someone went and built a bigger one and..." I lost track about all she was telling me, unable to keep up, about this guy who built the cross, his wife who was rich and from the Bush family−not President Bush but some other Bush I should have known about. Interspersed were comments about conservatives and Christians but I would be okay because I am "...not from Los Angeles or Berkeley". She had already verified that fact with me from the beginning and why those two cities, as if they were somehow linked being four hundred miles apart from each other. I had to ask. "Liberals!"

I wished her well in her new-found freedom from marriage, thanked her for all the information and said in all honesty that it was fun talking with her and with that we said our good-byes. I went back into the motor home and tucked in my shirt. That night we splurged thirty two-fifty for the Oasis RV Park east of Amarillo. The hot shower was worth the inflated price.

The _Cadillac Ranch_ with ten Cadillacs buried nose first into the ground did not impress me. I doubt nothing would have that day for it was bitterly cold with icicles hanging from the motor home and the Cadillacs and that relentless bone-chilling wind blowing across the plains. It made me think a lot about the pioneers and immigrants who came this way many years ago and endured these conditions without all the comforts the motor home provided. I tromped across the muddy field, took my pictures and hurried back to the warmth of the RV. The _Carhenge of Alliance_ , Nebraska was a much better art piece also done with junk automobiles. Down the road from the cold Cadillacs in Conway, Texas was _VW Slug Bug Ranch._ This was a lesser attempt upon the nose-in-the-ground automobile art piece done with five Volkswagen Bugs. The buildings nearby were all vandalized and graffiti-covered as were the five sad VW shells.

On the other side of Amarillo was the town of Groom which had what once was the largest cross in the western hemisphere. Martha was right. I wasn't expecting much there but it did have more than just the nineteen story high cross. There was a circle of life-size bronze statues depicting Christ's final hours as he carried his cross to the crucifixion. It was well done and there also was a gift center where one could find anything they needed to fill their spiritual needs. Groom also had the _Leaning Water Tower_ visible from I-40 as you drove by. The water tower was intentionally built caddy-wampus to catch the traveler's eye. We ended our day at West 40 RV Park being run by an old man who was the third generation on the property. Any mention of his mother when talking about the dust bowl, or his grandparents who settled this land choked up the old guy and nearly brought him to tears. Good grief! I was interested in hearing more about his history but let it go as it seemed too painful for him to re-live. I struggled most of the evening dealing with computer problems for the second night. The interstate noise was maddening and I was happy to leave the next morning.

We crossed over into Oklahoma and the land immediately took on a newer and fresher look. The continuing rain might have had something to do with that. Fortunately the wind eased up some the further east we went but along with that the rain increased. We drove by the Trade Wind Inn in Clinton where Elvis once stayed, found _Lucille's Famous Route 66 Gas Station_ near Hydro along the original road that runs alongside I-40, and then went north a few miles to El Reno. There was to be found a granite marker marking the western boundary end of the famous Oklahoma land run of 1889. The rain was falling hard and the town was built up all around so it was difficult to imagine what it must have been like back in '89 at noon when the gun fired and the rush was on. We stayed at an RV park near the Best Western in town and worked on getting the photo folder organized as there was no Wi-Fi. And the rain continued to come down. (A month later on May 31 an F-5 tornado, 2.6 miles wide swept through the area just south of town from where we had stayed. This proved to be the widest tornado in recorded times.)

The next morning the skies were heavy with clouds, everything was wet but the rain thankfully had stopped. I celebrated the event with the free complimentary breakfast the Best Western Motel served – scrambled "eggs" (memories of the Navy came to mind), bacon of an indescribable make-up so I'll not try to describe them, sausage, leathery waffles, pancakes that you peeled apart like layers of lunch meat, and a gut-plugger biscuit that needed a good slathering of strawberry jam to ease it down the gullet followed by a not-too-bad cup of coffee. But the price was right.

Our first stop was in downtown Oklahoma City to view the memorial for the 1995 terrorist bombing of the Federal Building. It was very nicely done. I didn't go into the museum and not because of the ten dollar fee either. I just didn't want to see the faces of those who died including all the children. We left there for Chandler, Oklahoma the site of the _Seaba Station Motorcycle Museum_. The service station was an oldie from the Route 66 days now being used to house a private collection of old motorcycles. What fun! I walked around three times. I bought a t-shirt only to discover miles down the road it would be much too large for me. Thoroughly disgusted with myself I decided to try and contact them for an exchange the next opportunity I had with a good Internet link-up. On the way to our next site we stopped midway at the only place to camp–the Catfish Round-up Restaurant and RV Park. The sun was out and it was a fine day, in spite of the wrong t-shirt purchase.

The next day's attractions were Okemah, Oklahoma the home of Woody Guthrie where I took photos of the little memorial park dedicated to Woody, the city's HOT and COLD water towers and Barbara Sue Manire's grave which she had a parking meter installed as per her wishes: TIME EXPIRED. From there it was to Hugo and their Mt. Olivet Cemetery that has an entire section entitled _Showman's Rest_ devoted to carnival workers and circus performers. This was pretty cool, much better than I expected and I was glad I drove the extra miles to it. We camped at Raymond Gary State Park alongside a small lake having it all to ourselves. It was very peaceful and quiet, a beautiful setting as the sun went down behind the private homes on the opposite shore.

The following day was back into Texas to the little town of De Kalb. This was where early rock and roller Ricky Nelson's plane crashed on New Year's Eve 1985 as the band was on their way to Dallas. Next to the small chamber of commerce where the local girl scouts were holding a hundred one year celebration, hung the tail section to the airplane, the only thing that did not burn up in the crash. Inside the chamber building was a small tribute to Ricky along with Dan Blocker of TV Bonanza fame who was from De Kalb. Also too, a shelf dedicated to the famous blues artist Huddie Leadbetter, better known as Leadbelly. We left De Kalb for Texarkana for a photo-op of the state line of Texas and Arkansas which runs smack dab through the center of the Post Office and County Court House. The night was spent at about the only place available for miles around in Louisiana but there was a bonus to this–a Sonic Drive-in was right across the street. I treated myself to their hamburger, onion rings and a chocolate shake!

My information showed that the _Bonnie and Clyde Ambush Museum_ was open daily at ten A.M. but it was not. Maybe being Sunday was why the sign said noon. I was about to leave town when I noticed the lady getting out of her car at the _Bonnie and Clyde Museum_ next door. She was just opening up. It had all I needed to see plus I was allowed to take pictures whereas the old guy next door at the Ambush Museum charged admission and picture taking was forbidden. I drove the eight miles south of Gibsland and found the _Bonnie and Clyde Massacre Site_ marked by a bullet ridden stone monument. I stood there in the quiet countryside trying to imagine Bonnie and Clyde's car being riddled with a hundred sixty-seven bullets.

The plan was to drive around aimlessly after that but I soon realized I would be seeing nothing but trees. Even if I did see something to photograph it was like the Ozarks of Arkansas−no shoulder to pull off onto. I turned back north to the interstate figuring on getting off of it at every small town that showed up. Well the small towns were few and far in between. And when I did drive around one, they were mostly barren with closed stores and nothing to photograph–a sad statement of the nation's small towns. We stayed at Poverty Point State Park which had excellent Internet service so I took advantage of it trying to locate some sites to see in Missouri and Kansas for our drive home later in the trip.

We stopped at the post office in Delhi, Louisiana to mail my too large t-shirt back to the _Seaba Motorcycle Museum_ in exchange for a medium to which the guys said they would be happy to do. Buying two envelopes, one with postage to send the new t-shirt on to home cost altogether eleven fifty plus the twenty-four dollars for the t-shirt, this had become one pricey t-shirt. I tried not to think about it. We motored on into Vicksburg, Mississippi stopping at the Mississippi Welcome Center on the east side of the Mississippi River then a few miles further to the _Vicksburg Battlefield National Military Park_. What should be an hour and a half drive around the sixteen mile auto tour route (or so I was told by the visitor center lady) took me over three hours to do. There were hundreds of huge stone memorials displayed by every state that took part on the Civil War: statues, monuments, and signs galore. It would take a feller days to see it all. In fact at the nearby camp I stayed at that evening the lady told me how one gentleman stayed there and went to the park for two weeks straight and still didn't cover it all. Probably the highlight for me was seeing the ironclad boat _Cairo_ that had been raised from the bottom of the Mississippi in the 1960's and restored to some degree. I did not realize these ironclads were that large.

We stayed at a nice RV park (River Town) south of Vicksburg, filled up with fuel the next morning at a Kangaroo gas station then hopped on down the highway to Port Gibson. General Grant said Port Gibson was too beautiful of a town to burn down and I agreed. South of there I followed my sketchy directions to the _Windsor Ruins_ and actually found them. Built in the 1860's with a Greek and Roman flair to the design, the Windsor home survived the Civil War but not an accidental fire in 1891. Everything was lost and all that remains today are its towering columns topped with iron filigree. Next was the "ghost town" of Rodney but my directions to it were even more vague and I eventually baled on that one when Rodney Road dissolved into another road not on my map. The rest of the day was moseying along bearing east stopping at little towns along the way. We found a nice water agency park by the name of Big Creek even though there was only a lake nearby instead of a creek

The following day we toured the back roads of Mississippi seeing what we could find. The little town of Enterprise provided a very nice Confederate soldier cemetery with all but a couple of the headstones reading Unknown Confederate Soldier. The road eventually brought us into Alabama where another welcome center that would shame California's welcome centers greeted us across the border at Cuba. We continued touring more back roads to Millers Ferry for camp at an Army Corps Engineer Campground with another private lakeside setting and cheap fee since I am able to use my Senior Pass or old people card as I refer to it.

It was now Thursday, the day we knew severe thunderstorms were scheduled for late in the day. I was more concerned about the probability of golf ball size hail so the plan was to try to out maneuver the storm. It seemed the only thing to do was head for the southeast corner of the state. With no real urgency we continued on back roads for the day held pleasant driving conditions. An interesting point along the way was at Greenville where the road highway narrowed and plunged down beneath a railroad overcrossing. Just as we passed through the intersection I saw a sign on the heavily scarred overpass CLEARANCE 10' 10". I quickly glanced at my figures taped to the window frame in the RV–we are 10' 9"! I even more quickly pulled into a lot and consulted the iPad for an alternate way to cross the tracks. With the guidance from a homeless man we went up a few blocks and crossed the tracks avoiding what could have been an uncomfortable situation for the air conditioner up top.

The town of Dothan was fairly large and I figured an RV park would be our best place to weather out the storm. Also Dothan provided a couple of sites on my list. On our way to the County Fairgrounds campground I realized we were close to one of those sites– _The World's Smallest City Block_ , so I went to it first. I found it. A tiny thirty-eight by twenty-seven foot triangle shaped piece of dirt crammed with a stop sign, a yield sign a street sign, and a tombstone-like marker. I took my pictures then started seeing huge murals all around the downtown area. That was the other point of interest. I ended up doing a lot of walking for the murals just kept coming and coming much like those in Chillicothe, Missouri.

The fairground campground looked kind of iffy with just a few carney trailers parked there and thought I could do better. I went off searching for Shallow Creek RV Park. Finally after a lot of turns and eleven miles later I found it. Not seeing any signs directing us to this park was the first clue this may not pan out. Sure enough, it looked filled with permanent squatters. I went into the small self-registration office, picked up a form and drove around. The three empty spots had RESERVED signs posted. Now the pressure was on. With the help of the iPad map it was a _Mad,Mad,Mad World_ dash through country roads not even on the GPS map trying to get back to Highway 231. One park was shown on it and after that we'd be facing another Walmart camp. As rain pelted down and the winds increased we came upon Center Stage which was a bingo casino−again no signs about an RV park. Pulling in though the direction signs did read RV PARK with arrows pointing the direction. Finally a campground came into view but it was deserted with weeds growing all about. I went back to the bingo center and asked about it. It seemed the whole operation was in the process of reopening under a new owner who took over and they weren't ready yet for the RV Park but said it would be fine to stay in the parking lot and that's what we did. The storm never amounted to much with a lightning show around nine P.M. being the most of it. We had dodged the worst of the storm, but poor Sinbad did not like thunder.

Florida was just a few miles to the south welcoming us with another one of those welcome centers that was just over the top. I mailed a couple postcards at the first town, Campbellton just because...we made it to Florida, a first! Right away Florida seemed more tropical and I began to make plans in my head about coming back to explore this state in the future. We entered into Georgia quite unexpectedly and I missed taking the Georgia state sign photo. Georgia like the rest of the southern states was beautiful. I even thought I saw my first swamp. We made good time traveling slow as we were and decided to do Andersonville this day even though we had lost another hour crossing over into the Eastern Time zone.

The _Andersonville National Historic Site_ was more than I bargained for and then again not what I expected. The museum covered prisoners of war for all the wars Americans were involved in and that was more than I wanted to see. I went through the center fairly fast. Much too depressing and I may have established a record for the fastest pass through by any visitor. The site itself I expected to be more like how Andersonville Prison was at the time of the Civil War but I guess that was expecting too much. Today it is all a pleasant green grass field with only a small corner of the prison stockade recreated along with a few tents just to give the tourist an idea. But driving around and reading the interpretive signs was good enough for me. We went through the National Cemetery also and if the little cemetery in Enterprise, Alabama wasn't overwhelming enough with the number of dead and their markers, this one certainly was so hundreds of times over. And these were just those who died in the camp. It was really awful to see and I was so bummed over it all I couldn't bring myself to buy a book at the visitor center. I stood there thumbing through the books asking myself _do I really want to read this?_ We left there for a short drive to White Water Campground which turned out to be city (or county) run and well, it served the purpose. At least it was much better than what we went through yesterday!

The following day we knocked off weird three sites in a short time. First was the Titan missile of the _Confederate Air Force_ in Cordele, the real thing for an agency that does not exist. They sure could have used a Titan missile a hundred fifty years ago. Next a few miles down the road in Ashburn was the _World's Largest Peanut_. Although it was large I wouldn't be surprised if there was an even larger peanut sculpture somewhere else there in the peanut capitol. Then it was east to little Irwinville, the site of the capture of _Confederate President Jefferson Davis_ by Union forces in 1865. They had a small museum and I gave them $3.50 for the one room tour which could all be seen from the counter where I paid my money. Having lost other hour due to time zone crossings the days seemed to zip by pretty fast. We stopped in Douglas where I consulted the iPad as to what was east for camping prospects. Not much showed up so I settled for General John Coffee State Park seven miles distant. It was a nice park except for the people and their damn barking dogs. The afternoon was spent reorganizing, purging yet more stuff I bring and never use and another seat repair for the driver's seat. In the end it was nice to stop a bit sooner than my usual three P.M. tea time stops. I also did some calculations and we had traveled thirty two hundred fifty-five miles and had only a hundred to go before we reached the Atlantic Coast. We were good for another four thousand miles before I hit the oil change mark which was something always nagging on my mind. I needed to be not so concerned about that. It isn't like the motor will self-destruct after the ten thousand mile mark from the previous oil change.

The next morning we got an early start and headed for the coast. I saw a road on the map that went straight out and ended at the shore and that is what I headed for. Well this took us onto Jekyll Island, an unexpected delight. We felt like being on a tropical isle with the warm weather, overcast skies and Spanish moss dripping from trees. The Atlantic Ocean was brown which surprised me and the lady in the gift shop said, that is the way it is. I took photos, collected a tub of souvenir sand and then walked around the historic section of the island. I could see the well-to-do coming here to vacation in years past with the fancy hotels and all. We crossed back over onto the mainland and drove a few miles to a regional park for camp. The campground made one feel as if they were camping in a tropical jungle. It rained lightly all afternoon and evening but the air was warm and pleasant−a wonderful day.

The following day wound up to be longer than I had planned traveling two hundred twenty-one miles. We did a stop for _America's Smallest Church_ in South Newport, and _Georgia's Oldest Church_ in Rincon. I was trying to get to Harlem but didn't realize how far away it was and called it a day seventeen miles short of my goal camping at Wrens, Georgia offering the only place to stay at, Boss's RV Park. I knew this would be for the best as I'd be fresh to enjoy the next day's attraction fully. With a name like Boss's I wasn't too sure about what kind of place I was getting ourselves into, but it turned out to be fine with a really nice old couple running the place.

Not wanting to make the same mistake as the day before, I vowed to keep the day to fewer miles. It was a short drive up to Harlem, the birth place of Oliver Hardy. They had a small _Laurel & Hardy Museum_ filled mostly of items that were made for sale at one time in stores, collectables and the like. There were a few photos but more artist renditions of the pair than actual photos. None of his personal effects did I see. The back the room was set up to show movies the two comedians made. While there, another guy came in. Turned out he was from Berkeley, CA. (oh Martha) and looked a lot like Albert Einstein. He was here to visit the nearby nuclear facility for one of their rare tours on bomb making. The fellow running the museum, Gary, was a talker, a nice guy but talking up himself more than anything else. One thing led to another and Gary eventually talked Einstein into coming over to his house to look at a rock he brought down from Minnesota. Gary thought it may be a meteorite. I tagged along knowing this wouldn't last long because Albert had to get to the bomb making plant. Well I was glad I went for Gary was a master wood craftsman and had reproduced life-sized old cars among other things entirely from wood. It was more than impressive the artistic skill and talent this man had. Back at the museum I gave him my card with the _Roadside America.com_ site on the back as Gary needed to promote himself and his craftsmanship.

From Harlem we crossed over into South Carolina via the J. Strom Thurmond Dam. I celebrated being in a new state by stopping for a roadside lunch on South Carolina soil then took the Savannah River National Scenic Highway north. Once I had enough scenery, I stopped to start looking for a route to our next destination and the places we could stay along the way. There weren't any. So I made a wise move (a rare thing for me) and drove a few miles further north to Calhoun Falls State Recreation Area where the ranger gave us the "best site" in the park, #64. I thought so too.

I was reluctant to leave our perfect campsite in the morning but there was nothing else to do plus I get a serious case of zugunruhe (German term for a restless urge to move) come every new day. I only had one site to see this day. Well there really were three. _Little Leila's Monument_ in Piedmont was easy to find. Nothing more than a forgotten monument on a neighborhood street corner to a little girl who died in 1859 at the age of three years. How she died remains a mystery. It could have been a simple thing as falling from a horse. No one knows. We crossed the state line into North Carolina and missed it altogether. I stopped at their welcome center (another outstanding one), made a deposit and got the e-mail working once again after some glitch in the morning. I blew off the next stop as it was for Nina Simone, a singer who meant nothing to me. Hendersonville where Nina's monument stood was in a monumental traffic jam situation so I bailed out of there right away. I found some cheap fuel then drove to Lake Powhantan National Forest Park amid some heavy sprinkles and thunder. Poor Sinbad, he hates thunder even more now. It was a very nice camp site in the forest and I took a shower right away as the station was right next to our spot. I caught up my notes and photos and then took a short hike to the lake. It was nice to get out for a stroll and seeing large water turtles sunning themselves which was a highlight for me.

There was no hurry the next day as the attractions were close by so I cleaned house before taking off. The intent was to drive the final portion of the Blue Ridge Parkway and straight away headed the wrong direction...north. My confusion lay in I knew the road went north towards Tennessee but the signs were referring to north as to where the parkway begins up in the Appalachians somewhere. Well we were jumping on the Parkway somewhere midstream. It took miles before I could get turned around as there were no off ramps. Once going the right direction the scenery was not all that spectacular. For the most part the trees looked dead. They could be another victim of the draught as I witnessed in Oklahoma. Or maybe insect devastation. Then as we climbed on and on, up and up we were soon in the clouds and for the better part of the drive that was all I could see...dense fog.

Back on relative flatland it was off to Waynesville to see where the final shot of the Civil War took place which now is a rural neighborhood with a narrow road running through it. I parked in someone's front yard−he had a designated parking area set aside−and walked over to his neighbor's house to view the monument. I stood there wondering how they knew this spot was where the last shot was fired.

It was then to Maggie Valley and the _Wheels of Time Motorcycle Museum_. This collection was overwhelming in the number of old motorcycles, mainly Harley Davidsons with a few Indians, Excelsiors, Hendersons and the like thrown in. The bulk of the bikes were pre-world war two amounting close to three hundred bikes with ninety-five percent of them in running condition. Most too had all their natural patina gathered from over time, very few were showroom restorations. I was there for nearly four hours and vowed to come back someday. I left Maggie Valley dreaming of having a bike like one of those I had drooled over for myself one day. Well of course I did.

It was a torturous mountain road drive to Cherokee, North Carolina where the _Pink Motel_ must not exist as new construction is all around this Tahoe-like town with a Tijuana market atmosphere run by the local Indian tribal nation. I opted for the Harrah's parking lot for the night rather than being scalped by the high prices the RV parks charged for this amusement park-like town. Oh how I longed for the flatlands at this point.

Friday morning was cloudy but dry and pleasant. We drove the short distance to Smoky Mountains National Park entrance and stopped at the visitor center. It was eight- thirty A.M. with only one other car in the lot. _I'll have the place all to myself._ As I walked in I overheard the Ranger talking about the weather. I asked. A severe storm was rolling in producing hail and high winds. "How long before it arrives?" I inquired. She told me in about an hour. It was a thirty-one mile drive up over the Smokies and down into Tennessee. I said I better get going right then and that I did, without seeing anything in the center.

It was a long pull and the little engine that could did the job. Early on it began to rain and then into the clouds as we had experienced on the Blue Ridge Parkway. So I wasn't able to really enjoy the scenery but the drive was not as harrowing as we were told. I stopped midway to collect some Appalachian rock then continued on down into Tennessee. I parked at the visitor center of Smokey Mountains National Park on the Tennessee side along with several tour buses−never a good sign. Inside it was a mad house. I had to find something to do until they left. I wandered into the theater and caught the film early into the beginning so I stood in the back of the packed theatre and watched it. As the hoard stood up to leave I left before from being trampled and went outside discovering a nature trail. After talking with a birder couple, I went back to the RV, changed clothes for rain, and took the camera for a short hike. When I returned to the center somewhat damp, the masses had left and I was able to look around unmolested buying a postcard to send home.

After lunch I decided to move on into Pigeon Forge for the first scheduled goofy site of the day and considered possibly returning to Great Smoky Mountains National Park the following day. Now with a name like Pigeon Forge I figured it to be a cute little Tennessee country town at the base of the Great Smoky Mountains. How wrong I was! I felt like we were driving down The Strip in Las Vegas. It was a six-lane divided boulevard lined with tourist attraction style theme parks, hotels, theatres, entertainment centers, shopping boutiques and souvenir shops. If that wasn't enough, we hit it at the beginning of some weekend vintage car sale event. For several miles on both sides of the boulevard parked door handle to door handle were classic old cars all with FOR SALE signs in the windows. Some cars were restored; some were rusty heaps sitting on trailers. If you were thinking of getting an old car project and couldn't find it there, you better rethink your dream. Needless to say the traffic situation was horrendous. All I wanted to do was put Pigeon Forge in my rear view mirrors, so I blew off that site to see on my list. And then all of a sudden, there it was, the upside down _Wonderworks Building_ , and smack dab on the boulevard no less. I wheeled into the parking lot, took my picture and left, pronto.

I have to say there was another place we passed by as the traffic mass pushed us along; it may have been a hotel I wasn't sure at the time. It had a life-sized creation of King Kong hanging from the top of one wing of the hotel which I think was created to look like the Empire State building, but again, I barely caught a glimpse of it. And if I am not mistaken King Kong was holding a crushed, again life-size, bi-plane in his arms. For all I know, Fay Wray may have been laid out on the edge. It was ever so much as impressive as was the upside building but no way could I change lanes, turn around and get back to it. I later looked it up online and discovered it was a new _Hollywood Wax Museum_ attraction that was to open soon if not already. With the big car weekend to-do and forty dollar plus RV Park fees, going back to Smoky Mountains National Park was no longer a consideration. The next site was on the way out of town and it turned into a farce–an _Antique Castle_ that was nothing more than someone's promotion gimmick for their business. The third site was a bit north and as I was driving I thought about it and decided to forget it and seek out our place for the night. We had to drive through Knoxville where everyone including the big rig truckers drove as if they were in a NASCAR race. Going five to ten miles per hour over the speed limit was required or you got run over. I found a nice quiet Tennessee Valley Authority campground close by and used my old people card for an eleven dollar savings. By this time we were on the other side of the weather front and it was much cooler but with no rain.

Two hundred and thirty six miles were driven the next day which was definitely not the plan. I think I just get caught up in the driving and enjoying the scenery and was not aware of the time or the miles. Driving in Tennessee one gets to know what it would be like in a road rally race, especially on the interstate. For example if the sign states SPEED LIMIT 70, this is referring to the minimum speed allowed, big rigs included. In spite of the tremendous speeds on all the highways and interstates, Tennessee's highway fatalities for 2013 stood at two hundred twenty-seven. This was the lowest tally of road deaths I'd seen posted and a testimonial to the driving skill of the people in Tennessee. Most likely most of those two hundred twenty-seven were out of staters like me, who got in the way while motoring along at sixty-five mph. Additionally, I had been in the state for two days and had covered a few hundred miles without ever seeing a single policeman, state trooper or highway patrolman. Also when crossing the border no signs informed me to BUCKLE UP – IT'S THE LAW. And it evidently is okay to talk on the phone and text while driving. Everyone does it.

I stopped to buy groceries in Crossville, Tennessee at Food City, a very nice market I might add. At the checkout I was asked if I had my Food City Club Card. I gave him the usual answer when asked, "No, I am just a traveler passing through". This time I tacked on "But I'll take the Food City club discount if you want to". He went over to the other checker and got their card, swiped it and saved me $7.03. Thank you, Andrew!

I was intent on avoiding Nashville but my route to the other side of the capitol city was difficult to map out. And when I did think I had it all figured out I realized the highway was just a boulevard with a lot of signals and traffic. So I stuck to the interstate and went through Nashville coming to the conclusion in the end that this was probably the best way to get through major cities. It made sense but I just had never looked at it that way before. A half hour later we pulled into Montgomery Bell State Park where I picked out a site within walking distance from the sign-in office rather than drive all around trying to select _the perfect_ _one_. This turned out to be a mistake. We were right by the playground, it was a Saturday, the place was packed cheek to jowl with family weekenders, dogs were barking, music blaring, playground kids screaming (especially squealing little girls) and the swing set had never been greased. The swing had a constant squeak, squeak, squeak like the sound of the sign blowing in the wind at the train depot in the opening scene to _The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly._ It gets to you in short time.

The next day was another long drive at nearly two hundred miles but it didn't seem like it; most all of the time we were just putzing along at fifty mph on the back roads of western Tennessee. Our first stop was in nearby Camden to see the crash site where Patsy Cline died in a plane crash fifty years ago. This turned out to be one of the more difficult sites to find as I had driven up and down the road three times. The sign pointing the crash site out was only visible from one direction. Earlier I had driven to the wrong end of Mount Carmel Rd. and turned around there to ask the Methodist Pastor for directions as he was opening up church. His wife tried to get me to stop and rest and have services with them. I said I'll just go on ahead and have services with Patsy.

Next was to see a gigantic _Twenty by Thirty foot Confederate Flag_ in Trimble, Tennessee but on the way I decided it wasn't worth the extra driving and opted for the 31 MPH speed limit signs in Trenton then turned south. At the last minute I decided to go on into Trenton itself and was very happy I did. It was a Sunday with not a soul about. There was a round-about in the center of town just like Boise, Oklahoma only this courthouse was ornately designed and painted like a Victorian bed and breakfast inn. I also found one of the most stunning murals yet, plus a bust of Davy Crockett telling how he had been a Congressman for Gibson County. A few miles down the road I was in Crockett County and wondered if Davy was born here. I stopped, got online and checked it out. Nope, he was from Greene County on the other end of the state.

One more site which wasn't that much and then time to find a camp for the night. We went to Chickasaw State Park which was about the goofiest park to check in at I had ever seen. The first camp loop TRAILERS the sign read. The second camp loop: HORSE TRAILERS ONLY. The third camp loop: TENTS. I ran out of campground loops and with no one to ask and no office or kiosk. I went back to the _trailer loop_ and set up camp. Eventually a ranger came by and agreed with me on the confusion and said the office was just past the restaurant where I had turned around. I told him I'd go check in at eight A.M. as he suggested (good guy ranger) thus not having to undo camp that night. For as noisy and congested as the previous night campground was, this one was the total opposite.

The next morning I had to kill time before the office opened at eight A.M. so I took a shower then decided to clean house. I pulled out the vacuum cleaner and fought with the damn thing as I have many times before trying to figure out how the attachments go on. Then the contraption overheated and shut itself down. At eight thirty I was at the office and the little old lady was having a difficult time operating the computer. It was becoming maddening for I wanted to get going so I just left the money with her on the counter and said "Good luck".

Driving in Tennessee continued to be a wonder and entertaining. On this day we were on our way to _Shiloh National Military Park_ , another scene of Civil War carnage. Clair, my GPS Aussie girl, sent us on Finger Road otherwise designated as Tennessee Highway 199. Don't let the label "Highway" fool you; it was a narrow two lane country road with nary a straight part to it. Up and down, round and round with a posted speed limit of fifty-five mph. Remember, in Tennessee that refers to a minimum speed. There was no shoulder to the road except for the four-inch wide strip on each side for the painted white line. Now throw in some logging trucks coming at you at top speed and it was all great fun.

_Shiloh National Military Park_ was the most beautiful tranquil place I could ever imagine. It was so difficult to imagine the chaos, destruction and death that took place there a hundred fifty-one years ago that month. As I drove around I wondered how I could avoid being caught up in all of this mayhem possibly being killed. There was nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide. _Play dead?_ At one of the battlefields I tried to picture hundreds of dead or dying young men lying out there. Consider too dead horses, mangled guns and cannons, and personal effects strewn about; it was impossible to comprehend.

I had been missing out on a lot of great photo opportunities all along this trip just because there was nowhere to pull off, or nowhere to turn around and go back or for some other reason. Like the photo of a farm scene a couple of days before. I was taking the picture and all of sudden someone was laying on their horn. I thought _I'm off the road far enough._ I turned and look and the dumb dog across the highway decided to come over and greet me nearly getting run over. He turned and went back, then tried again and another car locks up the tires, blowing the horn. The dog went back home again and then went for a third attempt to come over to me. I see these speeding Tennessee cars barreling down upon him. I quickly climbed back into the RV and left before I became responsible for killing a dog just for being on the other side of the road from his home taking pictures. Anyway, this day I decided to try a new tactic–I'd take pictures of old shacks, abandoned gas stations, barns and farms on the fly while I was driving. But I'd wait until I left Tennessee before I began trying this new approach though.

We stayed in three Tennessee State Parks and I could write a bizarre story on each one. The last one was at David Crockett State Park. I was hoping for a coonskin cap along with my camping fee but no luck. Tennessee has to be the goofiest state I had ever been in and I enjoyed every bit of it. It was a nice park but was first time I had to use the leveling blocks plus you had to drive through the RV dump station to get into the campground. If someone were dumping their tanks you don't go in or out of the campground whichever the case may be.

It was a short jaunt over to Pulaski to see where the Klu Klux Klan was born. A plaque on the side of the building commemorates the event but it had been turned around backwards as a sign of protest. Evidentially the townsfolk aren't all that proud of the fact that their town is the birthplace of the KKK and I can hardly blame them. I bought a few postcard stamps in town and made the clerk's day by telling him that self-rehabilitation after career the Postal Service is possible.

So with my made-at-home check-off list completed I would be free-styling the rest of the trip until reaching Kansas where I could complete the top half of that state that I did not cover during the Great Plains Tour of last fall. The plan was to drive through the upper halves of Alabama and Mississippi and see what there was to see. I did take an eighteen mile side-trip to Lynchburg Tennessee, home of the _Jack Daniels Whiskey Distillery_ for no other reason than it being so close. It was a very nice place but I had no interest in the twelve dollar, one hour forty-five minute tour ending with a sample tasting and was content to eat lunch in their beautifully landscaped picnic area and move on to a state park in Alabama near Huntsville.

When I checked in at the campground that afternoon the woman was having a time on the phone talking to an internet tech person. Evidently they had an electrical storm three days earlier, lightning hit a nearby tree and things got fried. A Comcast guy had been out to repair the cable but there were still issues. Aren't there always more issues even after the Comcast guy has been by? The lady told me the tree that got hit was right across the road. I looked the next morning there it was, splintered fragments from the tree were scattered about on the ground. Oddly, there was a much taller cell phone tower less than fifty feet away. _Why was that poor tree singled out?_ I was glad we were not in the campground when the storm hit. Poor Sinbad, he hates the thunder even more than before.

The next morning we drove the back roads in a hard rain looking for whatever there was to see. I saw on the Alabama map some points of interest where I wound up visiting the _Jesse Owens Museum_ in his hometown of Oakville and _Helen Keller's Birthplace_ in Tuscumbia, two most remarkable people.

We stopped to get fuel in Tuscumbia and as I was leaving I saw this small stack of newspapers on the counter– **The Hard Times** with the headline _Busted in the Shoals_. Underneath were a series of mug shots and I thought that would be fun reading for the evening so picked up a copy on my way out. Later in camp, and another lovely spot it was right out our door, I was having my tea and looking at the front page of this week's edition. There were twenty-five pictures and twenty-one of the individuals were white which I thought most interesting given the area of the country we were in. I opened the paper and holy cow every page had mug shots! There were so many people who had run afoul with the law that I didn't count them all. Each page was broke down to drunken driving, theft, possession of drugs, failure to appear, child support, etc. Then there was a _Wanted_ section mostly for bad checks and restitution. The last page was _Public Intoxication,_ all of these with their pictures and names. I closed the paper back to the front page and only then did I notice up in the corner **only $1**. _Oops!_ I thought the papers were free. _I could very well be in this paper myself next week._ The next day we were to move into Mississippi and they may have to start a new page: _Wanted: Newspaper thief. Interstate flight across state lines._

We left in no hurry (no one was tailing us) on a chilly morning for Hamilton, Alabama. I stopped to get an Egg McMuffin at McDonalds feeling I should give them something for all the free Wi-Fi I had been using. I made the mistake of asking for a Sausage McMuffin and that is what I received–sausage, no egg. I was kind of bummed about that but it was my fault as I didn't buy these things that often. This was the first time I had difficulty understanding what was being said to me by not only the cashier, the manager who gave me my food, but also the two customers who were in there at the time with me. They all had very strong southern accents, nearly impossible for me to understand.

As we were nearing Hamilton we drove through a hilly area where there were all these downed trees pointing off in the same direction. It was very much like the blast zone near Mount St. Helens. I wondered _Tornado?_ I saw a damaged house spray painted 4-27-11 REMEMBER THOSE LOST. I looked it up. Two years earlier on this very day, over a four-day period was the largest tornado outbreak ever recorded with a total of three hundred fifty-eight tornadoes confirmed from Texas to New York. Three hundred forty-eight people lost their lives with two hundred thirty-eight of them in Alabama alone. Although the weather now was ideal, reading this horror made me a wee bit uncomfortable being there. I wish I had taken a picture but I was too amazed at the sight around me to think of turning around.

We went to yet another Civil War site I spotted on the map, _Bryce Crossroads Battlefield_. These Civil War battles were just all too confusing for me as who went where and did what. This battlefield was stretched out among regular roads and homes people now live in so it was difficult to get any idea of the scene back then not to mention driving around in circles being a traffic hazard. I called it off and headed south to Trace State Park west of Tupelo, Alabama, another outstanding camp. Hands down, the South has produced the best camp scenes of all of our travels.

It was a leisurely drive on the back roads of Mississippi the next day coming across many interesting sites just by accident as we traveled west. We happened through the area where it could be said the Blues was born. No one is really sure where actually it could be said "This is the birthplace of the blues". The plan was to stay at a Great River Road State Park along the Mississippi River that afternoon but when I pulled in two bicyclists waved me to a stop. They informed me the park was closed. "They have it barricaded off." We figured they expected the flood waters coming down the Mississippi from up north (a few days away yet) to inundate the campground and naturally they wouldn't want campers in there. Bummer for me as I had to drive an hour north to find something else and it was already tea time. Worse yet for these two guys as they were on bicycles and already had peddled over fifty miles for the day. I told them if I were on a bicycle I go in there and camp anyway in some secluded spot. No one would ever know or care since they are cyclists. I drove sixty mph plus north for one hour to Clarksdale and over-nighted in a Walmart parking lot. For dinner that night I bought some take-out seafood gumbo at a nearby eatery. Excellent!

I planned to shop inside the Walmart the next morning but when I awoke at five-thirty A.M. the store was dark. Evidentially not all Superstores are 24-hour. A little later police and fire trucks arrived lights a blazing. They were in the store for two hours but I did notice a few shoppers coming out with bags so in I went. Seems the indoor fire sprinkler went off over the seafood section and things were flooded. No damage though and I was able to get some new driving slippers on this shopping trip.

I saw on the map Louisiana Purchase State Park and went to check it out. You drive in two miles off the highway into a swamp. I was liking this already. After parking you then walk a few hundred yards on a boardwalk into the swamp. This was more than I ever imagined! It was so quiet except for the birds, strange bird calls from where, who knows? The boardwalk took you to a stone monument marking the initial point from where the 1815 Louisiana Territory land survey began. And it was all the better as I had the whole experience all to myself.

I realized while driving along that I had not see one person standing on a corner holding a cardboard sign begging for money since I had been in the South. In California it is a plague of them out there on every street corner. No doubt there are more people here in the South, without jobs, existing at poverty level, way more than in California, but these folks have their pride, southern pride.

We camped at Jamesport State Park and I was still in the system from last fall, old peoples discount and all−$13.14. This made my mind up to do one more Arkansas camps before exiting the state into Missouri.

There was no hurry to leave camp this day so I drove down by the water to watch the muddy White River flow. There were some signs to read and it said they bring the Mary No.2 (No.1 burned up in the 1800's) and dock it there so that visitors may come aboard the old paddle wheel boat that pushed barges up and down the river.

It was a slow day taking the back roads north and being a Sunday, traffic was non-existent...well practically. There were a few annoyances but for the most part I was able to stop on the road and take pictures which were a change for the good. We were heading for Mammoth Springs State Park to take advantage of another low rent stay in Arkansas. Almost there we slowly rolled through Hardy which had all the appearances of a tourist trap but with a low reading on my tourist-trap scale. I parked off the main old town street, ate a quick bite and tried my luck at perhaps finding a gift for my wife to send to her for her birthday. I was going to have flowers sent but something that would last would be much better. Around the fourth or fifth shop I found it. It was a Gothic shop with all the new agey stuff run by a chain smoking old couple, he obese with a long beard rolling about in a motorized wheel chair, and what I assume their daughter sitting in another similar chair (I don't think she needed it) with a little white kitten sleeping on her breasts. The old woman waited on me. None of the three had any of the usual southern personality and charm−very dry and non-talkative. I almost went with a witch pentagram with a colored stone in the center then saw this double heart piece and knew that was it. Made by a local girl of eighteen or nineteen years of age they said whose name was Amber. I felt good about this purchase and returned to the motor home. [The wife did not like the necklace at all. I was way off on this gift choice obviously]

Just by chance I thought I'd check the reviews on Mammoth Springs State Park. I don't know why because all these Arkansas Parks were great but I am glad I looked. It did not have camping! I was going by the pine tree emblems on the map and they must have been for private camping, not for the state park. So we back-tracked some driving twenty-six miles to Davidsonville State Park. The two women there gave me a real deal at $10.13! I think she pushed the wrong button giving me the ADA discount which is for the handicap. At any rate it was another outstanding park. That evening I laid the maps out on the bed, found something straight and drew a line from where I would be entering Missouri at to my next point of interest– _Kansas Motorcycle Museum_ in Marquette, Kansas and tried to stay true to that line following back roads all the way, a new and different challenge.

The next morning before leaving I walked around the site where Davidsonville once stood along the banks of the White and Black rivers, mailed the birthday gift and card in Pocahontas, Arkansas, crossed over into Missouri and began to follow my diagonal line across the southwest corner of the state. There was not much to see on the up and down rolling hills and not many places to stay at either. I wanted to see another Civil War battlefield nearby so we stayed at Walmart in Nixa. This store had a better parking arrangement than the previous mart six miles back up the road in Ozark. There was an RV park nearby but for thirty dollars and no Wi-Fi, it wasn't not worth it.

I had a hankering for a hamburger but not the fast food type. I checked with Claire and she directed me to a Bumsteads or Backyard Burger close by. I went to Bumsteads first but it was closed. It kind of looked like closed for good too but I wasn't sure. Well then, it was to Backyard Burger a mile in the other direction. When I arrived at the address nothing was there. So I pulled into a mini mall to think about what to do next. I looked up and saw this deli, McAlisters, but was still thinking hamburger. Oh well, I could get a burger some other time even though there were a McDonalds, Burger King and Sonic within sight. I went in to McAlisters and it was a very nice place like a fancy pub back home. I checked their menu overhead and there were all these wonderful sandwich options and I felt this would be okay. I went with the New Yorker−pastrami and corned beef on grill rye bread. I don't think I have ever had better. I had to select side dishes and I went with hot macaroni and cheese, homemade as far as I could tell. When ordering and talking with the lady about my search which ultimately led me here she gave Backyard Burger a thumbs down.

_Wilson's Creek Battlefield_ the next day was very nicely done and I was able to use my old peoples card which caused me to think I could have done likewise at Brice's Crossroads but I couldn't remember if it was a National Monument or not. Wilson's was one of the very first battlefield encounters for both sides of the War Between the States.

From there we drove a couple hours to Prairie State Park near the Kansas border. The park was a nice little place down a long dirt road, with only two campsites and we took #2. It appeared two more sites were in the making. For thirteen dollars and you got nothing but a picnic table, a walk to the pit toilet and a lot of nature. While eating dinner I discovered a tick on my leg I must had picked up at Wilsons walking through the grass back from the Steele cabin. He was tough to remove but once I put Merthiolate on him he finally turned loose. I put him in a plastic tube just in case I became sick and an investigation was warranted. No more walking through tall grass for me! I hoped Sinbad didn't pick up one but it would be difficult to find in his long orange fur. All the talk was about the big cold system to blow through the following day bringing a possibility of snowflakes. It was hard to imagine this happening with such a pleasant warm afternoon in camp.

The next day was to be a long one. I figured it would be over two hundred miles but wound up at two seventy-two. But there wasn't much choice in the matter. There were not any places to stay until we came close to Marquette where the motorcycle museum was. I really wanted to be hooked up to electricity so as to be able to run the heater and keep warm when the blizzard came through that evening. We stopped at Piqua, Kansas to see how the _Buster Keaton Museum_ turned out after our stop there last fall. Back when I was there before in September they had just painted the room and were at a loss as to how to display everything. Well it turned out very nice and I was pleased to see it once again. And, the lady remembered me before I finally remembered her. Kind of says something for the lack of visitors they must receive.

I fought stiff side winds most of the way until the last hundred miles when we must have hit the leading edge of the cold front for all of a sudden the wind was head on and the temperature dropped. I really wanted to get to camp before the rain started but missed that by twenty miles. It was just a light drizzle and so I was able to get the waste tanks dumped, fill the fresh water tank and happily took a shower when the information didn't show any showers for this Army Corps site. In the end, I all was done and set up before the real nastiness began.

It was light hard rain throughout the night if there is such a thing. Just that there was not much rain but the wind drove it with a fury. The show was filled with thunder and lightning too for poor Sinbad. He cowers in the foot wells by the two doors of the cab. Why not seek shelter under the sleeping bag I don't know. I was bundled up in my two bags finishing my book and worrying about him freezing up front. Eventually the thunder ceased and he came out to get in the sleeping bag with me. The morning wasn't so cold that I couldn't go to the restroom just wearing sweat pants but I wouldn't want to have gone too far dressed that way. A few snowflakes were falling while the campground host talked with me about short changing the government three dollars on the camp fee. I had miss-read the amount sign somehow.

There was no hurry as the _Kansas Motorcycle Museum_ didn't open until ten A.M. I arrived early anyway and sat at the library across the street to post on the blog. I was a little disappointed with the museum as they were not that many really old bikes and almost all that were there were completely restored, all bright and shiny. It made me appreciate Maggie Valley, North Carolina _Wheels Through Time_ motorcycle museum all the more and I do want to return to that one for sure. The little old lady, the wife of the now deceased motorcycle racer/collector, was stone deaf practically and so having any sort of conversation with her was next to impossible. I bought a paper trade book about a guy who rode around the world in 2004 on a BMW. I wasn't sure if it would be a good read or not but I knew if I didn't buy it I'd be thinking about it all down the road.

The rain stopped but the wind did not and it was an effort for both me and The Little House on the Highway so we stopped at the next Army Corps campground up from where we were the previous night, thus doing only ninety miles and twenty of them were to Marquette, Kansas and back. Seeing a semi-truck and trailer blown off into the median strip on the interstate was a measure as to how strong the winds were and enough of a message for me to stop early.

It was freezing cold in the morning. We spent the better part of the day in Lucas, Kansas as the site I went to see was way beyond what I expected. _The Garden of Eden_ , well the name didn't really impress me but once at the house I went for the tour, since I was the only one there I was given a personal show-around. The more I saw and heard about Samuel Dinsmoor and the home he built, the more I liked this guy. His artwork all created from cement held a meaning which became clear once it was explained to you. He even built his own mausoleum in the backyard and one could view his body through a glass window. I learned the entire property was recently restored by the Kohler Foundation and then they just gave it back to the community. Now the Foundation has returned and was rebuilding another art piece next door that used to be in the town long ago. I went over and was talking to Ben from the Foundation about it and when done they will go to Maine to restore a wood house; that was all that he knew. The thing is that this is the same Kohler that makes your toilets and sinks. The company created this organization to restore historical places which ultimately is a tax write-off for them. Lucas as small as it is, is the center of the folk-art grass roots movement and has quite a lot of weird and kooky art to see. I plan to return and get some more sausage and jerky from Brandt's Meats.

We stayed at a city park campground in Phillipsburg that night. The city park was the only place to camp in our direction of travel and was nearly a two-hour drive from Lucas. It was after five P.M. when we arrived and discovered we had the place all to ourselves. I then discovered half the sites didn't have power. I was really planning on a shower there. Oh the disappointment to find the bathrooms locked with pad locks. _What's with this place? And they wanted ten dollars to stay here?_ (I didn't pay anything and left early in the morning heading for the library in town to post on the blog.) And then there were the horse trailer people who came later, stuck the dogs in the trailer and left for dinner I guessed. The hounds were Border Collies and they barked nonstop! I moved to the other side of the campground. I was going to leave a nasty note on their door thinking they may have stayed in a motel for the night but the truck was there in the morning. At least they saw I had moved not that they would have given it any thought as to why.

We left just as it became light and fought the wind all day cruising through all the little dead towns along the highway. Then it was a turn north straight into the jaws of the beast for an hour to get to where some campgrounds were. Maloney Lake had nothing to offer, not even electricity and a shower which would be nice but none were to be had. I continued on a little further through North Platte to the Buffalo Bill Ranch Recreational Area where I gave up flush toilets in favor of electricity. With the forecast of thirty-two degrees in the morning, the furnace might get a workout but it wasn't bad at all. Not like the beginning of the trip while in Texas.

After I ran a stop sign in town I filled up with fuel and was given the bad news–14.7 miles per gallon on that last tank full, the worst ever and all due to the constant head and side winds. I went to Walmart to check on .22's and discovered they had the oil I use for the RV in five gallon jugs at twenty-five dollars a jug. I bought two and saved around twenty-five dollars from what I had been paying at the auto parts store back home when buying oil by the quart. The day even got better. I drove along Highway 30, the Lincoln Highway which follows the interstate a few miles to the south. I had the road nearly all to myself and was able to putz along at forty-nine mph, stopping here and there whenever I pleased and cruising the poor little town main streets as we came to them. After a little hike out onto the Oregon Trail to view wagon ruts we went to Sidney, Nebraska where the mother ship of Cabellas store lies. They had a campground and I decided to take it whatever the cost. Well it was only $22.68 and they had showers when I thought they did not based on the campground app information. I checked the store out, was completely overwhelmed and came back to camp for that long awaited shower. It was a fine day even if I did blow through that stop sign and received a well deserved dirty look from a very attentive lady who expected as much from one of those stupid California drivers.

It was another great day following along on the Lincoln Highway until it ran out at the Wyoming border. From then on they simply plopped Interstate 80 over the original Lincoln Highway. There was nothing much to see or do on the interstate except motor on to Rawlins, Wyoming where there were three RV parks to choose from, not counting the KOA which I ignore as they are usually the most expensive. I could see RV World Campground and pull onto the road to it and... _Whoa!_ I had pulled onto the on ramp back onto the interstate! If I were to continue on I didn't know how many miles I'd have to go before I would be able to turn around. I figured I'd back out of this which was about a hundred yards of reverse driving on an on-ramp. I did okay for awhile then saw a car waiting in the rear video monitor. I backed off onto the dirt. I only had fifty feet more to go but was unable to see if any cars were coming to get onto the on ramp. Plus there were two entrances from different directions onto the on ramp. I figured the best thing to do was back further onto the dirt, turn myself around in the process as so I could see who was coming. The route was clear of incoming from both directions and I proceeded to drive forward the _wrong way_ and quickly pulled back onto the road I had turned off from. _No one saw me_ I thought and quickly drove out of there.

On the way to RV World I passed Western Hills. It looked pretty good. Once at RV World I just had a feeling and went back to Western Hills. This proved to be a good choice. A nice young lady checked me in, no hassle, she set us up right behind the store, a good rate ($23), not crowded, a level clean gravel area for Sinbad (no grass for him to graze on) and the restrooms and showers were among the best for the trip. Even towel bars in the showers...a first! This RV park would be the place to stay for future trips to and from the east.

I showered in the morning and simply drove across the high plains of Wyoming under gloomy skies with occasional rain splatters and offensive winds. After crossing into Utah I stopped at their welcome/information center and picked up road maps for Nevada, Arizona and Utah so that I cold mark them all up rather than my AAA maps. I found a nice state park campground called Rockport State Park which would be just before getting into Salt Lake City. The only thing was you had to drive all the way around the lake to get to the camp area. If they had just put a road on top of the dam, one would be there right away.

The following day would be just a short drive across Utah to the Salt Flats at Wendover. I tried my luck at three Walmarts trying to get some .22 shorts with no luck. I spotted an indoor shooting range and they had some long rifle, the first .22's I'd seen but no shorts. The man told me about Sportsman's Warehouse and since I had nothing else to do I went there. I briefly got excited when I spotted three boxes of .22 shorts on the shelf only they were blanks. (This was during a nationwide shortage of twenty two caliber bullets all due to a mass panic buying spree brought on by looming gun control legislation by the democratic controlled government.) By then I had had enough of the maddening streets of Salt Lake City all of which are numbers followed by N, S, E, or W. I'd hate to live there. I filled up with fuel and Claire guided us out of there where we drove fifty-five mph all the way to the Bonneville Salt Flats. Once there I found I had the BLM land all to myself.

The next day we went on down the highway towards home in no great hurry and by doing so registered a twenty mpg tank fill-up in Winnemucca, Nevada. The average for the trip now stood at nineteen mpg which was all happiness for me. The High Desert RV park in Winnemucca charged us the most for the entire trip−$37.80−mainly because every spot was a full hook-up whether you wanted it or not. It proved to be one of the noisiest parks too as if the interstate itself wasn't bad enough but their permanent residents within the park and their cars with blown out mufflers constantly go back and forth just added to the noise. There was another high priced park in town and one at a casino that was not even an option. I planned to make a note for the future to stay somewhere other than Winnemucca for upcoming trips.

The final day took us to Boomtown, Nevada which is always good for a free camp. I was really looking forward to a hamburger dinner if nothing else tempted me at the Denny's in Boomtown. I walked into the casino and wandered back and forth looking for Denny's wondering how I could miss seeing it. I eventually had to give in to the fact that Denny's was not longer there. _Sigh._ I found a little Mexican place and ate there having some tacos, the first in many weeks. The food was good and all was well, at least for some people.

Back at the motor home I planned to relax and read but was interrupted by the entertainment provided by a couple who were extremely mad, cussing and fighting with each other in the parking lot. Nothing amounted to it much except a lot of words exchanged. Meanwhile grandpa had wandered off to the casino as soon as they pulled in and I never saw him again. I guess the old guy had had enough of the bickering while riding in the truck and maybe had caught a bus on home.

It was a good trip but it is as always good to get home too.
GULF COAST TOUR

March – May 2014

The first day out was not looked forward upon with any enthusiasm at all. I knew it would be a long day as my goal was as last year, the rest stop at Boron just past the dust blown town of Mojave. After a miserably pathetic hamburger at Foster's Freeze along Interstate 5 redemption was had with a very nice large chicken salad at Carl's Jr. in Mojave. Carelessly I backed into a spot at Carl's missing a lamp post on the passenger side by mere inches. I would have done some serious damage had I hit it which would of course have ruined the trip, for I'd be looking at the damage everyday for sure. I most definitely would be more aware for the rest of the trip. The following day we made it to Quartzite, Arizona where most of the snowbirds had already migrated back north leaving the desert pretty much to ourselves.

It was a pleasant morning with no real hurry to get on the road. After cleaning half the windshield (the driver's side) and taking Sinbad for a walk we pulled away from Quartzite heading east towards Phoenix. Cruising along listening to classical music I heard a tick-tick ticking sound and turned off the music. The sound stopped for a few miles then it started up again. All gauges read normal and I was at a loss as to what the sound could be. A rest stop soon appeared so I pulled in to take a look in the engine compartment. I stopped midway around the rest area to select a good spot to pull in to, then pressed on the accelerator and went nowhere−not good. I rolled back to the curb and shut off the engine. I walked around the front and a dark fluid dribbled to the pavement−very much not good. Looking underneath I immediately saw that the serpentine belt had frayed and a long strip of nylon cord had flap flapped around cutting into the transmission fluid line whereupon all the transmission fluid had leaked out. We were not going anywhere today.

I walked around the rest stop looking for some sign for roadside assistance or at least a number to call but nothing was to be had. Save for the rest stop, we could not be in anymore a remote part of the desert than we were. What to do out here in the middle of nowhere dozens of miles away from any place? I then remembered seeing the words _Roadside Assistance_ on my Progressive Insurance card and dug it out of the glove box. I called the number. The nice lady was very helpful in locating a Dodge dealer in nearby (relatively speaking) Avondale just outside of east Phoenix and contacted a tow truck service to come get us. I even received updated phone calls advising me of the progress of the tow truck which was all very reassuring. Two hours after breaking down Bob the tow truck driver arrived, loaded us upon the flatbed and we were on our way riding and relaxing in the motor home enjoying the scenery. At the dealership we were offloaded onto the outside lift, underneath a shade canopy where would be our camp complete with electricity and internet service. What more could I ask for under the circumstances? Not much.

The next day the transmission fluid line was to arrive at eleven A.M. but it proved to be the wrong part. I then learned that it was the only one in the immediate area to be had and they weren't sure it was correct to begin with when they ordered it. It seems the parts lists from Mercedes are really difficult to make any sense of. Another fluid line would be a two-day delivery anyway which they hoped it would be the correct one, and so we spent another night on the lift, under the shade canopy with free internet and the annoying rap music from the car detailers nearby.

Day three of being broke down with the weekend looming and I was losing hope. That was all swept away when Mark came rolling his tool cart in front of him at eight A.M. The new and correct fluid line had arrived, was fitted into place, the new belt was wrapped around all the pulleys not without a lot of cussing on Mark's part, fresh fluid poured in and we were on our way just past ten-thirty A.M. They even power washed all the transmission fluid from underneath which I was very happy about. I was filled with mixed emotions: glad we were moving once again, apprehensive if all would be okay, and sad about the news of a friend passing away from cancer. We back-tracked a few miles on the interstate then turned south for Gila Bend where I stopped at the post office for stamps, Carl's Jr. for a celebratory lunch trying rid to myself of a irritating headache and then a quick squirt at the car wash to remove the last of the transmission fluid from underneath. On to Casa Grande for a stop at Safeway then out to their fairgrounds for camp. On the way I caught a glimpse of a sign: Pinal County Fair March 19 - 23. What are the chances of us hitting this camp right at fair time? One out of fifty-two I suppose. It was now well past tea time and what to do? Picacho Peak State Park where we've stayed twice before was seventeen miles further so I pressed my good fortune a bit more and hoped we could get in at the start of a weekend. My luck still held as several spots were available. The first order of business was my first shower since leaving home.

On into New Mexico next to stay at Pancho Villa State Park in Columbus near the Mexican border. It was a nice little flat place in the desert from which Pancho Villa and his boys (well they're not sure if Pancho was with them at the time) crossed over the border on March 9, 1916, raided the town creating much mayhem and leaving a few of the citizens and soldiers dead, but many more of themselves, like close to a hundred of the banditos lying in the desert dirt after the smoke had cleared. In the morning I was torn as whether to go or stay. My heart didn't seem to be in this trip and I was in a general funk. I visited the museum, watched their twenty minute video about the attack then wandered back to the RV at a loss at what to do. I pulled on out of town taking the deserted two lane border road east towards El Paso, Texas. It was a nice drive and my spirits gradually lifted. I made a stop to view the border fence, take a few pictures, collect some stickers in my socks and continued on to Texas. In El Paso I picked up a Subway sandwich and ate it at a rest stop well away from town. A few miles further brought us to Sierra Blanca, a derelict little town that had a small run-down RV park for fifteen dollars complete with interstate highway noise and dog barking. There we spent the night.

The next day took us to Marathon where we stayed at the Marathon Motel and RV Park and took advantage of a nice hot shower. In the morning I filled the water tank and dumped both waste water tanks before pulling out. The wind was out of the east and we were constantly beating headlong into it. Once again I was in need of milk just as I was at the dealership back in Avondale. The only store in Marathon had two-percent and full on high octane milk. Non-fat milk was non-existent or very difficult to find. I stopped in Langtry to try again for some milk at a little market/cafe which had no milk at all. Langtry was the home of Judge Roy Bean. I had it marked as one of my stopping points and would have blew it off had it not been for my quest for milk. I stopped anyway and visited the nice tourist information center yet didn't even make the effort to go see Bean's saloon the Jersey Lillie. No one was around and I had the place all to myself. I turned back to see the saloon wondering all the while what was wrong with me? I just was not thinking straight or at least very clearly. I was thinking too much about the breakdown and the slight dribble of transmission fluid I had spotted from the transmission pan. That was on my mind constantly as to how to fix this leak with thousands of miles ahead of us.

Twenty miles down the road was Seminole Canyon State Park and the decision was made to stop early in the day there. Well "early" still worked out to be after four P.M. before we were parked and settled. The park looked promising as a place to stay a bit longer and maybe do some hiking. I messed around underneath the vehicle some trying to locate where the dribble was coming from and after a few times crawling underneath I decided to forget about it and just try to enjoy the trip. I'd stop and have the fluid level checked before heading back for home as I felt the loss of fluid was very little. The aggravating thing was with all of the other cars I have owned I could check the transmission fluid level myself. With this inline five-cylinder Mercedes diesel engine I was unable.

Another thing on my mind was the issue with Sirius radio being on all winter and then going off just as we started on the trip. I took the time to contact them as I had a good phone signal there at Seminole Canyon. I talked with James in the Dominican Republic and explained how I called in October to have it turned off and don't think it ever was. Now it was off and I'd lost my credit. James said that is what has happened. He gave me back the lost five months, turned on the radio and we're in business again. Still, I enjoyed listening to my opera I had loaded into the iPad which was great for driving though the vast flatlands of west Texas.

It was nice to take a day off and spend it in Seminole Canyon Park. I was up early (still functioning on Pacific Time standards) and took a three mile hike along the Canyon Rim Trail. The wind continued to blow and with no sunshine to be had yet it wasn't really too cold. Back at camp I took the bicycle down, rode to the ranger's office to pay for another night and then beat on into the wind back to camp. After cleaning house and putting away all the hiking gear I took a nice hot shower. It was a chili bean day for a late lunch then lay back and read my book while the wind gently rocked the motor home.

We pulled out the next morning much refreshed and in a better state of mind. After a stop in Del Rio, Texas for food, fuel and another Subway sandwich we continued on to the dusty town of Carrizo Springs staying at Brush Country RV Park when the Walmart parking lot didn't look so inviting. This area was littered with RV parks but they were all long-term situations for which I believe are mostly oil workers. Here where we stayed while the Mexicans gathered after work would get a little barbeque going, turn on some nice genuine Mexican music and enjoy each other's company. A bit later one pulled out his guitar and sang, but not all that well.

The next day I was aiming for Corpus Christi and the Gulf of Mexico itself. It turned out to be not without more issues plus not as close as I thought. The main issue was that the cruise control ceased to work and I dreaded the thought of doing the rest of the trip without it. I reviewed fuse layouts while driving and could not find one for the cruise control. Finally I stopped to replace the fuse panel below the driver's seat and wondered if stopping and starting the motor might "reboot" the system. Glory be, it did and the cruise control worked once again! Oh happy day! Two hundred miles later brought us to Mustang Island and the Gulf itself, which wasn't visible due to fog. In getting a campsite I was first informed that they were full up. The lady did finally find one (they always seem to do) which I was ever so grateful for. After a cup of tea I took a walk down by the shoreline, snapped a couple of photos, picked up a few shells and walked back to read and rest for the remainder of the day.

We drove up the coast to Port Lavaca Lighthouse Beach and Bird Sanctuary staying near an estuary with no birds except the ever increasingly annoying Laughing Gulls. The bathrooms were nasty but we were forewarned about that from the hyperactive check-in lady. "They get used a lot by the beach goers." The bathrooms near the campground are better she advised. The next day we continued further along the shoreline north to Winnie where we stayed at the fairgrounds parked on the grass under a large shade tree. It was quite peaceful and quiet there until a guy came to set up his drum kit on the cement stage of the pavilion we were next to. He was soon joined by a guitarist. I was preparing to move out when they started up. Fortunately the music wasn't all that bad or loud, so with ear plugs firmly in place we endured a couple hours of 'practice' and then they were done, leaving us to our solitude once again.

We left early having never paid for the night for I could not figure out how I was supposed to. We stopped at the Market Basket food store, ate breakfast in the parking lot and then headed the twenty miles to Port Arthur. There at the Port Gulf Museum was a small alcove set aside for Janis Joplin, as Port Arthur was her home town. I had difficulty in finding the museum and my search led us through devastated portions of the city from hurricanes Rita and Ike. Even without hurricanes, Port Arthur was a dismal looking town and it is no wonder that Janis couldn't leave there fast enough. The hurricane proof museum was very nice covering all aspects of the history in the area with an entire wing set aside for all the music entertainers who were from the surrounding area. Janis's corner was small without much to see but then her life was so short, perhaps there wasn't that much to work with. I ate lunch in the parking lot and then pulled out for Louisiana where we found a really nice campsite next to a swamp in Sam Houston Jones State Park.

It was peaceful and quiet at the park so we stayed for two nights. It cost twenty-four dollars for the first night, six of that was a registration fee. If you stayed additional days they were then only eighteen dollars. I rode the bicycle around exploring trails that first day. While exploring the park I swung by to pay for the second night. It was now April 1st and their summer rates had gone into effect–twenty-two dollars. Damn! There were alligators in the waterway as signs stated NO SWIMMING: ALLIGATORS. I never saw one.

The day we left I took Louisiana 82 which went as far south as one could go to the Gulf Coast then paralleled the coast for seventy some-odd miles. There were a lot of newer homes perched high on pilings and some ground level homes deserted from the latest hurricanes to have swept the area, either Rita or Ike or maybe Katrina. I found it interesting to see and wondered all along the drive just how that must have been to lose everything in a few hours to a hurricane. But the residents came back, rebuilt their homes and carried on. We called it a day in Charenton where we stayed at the Cypress Bayou Casino. With a free dump of the tanks and free camp for the night, the least I could do was buy a dinner from them. I had a catfish sandwich which was very good. I ate the whole thing and it was still with me in the morning so I began the next day with no breakfast.

After a stop down the road for that delayed breakfast I agonized on whether to go into the city of New Orleans or not. Trying to negotiate the streets with a small house, and if there would be a place for me to park it or not weighed on my mind. Then I thought even I succeeded and were walking the streets of the French Quarter, finding it very touristy, I'd probably be asking myself _What am I doing here?_ Once I neared the city itself I was battling strong side winds and I just kept on going. With New Orleans fading away in my rear view mirrors I felt no loss and knew I had made the right choice. Undoubtedly when I return home people will ask if I 'saw' New Orleans. Well I saw New Orleans, as much of it as I cared to.

We stopped in Slidell, Louisiana for fuel and then took Route 443 south six and one half miles to the site where actress Jayne Mansfield lost her life in an automobile accident on June 29, 1967. What a lonely place to die this was and not even a simple marker to signify the loss−so sad. Not much further we crossed into Mississippi and stayed at Buccaneer State Park along the coast. The park was very nice, much more like a vacation resort than an RV park with excellent facilities of which I availed myself to a refreshing shower.

A new day dawned and I was looking forward to a slow meandering drive along the Gulf Coast of Mississippi. There are only seventy-some miles of road and then we would be in Alabama which had even less coastline road at sixty-seven miles. So I planned on taking it real slow, stopping often. I thought I would get the day off to a clean start and took the time for another shower before leaving. I had made a note to check the oil in the RV and did so, adding some. The oil reading was to the lowest line on the dip stick and it took a whole quart. I checked the level again and was surprised that it brought it only halfway up. _Hmm...maybe that container wasn't full_ I thought, but couldn't remember if I had to snap the cap off or not when I opened it. So I put in another quart and was shocked to see it took the entire second quart also! _I must keep more aware of checking the oil I_ thought to myself. _Whew, that was not good._

I pulled out from the park and turned east putzing along slow which was no problem as there were no other cars on the beachfront road, plus the speed limit was twenty-five mph for most of the distance. As I was admiring the new construction of fancy near mansion-like homes after hurricane Katrina a warning buzzer went off. _What now?!_ All the readings went blank in the odometer and clock display on the dash and all that was visible now was an oil can symbol and the letters HI. _Oh no!_ The oil cap on the motor has a sticker that states: TOO MUCH OIL CAN DAMAGE THE ENGINE. _How can this be?_ I thought maybe this happened since I was going so slowly. I turned off the motor, and then restarted and everything was fine. The dash display reappeared. I drove a little faster. The buzzer went off again! _There really must be too much oil in the motor. How can I get it out?_ I was really nervous and scared not to mention being upset with the possibility of another mechanical catastrophe right on the heels of the previous one.

We were in the small little beach town of Waveland and I turned up a side-street heading away from the beach, my mind thinking at full problem-solving capacity. I was looking for a secluded vacant lot. I drove real slow going inland about a mile, crossed some railroad tracks and found a small lot across from a community park. It was in a depressed neighborhood–on the other side of the tracks−and no one was around until I climbed out. Just then a black guy and a poor white trash girl showed up. They stayed across the road and talked, disinterested in me. I needed a container for my plan was to undo the oil drain plug very carefully and let the oil dribble out. In one of the park trash cans I found a Styrofoam tray with lid from some Chinese take-out. I scraped out the remains of the chow mien and figured this will have to do. I changed my clothes into my flannel lined Levis and a t-shirt and crawled underneath using the new rug I had just found at our last camp, one someone had forgotten and left behind. The oil was hot−like hundred eighty degrees hot. I had to be very careful with this. I loosened the plug gently and got it to dribble without removing the plug all the way. This was going fairly well as I had a vinyl glove on my hand yet my fingers were getting hot holding the plug in place. I filled the divided compartment side of the take-out container and thought that would do it. Fortunately I had saved the second empty oil bottle from earlier. I planned to carefully pour the oil into it with the help of my funnel. Of course once the oil hit the funnel it fell over spilling oil everywhere. I quickly set down the now flimsy Styrofoam container (they are not designed to hold hot motor oil) and picked up the bottle without leaving too much of an oil spill on Mississippi soil. I finished pouring the oil in the bottle and checked the level. _Still too high._ I had to drain more oil out. Back under I crawled and this time I lost control of the drian plug and oil sprayed out with force getting my arm thoroughly drenched with hot black oil. Well, so much for keeping clean. I went to pour this oil into the bottle but now I had more than a quart and oil overflowed the bottle onto the ground adding to the already existing spill. I capped the bottle and placed it in a nearby trashcan with the thought _No dumping of toxic waste allowed_ running through my mind. I checked the oil level again. STILL TOO HIGH! _I can't believe this!_ As I drained out yet more oil into the Chinese take-out I was thinking as to how I could have misread the dipstick so badly back in camp. I was on level ground. Now I had a tray full of oil with nothing to pour it into. I checked the level on the dip stick. It was okay. I carefully laid the oil-filled take-out container into the trashcan and silently apologized to the Mississippi environment. Now to clean myself up.

I was hot, a Mississippi humid hot. I was sweaty, sticky and oily. My entire morning bath was wasted. I dug my tub of hand cleaner out of the tool compartment and discovered it was all dried up. _Unbelievable! Can't anything go right?_ I added some water to it and kind of, sort of, got it working well enough to clean off my arm and hands. By now the couple across the road had concluded their business and left. While cleaning up I had the bright idea to drive the short distance back to the campground and take another shower. It was early and I had nothing else to do and nowhere to be so why not? Check-out time was at two P.M. and it was just ten A.M. Fortunately, I still had my camping tag with me. I drove the few miles back to Buccaneer State Park, flashed my tag, she lifted the gate and waved at me as I passed by. It was the same lady who checked me in and she remembered me probably thinking I had just gone out for a pleasant early morning sunrise viewing. _Right, a pleasant morning_. I stopped at the first restroom I came to and took my second shower of the morning. I felt much better and the oil problem was solved. A lesson learned, a very big lesson. [I later read the owner's manual and discovered to only check the oil when it is hot]

We continued on our tour of the coastline as I planned and tried to get the morning's fiasco out of my mind. I was just thankful the engine wasn't damaged, that I was able to get the oil out and that I was able to get myself cleaned up once again. We stopped at Pass Christian–yep that is the name of a town–and I sat along the breakwater wall lining the beach just to relax and take in the scene. I ate a sandwich while gazing out over the calm gulf waters. In the next town of Gulfport I came upon a serious head-on collision with injuries. _Things can always be worse_ I thought and my oil episode became a whole lot of nothing upon that sight.

Approaching Biloxi I saw a Walmart and swung in to get a few items. Yes! They carry bags of salad, bananas and small quarts of non-fat milk. Only thing was the entire milk shelf was empty except for a few bottles way in the back on the top shelf. I had to step up on the ledge to reach way in and BANG! I cracked my head against the top of the door casing. While little birdies flew around my head I waited for blood to begin running down my forehead. I didn't even want to know and just left my hat in place without checking for blood loss. Back at the RV my head looked okay. Thankfully my heavily padded hat protected my thin-skinned fat head. I drove on and saw another single car accident coming out from one of the luxurious hotel casino complexes of Biloxi. The car was ruined. Hopefully the person wasn't too bad off. Again, I was thankful for my small misfortunes.

The plan now was for another state park in Mississippi before leaving the state. If the park proved to be full due to the weekend, there was an Elks Lodge or a Walmart I could pick from. Driving along I passed the sign for Gulf Island National Seashore which showed a camping symbol. I kept going thinking it was the high-priced state campground I had researched the day before on the iPad. A mile further on it sunk in– _that was a brown sign_. That meant a National Park. That was something I could use my old person card for. I pulled a U-turn and stopped to check the iPad. The place wasn't even listed on my RV Parks app. This was NOT the park I thought was the high-priced state park.

I drove back the mile and a half, turned in, drove along the beautiful tree-lined park road for quite a ways, made the turn for CAMPGROUND when up ahead I saw people stopped along a short bridge with cameras in hand. As I slowly passed...ALLIGATOR! I pulled over, grabbed my camera, walked back where the lady with her southern drawl tells me "Thar's a gator over thar". I told her I saw all the people and then what they were looking at. "I drove all the way from California to see an alligator. Now I can turn around and go home." She laughed. I took my pictures and continued on to the campground. There were spots available. Relief! I took spot #1 by the check-in station as I saw no sense going to look for another, maybe better site, for they were all great. The fee was twenty-two dollars a night, half off that with my senior discount. I was thinking _I just may stay through the weekend_. My luck had turned.

I saw that the big fancy diesel pusher motor home next to us had some slight damage to the front end. He bumped into something shattering the fiberglass fender and it looked nasty. I thought back to my first stop at that Carl's Jr. on the very first day where I almost hit the light post while backing into a parking slot. _Yep, things could be worse._ It was then I noticed I had just backed in within mere inches of the ladder hitting the tree behind me. _Yikes!_ I still hadn't learned to be more careful. _I must be more aware_ I told myself. Then off to the side at the base of a tree I saw what looked like a broken tombstone. _What a find!_ I gently turned over the small semi-circle stone with my foot and then went to knock off the leaves stuck to the backside with my flip-flop. It was then I saw why the leaves were stuck in place...dog shit! It seemed maybe my luck hadn't quite turned for the better after all.

That evening was all thunder and lightning but no rain. Poor Sinbad will never adjust to the sound of thunder. It is not only the sound but he can feel it also. He took shelter in the closet for most of the time. In the morning after no great hurry I took off on the bicycle to explore around, see the visitor center, watch their movie and hike a few short trails. On the way back I checked the gator hole but there was no alligator. I took a few pictures of a blue heron then stood there messing around with the iPhone checking the weather. It was suppose to rain, especially so tomorrow, Sunday. I thought about staying on through the weekend since I was getting such a good rate. Of course driving in the rain the RV would get a good washing which it badly needed. I looked up from the phone and thought _that looks like a tire in the water._ It was no tire but the alligator again. He had surfaced up on my side of the channel. I took some more pictures although not as good as the day before when he was clear of the water up on shore. I later learned that he is twelve feet long and there is another alligator nearby that measures out at eight feet long.

I was talking with the two ladies in the check-in station and asked about all the new construction I had been seeing, many with FOR SALE signs, even on empty lots. I learned that after hurricane Katrina roared through the area the insurance companies jacked up the insurance premiums through the stratosphere. Many people could not pay the high insurance premium or simply refused to saying it isn't worth it. Also a new building code requires all new construction to be on high cement pilings which was another added cost. I suspected the new construction was a payoff from insurance companies so you had to rebuild whether you wanted to or not. I guess you just couldn't take the money and run.

One of ranger ladies said that she would evacuate for every hurricane warning that was issued and nothing ever happened. It got to be such a bother that she ignored the one for Katrina right up to Sunday then decided they better go. It hit Monday. I asked "Where do people go?" They go inland and rent a hotel room or stay with family. I think she had family over in Texas and would go there. She also told me how their neighbor, like them, grew frustrated with all the false alarms. The man decided to stay at the house while he sent his wife away. "Never again!" he said. It was so terrifying that he would never again stay back with his home.

I learned too that a lot of the people who died during hurricane Katrina were elderly people who refused to leave their pets behind. Of course their pets are like their children to them. There was no place they could go and take their pet with them. Since then laws have been made that motels and hotels cannot refuse evacuation victims if they have a pet with them. Also board and care places for animals have been constructed. It was all interesting in a lifestyle so vastly different from my own in northern California.

What better thing to do for a Sunday drive than cross the bottom tip of the state of Alabama–all sixty-seven miles of it. Even though all the forecasts called for thunder showers, barely a drop fell. It was a pleasant drive all along where I picked up a crayfish poboy sandwich and ate it next to the coast just before we crossed the bridge over into Florida. We made camp at the Fort Pickens portion of the Gulf Island National Seashore near Gulf Breeze. Checking in we were forewarned that with a big storm coming in, the five mile long road into the campground may get flooded over and if it looks like this might happen, we will be told to evacuate to avoid being trapped. Well, I was planning on staying just the one night anyway. A check of the weather forecast looked like I'd get The Little House on the Highway washed, finally.

In the morning it seemed to be just another overcast day and a little breezy. I was planning an early start at around eight A.M. and was outside unplugging from the electrical box when the ranger lady came by. The evacuation order was in effect. _How exciting!_ I talked with one couple who were staying since they paid for the week and had all they needed with them, so they were set. The campground would not get flooded, just that five mile long road into the camping area. I stopped along the way on the drive out and walked out to the beach. The surf was no big deal compared to our surf on the Pacific coast. It looked like a calm day to me. Still, I could see what the effect would be for some portions of the road as the ebb tide was only thirty feet away. It could get blown up and over depositing a lot of sand which would make the road impassable until they cleared the sand away.

Once we were back into town and on Highway 98 the rain began and it rained heavy and hard. The evacuation order was justified. It was so loud that although I could see lightning flashes all around I could not hear the thunder. Plus it was dark, like driving in a well lit city at nighttime. Poor Sinbad was down in his thunder hole, the foot well on the passenger side. At some point he moved out and into the closet. This went on for a half hour or so and then, just as if we drove through an invisible wall, it suddenly stopped−the most strangest thing.

We stopped at Mexico Beach–another imaginative name−for lunch and decided to just make for the nearest State Park which was way out on a sand spit−like ten miles out. I drove all the way to the entrance and a small sign read SORRY WE'RE FULL. I proceeded on to the kiosk and asked the ranger lady who in turn asked if I had a reservation. "No, I am from out of state." She said they had a few sites available. Whew! I realized the Florida parks were going to be an issue plus they were pricey to begin with, now only slap on tax on top of that. So some alternatives would have to be sought out. Private places too I feared would be even more costly. Welcome to Florida.

Once settled in I took a walk down to the beach after the brief shower ended. I ended up coming back, thinking about it for awhile, put my short pants on and went back to test the waters. If I didn't get in the water here I may not do so anyplace else. The water was not like at home. It was nice and not so cool to make me wonder what the hell I was thinking. Now I could say I enjoyed the waters of the Gulf of Mexico–even if it was only up to my knees.

Two days later

People say driving across Texas is boring. Well I say driving down through the state of Florida is boring. There were these extremely long stretches of road hemmed in by a dense wall of trees on both sides. It was as if Paul Bunyan had taken his lawnmower to the forest and cut a single path through for a road–a narrow corridor of tall telephone pole trees. It was like this for hours upon miles. In Texas one can see for miles and miles. In western Florida along Highway 98 the trees blocked anything that could be considered a view.

That day approaching Tampa had been like driving in southern California's Los Angeles County. I'd been driving for two hours when we first started in the morning and had only covered thirty miles. It was maddening. I gave up, headed inland for twenty-five miles just to get on Interstate 75 and leave the stop and go traffic of the coast road behind us. Once on the interstate it was a slow crawl for miles and this was just approaching Tampa. We still had to get through the city itself.

Florida quickly ranked at the top of my list of states I'd never return to. It was too much like California. The gas prices were the same. The weather was the same but here you got humidity, electrical storms and hurricanes thrown in as an added bonus. The people drove like those in California too. But I had gone this far and I would press on to see the Everglades, which was really my main reason for coming to Florida. The return trip north up the east coast did not look all that promising in any sort of improvement of my opinion of Florida. That drive north may be entitled _Escape from Florida_ I thought to myself.

Things only became more dismal looking as the day went on. I wanted to stay near Naples before heading east through the Everglades, leaving that section for a slow day's drive to enjoy the sights. A check of camping: two State Parks nearby and one of these was closed. It was under reconstruction (nice timing) and the other was reserved out "full" (naturally), or so said the online reservation site. Private parks were all in the fifty dollar range! _You got to be kidding me_! They obviously did not want riff-raff like Sinbad and I staying there. There were some National Forest Campgrounds on the stretch of road crossing the Everglades but all were small or for tenters only. There were six Walmarts in Naples and all had no overnight parking. That's not Walmart's doing but some ordinance by the city of Naples. I was gearing up for a long day, not getting to see the Everglades as I had hoped, but instead only as I drove madly on through the evening towards Miami. [I later learned back home that these restrictions came about from overuse abuse by the Canadians who would come down and set up camp for long periods in Walmart parking lots]

We came upon the turn-off for the first State Park, the one that was reserved out full. It was only two miles off the interstate so I pulled off for just the heck of it. Pulling up to the kiosk I asked the ranger if they had a spot for one night. "Yes, we do. Pull over there and park and come on inside." I couldn't believe our good fortune. Inside I told him how I had checked online and couldn't make much sense of it as it showed everything was reserved. He said they can't make much sense of ReserveAmerica either. So now I would get my leisurely drive across the Everglades after all and maybe, with a little bit more luck might get to camp at one of the small National Forest campgrounds. After that, for sure it would be _The Escape from Florida._

Once you enter the Everglades you are on Highway 41. Here Florida redeemed herself making the trip through the whole length of the state worth the time, effort and grief. I took my time driving along stopping at anything worth stopping for, even the _World's Smallest Post Office_ at Ochopee.

Further on some touristy places began to appear offering boat tours and air boat rides. Everyone had been telling me "Oh you'll have to take an air boat ride." Well I saw them and it just didn't appeal to me. Prices were as high as fifty dollars to be strapped in a boat and be whisked around the waters. The motors were loud. Some people were wearing ear protection offered by the tour operators, headphones like aircraft pilots wear. Yeah, like I would want to put on headphones God knows who had worn them before me. Also there was having the wind blast you in the face all along...no thanks. Then there were the tours themselves. Thirty-two dollars for an hour and a half to go out and see some islands and forty-two dollars for a fifteen minutes more to include the mangrove tour. I knew once underway I'd be out there thinking _what am I doing here?_ I watched people get off the boats. No one was smiling saying "Oh that was so wonderful." It seemed like all they wanted to do was get to the gift shop. And that was another thing. The gift shops were pushing these preserved alligator heads, alligator skulls, alligator teeth, alligator jawbone knives and a host of other trinkets from alligator bone. As much as I'd like to have a head or skull, I didn't want to support the killing of these magnificent reptiles. I bought two alligator postcards instead.

Miles later we came upon Monument Lake Campground and I pulled in. What joy! There was only one camper and I was able to use my old people card for a twelve dollar spot right by the lake's edge. After setting up I went for a walk out to the water and lo and behold there were two big alligators, up close and willing to be photographed. Yes, this would be a nice place. Later I took Sinbad out for a walk along the shore eventually realizing how quickly he could become gator food. I drug Gatorbait back away from the shoreline reeds to safer ground.

The next morning we drove the twenty-four mile scenic loop drive across the road from camp. Two thirds of the drive was a nice gravel road with little or no traffic, meaning I could go as slow as I wished. After a few miles of driving I came to Gator Loop Hiking Trail and figured _Why not? I have all day_. I dressed into my hiking gear and took off. As I walked along I realized this beats any air boat ride. I had a grand time hiking through the glades seeing all the tropical plants, flowers, insects and yes, even alligators right along the trail. It was a bit unnerving to see how well the alligators blended in with their surroundings in the low-light setting of the swamp. Very easily I could unknowingly come upon an alligator just a few feet away from the trail. I set a time of one hour out before turning around to head for home. Back at the motor home I was sticky, smelly, mosquito bit and feeling absolutely ecstatic for about having come down to Everglades National Park. But it was only to get better.

On down the road alligators were in abundance affording great views and photographs. Towards the end of the gravel road I was pretty much alligatored out when I reached the paved portion thinking _that was good._ But now I was in bird habitat. Storks, roseate spoonbills, ibis's and more I didn't even know the names of. Once back on Highway 41 we turned west and went to Midway Campground which was a bit more developed than Monument Lake with twenty six RV sites instead of just only two as before. Here it was fifteen dollars with electricity. We parked at two-thirty and I was kind of tired from the day's adventures. The humidity was a bit more but otherwise not hot, just pleasant. I downloaded all my pictures wishing they were better (of course) and caught up the journal. The rest of the day was relaxing for _Escape from Florida_ would begin the next day.

The big day dawned and it was all about putting as much of Florida behind us as I could. We left a little after eight A.M. As boring as the western interior of Florida was driving down through the state, coming up the eastern portion made up for it. We stayed inland away from the coastal mayhem of Miami, Fort Lauderdale, Palm Beach, Daytona Beach and the like. This time there was more to see and I was able to see further than just the ditch on each side of the road. One of the features I really wanted to see was Lake Okeechobee. I've always wanted to see it since I was a little kid and saw how big the lake was on a map. Well I only had a few fleeting glimpses of the lake while on an overpass. Otherwise the lake was hidden behind a high levee for all of the forty-six miles I drove along the shoreline. The lake is so big that the water stretches to the horizon. You cannot see the land on the other side. It is like a huge inland sea.

We stopped near St. Augustine 363 miles later at a rest stop. I had to force myself not to push on to the next rest stop at Jacksonville only forty-eight miles further on. Why I drove so far is that all the state and county parks were full as it was a Saturday. Private parks were way too expensive at fifty dollars give or take. The only other options were Walmarts and rest stops. Many of the Walmarts did not allow overnight parking something I thought was a city ordinance in most cases. _No sense in sitting in a parking lot for half a day; I may as well drive_. At least it would be a Sunday when we would drive through Jacksonville then cross the state line into Georgia. Sundays are good days to pass through congested metropolitan freeway systems.

Before crossing into Georgia we toured St. Augustine, the oldest city in America founded in 1565. It was a nice place, especially down in the historical district. I didn't stop as parking for The Little House on the Highway was iffy plus I was a bit early as all the touristy stuff hadn't opened up for business yet, not that I was interested in taking a tram tour. Mainly I just wanted to see it and be able to say _I was there._

I saw on the map a state park in Georgia not much further pass the state line so I planned to try for it and take the rest of the day off. Being Sunday, my thought was people would be leaving so I should be able to settle in. I needed to take a shower as I hadn't had one since Naples. Being in the Everglades I found myself sweaty and sticky after the hike and by just generally just being the jungle-like environment. I had a few really annoying mosquito bites too–on the back of my left hand, left elbow and one on my left jawbone. I think I received all of them while trying to get a selfie-shot with an alligator during the hike, which by the way none of the pictures came out. Too dark. I gave blood for nothing.

My plan panned out and we found a nice shady site at Crooked River State Park in Georgia where I cleaned house, changed all the towels, sleeping linen and clothes, and cleaned myself up too. This was a nice park but I soon found out it was infested with mosquitoes. They were upon me within a minute after stepping out from the RV and there was no way I would consider taking a hike along one of several trails the park had to offer. I became a prisoner within our little home. There was no grass nearby to eat so it was fine to send Sinbad outside on his own, unsupervised, until he was ready to come back inside. The mosquitoes didn't pester him.

As we left the next day I stopped on the way out to check out the ruins of an old sugar plantation mill we passed coming in to the park. When I stood in front of the historical marker sign to read the story of the plantation, I couldn't even get pass the first sentence. The mosquitoes were immediately upon me. Since I had made the effort to pull over and see this thing, I wasn't going to let these blood thirsty creatures deny me that privilege. It was a hundred yard dash back into the woods to the ruins, snap three quick photos of the walls made with oyster shells then beat feet back to the motor home. Mosquitoes! The only creature on earth that can make you appreciate annoying flies.

The day's plan was just to meander slowly north on the back roads of Georgia, some of them we were on before during the Tour of the South. I kept thinking about trying to find a pet shop to get Sinbad some more food. I thought I might see one by chance then spotted a pet board and car place so pulled in there to ask. I made it clear I wanted a quality pet shop, not a grocery store that sold junk food for cats. The handsome in a man-sort of a way woman thought of the Tractor and Supply Store while her daughter offered up Tate's Feed and Seed. The son was too busy playing a video game on his phone to be bothered. They provided me with an address, I thanked them and took off across town thinking _What a waste of time this will be but heck, I have nothing else to do and no place I have to be_. Both places were close to each other and the Tractor Supply place surprisingly did have quite a selection to choose from. They didn't carry Fromms but there was Wellbeing brand of kibble and he does eat their canned stuff so I took a chance and bought a bag. Later that evening the taste test was given and he loved it!

It was kind of fun to see if I remembered anything while driving along the same roads and when we reached Darien, yep, I remembered the little harbor and the fishing boats. Some miles further on we reached the _World's Smallest Church_ at South Newport which we had stopped at last year. Nothing had changed. [A year and a half later on November 28, 2015 I learned the little church had burned down. Suspected arson. Donations poured in and the church was rebuilt and open once again April of 2017. I have since discovered an even smaller church by accident near Henry, South Dakota in 2018]

I was wanting to drive through Savannah just because it was Savannah, then head for a Walmart in Hardeeville, South Carolina but when we passed a Walmart in south Savannah and saw other RV's parked there I decided it was good enough to quit there for the day. This way I would be fresh for Savannah itself the following day. Besides, I had a big shopping event to take care of.

Another day's drive all in rain, took us through Savannah and up South Carolina sticking to the coast as much as possible which wasn't very close at all. The coast is so broken up by inlets and waterways that pushed Highway 17 pretty much well inland. We stopped at another Walmart in Georgetown where the rain finally stopped. Sometime during the night a cold front blew in dropping temperatures down into the forties along with some more brief but heavy rains and gusty winds that shook the motor home. But the morning was clear and sunny although very cold. It was long sleeve t-shirt, sweatshirt and flannel lined Levis time again, but at least no bothersome mosquitoes.

The road now was able to hug the coastline where it took us through the touristy Myrtle Beach area. Mini-golf was a big thing there. There were dozens upon dozens of these establishments all done up in some grand theme–Pirate Golf, Jurassic Golf, Safari Golf. They looked like something Disney would create with big sailing vessels, mountains with waterfalls and cascades, volcanoes, whatever your imagination could dream up. What is the attraction? I couldn't see it myself. We ended up at Cedar Point Campground, a National Forest Service camp getting one of the last few sites available. It was too cold to go outside.

The next morning was a big day. We were to continue on for another hour's drive to Cedar Island and catch the ferry there which would take us twenty-three miles across the waters to Cape Hatteras. I stopped at a cemetery in Beaufort to look for some grave sites–a sea captain buried beneath a cannon from his ship, a British Officer buried standing up and a girl in a rum barrel buried in that manner I presumed. I found none of these so continued on to the ferry terminal.

We arrived at 10:17 A.M. where I learned: 1) reservations were needed or you wait in the ' _we may be able to fit you on'_ line, 2) one of the ferries was broke down, 3) the next ferry to leave was at one p.m, and 4) the last ferry for the day was at four-thirty P.M. "We'll be able to get you on that last ferry for sure." I stepped outside, walked around and had time to think about this. If I didn't get on the next ferry at one o'clock then the four-thirty ferry would put us on the other side with no place to stay−not good. When the one o'clock ferry loaded, none of the standbys made it on. The lady in the terminal office tried to contact the National Parks on the other side to verify that I would be able to get in, which I doubted being a popular place plus being it Easter Week. No one answered the phone over there and then one of the other ladies mentioned they may not even be open for the season yet. It was then that I learned the little resort tourist towns do not open their businesses until sometimes as late as Memorial Day thus the parks likewise don't open up till then. I did more research and found that one park did start business in April but no date was given. Out on the point of Cedar Island there was no phone service, so no Internet of course, just the ever-constant blowing of the wind, nothing more. So I resigned myself to spend the night there and catch the first ferry in the morning which was okay with me. We've been in worse situations like broke down Avondale, Arizona for example. I just had to look at it as a _rest day_ which I could sorely use.

Friday, ferry day, and I was awake at five-thirty A.M. then up soon thereafter. I did my morning routine, skipping breakfast and waited to buy my thirty dollar ticket for the seven A.M. ferry. We boarded and pulled away from the dock right on schedule. It was cold, windy and not to my liking outside but I braved the conditions and explored around the boat as we motored along taking some video with the GoPro camera. I now was ready for breakfast. I ate then did some inside things like rearrange gear, check the overhead leak (all was fine up there) and enjoy the two hour cruise from the driver's seat. We arrived and unloaded onto Ocracoke Island. It was a neat looking old fishing village now mostly all touristy shops but still in the old wooden fishing shacks. Naturally, there was no place to park and take pictures as the road was very narrow, barely passable for two cars. It was a short fourteen-mile drive to the other end of the island and another ferry ride, this one free.

We arrived a little past ten A.M. and there were already a line of cars and several big motor homes towing cars plus trucks with their long fifth-wheel trailers ahead of us. One boat had just left with a load at ten vehicles. So we waited. Another boat arrived and I could see right away that _We need a bigger boat_. I knew we'd not make this on this ferry. After a while a crusty old lady came by to check my driver's license and write down the license plate number. I asked about what to expect and she said they were sending two boats over. _Good_ , I thought even though I figured it would be tight to catch even one of these two. Boat number two docked and a couple of the big rigs made it on plus a bunch of cars and the 'priority vehicles'−those like making deliveries or workers such as telephone and cable trucks. Okay, I can understand them getting on before tourists. And so we waited some more. Boat number three arrived and the loading process began. Again we were denied. At least the fifth-wheel guy in front of me who traveled on the early morning ferry from Cedar Island with us was held back too. Finally we made it onto the next ferry after waiting nearly three hours in all. I learned that some of those early on vacationers had been waiting since Wednesday...two days ago! Later at camp I was told by the rangers I was lucky for sometimes the ferries aren't even running for whatever reasons.

We were now on the mainland of Cape Hatteras and although I expected to have all day to mosey along the eighty-seven miles (it was now past noon) half the day was shot. Driving along at sometimes in twenty-five and thirty-five mile per hour speed limit sections I knew this would be a long afternoon. At least I had a camping spot for the night ready at Walmart in Elizabeth City. I pulled into the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse parking area and the hoard of people! It was like Yosemite Village! I had all I could do to get out and push my way into the visitor center to buy some token of having been there to put up inside of motor home. I grabbed a bookmark and postcard, paid the dollar two-ninety eight and motored on out of there. Around the side they sold tickets at eight dollars a pop so you could climb all two-hundred-forty-seven steps of the second tallest lighthouse in the world. The line in front to go in was enough to tell me what the climb would be like. "Excuse me. Pardon me, coming through." Back at the motor home it was all about getting away from there by all means. I saw a sign−CAMPGROUND and followed the road around to the beach where another sign greeted me−CLOSED. Why not put the CLOSED sign on the CAMPGROUND sign I saw a mile back? Perhaps because that made some sense?

We continued on Hwy 12 up the Cape for thirty miles and I was feeling tired as it was three P.M. and time for tea. We came across another National Park Service Campground sign, Oregon Inlet, and I wheeled in just to see. There were campers, but only a few. Spots were available. Dozens of them! I was a happy camper. I parked, took a quick walk out to the water in the harsh cold wind, found a very beautiful large black sea shell in the surf and beat feet back to the camper for some hot tea. The wind continued all evening and even brought on some rain, but I was rested and ready for my goal the next day which was only a few miles further up the road.

It was way back in South Carolina somewhere I was following a car with North Carolina license plates. On North Carolina plates they have the motto 'First in Flight'. I thought _Hey, Kittyhawk! I could go see it and where the Wright Brothers took the first flight ever in a self propelled airplane._ And so my destination was set and not without adversities did we finally arrive on April 19, 2014, a cold wet blustery day. I bundled up the best I could and made the best of it climbing the hill from where the brothers had launched their experimental gliders. I learned that this was not THE hill for it being a sand dune it had shifted some four-hundred-fifty feet away in the forever blowing wind of the coast. The Army Corps Engineers reconstructed the hill in its correct site when the Wright Brothers Memorial was created. The slight wind-driven rain made it difficult to get any good pictures and I did the best I could with my little point and shoot camera. I had been using the point and shoot camera for most of my photo taking as early on in the trip three annoying dust specks began to show up on all the images from my Nikon SLR. I could see the dust in the lens and was really aggravated for not having checked over my camera gear more closely before leaving home. [Once home I took the camera to the shop to get the lens cleaned. It turned out to be dust on the sensor, something I could have taken care of on the road myself!]

On around the auto tour route was a metal life-size reconstruction of the plane in bronze and stainless steel even with statues of the few people who were present at the time. That was really well done and I just wished I could have enjoyed the experience more but by now I was getting very cold and miserable.

I parked in the visitor center parking lot and walked over to the recreated living quarters and hanger the Park Service built which too was a pleasure to see. It reminded me of the supply shacks of Scott and Shackleton in Antarctica. Their shop and housing was fitted out with period items complete with food stuffs on the shelves. Beyond this was the actual spot where the monorail for the plane to glide off from once stood in the ground and the various four points marked with four large granite boulders marking off the distances they achieved on that first day of flight when human history changed forever.

Then into the visitor center to get out of the elements and hopefully warmed up. As luck would have it, they were giving a talk in the huge room where a recreated model of the airplane sat. So while the hoard was in there I had the rest of the museum pretty all to myself to view, read and enjoy. I went into the gift shop to buy a couple postcards and a book before the crowd descended. They were still being entertained by the ranger whose spiel sounded a bit too hokey so I went out to the RV to get warm, eat lunch, write postcards, post on the blog and then get bundled up once again to return to the center. By now the show was over and I could view and inspect the aircraft at my leisure. As usual with me, I was a bit overwhelmed and wish I could have appreciated the entire complex more as I reflected back upon my visit to the Wright Brothers Memorial at Kill Devil Hills.

With a bit of sadness knowing I'll probably never see this again I pulled away and began my search for a place to stay. A Walmart would be fine but I was cold and wet and really could use some electricity to warm up and dry things out. I stopped at a Welcome Center before leaving the Cape but they could only provide some local high-priced resort campgrounds nearby, one of which they knew was already full. I figured as much before even stopping so these were not an option. I could go back to Oregon Inlet but it had no electrical there. I may as well do a parking lot for all that matters. I checked the campsite app again on the iPad and noticed a county campground in Virginia which was the same distance as a Walmart in Elizabeth City, N.C. The ranger last night said there was no over-nighting at that Walmart even though the app said otherwise. I took a gamble and went to Virginia and the county campground. Luck was still with us and we selected a nice spot at Northwest River Park Campground, Chesapeake, VA. I was very happy not to have to drive anymore and not be without heat. Also, I felt like I might be getting sick but I felt I was just exhausted with the cold and wet.

Each morning begins with renewed energy and excitement for the coming day and this day a little bit more so for I was going to Jamestown, the site of the _First Permanent English Colonial Town_. I made a stop along the way to see President John Tyler's plantation home. He was the ninth president of the United States and had a pretty nice place where his grandson still lives to this day, or so said the brochure as he must be getting close to his nineties now.

We first drove to the Jamestown site itself along the banks of the James River. Of course everything there has long since disappeared but through modern archeology the Park Service has been able to reasonably reconstruct and plot out how the small settlement was positioned. For many years it was thought that the river had completely removed any trace of the town site but in recent years they've come to learn otherwise. The visitor center and museum was quite nice, again completely overwhelming me with so much to read and look at. We over-nighted at a Walmart in Chesterfield just south of Richmond.

The next morning was even better as I awoke to clear blue skies and no wind. It was an enjoyable leisurely drive west all the while thoroughly enjoying the beautiful Virginia countryside. Today's destination was Appomattox where General Lee surrendered to General Grant in April 1865. As with most everything of that time period, little remained and much of what is to be seen is reconstruction done by the Park Service as accurately as can be done. Still, it was enjoyable to me to just stand there on the very same ground (so I was led to believe) where such important piece of our history occurred. Had the South won the war and followed through with their succession from the Union, it is felt that the West would most likely had followed the same course of action with the next election to come. This no doubt would open the doors for more fractions of the Union where in the end America would be nothing but a bunch of little squabbling countries easily overcome by any invader. This I learned while at Appomattox.

We drove on stopping in Bedford at a Tractor Trailer Supply store for more canned cat food and I was smitten by the large ice cream cone atop a vendor stand in the parking lot. I bought a small vanilla/chocolate swirl that wasn't all that tasty leaving me with the thought sent to me by my stomach that I would have been better off without that ice cream cone. It was then on to Cloverdale, Virginia just because we were so close. I had redirected a lot of mail to Cloverdale, VA from Cloverdale, CA and just wanted to see it and the post office for myself. My goodness, I still knew the zip code−24077. (I'm retired from the Postal Service) It is a much nicer little town than Cloverdale, CA. where I lived and worked (the post office included), where I bought five postcard stamps then backtracked to a Walmart I saw in Roanoke as the truck stops I had in mind didn't look too promising.

I selected Highway 311 as a route to cross over and through the Appalachian Mountains. Soon into the drive the road crossed the _Appalachian Trail_ and I wheeled The Little House on the Highway over into the hiker's parking lot. There was no indecision with me on that move. I ate a bowl of cereal, put my hiking clothes on and with the haversack packed with cameras I took off. I crossed the road and hiked north on the trail for a half an hour which I figured would be a mile and a half. Then I came back, dropped off my flannel shirt, refilled my water bottle and headed south on the trail for another mile. I enjoyed every step marveling at the fact I was really on the Appalachian Trail and tried to imagine what it would be like to walk the entire twenty-one-hundred miles of this famed route.

We continued on our way where the road–Highway 311−soon became a series of ups and downs, twisting and turning this way and that. The poor little motor home was really straining to pull its load. This was proving to be some of the most beautiful country I had ever seen in all my travels in America and of course, there was nowhere I could pull off the road and stop. I did my best trying to take some pictures while driving but it was very difficult to do. As pretty as the countryside was and this was when the trees hadn't even leafed out yet, I could only imagine how it must look in the summer and then fall.

We entered West Virginia and I stopped at their Welcome Center to ask about a good route across the state heading towards Kentucky. I wanted to avoid the same type of road we had just came over and pretty much all the roads would be just like that–up and down, twisty liked a dropped piece of spaghetti, and narrow with no shoulder. The best route would be to stick to the Interstate and follow along it on side roads whenever possible. We had a nice camp at Little Beaver State Park in Beaver, West Virginia.

In the morning it was back out to the highway, cross it and travel six miles to Grandview only because the guy at the Welcome Center for West Virginia said I really should go there. Well it was worth it, a deep narrow tree-lined gorge far down to the New River. While there I met a man, maybe my age, from North Carolina. He was somewhat overweight and moved very slowly with the aid of his cane. At the viewpoint he asked me how I liked the View, the motor home View that is. He said he was thinking about getting something like that as his wife had died a few years back and now he was _"_ free to travel _"._ That made me wonder if she didn't like to travel or what, but I didn't ask. He was coming back from Wisconsin, "family stuff", and taking his time seeing the sights along the way. I hoped he gets to do what he dreams about, just as I am.

From there we went on north to Fayetteville to look at what once was the _Longest Single Span Bridge in the World_. Now it is the longest in the western hemisphere. Quite impressive. One man died in its construction. The river itself is different from most in that it flows northwestward while most rivers here flow east or south. Also, the New River is the third oldest river geologically in the world. Maybe it should be renamed Old River. There was a staircase leading down to an even better view only you had to climb the hundred-seventy-six steps back up afterwards. No problem for me but it made me think of Mr. North Carolina. I feel bad for those who are of poor health and have their limitations but am at the same time impressed with those who carry on and travel in spite of their handicaps. It made me wonder about myself a lot. I am active, in good health and pretty much will do most anything but gee-whilikers, at the end of each day I am tapped out tired and have had enough. It didn't used to be that way. I just hoped it doesn't get any worse as the years go by.

More West Virginia mountain roads took us through coal mining towns where the mountains of coal waiting to be loaded onto trains and barges were only exceeded by the mountains themselves from which the coal came. Being a coal miner is a terrible occupation and no person should have to work and live as these poor people do. Talking about quality of health, theirs pretty much is at rock bottom, or in this case coal mine bottom. Their overall general lifestyle in West Virginia is not good at all it seemed to me and it was sorry to see.

West Virginia was almost as beautiful as Virginia and if mountains are your thing then you'd pick West Virginia over Virginia. The one thing I noticed though was the favorite pastime for West Virginians is to litter the highways. I had never seen so much in the way of bottles, cans, cups and general refuse along the roads since we were in Mexico or an Indian Reservation. I don't get it. What is wrong with tossing it into the back seat or on the floor of your car? At home they toss rubbish right out into the yard. I saw a lot of that too. So take it home and toss it...in your yard. We stopped in Logan at a Walmart for the night. The next day brought us across the state line into Kentucky where the country was just as beautiful only it opened out and not so compacted in between mountains into valleys. If you look at a map, West Virginia seems to be made up of all the pieces and parts it's neighboring states did not want.

Kentucky was very nice. We stopped at Natural Bridges State Park which was kind of a confusing campground with no real definitive directions as to where exactly the campground was. Then all of a sudden I missed it to the left (no warning) but a sign showed another campground was up ahead so I continued on. Down in a little hollow next to a stream sat the campground with nice level spots half of which were placed next to each other like a parking lot. The check-in was confusing as was the dump station being on the wrong side of the road. With only one camper there it had that going for it but half the sites were reserved for the weekenders. After making a loop I went back and dumped the tanks, pulled through the kiosk, wrote down the sites that were available and went back looking once again. First I needed to fill the water tank at one of the sites that had the faucet close enough for my hose to stretch. Most were too far away. In fact the electrical cord may not even be long enough. With the water filled I selected a spot and was still undecided as whether to stay or not. I wrestled with the decision for a bit, gave in and paid the money.

People began coming in throughout the afternoon and during the early morning hours it started to rain accompanied with thunder and lightning−poor Sinbad. In no hurry to leave I sat waiting for the rain to let up before going out to unplug. No sooner did I pull the cord out than it began to pour and I was soaked. Then as soon as I pulled onto Highway 64 heading towards Lexington and sat back for a leisurely drive, a car passed kicking up a rock that smacked the windshield with resounding force. I could not believe that the glass didn't crack. Only a small chip center on. I settled down from that listening to the infernal brand new windshield wipers chatter away in the rain.

In Lexington we went to a water tower in the shape of a large Dixie Cup at the Georgia Pacific plant where they make Dixie paper products, then on to Frankfort to see _Daniel Boone's Grave_ (that was cool) and finally to Shelbyville, the _Home of Colonel Sanders_ where his wife Claudia had her own little restaurant which is still in business to this day, run by different people but with the same home-style cooking. We called it a day under sunny skies in a Walmart parking lot in Shelbyville.

It was just a few miles to Louisville where The Little House on the Highway turned over 90,000 miles, then over the Ohio River into Indiana where we followed the river on Highway 66 having a nice drive without too many cars pressing from behind. I was heading for _Abraham Lincoln's Boyhood Home_ which was okay in the fact of the visitor center/memorial there. At the site at where the log cabin stood, a bronze mock-up of the foundation and hearth lies in place based upon archeological diggings in the 1960's. Nearby was a recreation of the farm complete with animals and people. Something about these recreations bothers me but I'm unable to put my finger on just what it is. I guess I just don't believe what I am seeing and have little faith in how do they really know this is what it looked like way back then? It's all speculation and maybe they really didn't have all these artifacts that are presently displayed. I suppose the majority of the people think it is just fine or don't even give it a thought in the first place. I think too much. We did another Walmart in Jasper which was better than the last one, especially by not having anyone banging on the door at twelve-thirty A.M. like last night, which I ignored.

The plan was to do a diagonal drive northwest through the state bringing us up to Davenport, Iowa stopping at anything of interest along that line. Well it so happened that another Lincoln home site was nearby so there we went. This was the last home for Thomas Lincoln, Abe's father, and his family. Abe never lived there but did visit when his travels as a circuit court lawyer took him through the area every spring. Again it was another recreation of the farm and home as they think it was. The home is supposed to be "exact". The original was dismantled and shipped to the Chicago World's Fair in 1893 where it was reassembled for all to see. After the fair they lost the house! How do you lose a house? So that is why I saw a made up replacement. It was a little past one when I finished there and with the desire for a shower and have a rest, we went to nearby Fox Ridge State Park for the night. Soon after getting cleaned up and settled down the predicted afternoon thunderstorm rolled in and the rest of the afternoon and evening was spent listening to thunder. Amazingly Sinbad was content to stay under the table rather than down in his thunder hole, the foot well on the passenger side of the cab. Maybe he's finally getting used to thunder, although he had no interest in any treats, so he must still be traumatized, but to a lesser degree.

After a fill-up of fuel in Charleston and a Starbuck's Americano in Decatur we finally made it over to Springfield to see _Abraham Lincoln's Tomb_ in Oak Ridge Cemetery. Of course, just as we arrived a tour bus would pull in. I had noticed one there already at the door to the tomb as we drove up. So dodging bus loads of people I was able to view all there was to see on my own. It was kind of creepy inside the tomb further instilling in me that I do not want to be buried underground. Poor Abe, he is ten feet beneath a huge red granite monument shaped like a sarcophagus, with his wood coffin inside a steel coffin, inside a steel vault. They sure don't want anyone messing with Abe's remains.

I spent over an hour there and then left for our night spot I had picked out in Macomb's Walmart. We drove right into a fierce storm cell and once trash and crap began blowing horizontally across the highway nearly taking us with it, I pulled off into the Beardstown Grace Baptist Church parking lot somewhat scared. Okay, really scared. Meanwhile the locals continued to drive on like it was no big deal pouring rain, lightning, thunder and crazy-ass wind. After several minutes and with the wind having died down a bit I felt brave enough to move on. Within a quarter of a mile a Walmart appeared and I turned in there while a shit-storm carried on all around us. With the help of my wife sending me weather information from home since the damn iPhone wouldn't download radar readings, I decided to stay there since Macomb had a tornado watch until seven P.M. When I was able to get the radar reading, there were watches all around us so Beardstown proved to be our best place to stay. After a couple of hours things settled down, blue skies were seen off in the distance to the west and all resumed normal, normal that is for a central plains state.

The next morning it was off towards Le Claire, Iowa, home of _Antique Archeology_ from the American Pickers television show. As with most things I go to see, I was overwhelmed with the amount of collectables to be seen. The first thing I did notice is that they have a much larger staff on hand that what the show represents. There were four women running things, none of whom was Danielle from the show. It may have been her day off or she could have been at the Nashville store. I learned also that Frank and Mike were out in California north of Sacramento picking (less than an hour from my home), and here I was in Iowa. But their Sprinter van (my RV is on a Sprinter chassis so I was sort of attached to their van) was at the store which I also learned is now retired. The boys have a new Ford diesel van they are touring in (probably a gift from Ford for sponsorship). Later Mike's brother Robbie showed up and I talked with him a bit. It was a good thing that I did for he said I must go to the _National Motorcycle Museum_ in nearby Anamosa, Iowa. It was on my list of motorcycle museums but I had forgotten to check Iowa. Once back at the RV I looked at my maps and yes, it was only an hour's drive away in the general direction we planned to go.

I made a couple of loops through the old shop and their new display store trying to take in everything there was to see taking a lot of pictures in the process. On the way to Antique Archeology I was hoping they'd have some little token to buy, a postcard or something. Well they had not only postcards at $1.99 each (yikes!) but stickers, magnet stickers, t-shirts, hats, license plates, coffee mugs, DVD's, posters and so much more. They were really marketing themselves and everything was high-priced in comparison to other places I've been. This sort of rubbed me the wrong way. I bought one lapel pin, a sticker and a magnet sticker all for $10.50. After lunch which was the second Hardee's sausage/egg biscuit that I had bought earlier that morning (no more of those things!) I drove for Anamosa amid internment rain storms. Once there, even though it wasn't even two P.M. yet, I was tired. The Walmart I had planned on was right nearby where I bought fuel at Casey's which was right next to the motorcycle museum itself, all three within rock throwing distance. I went into the museum to check on when they opened–nine A.M., and told the nice lady I'll be back in the morning after a good rest.

That night it got cold, down into the thirties. Thank goodness for my new MSS military surplus down filled mummy sleeping bag that is rated all the way to minus forty degrees. I walked around inside Walmart for a half and hour or so just to get warm. Then I drove around through town, again just to be warm. In doing so I saw this great stone castle that I thought might be a museum. It turned out to be the _Anamosa Penitentiary_ , built in 1890 and still being used to this day. What a dismal looking place it was from the outside. By now it was well past nine and the motorcycle museum was open and warm inside. As usual, I was overwhelmed with all the vintage motorcycles there were plus all the added motorcycle related signs, toys, posters, etc. I spent over three hours in there, part of that in trying to make up my mind which t-shirt to buy. It was very well done and well worth the ten dollar admission fee

From there it was a short drive over to La Porte where I had listed the _Auto Thrill Show Museum_ left over from the Great Plains Tour. I had it pictured as a large place with some old cars and jalopies from thrill shows of the past but it turned out to be a guy's antique shop with a large portion devoted to his collection of posters, program guides, photos and other memorabilia from the exciting days of auto thrill shows at state fairs and the like. For a time he worked with some of the shows and thus his interest in preserving what there is of the history. Chad Van Dyke was around my age and a very pleasant fellow to visit with even if the store was heavy with what I thought cigarette smoke, but I noticed some incense burning which may have been the cause of the smoky atmosphere. It is said after a few minutes you don't notice an offending odor as much which in this case was true, until I stepped outside and realized how much my flannel shirt reeked! It was just a couple miles drive to a nearby campground with electricity so that I could keep the little ceramic heater going and stay warm. This was especially welcomed after my just barely warm enough shower in their new tornado proof bathrooms.

We moved along across Iowa on Highway 30 under dreary dismal looking skies throwing down spattering of rain here and there. While consulting maps I noticed a road coming out of Denison named _Donna Reed Road_. Now why would they name a road after one of my favorite actresses if she wasn't from around there? I opted for a campground in Denison just to be able to keep the little heater that could, chugging away as much as possible. In the morning I stopped at the post office to send back my magnet logo to the Antique Archeology people as the thing began falling apart from the weather after only two days. At the post office I inquired and they directed me a couple streets down to the _Donna Reed Performing Arts Center_ housed in a renovated German opera house from the turn of the century. What a wonderful place and it was so nice to see all the memorabilia about Donna and her movie career. From there it was just across the state line into Blair, Nebraska where I found a little eight spot RV park in town with showers. It looked nice and for fifteen dollars...well I was tired. As I went to walk back to get a pay envelope a train roared by blowing its whistle. _That could be an issue._ Within the half hour I was there three trains came through blasting their horns. So after my shower I pulled up stakes and drove back to the Walmart where I had earlier purchased a barbeque lighter as I was tired of fighting with the igniter on the stove. I still had my fifteen dollars in the envelope in my pocket.

The next item on my list was to see the bronze statue depicting the Martin brothers, twelve and fifteen years old at the time, who in 1864 while escaping an attack by Indians were pierced with an arrow that went clear through the older brother riding in back on into his younger brother pinning them together. Both boys fell to the ground and were left for dead. Remarkably they were found alive the next day and survived to marry and raise families each. On the way to the site I was driving along Henry Fonda Memorial Highway _. He must have been from around here also_. At the _Sturh Museum_ I learned that yes, Henry was born here and the home he was born in had been relocated to the museum grounds which in itself contained many more buildings from the area and that time period recreating a 'Pioneer Village'. This was all wonderfully done and I spent half the day there walking around. I especially liked the tinsmith shop from whom I bought a handmade tin cup.

I tried to find the last remaining segment of the _Seedling Highway_ and gave up despite the directions given to me by one of the ladies at the Sturh Museum. The Seedling Highway was a project by the government back when the Lincoln Highway was created as a means for the communities to help support the road. Well then just by sheer dumb luck as I started on my way out of town, there it was hidden behind a service station just as the lady had said. I collected a small chuck on concrete for a souvenir.

From there it was then on out to see the site where the Martin brothers were ambushed by the Indians just south of the Platte River. I drove back to the _Platte River Sandhill Crane Observation Site_ (didn't see any cranes, maybe they were off elsewhere) where I had breakfast and let Sinbad have a walkabout. We continued west on Highway 30 where we joyfully had strong tailwinds (finally!) that pushed us along seeing the little towns of Alda, Wood River, Shelton, Gibbon and then Kearney, Nebraska where there is a big arch over Interstate 80. This was _The Archway_ supposedly to signify the passageway for immigrant trails leading to the west. It all seemed kind of touristy to me so I didn't pay the admission fee ($12) to ride the escalator up into the arch. Instead I walked around outside viewing the homesteader sod house and Indian lodge. We passed through Elm Creek and Lexington where there was a Walmart not listed on ALLSTAYS app and therefore unknown to me. I called it quits there instead of pushing on to North Platte as planned.

We left Lexington heading west continuing our exploration of the Lincoln Highway. We stopped at Codaz to see their pony express station which was locked up. But on down the road in Gothenburg their pony express station was open and a very friendly man hosted the center. He was a retired high school teacher from Gothenburg and we had a nice visit. He gave me directions to the _Swedish Crosses_ a few miles north of town at a crossroads in the farmlands. The metal gothic style crosses were made from iron by a blacksmith whose three grandchildren had all died, two of whom never made it to their first birthday.

Then we double backed through town to the _Sod House Museum_ which I had on my list to see for there stands the _World's Largest Plow and Buffalo Made from Barbed Wire_. When Merle built the sod house twenty-five years or so ago his friends said he needed a buffalo. Then one chimed in saying he could buy a sculpture of one made from wire. "Well I can do that" he said and so people donated their unwanted barbed wire gladly, for back then there were no recycling centers and you couldn't put unwanted barbed wire in a landfill. That winter he and his son worked at creating the buffalo only to find it too heavy to move with their tractor. So they had to pay a truck with a hoist to transport the beast to the site. People kept dropping off wire and he couldn't stop them from doing so. So he then made a horse with an Indian riding it. I bought a very nice book of old black and white photos of sod houses. The photographer thought homesteading and farming was too hard work after two weeks of trying so he went back east bought a camera thinking he could make a living with it, taking people's pictures. He had families pose in front of their homes thinking he could sell the photos to the families. Only he hadn't considered the fact that they were so poor they couldn't afford to buy a photo. But thankfully his folly in later years proved to be of great historical value documenting the life on the prairie and the people who lived there. We over-nighted in North Platte wondering about doing the _Golden Spike Tower_ train thing the next day or not.

As always, in the morning feeling fresh and rejuvenated I was in a better frame of mind to go see the Golden Spike Tower. It was okay but the three old guys there made it more enjoyable talking with them and joking around. One was eighty-three and a retired train conductor with thirty years of service. The other two were visiting from Illinois, one whose seventy-fifth birthday was that day. The other whose name was Chuck I liked best. I think because I saw myself in him many years from now. I wish I had asked his age. I learned that hundred thirty-eight cars of coal is the limit to be pulled, that a device turns the cars upside down without stopping to unload the coal, that one power plant alone uses a trainload of coal each day, that going fifty mph it takes a train a mile and a half to stop, that the engines are five thousand horsepower and they carry five hundred gallons of diesel fuel.

Next it was on to the little town of Hershey where we stopped in at the Stones and Bones Gallery. I've never seen so many arrowheads in one place before and he said he found them all in the immediate area. Next was Sutherland to look for signs of the Mormon Trail wagon ruts five miles out of town and I had to ask an old timer for directions to bridge. I was supposed to turn on Prairie Trace Road but I only saw a Pioneer Trace Road. Coming back I saw one block up the name changed to Prairie which made no sense. I saw the wagon tracks...I think. Then on to Ogallala to see petrified wood art. I wasn't expecting much but was pleasantly surprised to see what the twin brothers created out of thin pieces of petrified wood. Most all the art pieces were little town wood buildings and shacks which really looked like wood. It was really neat but the guy there kept pestering me showing other stuff and all I wanted to concentrate on were the framed scenes of old buildings. In town I had listed their water tower looked like a UFO and on the way to it I saw it had been redone as a flag so I pulled out of that option. Just as I did I stumbled upon their _Boot Hill Cemetery_ which I was going to blow off. I stopped. All the markers looked the same so I doubted any of it was original. Later that night I read how the town had "restored" the cemetery.

Feeling like I needed a boost to get me to Sidney I picked up a one dollar Americano coffee−which was bigger than Starbucks 'tall'−at the Prairie Theater, a really cool old theater that opened in 1938. Then it was on into Lodgepole where finally, I found their old opera house just as I was about to give up. The poor place looked to be collapsing in upon itself and I suspect it was just a matter of time and a good hearty wind. I talked with a lady in town and she said they hope to raise some money to save it but in these hard times they will have a tough time doing so. It was once an inspiring place though which she said the original seats are still in there, upstairs. Oh the history it must have. The lady said they later showed movies in the disused opera house. I can imagine silent movies, maybe even vaudeville. We rolled into Sidney where I made a quick shop in Cabellas, the mother-ship for the sporting goods store chain then over across the road to Walmart for the night.

In the early morning hours some numbskull trucker backed in next to us and left his engine running while he slept. I gave up at five-thirty A.M., moved the RV up a few lanes, had my coffee, washed my hair and left. We finished the last segment of Highway 30, the Lincoln Highway, where I stopped in tiny Bushnell and had breakfast before crossing the state line into Pine Bluffs, Wyoming where Highway 30 is overtaken by Interstate 80. It was heavy with fog for most of the way going as slow as forty mph at times. We fueled up in Laramie, bought another Americano and then on to Rawlins. At my usual RV park, Western Hills, the office was closed with a return at eight P.M. sign and "self-registration required". Well that wouldn't do for the showers are in their office space and I was in sore need of one. So I went next door to RV World and was given great service plus propane. The last time through here I didn't have a good feeling about RV World and had picked Western Hills instead. They will be my place to go to from now on. On a side note, when I went back in to pay for the propane the TV was going and the lady said they had just announced a tornado touchdown in Cheyenne. We had just passed through there two hours earlier.

I awoke and looked out the window to snowflakes drifting by−not good. I did the regular morning routine plus filled the water tank up. By then the snow had stopped and it never amounted to anything much. Back onto Interstate 80 to finish up Wyoming with thoughts of skipping Rockport State Park in Utah and press on to the Salt Flats at Bonneville. There were a few smatterings of sleet as we drove on down out from the Rocky Mountains. I would not want to live anywhere in Wyoming−too high, too cold and always windy. But it does have some wonderful geology to look at. I was feeling good and decided to go for it. We stopped for fuel in Silver City, struggled to find a Starbucks (imagine that) but finally did so off Kirby Drive in Park City and then it was a matter of getting through Salt Lake City. I really do not like driving through SLC or any of the other towns around Salt Lake City. The Mormons can have it. But after some nerve wracking miles we popped through on the west side and entered the flat desert land of western Utah. With opera music playing and blue skies above, all was good. We arrived at our usual camp spot by the Salt Flats just past four P.M. The weather was nice with just a slight breeze. I took Sinbad for a walk then test-fired the shotgun with my wax loads and it is spot on. Bring on a day after the apocalypse.

I did another underneath wash of the motor home at the usual car wash in West Wendover then began the long drive through Nevada. Wanting to avoid the bad private campgrounds in Winnemucca I searched out some BLM campgrounds I had read in the comments on the ALLSTAYS app. With no clear directions to them and after a couple inquiries in town I located the BLM office where they directed us to nearby Water Canyon. It was a short long pull up into the canyon but well worth it compared to the miserable places in town. The next day we continued on to Boomtown near Verdi west of Reno for our last night on the road before reaching home after 8677 miles of travel filled with lots of adventure, many wonderful experiences plus a few not so wonderful, but never to be forgotten. It seems the unpleasant adventures are the ones that stick with you forever and you are in time able to just smile at them, maybe even laugh.
THE DESERT HOMESTEAD SAGA

2015

One day in January on a blog I follow the blogger showed his finished little cabin in the desert. I saw it when he and his wife first bought the little shack and followed along with the few things they did in the meantime. I had been through the area before called Wonder Valley just below Joshua Tree National Park. Just out of curiosity I looked to see what land with desert shacks were going for. Most everything was in five-acre parcels the result from homesteading back in the 1950's. Some lots were empty having never been developed, some had vandalized or weather ruined buildings, some livable shacks or trailers, and a few modest 1950's style desert vacation homes. The real eye opener for me was seeing livable very rustic desert homes on five acres available for $25,000 give or take. _Now I can swing that!..._ and the wheels got turning. A long time before I had to give up on my dream of living in Borrego Springs as it cost too much to buy a place there, unless it was just me alone. But this area east of Twentynine Palms was doable, much better than the Mojave/Barstow area or Blythe by the Colorado River. I would consider this purchase as a winter home, escaping the cold wet winters of Northern California.

(Two months later)

Sinbad and I left on a Monday at nine A.M. to go look at some prospects in Wonder Valley. I wasn't looking forward to the six hundred mile drive but as I suspected, once into it I was okay, enjoying being on the road again. Especially once I cleared the Bay Area and hopped onto Interstate 5 I was soon into the groove. Since this was the road trip that it was and not like my usual road trips I thought I'd just go ahead and drive like bat-out-of hell everyone else and just see how it affected fuel mileage. Normally I putz along at fifty-seven mph but this time I pegged it at sixty-five for most of the time even though the interstate is mostly at seventy. In the end it worked out to sixteen point something so I only lost two miles per gallon. Interesting too was that the truckers all go sixty to sixty-five even though they are supposed to stick to fifty-five. Anyway I also thought I'd press it further for the first night's rest, hopefully all the way to Amboy past Barstow on old Route 66. Usually I stop at the rest area between Mojave and Boron. Well five hundred fifty some-odd miles later I made it to Amboy just before the sun set. I still had it, long marathon drives, in me! Truth though I was tapped out and was in bed not too far past seven P.M. The next morning I was only forty-six miles from my possible future home site.

I had a dozen or so properties I had printed out to investigate. Seeing parcels in pictures online and then seeing them in real life, the reality of the situation really showed itself. Almost all of my interests were deplorable wrecks. Many had been victims of not only neglect but pillage and plundering and outright vandalism. I would stand there in the windblown desert desolation looking around and knew I'd be miserable living there. Even if the place was livable (and only a handful were) the location, flat and barren, with neighbors too close or simply just too much work involved were all deterrents. There was one, a stucco home, that was very nice but it was less than a hundred yards from Amboy Road and every once in awhile a car– _vroom_ −would go by. I don't want to hear to that. And then there was the neighboring meth lab just out the backdoor. I turned to go find my number one prospect on Encanto Road. Encanto is Spanish for _Enchantment_. I could only hope.

I did all my scouting before contacting Cindy the realtor. I just wanted to do some drive-by's, looking on my own and weed out the ones that were _no way_ _I'd live here_ as I didn't want to waste her time. I found Encanto Road easy enough and could see off in the distance _there it is_. A weather-worn dirty white clapboard home. I pulled in around the circular dirt driveway along a much needed in repair parched dry wood windbreak fencing and parked in front. The first thing I noticed was bits of wood and pieces of tar paper scattered all about in the dirt. _What a mess!_ I walked up on the porch and peaked though the windows and saw drywall ripped off the walls and the floor stacked high with long two by six boards and sheets of plywood stacked high, not at all what I expected. I had pictures with me of what the inside was supposed to look like. Disappointment began to set in. Then I noticed all the nicely landscaped rock gardens with many different species of cacti and felt someone at one time cared for and maybe lived here full time possibly. Around back where the bathroom was I noticed the wall completely blown out. I peeked in the hole and the bathroom was literally destroyed. No ceiling, totally open to the sky...just devastated, and so was I. I drove all the way down here thinking this place was the most livable and it was far from it. I was so disappointed. Off to the side in back was a mountain of building debris. I climbed up on a table next to a wall to look at the roof of the rest of the house and it was all brand new corrugated tin roofing shining in the sun. Recalling the building materials inside I reasoned the owner was in the process of renovating the entire one bedroom home and I wondered why, since he was trying to sell it. The thought crossed my mind that since it had been on the market for nearly a year and hadn't had any takers, maybe he was trying to make it more sellable? After touring the property I gave Cindy a call. I told her what I was seeing and she had no idea as she had just been out there in February to take the pictures I held in my hand. At any rate I told her there was no sense seeing inside as I had seen enough and we wouldn't be meeting up as planned. She said she'd try to contact the owner and see what's up. I told her about all the other places I looked at and how disappointing they were in real life. "Yes, I know what you mean. We call them 'fantasy killers'. I thought that was a good term.

It was now lunchtime and I moved on to look at another place way on the other side of the Valley picking up a sandwich at _Subway_. This place was a converted trailer and I really didn't want that but what the hell, I had nothing else to do now. I found it, drove by, turned around and parked when the neighbor dude across the road came over to his fence.

"Ya lost?"

"No, I found what I wanted. This place is for sale and I'm just looking around."

He comes back with "Oh man, that place got ransacked a few weeks ago. I don't even think she knows it. Yeah, go ahead and look. The door's busted in and you can go right on in. Hey! I'm moving in a couple of weeks going back to Connecticut. The wife wants me back there. I've had enough of this anyway. Get my truck fixed and I am out of here. Yeah, I'll rent this to you for $300 a month. Give me $3000 down and you can have the option to buy if you want or keep renting I don't care. There's ten acres, city water and free electricity–don't ask. Ha!"

It seemed he had the town hook him up for electricity and he'd get a bill for four hundred dollars and he had hardly used any electrical device. He told them "Unhook me." Well they did so, on paper, but no one ever came out to physically disconnect the power and he had been getting free juice all this time. He gave me the tour inside and I walked around his place taking pictures. Imagine a biker's house, no furniture, motorcycle and tools in the living room, grease stained rug, fans blowing, mattress on the floor, clothes out in the open, guns, bow and arrows hanging on the wall...a true bachelor pad. It was all there and the most turn-key place I saw all day. He wrote down his phone number for me, the particulars on the place and it could all be mine for $14,900. I walked over to the lady's trailer and it was sad for I had pictures of what it should have looked like. Now it was totally trashed.

While eating my Subway sandwich Cindy called. She was going to be tied up all day showing another client around and I said that was fine as there wasn't anything we could do anyway. She suggested I drop in at this other realty in town (she worked out of her home) and talk with Larry and just see what else is out there. I said I would as I was going into town to investigate some things anyway. Larry was a really nice old guy and basically he said what I saw online is the same thing he sees there in his office. So we visited a little and I learned some things about the all important element–water. I left Larry's and headed over to Walmart for the night and resigned myself to having nothing to look forward to. I left early the next morning, a different route going up into the high desert through Landers, Johnson Valley, Palmdale, Apple Valley, all good desert living areas but were up there in the two to three thousand foot elevation range where it is cooler and sometimes may snow in the winter. Ya think I would be happy in that?

I had been thinking all day during the long drive back home that the Encanto homestead was not all out of the question. Eventually it would get put back into shape and then maybe a deal could be struck. The more I thought about it the more I liked it. The location was ideal nestled in among those low hills, out of the wind with only three other neighbors in sight way further than I could shoot my BB gun. To the north over the hills was a Marine Corps Reservation and to the east the Cleghorn Wilderness, a BLM land space. In one of our phone conversations Cindy admitted that unattended places are prone to theft and pillaging but the Encanto Road location was so far out by itself few even knew it was there and your neighbors watch out for each other, although I did mention I spent an hour there wandering around and no one came by to question me. But she was right. It was safer and more secluded than most places by just simply being back out there in the outer limits of Twentynine Palms. That afternoon an e-mail came from Cindy. She had talked with the owner who I think from what she let slip lived in the San Francisco area. He said he's working on getting the construction finished in a few weeks and was having a worker start on it "this week". That was encouraging. She would go back there when it was all done and take pictures for me and "keep me informed". I was now uplifted and remained hopeful and optimistic.

Water is a big issue in Wonder Valley and it has become so for the entire state of California as it was in the fourth year of draught. Cindy told me that the neighbor across the road in the "compound" (a term I applied to it for the home was surrounded by chain link fencing topped with razor wire) had a well and water from it goes up to the home I was interested in. That was nice for the current metal water tank on the property is rusted out and shot full of holes. Once back home I sent her an e-mail to find out just how this sharing of the well situation with the compound is actually worked out. I'd hate to be at the mercy of this guy having the freedom to turn a valve at his pump and shut off my supply. I still planned to have a thousand gallon holding tank installed. I was originally thinking a five hundred gallon but with the impending water shortage due to the draught which will ultimately lead to rioting and death in California in a very near short time to come, I wanted a good supply on hand. Electricity could be managed by having a solar system installed on the new roof and probably a back-up generator.

I also asked her to find out if everything I saw there goes with the property. In just that short time since she took the listing pictures to when I was actually there many features were no longer there. An outdoor burn barrel or stove with benches and chaise lounge chair, all were gone. Maybe it was in the trash heap. That too I wanted to know if it would remain for I could recycle the wood to fix up the wind break fence and any leftover unusable wood for all the ideas I had, I'd use for firewood. What appeared to be once a chicken coop was in good shape, usable as is, with a place for the chickens to nest, all enclosed and under shade. Yeah, I think I'd have a few for the fresh eggs each day. Why not? There were rabbit hutches but I'd not go that route for I'd get too attached to the little bunnies and couldn't bring myself to snap their furry necks. I guess I could when I became hungry enough. There was a little house out in the back where an old piano sat, which was now used as a workshop. It held workbenches, shelves, lots of old cans, jars, junk and well just imagine an old workshop left abandoned as is and you have a good idea. There was no flooring, just dirt but it did at one time have a floor for there was a foundation with a big drop-off from the door sill down to dirt level.

So that was the status of the desert homestead when I returned home. I hoped the guy wouldn't jack up his asking price to the out-of-the-question range after having all that work completed.

(A week or so later after returning home–first week of April)

An update as to the current state of the Desert Homestead. First and foremost is I was now full-on to buy my dream winter retreat cabin in the desert. I had time to think about it more and genuinely felt this was it and the right thing to do. My being slightly anxious had now morphed into excitement. I had a couple of messages from Cindy the realtor, nothing much more than before as about the guy bringing in someone to put the bathroom back in order and that it should be done in a couple of weeks where she would then go take new photos for me. Also she said there was a new neighbor from Orange County who wanted to drill a well and would like to go in on it with me, so that could be a good thing or not. It would be a matter of the costs and water rights arrangement. And too there was all the well-water information I learned while down there, how the County had a long list of requirements and certifications that a well must pass before it is considered usable. But if I did do this and was still connected to the compound across the road, then I'd have two water resources to work from−something to consider.

Meanwhile I had been collecting boxes. I wasn't packing things, just collecting boxes to be ready. Worst case scenario was I'd have to give the boxes away or recycle them, but I didn't think that was going to happen. I had been doing research trying to determine my needs living off the grid with solar power. There were charts one can figure this stuff out by online but they always ask you to refer to your current electric bills to see what your monthly kilowatt usage is. Well I had nothing to go by−one person living in the desert. I tried to figure it out by each appliance and amount of usage. Then with a total I referred to their charts and it said I needed a huge solar array so it was obvious I didn't know what I was doing. I looked at our home usage. It averaged 380kwh a month or something like that. The main thing was right then I realized I would be well under hundred kilowatts and then finally I fell into the bottom slot of the chart at just a few thousand dollar system. Now I had to decide if I even want to be hooked up to the grid at all and just use it on demand or rely completely on the solar system. There was so much to learn and felt I should get a better handle on this along with the water problem when I go back down there, hopefully the first of May. Meanwhile each morning I'd look over the pictures I took and usually I would see something new I hadn't noticed before. And I always wished I had taken more pictures but at the time I was very disappointed and figured this was a bust.

(Another week passed)

Although it had been only two weeks since the contractor was supposed to begin putting things back together down there, to me it had seemed much longer. I must be excited. Time seemed to be moving slow. I hadn't heard anything from Cindy. I did send her an e-mail for the solar grid people got back to me. He basically said I'd be better off initially to hook back up to city power if the place ever had it and then proceed from there sometime in the future if I wished to go solar. I'd think they'd be eager for my business but then perhaps I should look at it as they are trying to do right by me which I could respect. He did give me a minimal set-up at probably around five thousand dollars which was kind of what I suspected and wanted to know for my budget figuring. He also did concur that a system left unattended out there for any length of time could very well "disappear before you know it". In the end he said to call when I was settled and he'd come out to look over my situation and by then I would have an idea of my kilowatt usage on a monthly basis. Then I got to thinking as to just what kind of shape the wiring was is in (still 1950's era electrical wiring?) out there and just when in time was it last hooked up and had juice running through it. That was to be my note to Cindy the next time she was in contact with the owner. I accepted the fact of having an electrician come out and look things over to make sure it is safe to fire up. And just what was the power company going to charge running power back to the site? I'd be finding that out the next time down there. Then I began wondering about just trying to live off a generator. That was going to require fuel and I didn't want to be making weekly trips into town for that, plus the constant drone of a generator running disturbing my desert tranquility. Hmm... I really had to sit and think about just how many power requirements I would have. The whole idea was to live simply. This led me on to thinking about hot water. I didn't need much and began to look at do-it-yourself solar water heating systems online. In a short while I learned it can be easily and cheaply done on your own. Most used the tank from an old water heater, removed all the insulation, clean up, paint it black, build a box lined with a reflective material for the tank to lie in, then run cold water in at the bottom and the hot water came out the top. There were even plans using fifty-five gallon drums and even five gallon buckets. The five gallon bucket approach seemed the best for my needs and was very simple to set up. I was thinking being in a desert environment I'd not need the reflective material. There were cautions about the water getting too hot in most instances. In the winter I would need the reflective material I suspected though.

(Another week passes by)

Cindy replied back to me thinking the place may already be hooked up to power being as the worker is out there putting things back together but I suspected he was using a generator. But she said she would check this out with the owner. Meanwhile I'd been thinking about things and realized I really do not have to have everything functional and operating right away. One day it set in with me that I've lived out of the motor home for two months on the road so how would it be any different doing the same parked on the homestead? In fact it would be quite easy especially staying put in one place. I'd seen numerous people living as what they call "full timers" in small class C RVs and other on-the-road arrangements like huge motor home coaches down to a truck and camper full time, all year long, with no other home but that beneath them on four wheels. Once I thought about it some it opened up a whole new perspective on things. I had cooking and refrigeration plus forty gallons of water. So I could live on site in the RV for an extended period of time if need be. If I could locate the opening to the septic tank I could even run my waste water right on into that. Showers could be done using my solar shower. Even if I didn't have the motor home, why couldn't I live as if in a _bug-out_ situation? After all, if in times of civil disorder one cannot live in _bug-out_ mode how are they ever going to manage when everything goes to hell?

I planned on the first week of May I would go back down to Wonder Valley whether the construction was finished or not. There were several things I needed to check out in town not to mention I needed to spend more time at the place wandering around, exploring, measuring this and that, making notes of things that needed to be done and things I'd like to do and most importantly take a lot more pictures. I continued to look at the pictures I took last time and kept noticing things I hadn't before so I needed to look around more with fresh, open eyes. I'd have Cindy come out so we can go inside in case the builder was not there and I am not able to go in on my own. Plus if the builder was there I could get his contact information in case I ever want something done that I am just not up to doing.

(After returning from the second trip down during first week of May)

Here's the story: I pulled up to the homestead and straight away I could see the bathroom as before, well not quite. Now all the siding was off so all that stood were three naked walls of bare studs, nothing more, not even ceiling joist. After I returned home a month ago the owner had told Cindy that he was bringing in a contractor out that week and should have it finished in a couple of weeks. So I waited four weeks before going back down there thinking it would be finished. So what has he been doing all this time you might wonder? As I stood there looking at the bare bathroom floor with drain holes something caught my attention out of the corner of my eye that was different. The rear wall was yellow. _They painted it? I didn't recall it being yellow before._ Not only that but that it looked very nice and then I saw the rear door. It was a brand new door! The yellow was all new prefinished siding screwed into place with square-head drywall screws. I walked around the side and it too was all new siding with brand new white metal framed sliding windows! I continued around front and the front door and door jamb had been replaced, all brand new and white with new silver hardware doorknob and deadbolt lock. The siding on the front porch area and on around the other side was still old with the old windows but no doubt it would all be renewed to match. The owner is pouring money into the place! I went into this going on what the listing stated–"Owner will not make repairs". I wanted it like it was, old and funky looking.

I had sent off an e-mail to Cindy a couple days before leaving letting her know I was coming down and it wasn't until I was in route she replied that she will be away that week but I could get another agent to show me around. I spent the better part of the day there looking all around some more, taking a lot more pictures, measuring out the house, windows, the shop, the place where I'd park the RV and more. Late that afternoon I drove on into Yucca Valley to Cindy's real estate office to see another agent and find out what the hell was going on out there. No one in the office knew anything about it and I was directed over to Michelle and explained what all I had been going through that past month. She knew nothing and gave Cindy a call winding up having to leave a message. Within minutes Cindy returned her call while she was on the road. It was then she tells me that she thought she had told me that the owner was going to refurbish the place and raise the price to cover the costs. I was steamed! I kept my cool. I told her this was the first I'd heard of this and to look at our running line of e-mails back and forth–"They're all there on the last one I sent when I said I was coming down this week." She was very apologetic again saying she thought she had told me. Bullshit! I said I would not have made the trip down knowing the price was increased from what it originally was. She felt like crap. Good! I then said when I was down last month I was prepared to make an offer based on what I thought I was going to see only to find the bathroom destroyed. I had a month to think about it and came back prepared to give the seller his asking price considering I would be getting a new bathroom, although it wasn't something really I wanted. "Now this!" She said she would get in contact with the owner again and relay my offer and would e-mail me right back. "Will you be somewhere where you can get e-mail tonight?" I said I would−Walmart. Sure enough, that evening I had an e-mail from her. I didn't read it and went to bed instead. I'd read it the following morning. The owner said he was firm on his new price at $32,000 thinking it was fair in light of the reconstruction. Well I couldn't argue with him on that point for it was indeed fair, especially if one looked at everything else in Wonder Valley at that price range. But it was more than I had to lay out considering what all I will needed to spend to get the place livable to meet my needs. I decided not to reply and just let her hang in limbo for a week. But there's more.

In that e-mail she finally informed me that the place had never been hooked up to the grid. The two previous owners had used generators. _Damn!_ This was something I asked about weeks ago, which honestly I really suspected all along, but still. So on the way home I had lots of time to think and wondered just what I could do without if the place wasn't hooked up to the grid. Well pretty much nothing was all that demanding. Lights? Well I had my oil lamps and it wasn't like I went around with a bunch of lights on all the time. There never were any real plans for a water heater, no TV, radio or internet. I could do without a microwave. The stove I assumed was electric. I was thinking of a hot plate so that and a refrigerator would be to the two big issues for power needs. Did I want to try to exist without fresh foods? Not really. I could have a small generator for power tools and on demand items but did I want a monster unit humming away all the time supplying juice throughout the house to keep a refrigerator going? _No!_ The demand for fuel would be relentless and I didn't want to be making weekly trips into town for fuel. That's not why I wanted to live there, just to be driving into town all the time. I wasn't about having a big fuel tank installed either. I could just imagine defending that from the SHTF hoard escaping Los Angeles. So what about solar grids? Well the bare minimum just to get started would be between five and six thousand dollars but that wouldn't meet the requirement of a fulltime refrigerator or the drain from a stove. I suspected I'd have to step up to a full-on solar system and I was looking at ten grand at least for that. I didn't have that kind of money left over to squander. Maybe I could get by but I'd be left living on stems and seeds. Not the kind of live style I envisioned, especially it being self-imposed.

So the Desert Homestead Dream had pretty much vaporized. When I responded to Cindy I told her my original offer of meeting that original listing price still stood. "When the owner decides to accept it months from now, let me know and then I'll see where I stand on this. Meanwhile you can send me pictures of the finished insides–it was at this time still all bare studded walls−as I'm not driving down there anymore." I honestly thought this guy was going to have a hard time selling the place. He'd been trying for over a year now and no doubt figured a little remodel might help and he's probably right. The reality was there were not that many people in this world who would want to live out there in such harsh conditions having so little. _Good luck buddy._ I didn't even want to imagine what it would cost for the town to run power to that place. The nearest hook-up was at the compound down the slope over a quarter of a mile away. They'd have to sink what, a dozen poles to run line in on? Then install a meter. Then deem the wiring in the house is even safe to be connected to. If it was a simple deal I'd think previous owners would have done just that years ago.

(First week of June)

Cindy sent an e-mail notifying me another person was interested in the homestead and planned to make an offer and wanted me to know. I wrote back saying that my offer at his original asking price−$25,000−still stood and when I get pictures of the finished upgrades I would decide then as what I would do. A few days later she e-mailed me saying the buyer accepted this other offer−$3,500 over the original $25,000 figure, $3500 less than his new asking price–and was stopping construction. So it seemed this buyer was prepared to do the work himself or perhaps have it done and would pay for the work from here on out. At any rate it left me out. If I were younger I would be up for the challenge to finish the work myself. If I had more money available, I would be willing to go that route as this buyer is. But neither option was available to me so this was the end result of the desert homestead.

Over the next few weeks I had come to grip with the fact I would not be getting the place and was okay with that feeling for there was a reason, an unknown reason, that was in my best interest. Still that day, knowing the finality of it all, I felt a bit let down. I tried to think it was meant to be. Maybe it was just that at this stage of my life it would have proven pretty difficult to live in the desert under those conditions with no prior experience. Anyway it was fun to get excited about and have all those hopes and dreams but now it was time to move on. I still looked for places in the desert but none shown the promise as did the one on Encanto Road, that provided the remoteness and seclusion as it did, that was in such good condition and had a price I could meet.

This was fine example of why I don't like to say anything to anyone about some pipe dream I have or something I am going to do.

Shit happens.
Mojave National Preserve

April 2016

We were on our way by eight-thirty in the morning making a quick stop at the Kenwood market for a half gallon of milk. Walking into the store I passed by the fruit and vegetable department and Fuji apples caught my eye. I used to eat an apple a day everyday and had dropped out of the habit. I bought two. A couple hours down the road I ate one. Oh my! I'm going back to the one-a-day apple routine when I return home.

I recently came across my ancient Sony hand-held tape recorder and brought it along as to try it out for keeping notes while I drive instead of trying to write on my notepad then attempt to decipher the shaky road influenced scrawl later on as to what I had wrote down. It is hard to write and drive at the same time. Probably not safe either. Well it worked well reviewing my thoughts on tape when adding to the journal on the laptop at the end of the day.

It was good to be back on the road again. I hadn't realized it was almost a whole year since our last outing. That was back in May of 2015 when we made those trips down to Twentynine Palms looking at the desert homestead site. That following fall Sinbad's health began going downhill and we didn't do anymore road trips. Now he was doing fine and was his normal self on the road once again. He sleeps most of the time. At the end of the day where we stopped for the night he wanted out. He just stood there, looked around and decided that was good enough and went back inside. Not even a roll in the dirt which was his usual act. Maybe it was just another aspect of being older now.

We stopped at the Harris Ranch turn-off on I-5 for lunch at Carls Jr. (known as Hardee's east of the Rockies). I always go to Carl's for fast food. Their hamburgers are the best of the lot for the fast food places. I know, I've tried them all. I guess because they flame broil their patties? So when I walked in ..oh the humanity! I don't get out enough, especially at fast food places. It is nice to have the motor home to come back to eat my lunch in rather than sitting amongst all those noisy people. I tried something different this time–a Western Bacon Burger. It was very good and even had a couple fried onion rings in it. That plus an order of fries and a medium drink took care of my lunch and dinner for the day. Even at seven P.M. I still didn't feel like eating anything. It was a nine-hour drive to the rest stop at Boron east of Mojave, my usual stopover. Not bad for an old man and his old cat.

I slept real well but had really weird dreams which are usual after a long days drive. I wasn't hungry for breakfast (guess the burger was still churning in my stomach) so we started out on our way. The wind was fierce but coming from behind I logged good fuel mileage at twenty mpg. We stopped in Barstow to top off the half-empty tank then continued on to the Newbury Springs turn-off onto Old Route 66. I made a third stop to check of the tires thinking I had a low tire. The tire check revealed one of the tire air extension valves on the rear dual had come loose from the clip and was hanging freely between the duals. I noticed a Subway sandwich shop and picked up a foot-long for lunch, well really it will be two lunches. I could barely understand the Indian gal, and I don't mean Native American either.

This portion of Route 66 is not maintained in any way and the road was rattling pots and pans to no end. I passed an intersection for the Interstate, saw a sign ROUGH ROAD NINE MILES and turned around to get back on I-40 for the rest of the trip to the Ludlow turn-off. At that point Route 66 is much better and I putzed along watching for a good gravel road to turn off onto, one better than the one I used last year. I found it. This led to a nice flat area which was significantly further from the railroad and Interstate than before. I made camp, ate half of my foot-long then set up my shooting gallery. The Savage .22 I had repaired and then had to take back to the gunsmith now worked great. I was able to get the sights adjusted and this will be my go-to .22 now. I wanted to wait first and see if it was functional and now I will add a sling to it once back home. Next up was my new Smith & Wesson .22 semi-automatic handgun. It needed some sight adjusting but once that was done I amazed myself at some of the groupings I was able to get at sixty to seventy feet hand-held. This is a fun little handgun.

I wrapped up the shooting around three and picked up all my brass I could find unlike some of the schmucks before me. The wind continued picking up with thirty to thirty-five mph gusts. I finally had to retreat inside for the remainder of the day. I almost lost the awning and was just barely able to get it rolled up in time. I knew better than to leave it out, but had done so anyway. I was to suffer greatly for this mistake.

By high noon I was worn out for the day. The wind blew all night long. If it ever let up, I didn't know it for I had to put ear plugs in to silence out the swishing noise from the nylon bike cover just outside the rear window where my head is while in bed. I drove down to Amboy Crater where they have a nice flat paved area which would be nice to work on the awning. Fortunately the wind wasn't as bad there so this was a plus. I fought with the awning for nearly an hour. I never could get it to roll in all the way on its own. The wind had torqued it the day before. Finally I was able to get it completely back into the casing not without breaking the sun-baked brittle plastic end cap by prying a screwdriver against it. At least it was in and would stay put until I returned home and hopefully fix it to roll in properly all the way I ate breakfast then drove away going about thirty-five to forty mph all the way, just enjoying the scenery and the drive. There is always little to no traffic on old Route 66. That is why I like it so.

I saw on my map a BLM area called Trilobite Wilderness, south of the Mojave National Preserve border on the south side of the Interstate. That would be cool to find some trilobites; I guess they are there or why would it be named so? There was a nice graded gravel road and within a hundred yards a good campsite. The wind wasn't too bad there either. I decided to get the new Motoped down and take it out on its maiden voyage in the dirt. Think a beefy mountain bike with a motor fashioned after the Honda 90 and that is what the Motoped is.

Well I could see why this model is called the _Survival Bike_. I learned a lot in only three and half miles. Being only 49cc it is all it can do to make it up a graded hard-packed hilly dirt road. If I got a good run at an uphill things went better. Handling was bad. Basically it is squirrely as can be. Standing up on the pedals helped but it is nothing like riding a motorcycle where I could use the power to keep stable. I really had to pay attention to where I was going. I thought possibly letting some air out of the tires might help some. I then tried some off-road travel. In the soft sand it struggled. I dropped down into a sandy wash and was unable to keep up any speed which consequently made handling worse. It was all I could do to remain upright and not crashing. I finally got off the bike and walked alongside while the motor propelled the bike. Naturally all the while this was going on I imagined what if I were in a survival bug-out situation? In that scenario, stick to the roads, the flatter the better. Worst case would be having to get off and walk the bike but at least I wouldn't have to push a loaded a bicycle; I have a motor to do the work. And too, whatever distance covered for the day one I would be much more worn out on a regular bicycle having gone only half or less the distance that what I could do on the Motoped. I just needed to realign my thinking. It is NOT a motorcycle.

I woke up to a very strange sound. Silence. The wind had stopped blowing. Finally! This would make for much better conditions to go for a hike in. I was hoping to find the correct type of rock for trilobite fossils such as an outcropping of shale but all the rock in the area was igneous–volcanic. I stumbled around the slopes for two hours plus and when I returned back to the motor home I had only logged in 1.7 miles with no trilobites. There were very few wildflowers and only a couple of cacti in bloom. I found more cacti with wilted flowers indicating I was too late. I made everything ready to pull out then took the 7.62x39 SKS out and fired off twenty rounds. I had found an unbroken clay pigeon and set it up around hundred feet out and nailed it on the fifth shot, hand held from a standing position. I can live with that. I love this Soviet rifle.

Just a few miles up the road we crossed under I-40 and entered the Mojave National Preserve. A sign pointed out the Kelbaker Road was closed from Kelso to I-15. _Well I guess we're not going that way._ There were several enticing dirt roads branching off from the pot-holed Kelbaker Road, great for one of my old Land Rovers I used to own but not a twenty-three foot long Winnebago View. It was lunch time and I was hoping for someplace to pull off the road but found nothing until we reached the turn-off for the Kelso Sand Dunes. Three miles along the nicely graded gravel road were some suitable camping spots with several people already camped out. This would do for the night. After lunch I went for a little walkabout but just didn't have any energy. I had been this way every day. Good grief is this what old age is all about?

Find of the day: On that gravel road I saw what looked like a gray sweatshirt hanging off a creosote bush. _Hmm..._ I backed up and stepped out. It was in fact an REI cold weather garment in very good shape. _Wow, this is quality._ Back in the motor home I looked at it more carefully and you would think it was brand new. Only problem was that was a size small. I tried it on and fit perfectly yet snug. Earlier I had wished I had brought my hooded sweatshirt and was thinking I should buy one to keep in the motor home. Now this would be my motor home "sweatshirt".

It was cold that night and I eventually dug out my new backpacking sleeping bag and crawled into it. It warmed me up except for my legs which I didn't understand. In the morning I discovered that the lower zipper was wide open. Sheesh! We left camp and back-tracked the dirt road one mile to the trail head for the sand dunes. Once ready I took off soon discovering there wasn't anything to see that I hadn't already seen back at camp. I was figuring it to be some sort of nature trail with numbered informative posts. Nope. So I turned back having no intention on filling my shoes with fine grit sand.

Continuing on the gravel road toward the highway I saw that the GPS was not on. Sometimes I don't get the plug pushed into the cigarette light far enough. Push, nothing. I pulled it out and pushed in again. Blank screen. _Now what?!_ The light was on the plug-in so the juice was flowing. There was one little button to push on the unit and whatever it is for, didn't help. _Great!_ I grumbled on down the road about having to replace the GPS, driving home without it–I can find my way home, it's just nice to have the constant read-out of information−and finally thinking maybe I can pick up a used one on eBay for cheap. Well, things could be worse. Like the girl who was camped near us that had to have her car battery jumped at the start of her day.

At Kelso the Kelbaker Road was closed and traffic detoured onto Cima Road. The paper map showed fewer dirt roads off of Cima but maybe we would luck out. Still thinking of the GPS the thought occurred to me about the iPhone and iPad requiring one to hold the on/off button down for fifteen seconds to re-boot the device. _I wonder?_ I pulled over and depressed that one and only little button holding it down for...and by the count of ten the GPS resurrected itself back to life! Hallelujah! Everything was back to normal except missing the ten to fifteen miles of recorded information from the sand dune trail to Kelso.

Another ten miles or so I found a dirt road we could safely drive on which provided several nice camp spots away from the highway. This would be home for today. It was almost noon. I thought I'd try the Motoped on this dirt road so I took it down off the rack, dressed for a chilly ride and took off. Nothing changed from the previous ride. That and I realized it was the handle bar throttle grip that was aggravating my wrist. I would to have to change the handlebars or at least do make adjustments. Even a simple thing like lowering the seat may help to alleviate the pressure on my wimpy wrist. I put the bike back up on the rack and covered it up. I was done riding for this trip. I'd stick to what worked best for me...walking. [Back home I lowered the seat over an inch and pushed it as far forward as it would go and went for a short ride finding it felt much better. I built up the grips with some rubber and tape as I did with my mountain bike thus making for a larger grip which too was an improvement]

I ate some lunch and changed into my hiking clothes and took off on a walkabout across the highway where a trail head led to Teutonia Peak. I had no desire to climb it. I'd rather wander around the desert. I did find what appeared to be an old prospector's camp with all the rusty tin cans scattered about but that was about all. Back to the motor home I had had enough for the day. A cup of tea, some cheese and crackers, catch up on the journal, relax and read for the remainder of the day.

It usually takes me a few days to get in the groove on a road trip; a place where I'm comfortable, settled in and operating like a well oiled machine. Today was that day. We were rolling by eight-thirty and soon discovered it was only ten miles to the I-15 under crossing. A small patch of the Mojave Preserve lies north of the interstate and I was hoping to find some suitable camp spots there. Pretty much all the dirt roads off of Excelsior Mine Road were not RV friendly. I turned around at the power lines which pretty much designated the northern most extent of the Preserve. To continue on any further I would be entering Death Valley from the eastern side. Coming back at a small hilly area the road passed through I saw something that might work out off to the right. I had missed seeing it going north. This would do, only a hundred feet from the road, and would not be an issue as after a half a day being there less than a dozen cars had passed by.

I immediately went for a short walk leaving the camera behind which I soon regretted. Well, I would just have to go out again. I explored someone's "camp" on the back side of the hill−a strange set-up. There were no structures except for a broken down camper off to the side. The guy must have had ten to fifteen handsaws of all types and styles lying about. He had a fifty-gallon drum stuck full of long items like a mop, fishing poles and crutches (several pairs of different styles) among other long items. Another fifty-gallon plastic barrel was full of water. There were five-gallon buckets all around filled with items you'd have absolutely no use for in the desert such as plumbing fixtures for example. There was even an old Seagull outboard boat motor lying there in the dirt. Those are highly sought after by collectors of antique fishing paraphernalia. There were cases of empty beer bottles including a case of champagne bottles, a few looking yet to be uncorked. He had a round wire cage where he tossed his empty food tins. I looked to see what he ate. Most of them were Alpo dog food. I hoped he had a dog.

Back at camp I ate a snack then went back out with the camera this time, to photograph wildflowers as there was quite an assortment compared to previous camps. I discovered a ten-inch long rubber T-Rex dinosaur on the hillside, just lying there on its side. What are the chances of that? He was still in good shape and I wondered about the little boy who had lost him and just how did he do so? Well I soon learned. I had set him up for a couple of photos then stuck him in the pocket of my windbreaker. Several pictures later he was gone. He must have fallen out when I stooped down to take a picture. I went back to look and amazingly I found him. Back in my pocket he went. Not much later I realized he was missing again. _Damn!_ I looked all over for the longest time and figured he was meant to stay wherever he fell. I finally located my two previous photo spots and then finally there he was at the last stop. This time he went into my pants pocket.

After lunch I did pretty much nothing for the rest of the day except read my book and relax enjoying the peace of the desert with not that much wind and temperatures in the seventies. My only option now was to go east from there and drive back into the Mojave Preserve on the Morning Star Mine Road or the longer Ivanpah Road but I figured I'd save that for next time. I'd head west and if I didn't see anything between here and Barstow that was camp-worthy I would probably continue on for home making one overnight stop along the way.

We were on our way around seven-thirty and I pulled off at Baker for breakfast. I thought I'd try Carl's sausage, egg, and cheese biscuit to compare with McDonald's Egg McBisquit or whatever it is called. Oh boy, what a BIG difference! Carl's/Hardees were much better. It has a big-ass scrambled egg in it and looks like real egg too, not some wanna-be egg like the clown makes. So that thing sat in my stomach all day long thus my skipping any idea for lunch. I just nibbled on some peanut butter and Ritz crackers in those little snack packs and a small soda as I motored down the highway.

The day seemed like it went by fast. At my scheduled stop at Santa Nella (three hours from home) it was now four-thirty and I was done. Four hundred and one miles of driving for the day leaving me with a sore back, stiff knees and more. It sucks getting old. I have this special spot I always layover at near a fancy motel with usually no truckers or maybe one or two at the most. That's okay as long as they aren't reefers which require an engine running constantly keeping what is in side refrigerated. It is just a short walk for some Chinese food at Panda Express.

I slept well that night!

The orange chicken, chow mien and fried rice dinner was oh so good and was still with me in the morning so I skipped breakfast and left around seven-thirty. It was a good day to drive the final three hours to home. A rare day in fact with no wind, especially going over the Altamont Pass where all the wind machines creating electricity stood still. In fact there was no wind anywhere along the entire way home from the desert. I had tailwinds all the way going and calm to nothing coming home. This was great for the fuel mileage as I chalked up another twenty mpg when I had filled up in Tehachipi.

It was a good trip although tiring in some aspects. I really need to not drive so much. I later realized that the Mojave Preserve just didn't provide as many hiking an exploring opportunities as other places in the desert. I think I was feeling at a loss as to what to do at times. And maybe too it was just a matter of having been so long since we last went anywhere. I didn't know. But I was already looking forward to going again soon even if for only just another short road trip.
Epilogue

This would turn out to be our final road trip together. Sinbad peacefully passed away October 6, 2016.

The failure in purchasing my dream desert homestead proved to be a blessing. Within the following years I discovered what would be what I needed all along, a whole new lifestyle change, living full time on the road.

*****

The following story was intended to be a standalone book but I couldn't figure how to make it mesh within the series of books about traveling with two different cats. I decided to simply attach it to the end of this book and call it done.

Three years later as I prepared this for publication I added on my thoughts as to what I had written. They will appear with brackets like [this]

Lonely, Oh So Lonely  
A traveler without his cat exploring the back roads of America

By

JOHN LEE KIRN

Only the lonely  
Know the way I feel tonight  
Only the lonely  
Know this feeling ain't right  
There goes my baby  
There goes my heart  
They're gone forever  
So far apart...

 _Only the Lonely_  
−Roy Orbison, 1960

PROLOGUE

This is the story of my short interlude of traveling without a cat by my side. My dear Sinbad who traveled with me for over twelve years had just passed away. I continued on with my winter plan of heading for the deserts of the southwest thinking...just maybe...I might find an abandoned cat along the way if it was meant to be. Otherwise, I wasn't ready for a new feline partner. I needed time. My heart wasn't really into keeping a journal as I normally did. The story became more like a diary, 133 days of day to day life living on the road in my RV...alone. It also marked a big transition in my life as I was slowing contemplating making this life on the road a full-time lifestyle. I had a lot to learn, made a lot of mistakes and stumbled along under many false beliefs thinking I knew what I was doing.

I didn't.

Lonely, Oh So Lonely

Day 1 – October 28, 2016

It was a Friday and I was all up packed ready to leave home, having saved putting in the cold things for last. When I went to start up the refrigerator the burner would not keep going. This happened once before. The thermocouple was not sending a message that the fire was going and therefore the gas would shut off. The last time this happened I replaced the thermocouple and bought a spare. So I had that going for me. I stood in a drizzly rain installing the new part and it still would not stay lit! This was not good. I started pulling wires and spraying De-Oxit on the connections. Still it kept shutting off. I was about ready to unload the refrigerator when finally the burner remained lit. Now I could get with the program and begin my journey.

After four hours of driving I reached Santa Nella on Interstate 5 in the upper Central Valley of California. It was three P.M. and I said "That's enough for this day". I was saying this out loud to myself for there was no Sinbad with me on this trip. I lost my little buddy three weeks earlier. I tried to look at it as a good thing, a good bit of timing on his part. _Dad, you go on without me this time. It's okay._ It was his gift to me. It would have been very bad to go through the dying process together many miles away from home. He now was at rest, at the house.

[As I pulled away from the house the emptiness hit me right away. We wouldn't even reach the corner of the street and Sinbad would jump up in my lap and remain there for the entire drive. Not having his furry little body there on my lap was difficult to overcome for many miles. I choked back the tears.]

Day 2

After making a post on the blog that evening I realized my power adapter for the laptop that plugs into a 12-volt cigarette plug was not charging the laptop. Plus it was super hot. Stupid me, I left the plug-in-to-the-wall 110-volt power supply at home thinking I'd never be plugged in to shore power (an RV park) for the next four months. A stop at Best Buy and a Radio Shack in Bakersfield (what a hole!) yielded no replacement. So I contacted my ex-wife to send them both to me once I got settled in Anza Borrego. As I drove along I thought of other things I should have brought: my old Canon camera, a spare charger for the Apple devices and the 110-volt charger for my second laptop−an older model Sony that has Microsoft Word which I use for my writing. These were added to an ever-growing list of items to send as my C.A.R.E. package. I made it through the high desert town of Adelanto when I spied a Walmart although I was heading for one ten miles further down the road in Hesperia. _This will do._ A nice Panda Express meal for dinner capped off a fine day (considering) of travel.

Day 3

I sleep real well in the RV, better than home. I was up before sunrise and went into Walmart for two containers of anti-bacterial wipes. These would be my replacement for not having a shower as often. This was just one of several little tricks of living on the road I picked up from watching YouTube videos the past few months. While in there I looked at their small rugs as I liked the carpet sample I put in front of the stove. So why not have one in the bath and in front of the kitchen sink? They had the same rugs to choose from what I saw in an earlier Walmart. As usual for me I couldn't make up my mind so I went back to the RV and re-measured for the fifth time. Back into the store again and I finally settled upon two. They would make it nicer to stand on while barefoot versus the cold linoleum. Back into Walmart a third time to return a bottle of Pinesol cleaner I brought from home thinking I had none but eventually found it the other day in a new spot in the RV. I need to quit moving things to new spots. The Walmart greeters greeted me each time even though there were nearly no shoppers at this time of the day. They had to know I was the same fool coming in each time.

On down the road I checked another Best Buy and faced the same story regarding a replacement power supply–none to be had. I bought fuel at the Morongo Indian Casino in Cabazon, CA. at a good low price of $2.60 a gallon. It was approaching noon and I began thinking I needed to eat something before the final stretch to Anza Borrego State Park. Right there off to my left was an In-N-Out Burger. I usually don't like to go into them for they are a madhouse inside. But traffic seemed light so I went for it mainly for the chocolate milkshake I craved. _No line. Good!_ Organized chaos is what In-N-Out Burger is. I ate my hamburger back in the peace and quiet of The Little House on the Highway then pressed on.

I arrived at Anza Borrego State Park around two P.M. and discovered that what was once BLM (Bureau of Land Management) land east of town had now become part of the State Park and NO VEHICES BEYOND THIS POINT signs were posted all about. I figured something like this might happen someday. A little bit further there was a small area that had a few RVs on it. I talked with Fernando and he said that this area was okay to camp on. The change in land ownership happened a year or so ago he said. I selected a spot, cleaned up the rubbish left behind, and was tired. I laid down for a bit while the wind blew keeping it reasonably comfortable with overcast skies. Now to begin the experiment for this road trip−see how long I can keep myself from getting restless staying in one spot for a long time.

[Sleeping at night was a whole new experience for me without a furry little bed hog taking up space. It was nice but I felt guilty thinking it was "nice". I would have given anything to be squeezed over to the side of the bed, or have four little pressure point paws walking all over me]

Day 4

After breakfast I went for a little walk over the rise to the north of camp. Off in the distance I saw a structure of some sort so I headed in that direction. Almost a mile later it appeared to be some sort of bugout retreat built out of hay bales, metal storage containers and wind-shredded camo netting stretched over a framework of metal piping. The largest container looked to be divided into two living areas. Off to the left was an outdoor bar with two large barbeques beneath a wood lean-to with metal roofing. Behind the bar was another smaller container heavily secured with a lock and pry-proof welded shields protecting the locks. More effort was placed into this portion of the compound than the three open-air "bedrooms" (there were beds in place which tipped me off as sleeping quarters) built with hay bale walls and shredded camo netting for a roof. All of this was in the middle of nowhere without any road leading into it that I saw.

I spent the day trying to get the iPad to data stream until I was locked out of that for twenty-four hours due to too many tries. So I went to organizing notes and things in the RV. The wind was blowing pretty fierce so inside was the better option than trying to do anything outdoors. The old-timer (probably my age) up the road a ways set up his shade structure before evening set in. In the morning it had collapsed and was bent out of shape due to the winds, poor guy. He had a brand new Dodge van and looked to be living out of it. I suspected his destroyed shade was brand new too. It wasn't any good now. I hoped tomorrow the winds would be more forgiving. If not then I'd try to start a new drawing while being forced to stay inside.

[Here I discovered the freedom of leaving for a hike when I was ready go instead of putting it off for a last minute little walk camp looking for mice or lizards while holding a leash. Guilt once again for realizing a new-found freedom at a tremendous sacrifice.]

Day 5

For the day's walk I struck out for the sand dunes on the far side of the valley. About two miles out I was what seemed only halfway there. I stood there and thought about it for a brief moment. _I'll get there and find what... a bunch of sand._ I turned back for camp. I did find a nice fifty-caliber shell casing left from when this area was used for aircraft fighting practice during the Second World War.

[I used to always think about Sinbad back in the RV while I was out and about. He was always just fine yet at times I would feel _I should get back._ Now free to roam I just felt unmotivated, uninspired...empty.]

Day 6

I tried shooting my bows I made from PVC pipe. I had made four of three different styles. This was the result of YouTube watching over the summer. One bow I could barely pull the string back. Another just like it but with no recurve was easier for my wimpy arms. These two shorter bows were fashioned after the style the Seminole Indians made. Next I tried the longer bow that is fashioned after the one used in the movie _Hunger Games_ movie by Katness. The longbow proved to be more like what I could handle. Lastly I dug out the very first bow I made which was a take-down bow that comes apart into three pieces. Of all this one worked the best and I was more accurate with it than the others while shooting at a burlap bag stuffed full of plastic. _Maybe if I practiced a little each day I might be able to shoot a nice grouping. Hey, I might even develop some muscle in the process._

After breakfast I hiked up into the hills nearby and found some nicely done rock art someone had created in a flat area. It took a lot of time and effort to arrange the rocks into images of a snake, scorpion, bighorn sheep, eagle head and a few designs.

Back at camp and I did little else for the rest of the day just like the days before. The older I get, the less I feel like doing. But at least I was out here doing something.

[I wrote 'the older I get, the less I feel like doing'. Or was the reality of it all loneliness?]

Day 7

I moved the burlap bag further away. Sometimes I felt I was getting the knack of shooting arrows then I couldn't hit the bag to save my life. And no two bows shoot alike either. I vowed keep practicing each day.

I planned to hike up into the large canyon over from the canyon I did yesterday. Once I began going up the mountain I soon realized I was in the wrong canyon. I was in the very same one that I climbed the south ridge of the day before! So I went up the north ridge to the top of the mountain. Well that was something that made me feel my age. I would be sixty-eight this month and things are not getting any easier and they are definitely a lot slower. On the way up I found a coyote skull bleached white from the desert sun. It would have been nice to find it at the end of the hike rather than the beginning where I had to be careful carrying it in my haversack all the while. When I felt it was time to head back I discovered I had only covered a mile. I cut over to the proper canyon and began to work my down the boulder strewn ravines cut in the earth from heavy rains. This was not a place to be if rain was in the offering. Also it was no small task in going down either picking my way here and there for the easiest route.

Back at camp I made a tuna sandwich, drank a soda and felt better. While smashing cans flat I got my feet dirty so I dug the tub out, soaked my feet then did a baby wipes wipe-down all over, switching to anti-bacterial wipes for pits and crotch. I picked this tip up off of YouTube and it is in fact a do-able substitute for a shower or bath. I also set my clothes out in the sun to dry the sweat and let the ultra-violet rays kill bacteria. This would eliminate odors from developing.

The remainder of the day was the usual–doing nothing much. I was settling in to this routine.

[I have since eliminated the use of antibacterial wipes for health well-being reasons. I use baby-wipes now.]

Day 8

I noticed this morning why the arrows kept bouncing off the burlap bag. The points are no longer points anymore. Some are flattened to a blunt end from misses that skittered along the rocks on ground−cheap eBay arrows.

Today's walk was across the road from camp sticking to the flats following a dry wash.

I worked on trying to get the shortwave radio to pick up something...anything! No luck. Maybe someday I'll meet someone who knows something about these contraptions.

It was warmer in the high eighties. I spent most of the time in the shade of the RV reading my book and thinking about what to have for dinner without much luck on the latter.

[I never attempted the shortwave radio again. I've just been hauling it around. Also, the biggest issues and decisions for each day living full time on the road have become usually always _what am I going to have for dinner?_ Life is that stress-free being a nomad]

Day 9

This was a no hike or walk day. I stayed in camp taking it easy. I sat thinking about a missing pen then wondered if I even had my Leatherman tool with me. This started me on a project of going over things trying to determine what I had with me, where it was hidden and maybe get some sense of order in my world. During the process I come across the fact that I did not bring any charger for my camera battery. Needless to say I was extremely upset with myself over this ever increasing list of things I neglected to bring. I sent a note to the ex to just send the whole lot of chargers sitting in the study. I did finally locate the Leatherman tool in my large back pack. At least I had that going for me.

I found and carried a nice flat piece of concrete over to camp to use for making a Piute deadfall trap. It sat all day and doubled as a nice place to rinse wipe dishes on. At some time I would get into making the sticks for the trap and see if I can be successful at that. I wouldn't try to trap anything as I didn't want to be killing meaninglessly.

I tried going around in my swim trunks but it just didn't feel right. I dug through my clothes and came across my Old Navy cargo shorts I used to wear at Burning Man. I had un-did the seams in the crotch and inner legs and they are like a kilt now. This was the ticket allowing air to circulate and keep the _boys_ cool and comfortable.

I hung the green canvas tarp over the refrigerator side of the RV to keep the sun from beating on and hoped the refrigerator wouldn't cycle on and off as much. I needed to better use the available power in charging things by doing all charging during the day. By evening the batteries would go down to 12.2 volts. It was almost ninety degrees that day, ninety-two inside the RV.

The evening was very nice, no breeze and no clothing needed. I sat outside enjoying the stars and viewing the close encounter of Mars to the moon.

[I've have since pretty much rid myself of all I don't need and have what I do need basically living a minimalist life. Yet at times I continue not being able to find something I know I have. Like how difficult can it be to lose track of something in a 124 square foot living space? Quite easily it seems if you're me. If I wouldn't move things to a "better place", that would help.]

Day 10

This morning I reset the green tarp away from the RV as to allow some air circulation. Then I took a walk down the dirt road towards Clark Dry Lake. After over a mile I was still like a half a mile away and since I had been there and seen it all before I turned back through the desert for camp. The rest of the day was the usual routine of reading and still wondering where my pen was. The winds picked up in the evening which eventually broke the bungee strap holding the door open. _Well there's a repair project for tomorrow._

[Repairs and modifications continue to be all part of the nomad's life in an RV of any type of configuration. Just accept it and embrace it. Plus it gives you something to do.]

Day 11

Big Day−I rolled the Motoped down off the rack. Picture a beefed-up mountain bike with a 50cc motor on it and that is what the Motoped Survival Bike is. Then I practiced the archery some. At times I felt I was getting the hang of it then all went haywire afterwards with arrows going everywhere but where I intended. I'd keep plugging away as long as the arrows held up.

I dressed for a ride but wasn't really into it. I had been suffering from a sore elbow for nearly a month and now it was as worse as ever. I didn't know what arthritis felt like. Maybe this is what I had going on. Once going on the bike though I enjoyed the ride. The bike did well on pavement or hard-pack. In the soft stuff it was a chore for the bike to keep going and me to keep it upright.

I rode three miles up the road to Fonts Point Wash and turned in. I didn't want to get too far away that I couldn't walk back if the bike faltered. It would take a lot of miles for me to have confidence in the new bike. It was past the break-in period now and I did the first oil change before leaving so I could now start running it harder, putting it through its paces sort of. About a half a mile up the wash it began to get softer and softer, the bike began to bog down, then get squirrely where finally the handlebars jerked one way wrenching my bad arm painfully. It was time to head back home before I killed myself.

Back at camp was just more taking it easy, reading and made a repair to that bungee cord. It was a no wind night and I would fry some sliced potatoes on the little one burner stove outside. This worked well heating the pan up faster than the stove inside. I had a nice dinner of potatoes, Spam and onions which for sure would have stunk up the RV. The smell wafted down a ways and captured the attention of the guy downwind as he kept looking up at me.

Day 12

Still more archery practice this morning and I was getting the hang of sighting in better. I just needed to be stronger then maybe I could hold the bow be steadier. And too if I were using quality equipment maybe it would be more forgiving of my incapability's.

While sitting in the shade working on e-mails the guy across the way walked over and apologized for running his generator all day yesterday then said they are pulling out today for a campground in town so they can plug in and not have to deal with his battery issues. "Would you like some water? I have about fifteen gallons I will not need." _Apology accepted!!_ The generator wasn't that bad although it was there and there was no ignoring it but getting this water was a BIG deal for me. Water is my only issue out here in the desert. I figured I was down ten gallons or so out of my forty gallon tank and this meant I was going through it faster than I should. I had made some changes in the routine and been more conservative in my water usage. Now with a full tank again I had a clean slate to start from and see how long I could stretch my water supply out.

After eating, archery practice and getting squared away I sat down and worked on making some rope using twine and weaving it in what is called a Flemish weave or braid. I did three of them which I braided together to make a strap for the quiver. Doing this sort of thing really instills respect for the Ancient Ones who did this sort of thing without having YouTube videos to show them how.

As it was suppose to reach ninety degrees I just stayed in camp all day doing little. I did catch that mouse I saw in the engine compartment using the mouse trap. I was sorry to have to snuff him out like that but I couldn't chance him chewing on wires or the insulation like had happened in the past with rodents.

I reorganized more stuff including all the towels which I don't need and could leave behind. I liked the new arrangement better, putting my two sock containers over the bed along with the large beach towels that were under the bath sink. Now all toiletries were together in the sink area. Plus I moved a clothes box from the overhead to the shower giving more space up front. Progress.

Now the big decision for the rest of the day–what to have for dinner?

[Water capacity onboard is actually 34 gallons and I can go almost two months on that before needing to fill up. I have learned a lot on how to conserve. That water is used solely for cleaning me–hair (what I have left) wash, teeth and hands, plus cooking which that water is run through a filter. Dishwashing is done by the wipe clean, spray with vinegar and wipe method. I use paper plates too. All my drinking water comes from store-bought one gallon jugs usually Crystal Geyser which I feel tastes best.]

Day 13

I was up before sunrise once again as I had been laying there thinking about the outcome of the election yesterday and having to face the news when I opened up the news app on the iPad. I forestalled it as long as possible but once I had my coffee and granola bar, I fired up the iPad. I was shocked like I have never been in I don't know how long. Donald Trump won the election! I was just shaking my head in disbelief for hours afterwards. I would never have imagined it possible with how so many in the country believe that the voting process is fixed and corrupted. Well this sure disproves that theory.

More archery practice this day where I realigned my sighting point on the bow and thought I made a small improvement. Afterwards I rode the Motoped over to Clark Dry Lake, back up and out Rockhouse Road a ways, back by camp and out towards town. I figured it out yesterday that it is only six plus miles to the Post Office so I will risk riding the bike to get my C.A.R.E. package when it arrives rather than breaking camp and leaving some stuff including the bike behind. I didn't get far on the road as the wind was too much trying to blow my hat off. I went back to camp and tried the bicycle helmet with the bandana for sun protection. This worked out much better only that my face wasn't protected. I got too much reflected sun and my nose became dry and blistered. In the bath cabinet I found a small sample packet of sunscreen I'd been carrying around for years. So that was good.

Day 14

No archery practice this morning. I'd give it a rest. I decided to go on another hike towards Clark Dry Lake. I was having a nice walk when about two miles out as I was nearing the lake I looked down at this oddly shaped rock. When I picked it up I knew instantly what I held in my hand–a fossil bone. _Huh!_ was about all I could say. I couldn't believe my luck in finding what would be the best fossil find ever in my life. I have found bone fragments before and sometimes they are iffy as whether they are bone or rock that looks like bone, or bone that isn't really fossilized. This one left no doubt in my mind. It was too heavy for bone and the bone structure was plainly visible. At first I was thinking it was the end of leg bone with the socket and then a ball shape on the other end. I wasn't thinking too clearly for a bit later it dawned on me that it was a complete vertebrae. Being that it was larger than most vertebrae I've seen from animal or human remains is what threw me. I stuck it in my back pocket and walked on shaking my head. First, Donald Trump is elected President and two days later my best fossil find ever. Wow!

My C.A.R.E. package was mailed and should arrive Saturday. I decided to write a letter to my Land Rover friend in Massachusetts since I would be going to the Post Office and just took it easy as usual the rest of the day. At the end of the day the batteries were not charged up like I would like them to be. I felt I needed to seriously consider getting a second solar panel of hundred watts to add to the forty-five watter I now had. Until then I needed to better manage my power usage doing so mid-day while the sun was high and working. Maybe if I ran the generator for a few minutes in the later afternoon that might help.

Day 15

I had no real plan for the day and kind of worried about keeping busy doing something. I did some archery practice still making progress with aiming. I then became involved once again rearranging things, trying to get like items all with each other in the food department and utilize the space in the shower more for storage. I had the idea last night to use Sinbad's litter box as a storage bin then I would have it with me if a cat ever came along and decided it would like to adopt me.

Day 16

It was a cooler morning but still very pleasant. Big day–I rode the Motoped into town to pick up the C.A.R.E. package. I was apprehensive about the journey not knowing the reliability of the bike all that much. The Post Office was to be open on Saturday from ten to noon. Checking tracking on the package it arrived in San Diego last night and was en route to its destination. At ten A.M. it was still "en route". I waited until almost eleven and would go anyway then just as I was getting ready, it "arrived". The ride was pleasant and uneventful going around twenty mph most of the way. When I arrived at the office, I felt good with the bike. This will be a huge advantage for me in the future using it for getting supplies and not taking the entire RV. I stopped at the store for two quarts of milk figuring on only having a quart open instead of a half gallon, the milk will last longer. I also replenished my onion supply. Liver and onions for dinner tonight−yeah! Then I swung by the gas station and topped off the tank. It only took a third of a gallon and I thought it was lower than that. I'd have to look up what the tank size is. (There was nothing listed anywhere in the owner's manual. What kind of manual would neglect that vital piece of information?)

Back at camp I was ready to eat lunch. After eating I put everything away and decided to put the new SIM card into the iPad that my ex included in the package. I open the slot and there was a card already in there! Was I ever upset! After a long time working on it and talking with a lady on the phone we got the problem resolved and now the iPad could get online by itself. This could have been done on the initial card a week ago. Alicia gave me a twenty dollar credit because of that. That helped me to feel a bit better. And the cookies I received for my birthday from the ex helped even more.

Day 17

The same routine for the morning–exercise, breakfast, archery practice, only I forgot to shave. My plan was to backtrack my way using the GPS to where I found that fossil. I was able to pick up my route and follow footprints at times only I was unsure if I was before or beyond the point I found the fossil. It came to me that I could have dropped a pin with the GPS but didn't think of it at the time. I eventually found the spot, looked all around but found no more fossils. On the way back I found two old cans opened with a beer can opener. I brought them back but don't really know what I will do with them at home. I already had one or two. Maybe I could work it up to a six-pack.

I discovered before the hike that the old Sony travel laptop was with a dead battery. Evidently the fried charger was doing nothing or maybe the unit wasn't shut off correctly I didn't know. Plugging it into the newer inverter did nothing. The only thing was to start up the generator and plug into the 110 outlet. That finally brought the laptop to life but was taking forever to charge back up fully. I found that the older inverter up front would work but it is wired directly to the engine charging system. I started the RV and let it idle and this charged the laptop up to fifty percent before I took off on my hike. I figured this may be the only option if I am to use the newer Toshiba laptop. The benefit of running the engine is saving propane and it is also charging the coach batteries at the same time. Later in the day it dawned on me why the coach batteries were barely hanging on. When Sinbad and I traveled the country we were usually on the move all the time. This was two weeks sitting in one place so far. That wimpy forty-five watt solar panel wasn't cutting it. I seriously considered buying and installing a one hundred watt panel when I arrived in Quartzite, Arizona.

[Oh I had so much yet to learn about batteries, solar panels, invertors−silly me]

Day 18

This day I took another ride on the Motoped exploring a different road, Henderson Canyon Road. There was nothing of note except seeing the thick groves of date palm trees. More so it was just building confidence in the bike. Only now my wrist was beginning to get sore again so when I returned back to camp I tried to make some more adjustments. I lowered the seat as much as I could and tilted the handlebars back as much as could be. Hopefully this would allow me to sit more upright and not exert as much force on my wrists and hands holding my weight.

It was warmer today, just touching ninety degrees. I talked with a guy who pulled in with his big motor home as he was wondering about the restricted areas. Seems they come each year for Thanksgiving week meeting a bunch of Escapees. I was beginning to wonder if I could hold out with a lot of people around. Where else would I go that there wouldn't be lots of snowbirds? I had it pretty nice where I was and thought best to keep what I had and just endure.

The evening was the big Super Moon event which last occurred in 1948 and will not happen again until 2034. It was a wonderful evening sitting outside watching the moon rise while listening to my opera music. I tried to get some pictures but they came out only so-so. If I was still using a DSLR camera they would have been better.

Day 19

Archery practice was great. I hit the burlap bag around thirty times out of thirty-six. This was encouraging. I went for a hike across the road towards Inspiration Point following my compass after plotting the route out on the map. The only mistake I made was not measuring how far out I had to go and I wasn't about to go back and look at the map. As it was, it wouldn't have made any difference for when I was about two and a half miles out I had no way in knowing which point was Inspiration. Or, if it was further on in the mountains which didn't look all that far but if I pictured someone standing on them they would be a mere speck, so I knew it was another good two miles away. I turned back.

At camp I briefly rode the Motoped to test out the adjustments I made and it felt better. I'll still give my wrist some time to heal up before another long ride.

I moved all my photos now organized into a one-month folder. This will keep from having a long list of photo downloads. On the way back I thought about how I need to go through my toolbox and see just what I have in there and make a list of tools to add for general purpose reasons, such as I do not even have a file with me.

[I've since learned−yeah, three years later−that I can measure distances on Google maps. Better now than never.]

Day 20

I took the day off from any activities and was soon involved with the toolbox inventory spreading everything out on the rug and listing what I had and what I should add. I did the same with the tool/junk drawer inside basically organizing it. When done I felt good about it and looked forward to adding what I needed for long term life on the road when I get home.

The wind picked up and blew with interest all evening. Although I managed to cook up a bunch of leftovers and eat outside, afterwards I retreated inside for the remainder of the evening where I finished my big thick book _Lights Out_ , an after-the-event tale following an EMP. I'm definitely not prepared for such an occurrence.

Day 21

I did a short hike today just to try to start getting some footage with the GoPro camera and hopefully make a nice video for later on. I found a blue nylon bag which probably was from someone's fold-up chair that had blown away last night. Better yet though was the finding of a canvas tarp cover of some sort that had lain in a wash for a long time. I thought possibly it could be used to make a pair of tire covers for protection from the sun. Back at camp I flattened the tarp remnant out, added some duct tape here and there, folded it in half and cut into two parts. Each worked out just right clamping them to the fender skirts and just covers each tire. This will be nice in keeping the sun off. Later I would invest in some proper ones or remember to bring the old ratty canvas covers from home next time.

Later in the day a huge RV pulled in tooting their big air horns in greeting another huge RV that was already here. That reminded me they have that yearly Thanksgiving rendezvous here. Well Huge RV decides to set up a bit too close to me. If I can hear you chit-chat, that's too close. A bit later another horn blaster came in. Okay, I could see where this was going. I decided it was time to move on tomorrow. I spent the evening getting ready for a quick move in the morning.

Day 22

It was a cold night, cold enough I thought about how it would be nice to have my new Mr. Buddy heater set up to use when I got out of bed. Even the thought of using my MSS (military sleep system) bag entered my mind wondering if it will ever come to that here in the desert this winter.

I woke up, had my coffee, briefed over the news and decided to not ride the bike over to scout out a new site. I'd just walk. I found it promising and returned to camp. After securing all loose components I pulled out leaving the Motoped behind. I arrived at the new spot, set up the rug, tables, chairs, sunshade for the side and the two new-to-me old tire covers then walked back over to retrieve the Motoped. Riding back something looked out of place. The big RV south of me pulled out down to the abandon cell tower while I was away. Geez, why couldn't he have done that a bit sooner as his vacated spot was tempting and better than what I had. Should I move there or not? I had to eat breakfast first. I made up my mind to do the move a hundred feet further south. If I didn't it would eat at me and besides, what else do I have to do? So move again a lot faster this time for I was getting this moving thing down and was pleased with the new spot.

After lunch I took the Motoped out for an eight and a half mile ride then cut it short as the arthritic elbow thing was bothering me too much. Plus I had a bit of a headache also. The rest of the day was rest and realizing this new spot was much quieter–a good move.

Late in the evening after a lot of thought I decided to try and see if I could make the forty-five watt solar panel on the roof tilt hopefully getting more power from the sun and charging the batteries better. I went ahead and started undoing the nuts and bolts just to see if it could be done. Oh my, the way I installed the panel left me wondering how I was able to even install it as I did. I couldn't remember but the head of the bolts were up underneath within the panel. I may have secured the panel to the angle iron then taped the whole assembly to the deck. After working on it for some time and applying a torque pressure to hold the bolts, finally just as I was running out of light I had all the nuts undone. Tomorrow I would get right to the project.

Day 23

Another cold night. I took Mr. Buddy heater out once I crawled out from bed and fired it up for a bit. I eventually ran the rubber gas line inside and hooked it up to the five-gallon propane tank (from an old barbeque) while in the middle of today's project of tilting the solar panel. What should have taken less than an hour at home took me all day−well at least six hours. The main issue was my little Black and Decker drill never had enough power to drill a hole and would run out of juice early. I must have charged it over a dozen times just to drill four quarter-inch holes into three-sixteenths thick aluminum. In between while waiting for the drill to recharge I would work on some other parts of the project or go walking around looking for material to work with to build supports. I ended up using a wire handle from a tub of kitty litter and a twisted piece of aluminum I found which I straightened out enough for making at least one secure support as the bucket handle was simply propped in underneath holding up the panel−not too safe in case a gust of wind came up. The first big relief was getting the first hole through the angle bracket. _Yes! It can be done._ The second big relief was finishing the final hole. _Whew!_ The wimpy drill did it. This is the first time I ever brought a drill with me. So it was now to see if this improvement made any difference in charging the coach batteries. It was overcast most of the day. Good to work in but not good for charging batteries.

[I left wimpy drill at the house and have added my more powerful Ridgid drill on board now.]

Day 24

I set up the MSS sleeping bag. Mr. Buddy was ready to go and the evening was mild and pleasant as usual. That must have been just a cold front that moved though that evening. Whatever, it was cold, wet and rainy at home. I was much happier where I was.

I realized too that my elbow wasn't sore anymore for some strange reason. After weeks of pain and now this? Well I'll take that! I could still feel it if I pressed my hands together but it wasn't there all the time as usual. This was encouraging. Maybe I don't have arthritis. That would be a great birthday gift.

I took a hike thinking just get out and walk after yesterday's work ordeal. Once I got going I thought I would stick to the highway shoulder and maybe find a piece of metal to make better supports for the solar panel. I found a license plate which I thought was workable. Then as I was continuing on I figured why bother. I had planned to go to a Home Depot and get something correct anyway. I discovered what appeared to be a layover spot for some illegal migrants and then not much further on a black spare tire cover lying in the dirt. I couldn't have wished for anything more. It looked pretty nice and once I removed the dirt and brush from inside realized it was better than the old one I had at home. It fit the spare tire perfectly too. I wiped it down with some window cleaner and paper towel and no one would know it had been lying in the desert for who knows how long. At least one good flood cycle for sure given all the dried mud inside.

The day was overcast for the most part so the solar panel wasn't getting a good workout but I remained optimistic.

[Still using that spare tire cover]

Day 25

Today was my sixty-eighth birthday and I received a glorious rainbow as a gift in the morning. It rained a little over night and the conditions were right for a full arc rainbow. I had only seen ground to ground rainbows in the desert and only a few at that so this was pretty special. The rug was damp so no exercises today but that's okay, it was my birthday. I was going to ride the Motoped but the seat was damp. It was supposed to be windy all day so I stayed in camp which was fine.

I treated myself to a Pop Tart breakfast. I like those things. The only reason I ever tried one in the first place was from watching YouTube videos on hiking and that is what all the backpackers eat so I tried some. And that was another thing; I was all wired and fired about backpacking after watching those videos all winter long. I bought all the gear, mapped out some potential hikes in Anza Borrego and now nearly a year later I just didn't seem to have the enthusiasm for it as I did then. This would have been an opportune time to overnight backpack too without leaving a cat behind all alone. I accepted the fact I had just missed the trail and had waited too long in life for backpacking.

Not having a good breakfast kind of set the tone for the day as I was hungry all day long. I made up another batch of tuna for lunch which helped but not for long. I was searching for snacks all day, something I didn't bring or plan on.

I got the archery going and set the bag up at a farther distance at this new camp, over a hundred feet away. The take-down bow couldn't make the distance without a high arc so I tried the two harder-to-pull bows and they worked much better. I was learning why the importance of different pound pulls now. After a bit my elbow began to get sore. So that was it! It was the archery not arthritis that was making my elbow sore. This newfound knowledge was another birthday gift for me. Thank you! It made sense as I hadn't done archery at this new camp and looking back on my log it was five days since the last time I pulled a bow string. But, if this was the cause it was kind of sad for I was enjoying the hobby. Maybe if I eased back into it and too, if I were only a little stronger.

So for not doing much all day the day didn't seem to drag on either. There was always something to do. I'm always curious what other people do all day. Some appear never to leave their trailer or RV. The woman and her daughter in the Tioga RV near me spend nearly all day inside. I didn't see a TV antenna either. What do they do in there all day? I checked Google Earth to look at the surrounding area where I was camped and saw a couple things to search on the bike and on foot. With another birthday passing I would get back to the program tomorrow.

[So many times since that day I have thought about how much I wished I had done backpacking throughout my life. Living on the road full time now I often saw something or someone that in one way or the other stired up this regret. Oh to be able to reflect back upon having hiked the Pacific Crest Trail and the Appalachian Trail. I try to but it into perspective that I at least I am out there and do short day hikes. It's something; something many others, some much younger than I, are unable to do. And I have long since quit eating Pop Tarts!]

Day 26

It was too warm in my MSS bag and I had to switch to the standard sleeping bag. It was nice to have a sleeping bag that is too good. A nice calm day today. A good day for a hike. I tried to find a canyon I saw on Google Earth but was unable to locate what looked like an old road leading into it. I ended up just wandering around at the base of the mountains feeling kind of blue. I was thinking too much about being sixty-eight and it was dragging me down. I eventually stumbled upon someone's desert retreat and I snooped around looking at all the stuff they hauled in and wondered why or better yet how they could just leave it all behind as it appeared no one had been there for years. The three solar panels and a wind generator were most appealing to me. The row boat I could do without.

I decided to not fuss around with the solar panel and batteries so much anymore. I would try to get all my laptop work done at midday when the sun was at its most optimum angle as the laptop was the biggest drain on the batteries.

Day 27

Another bright clear blue sky day. I thought I may just hang around camp for the day. Before breakfast I became involved with some house cleaning including shaking out the sleeping bags where one had some sand in it and another might have a dead fly I swatted in it. I shook out the rugs, swept, cleaned the bathroom sink, freshened up the toilet, did some dental hygiene and then sat down to write a letter. It was the day before Thanksgiving and all these warnings I received about this place filling up for the week were not happening. There were still less than thirty rigs here.

Day 28

Thanksgiving Day. A bad day. I was constipated unlike ever before in my life. It was horrible and I'll not go into details but things finally worked out in the end. Later in the day I had had it with the dog barking, constant generator running and the ORV's buzzing around. I packed up and moved into the far north corner of this triangular piece of land. I needed to decide what to do.

[After this "awakening" I made changes making sure I got more fiber in my diet each day. It had always been part of my diet while living in the house but somehow I fell out of it on the road, not making healthy eating choices.]

Day 29

I was packed for an early exit. I went into town and regrouped in the mini mall parking lot where I had my breakfast. I got online through the library Internet and discovered Trojan battery dealers in Yuma and surprisingly, even one here in Borrego Springs. He was supposedly in the very mall I was in but I couldn't find him. Probably out of business. I drove to the campground and paid nine dollars to dump the tanks, fill the fresh water tank then bought one dollar's worth of tokens and took my first shower of this trip. Refreshed, regrouped and rejuvenated I then drove to the visitor center and fixed lunch having to throw out my salami that was getting furry. I was having a hard time eating things before they go south. Then into the center where nothing seemed to have changed but did sit in on a very interesting movie about the Marshall South family who homesteaded on Ghost Mountain in the thirties and forties.

I drove back through town and stopped at J & T's Automotive on a tip about battery information. The guy there was very helpful in suggesting I shut everything down for the night and see if the voltage dropped to 11.9 or 8 in the morning. I told him I can't very well do that or the igniter won't come on to start the propane in the refrigerator. He then told me about from his own experience how the propane leak detector really pulls a lot of power. "Try turning it off." So I pulled the fuse for it and would see what happens.

I moved down onto a turnout alongside the highway near where an Airstream trailer from Michigan had been parked. This spot was so much better even with the occasional car highway noise.

Day 30.

After the test overnight the battery voltage was still at full charge–12.2. [I learned later 12.2 volts is not full charge.12.7 volts is a fully charged battery. It was fifty percent depleted!] Glory be! I still planned to stop in at the two Trojan battery dealers in Yuma and see what they had to say. Perhaps those batteries being nine years old were past their usefulness.

Being an overcast day so this would be a good test for the solar panel tilted. Would it be able to do the job to meet my requirements? I really didn't want to install a hundred watt panel if I didn't need one.

Day 31.

Hallelujah! The blockade had been breached! This morning I gave birth. Whew! Now I would implement a change in routine (diet) in order to acquire some sense of regularity (bowels) which I was normally accustomed to (daily morning movements).

It rained a bit that evening and this day was windy but that wasn't going to stop me from going out to celebrate being "reborn". I bundled up wearing flannel lined Levis, my Mojave-found REI pullover, a nylon wind breaker and the heavy thick LL Bean chamois shirt. Once going I soon found out I needed a bandana down around my ears then another as a mask over my nose and mouth. It still was a good three mile hike as sometimes it is nice to just get out there in Nature even when she's thrown' a fit.

I had been planning on leaving Monday−today being Sunday−but now with _things_ going better I thought of just holding out to mid-week making it one full month at Anza Borrego. I liked the side-of-the-road pullout camp spot as I had it all to myself and the occasional passing car or truck a couple hundred feet away was not annoying as I feared.

Day 32

Windy again and I thought about driving back up the road eight miles to Coachwhip Canyon thinking I might get some shelter from the wind. Well once there I found it wasn't much better. I hiked one of the first canyons and worked my way in to a point where it was either turn around and go back, or scramble up. I did the latter and once into it thought _I really have no business doing this_. If something happened to me no one would know until someone wondered why this Winnebago View had been parked here for weeks. I made it to the top and descended into a neighboring canyon which in doing so was even more unnerving. The worst part would be going down something I could not go back up out of in case I came to some impassable point beyond. There were a couple of places that to proceed on that possibility had to be seriously taken into consideration.

I made it back to the motor home, packed my other camera I had forgotten earlier and trudged off across the road to explore Arroyo Salada. I only went far enough that would log me a three mile hike for the day. The unrelenting wind was just too battering. I drove back to side-of-the-road turnout camp in time for a noon lunch and was pretty much spent for the rest of the day.

Day 33

I went into town to True Value Hardware to buy some materials for the solar panel braces, doing the project properly. They didn't have any bar stock that would work well and the more I thought about it what I had going now was good enough for temporary. I did pick up two clevis pins which would work great in not having to take tools up on the roof to undo screws and nuts each time I raised and lowered the panel.

Afterwards I drove around to see if I could find the house we looked at years ago in the little town of Borrego Springs. I drove around Verbena Road thinking it was on a curved street. Then I saw on the map Yaqui Road and that sounded familiar. I drove over to it and saw one then two possible homes and took pictures. A little ways further I passed another place and knew instantly this was the house. When I saw the old Mexico style doors leading into a courtyard, I knew that was it. The small one car garage was the only bad feature about the house when we viewed it. I sent the picture and address to the ex and she looked it up on Zillo. It sold in 1997 for $245,000. I bet that was the year we looked at it. It was now valued now at $610,000. There were quite a few places for sale on the street but I had missed my opportunity being stuck with my career job at the time in northern California. Now, life on the road seemed the best for me.

I stopped by the grocery store then tried a new camp at Peg Leg Smith Flats which looked to be okay as all the Thanksgiving Turkeys (RV folk) had left and taken all their noise maker toys with them.

Day 34

Yes, this place was good and the cell signal was stronger too. The temperature dropped to thirty-seven degrees that night but I was pretty well off in my MSS sleeping bag. The only mistake I made was having three cups of French onion soup for dinner and having to get up to pee way too many times throughout the night.

I spent the day just piddling around camp, making a few repairs, organizing notes and just enjoying the quiet day.

Day 35

A thirty-nine degree night but I was okay. I unloaded the Motoped and took it out planning on seeing what it could really do now that I didn't have to baby it anymore through the break-in period. Across the road the area was popular with the off road vehicle people as there were small hills and lots of fine grain sand. Fine sand is not to the liking of the Motoped. This time though I hit it with speed and shifted my weight back on the seat and I was generally impressed overall. The little bike did well considering it is only a 50cc motor. In my opinion it had redeemed itself as it isn't after all a fact that I'd have to get off and push in soft sand every time. Even at times when it gets going slow if I help it along by peddling, that helped.

On the way back I thought I would go over and check out the old camp location since most everyone had left after the Thanksgiving holiday period. This led to today's post on the blog:

_A couple of weeks ago I met Vince who was camped near where I was. I am at a new place now. I was out today riding my bike and thought about going over to check out my old campsite. Maybe I might move back over there now that most everyone has left. I rode past Vince's place and he waved at me so I pulled in. I was curious anyway as to how Fed-Ex was able to deliver a package to him early last week. Soon Vince told me he had to put his dog down last Sunday. I was stunned. The dog, a setter, seemed fine to me. He said she had a stroke the day after Thanksgiving. We exchanged stories about pets loved and lost. I am not into today's post for this news naturally brings Sinbad to my mind. I miss him more today after sharing in Vince's grief with him. I am grateful for Sinbad passing away when he did. I foolishly thought we could do another trip together and to have lost him while out here would have been unimaginable. My thoughts are with Vince for he still opens the door to his truck waiting for Queenie to jump in, and she's not there._

Vince suggested to me to turn off the inverter as a means to save power overnight. This led me into looking at my fuse panel below the refrigerator. I would have to flip the breaker switch each time and that isn't convenient. In his Airstream he has a switch by the counter. But I did pull the fuse for the TV/DVD player as juice was running through it. Also I pulled the AC and the water heater fuses as I never use them although that probably wasn't necessary since they don't work unless plugged in the shore power. Now to watch and wait. Long time from now I would go to use one of those appliances, it won't work and I'll panic. _"Now what's wrong?!"_

Day 36

I left camp at nine for town to buy propane at the True Value Hardware Store. The guy who did the gas and the lady inside who took my money both needed a personality adjustment if they are this sour so early in the morning. The tank was reading just under one eighth and took 10.64 gallons. Mr. Personality informed me that the pump shuts off at eighty percent full for safety reasons. So if I have a 14 gallon tank, eighty percent of that is 11.2 gallons meaning I had 1.4 gallons left. Eight times 1.4 equals 11.2 so if my understanding of math is correct (my worst subject in school) this is what it was.

I did a breakdown of the cost for utilities living in the RV for one month, not moving around:

Water & sewer - $9. One trip to the State Park to dump tanks and fill forty-gallon water tank.

Gas - $33.21 for 10.6 gallons of propane. Tank was down to one eighth left.

Electricity - FREE from the sun

Cable TV – none. I don't miss TV not even one little bit. I feel much better not watching television for the past month.

Telephone and Internet – I added 25GB to the plan before leaving home not knowing what I would use. Well I only used 6GB with four days to go. So I plan to drop that added portion therefore I figured the basic which I thought was sixty dollars.

Trash pick-up – none. I burn most and recycled what was recyclable. I dropped off one small bag of unburnable trash in a dumpster.

I moved back to the borderline camp and would stay until the C.A.R.E. package arrives which was supposed to be Monday. Today was Friday.

Day 37

It didn't look like the package was going to arrive any earlier than Monday so I was soon involved with some projects. I drilled a new hole in the solar panel support to set the panel at even a steeper angle to the sun. It took three charges and a little help with some hand cranking to get the hole made. In between chargings I cleaned the silverware utensil tray, trimmed away the wallpaper by the microwave that had bunched up from road vibration and redistributed gear out of the backpacking pack among my smaller pack, the canvas back pack, on the Motoped and my vest I wear when riding the Motoped. If I ever go backpacking it will be nothing to put things I will need back in.

After lunch I checked and the package arrived. It never showed it was in transit from San Diego as before. It was one P.M. by that time and too late. That was okay as the weather was great, in the low seventies, no wind and was supposed to continue like so for a few days. Plus I didn't want to shop on a weekend so I was fine staying until Monday. I almost didn't even want to leave then but could use the resupply.

Day 38

It was just cold enough for me to switch over into the MSS bag in the morning hours. Then I had wished I had hooked up Mr. Buddy. I laid there thinking about the on board furnace and remembered it ran off twelve volts. I switched it on and it hardly pulled any voltage from the batteries. This was good. I didn't run it for long though.

I put the blow-up backpacker's mattress under the sleeping bags hoping this would add even more comfort. Then I straightened up the overhead where the mattress had been riding. After an oatmeal breakfast I re-wrote my shopping lists so they'd be easier to work from while in Walmart and Target.

I wanted to run the tank down to _reserve_ on the Motoped so I would know how much gas _reserve_ held. Today's ride was up the road to Inspiration Wash then up the wash to Inspiration Point. It was a great view and the bike did wonderfully. I felt more and more confident about it each time I rode. This was the first time I had the feeling of really being able to go someplace I normally would not be able to just by walking in and naturally a place the motor home cannot take me. The Motoped I felt would work out just fine. The ride was eleven miles and still not in to the reserve yet.

Tomorrow I would pick up the package and then leave for places further south.

Day 39

I picked up the C.A.R.E. package at the post office and was on my out of Anza Borrego by nine-thirty. I was torn between leaving or staying longer but did want to get this shopping done. I stopped at the Walmart in Brawley and wound up spending nearly two hours in there. Egads! And I still didn't get everything.

A few more miles down the road sat the desert city of El Centro. I planned on hitting a Target for most of my food needs that I didn't get at Walmart. Plus I wanted one more rug and maybe they'd have the size I needed. But first I had to have lunch and was hankering for a hamburger and milk shake. Carl's Jr. was three miles away and while heading for it I passed a hamburger shack and could smell the burgers cooking. _This is stupid to drive three miles for a Carl's._ I turned back and had a Baconzilla burger at Rally's, which was something along the line with the old style diners. Feeling better I did Target and bought a rug. Next door was a Lowes and there I wandered around looking for something to make better supports for that solar panel.

By now it was three P.M. when I pulled into El Centro's Walmart where I would spend the night. I was worn out. In the morning I'd go in for a lighter for the stove and a battery for the kitchen timer among a few other items. Later that evening I wasn't hungry. The Baconzilla burger was still with me. But I wanted something to drink. _A lemonade! Yeah, I could go for that._ It was six P.M. and the place was packed. _Why aren't these people home eating dinner and watching TV?_ I staggered through the store in search of a single lemonade and finally gave up realizing the lines I would have to stand in to buy a single lemonade made it not worth the bother. Even the check-yourself-out bays had a long line. Back in the RV I cracked open a Gatorade, ate a can of peaches for dinner and was in bed soon after.

Day 40

Up at five A.M. and I felt much better. Back into Walmart I went where I gave up the search for a battery for the kitchen timer and just bought a whole new timer for a dollar-two less than the battery alone would have been. Go figure that one out and get back to me.

Next was a stop at the Dollar Tree in my quest for a soft hairbrush. I have so little hair on top of my skull for a comb to work with and the brush I have now is too stiff raking my scalp. They just don't make soft hair brushes anymore I guess. So I got to thinking _a pet brush as the one I had for Sinbad has soft bristles_. In Dollar Tree I found a pet brush that would do–one dollar and eight cents. Big Five wasn't open yet so new steel points for my arrows would have to wait. An RV shop was on the way out of town and I finally located it as I was searching for some LED lights to replace the under the counter halogens that get so hot I could cook an egg on the shelf above notwithstanding the fact they use too much energy. They didn't have the correct LEDs for my needs. Finally, I left El Centro to its dust.

I stopped at the rest stop on Interstate 8 to check the iPad and see where I was to turn off for Pilot Knob BLM stay−just a few more miles to Sidewinder Road exit. I spotted a water faucet at the rest stop, checked my tank, and couldn't see the level so I topped it off. Good thing I did as the water tank hadn't entered my mind with all of the other things I had to do.

I pulled off at Sidewinder Road and there was hardly anyone there. I remembered it being quite busy when I was there last, years ago but I could have been mistaken. I went down to the free area, a fourteen-day limit stay and only one guy in a van was there. It was now eleven-thirty A.M. and I had been charging the wimpy drill all the while driving. I went to work on the new solar panel supports drilling holes in a strip of aluminum from Lowes. I almost had all the holes drilled before the drill petered out. So while it recharged I fixed lunch, then finished the project afterwards.

There was nothing much here in the form of entertainment so it was going to be a real test if I could hang in for the fourteen days but that was my goal.

Day 41

I left on a hike south to illegally enter Mexico but only went 1.8 miles when I was stopped by the American Canal. I wasn't surprised for I had Google Earth'ed my territory to be covered the night before. I found several items discarded by those who had made it this far, going northward: a backpack, Styrofoam paddle boards, inner tubes, a plastic garbage bag and numerous water bottles. Also while at the canal I could hear the sound of gunfire off in the distance and see smoke rising from some sort of activity over in Mexico. Someone was having an interesting day.

Four plus miles later I was back at the motor home and had a cup of coffee with a Pop-tart which I felt would most likely probably ruin my lunch. It was a pleasant day with some overcast and I just sat outside and watched the parade of traffic far off on Interstate 8.

Day 42

I tried for the border wall again but the sand dunes were too much for me and the Motoped to deal with so I just explored around taking the frontage road along I-8 which appeared to be the old highway, whatever number it was way back when. I finally ran the tank dry to the reserve and went back to camp. There I put in about three quarters of a gallon. I really wanted to know what the capacity was on the fuel tank and what the reserve amount was. Someday I would figure it out.

After lunch I went out again following a road off of Sidewinder which brought me to another camp area. A couple miles later it ended at the canal and I was able to get a better view of the _wall_ on the other side.

It was to be in the mid-seventies for the rest of the week and I felt staying for that long would not be a problem although I had been researching as to where to go next a−sign of getting antsy to be on the move.

Day 43

After making repairs to the poop tube (the hose to dump the holding tanks by) cutting out six inches where it was leaking, I rode the Motoped over to explore a dirt road which would take me close to a grove of tamarisk I had discovered while hiking. I found the trees and I walked around a bit trying to find more evidence of illegal's crossing. Afterwards I just squirreled around on the bike which brought back fond memories of my motorcycle desert racing days.

Over fifteen miles later I was back at camp and ready for lunch. It was a very pleasant day at seventy-three degrees with a thin cloud cover that hampered the solar panel from doing its duty.

Day 44

It was another nice day with temperatures in the mid-seventies. I decided on a hike and let my tender butt from riding heal up a bit. I strolled through the desert for three miles and just sat for awhile enjoying the solitude, having a special moment. The strange find for the day was a plastic kiddy wading pool. I've seen Styrofoam paddleboards and rubber inner tubes but I thought this was pretty ingenious to use for getting across the water with. As I walked on my thoughts kept going back to the pool and it then dawned on me. They probably put the little kids in it who were too young to swim the dangerous canal water and pushed them across. Or even it could be used to put food, water and a change of clothing in also.

Back at the RV I fixed up some tuna for a sandwich, did my daily post on the blog and just hung out for the remainder of the day, a day where I could just wear short pants for a change.

Day 45

This morning my crazy neighbor in the van was really out of it, more so than usual. He stood there yelling at the curtain hanging from the side door of his van. He had not missed a day working on the van which to me sounded fine. It started up right away (although this morning it did not) and I had seen him drive it. Probably there is nothing wrong with it, only in his imagination there was. But today he had really gone off the edge and I felt it was time for me to move on.

I rode the Motoped out to explore the area that appeared to be where General Patton's troops were camped while training for World War Two. I could see the scars left in the desert from the roads and where the tents and buildings once stood. I found nothing otherwise of any interest. On the way back I squirreled around in the desert a bit then returned to camp and loaded the Motoped up preparing for a quick getaway if crazy van man goes ballistic.

Day 46

Today was errand day in Yuma, Arizona. I wanted to check three RV stores searching for those LED lights, an archery shop for steel point replacement tips and Trojan battery dealers about my batteries and maybe some information about a larger solar panel.

The first RV shop sold me one bulb. The prongs were of a larger diameter and would not go in into the receptacle. I returned it. A couple of sour ladies worked there so that gave a good start to the day. The next shop at least the kid was helpful and pretty much concurred that I would have to get what I needed online. At least he told me what to look for. I asked about solar panels and he told me of Starlight Solar nearby. I had seen that place listed online earlier. I went there and was surprised to see they were also a Trojan battery dealer. He had a foldout panel rated at hundred sixty-five watts, a bit more than what I thought I needed. The price was three hundred seventy-five dollars. Yeah, most definitely a bit more than what I needed. He pretty much said that my battery problem was probably due to the solar panel not up to the task. [Much later I learned he was correct.]

The archery shop turned out to be in a neighborhood of low income homes. Maybe the guy worked out from his home but I didn't stop to find out as the neighborhood was too ghettoish.

I picked up some groceries and went to a supposedly "free" dumpsite only to find it locked up. I needed to fuel up so I bought fuel there as I was getting tired and hungry and didn't feel like searching for a deal on fuel. Figuring as I filled up I went inside and inquired about the dump station. It was in fact free. They just kept it locked up for whatever reason. I had to leave my driver's license and sign a log. So why did they need the license I asked? So they would get their key back. Water was there also, the faucet handle locked inside a wire cage. I decided it best not to get my water from the same faucet people rinse out their poop tube with.

Nearby I saw a Carl's Jr. and that was good enough for me. After my bacon cheeseburger I picked up some groceries at Albertsons in the same shopping area.

Feeling better and being it wasn't that far to my next camp I went ahead and hit up the third RV shop a bit further away. Al's RV Supply had one long bad scathing review among several positives. First off they had the light bulbs out for the customers to browse through which was nice. They had the same options as the other stores. I wandered around. The parts guy asked if I needed any help and I said I found what I needed. Then I went back and asked about solar panels. He was very kind and helpful really suggesting I do my research for a larger wattage panel from like fifty or eighty up to a hundred or even hundred-sixty watts which in most cases was only twenty dollars or so more. As for the battery problem he took his time to explain some tests I could do to it to see if the batteries were in good shape or the plates had sulphated. Wow! So much for your bad review crabby lady whoever you are.

Finally I drove the few miles out of town to a small parcel of BLM land behind the local VFW. I had to get a fourteen-day permit from Wayne, a nice old guy from Arkansas. We chatted some and he told me where to get free water behind the Shell station five miles back up the road. Cool. The camping area was small, littered and somewhat sketchy in among the tamarisk trees. It looked like a homeless encampment. Staying here for fourteen days? Nope.

Day 47

Back into town for the free water then over to Fry's for a couple more grocery items. I don't think I had ever been in a Fry's before. It was like a Walmart Supercenter or Costco for food only. Pretty nice.

Onwards north on Highway 95 to the Kofa Wildlife Refuge free camping at Castle Dome. After turning off the highway I endured eight miles of washboard rough dusty gravel road. I finally arrived and _where do you camp_? All there was were some old buildings, a so-called museum and tours of some mine. This was not what I expected. I turned around at the only available place to do so−a locked gate−and suffered the eight miles of teeth rattling road out of there.

_I'll try the Crystal Hill area in the refuge. That's the one I really wanted to go to anyway._ This site had only six miles of crappy road to deal with. Upon arrival my first impression was...well I don't quite know what it was. It just didn't feel right although for no apparent visual reason. It appeared to be an abandoned campground with at one time designated camp sites in a short loop. I set up camp seeing only one other RV at the base of the nearby hill and someone else further up a distance. Later that afternoon the music started from the RV'er (there were also two hidden trailers) at the base of the hill. The sound bounced off the hill and it was like being in an outdoor concert amphitheatre. The music itself was okay but I was here for peace and quiet. Then later a dog started barking with another dog responding from the other camp with neither owner making any attempt to control their canines. I supposed each dog owner found it amusing and let the barking contest continue on. _Groan!_ By dark things kind of settled down and the coyote welcoming committee paid me a visit. I could hear them all around the RV with what sounded like one right outside the door. Of course when I stood up from my drawing, turned on the outside light and opened the door they took off.

Day 48

After breakfast I went in search for some crystals and straightaway walking in the wash near the "concert hall"–which was going yet again this morning and I had one of the offending dogs come bounding my way to greet me−I found a somewhat nice stone. _This is going to be easy_. That would be the only crystal I would find for the day. I walked by the other camp which looked like a ne'er do well couple living out of a tent and their offending dog wanted to get at me with all serious intent. No effort was made by the owners to shut the damn dog up either but at least the beast was tied up. I was spared a deadly mauling.

After I walked and thought some on it I accepted the fact that the atmosphere here was not going to improve as neither of the two obnoxious dog owners were showing any signs of pulling out any time soon. And did I want to be annoyed by music and barking dogs again this afternoon and evening? Plus there wasn't really anything else there to see or explore. Even if took the Motoped down and tooled about the dirt roads, where to and what for? Nope. I broke camp and pulled out knowing once I got back on the pavement I would be glad I left. What are the chances of being at a beautiful and potentially peaceful site where with only two other campers there being the campers from hell?

A few more miles up Highway 95 towards Quartzite I came to the first BLM site. I pulled in and saw the sign ROADRUNNER and remembered having been there years ago on one of my first trips in the RV. Here Al checked me in with a fourteen-day permit and I knew I could be here for that time and even longer if I wanted. I came to find out Al was eighty-four years old and I thought he was at least ten or fifteen years less. I like meeting people like Al. They give me hope for my future. [Sadly, two years later in 2018 when I returned to Roadrunner for a winter stay I learned from a new camp host that Al had just passed away a couple months earlier.]

There was hardly anyone at Roadrunner. I wondered if maybe the masses didn't arrive until after Christmas and all holiday family obligations had been met.

Day 49

I mostly explored around the nearly vacant camp area on the Motoped going out a second time basically trying to find the best route into town about six miles north. It was nice in the Quartzite area and I could see returning each year perhaps even paying the hundred eighty dollars for the Long Term Visitor permit which allowed you to stay from September through to April, thus not have to move around every fourteen days plus have access to free water, dumping of sewage and trash dumpsters. That evening it sprinkled some and the weather reports said there would be a twenty degree drop in temperature on Saturday lasting throughout the upcoming week. Twenty degrees! What is going on? Did we have a polar shift and I didn't know about it?

Day 50

The skies cleared, the wind picked up and I only did a two mile walk around the area. Something weird was going on with the weather. After lunch I stirred up the courage to go out for a bike ride. Once going it was nice to get out but the wind didn't make it as pleasant as it could be. Most of the time while riding I was thinking back to my desert racing days and some of the horrible wind conditions we raced in and at the time I never gave it that much thought. I sure did so now in my older years. Back in the RV I realized everything had a fine coating of dust even though it was shut up tight.

Day 51

The wind grew worse at dark. I could not imagine being outside in a tent and there were a few tenters down from camp. In the morning it was clear skies and sunny and the twenty degree drop had went into full effect with the wind adding in a wind-chill factor. I hung up my little stars and stripes flag and started cleaning dusty windows and the solar panel. Around ten A.M. I just had to get outside and make the best of it. It was back to flannel lined Levis and three layers on top including my windbreaker and a knit cap with gloves. I walked nearly two miles on my hike before the GPS batteries died. I removed the sunshades from up front thinking that would allow the sun to heat things up inside a bit. After a hot lunch I sewed a button on my green long sleeve pullover, posted on the blog and updated the journal. I was glad I caught it up the day before after three days of no entries.

Day 52

The cold front rolled in and didn't disappoint but I was ready for it. I put up the Reflectex in the windows and felt that really helped in minimizing heat loss through the glass. I also hung the moving quilt as a divider into the cab area and for sure this helped trap heat in the living space. My military sleeping bag did the job until just before dawn when I maneuvered it and myself into the regular sleeping bag. I could go that route for tonight or attach the third outer patrol bag cover to it. The outside temperature was thirty-one while the inside was a balmy thirty-seven degrees. Mr. Buddy took care of that thirty-seven in no time at all.

Again the skies were clear and bright but the wind remained a biting cold. I went out for a two and a quarter mile walk finding old beer cans that had been opened with a beer opener, car bucket seats and seat belts, another Mylar birthday balloon (those things should be outlawed), a golf ball and a Kerr canning jar with a rusty lid. I brought that last item back to camp and for what reason, I didn't know.

I had things to occupy my time when I take shelter from the cold wind for the remainder of the days. Tomorrow would be Monday and I wanted to ride into town and see what's happening, that's if the cold lessened up some. At least I knew it was colder (and wet) at home which was a slight consolation.

Day 53

Weather was the same but I got a handle on it for the inside. I slept well in the double sleeping bag arrangement. I didn't go for a walk instead saving my activity for a bike ride, hopefully into town to check things out. I waited until after lunch and by then the wind had started up once again. I bundled up and took off anyway and made it about only hundred yards before realizing I'd never make it. Back to camp. I could drive in but hated to leave the bike unattended, even if locked. So I decided to load up the bike and be ready for a morning drive. Since I was getting good at this bike loading it was no big deal. I figured I may as well put away the tables and chair for I sure hadn't been sitting outside any since arriving.

Day 54

Big going into town day. I remembered what it was like nine years ago in November when I was there and now in December it was nothing like that. It was dead with hardly any traffic. I talked with a few vendors and found out they have been hit by a corrupt city council and police force who were implementing all types of new rules and regulations which in essence was running everyone away just because of their greed and power hungry attitude.

I went into two stores and neither had the LED lights I needed. I started to browse the tent vendors when I spied one all about LEDs and solar panels. I walked over and showed her what I wanted and she pointed them out. There it was and with the right size prongs. She let me test the warm and bright variety in the RV and the warm was it, a perfect replacement for the standard bulbs. I bought seven and was very happy finally having made the change to a much more efficient lighting system. I talked with Cindy for a while where I learned the above information which was confirmed by other vendors I talked with. Cindy had only a bright light for the over the bed lights and she steered me down the road to another place. There I was able to replace those two bulbs. After nine years of little or no use and I can start using these interior lights without the worry of running the battery down or "cooking" anything on the shelf above. It was $36.65 for the seven small lights and $24.23 for the two large lights. To celebrate my good fortune I bought a foot-long Subway sandwich.

I checked out the Dome Rock fourteen-day BLM area which I would stay at next as hardly anyone was there. Prospects for sticking around for the Rubber Tramp Rendezvous January 10 through 22 looked good.

Back at camp I found my chair and table was still there. Camp people usually leave something behind to hold their spot and campers are honest folk for the most part. I tried to position the RV a little bit better for sun action plus being a bit more level. Incidentally LED Cindy explained to me the benefit of having placed my solar panel at the angle as I did which supports my ever-growing belief that maybe what I have now will suffice for my energy needs as the battery has yet to drop into the eleven's since I made this modification and was able to get the battery up to full charge from driving around. It was a good day.

Day 55

Boy, I liked my new lights. No more living like a bat in a cave. I had nice lighting with no big draw from the battery. I could now use those fixtures without a care after nine years of little or no usage.

It was an overcast day so I did some interior decorating. I had collected dead cholla coming out from Kofa Wildlife Refuge and had been working on sawing and cutting it to trim out the slide-out. My only thought had been to Shoo-Goo them in place and I was waiting for a warm day to soften up the tube of Goo. Then I had the bright idea to wire them in place. This worked out better and I liked the finished look. Now it was a matter if they would stay in place when I drive.

After lunch an unexpected rain occurred creating some great cloud formations after it moved on. Rain was expected in the morning and then once again Saturday accompanied by wind. Oh joy.

Day 56

It rained fairly well throughout the night and was pretty much done with by morning. The day's plan was to go back into town and walk around the vendor's booths. It turned out most were closed up either due to the wet weather or that things were just real slow. But I enjoyed my time there until I spotted a cat coming out from under the tarp of a vendor's stall. She was on a leash, kind of looked like Harry, a grey Maine Coon cat I once had. I bent down to pet her. This was the first cat I had petted since Sinbad died and the emotions kicked in, a lump formed in my throat, my eyes watered up. I wasn't expecting that. I had to walk away. I missed Sinbad terribly. I needed another cat in my life but was trying to hold out until summer at the earliest.

After a little driving around I came back to home base and fixed a grilled cheese for lunch. The rest of the day was spent working on my drawing, be comfortable and appreciate this good life I had been given.

Day 57

A cloud-filled sky day with little hope the sun would ever show. It was warmer it seemed with no wind. I went for a two mile walk and felt that maybe I could ride the Motoped. Back at camp I finished off the last of the pumpkin bread before mold took over, unloaded the bike and took off. It proved to be good enough weather to ride and I made it up to the La Posa South LTVA just to cruise around and see how everyone lives. There weren't as many Snowbirds as I expected and some were indeed there for the long term based upon all the crap they brought with them. Then again, maybe for some that is their life. But to put it in perspective where else could you live for seven months for only hundred eighty dollar rent? That is for all seven months. Quite the attractive option especially if you are retired, living on Social Security or even just unemployed. Oh the stories that must exist among some of these folks.

Back at home I had lunch and then went about seeing why my seat was loose on the bike. This led me to discover the seat was wetter than I thought. How did the water get past the plastic bag? Then when I took the tool kit out from the saddle bag I saw that everything in there was damp also. Definitely I would need to make some adjustments before tomorrow morning's rain and wind storm. I also cleared everything out from the overhead so that I could check to see if it is staying dry up there with these rains. So far it seemed okay. [This overhead area was the only place the RV ever leaked water and I had been fighting it for years to find out just where the water came in at. Fortunately it was under what used to be a bed in the overhead and never caused any damage to ceiling or walls.]

Day 58

The rain wasn't as hard as I had hoped for but I feel if the overhead would have leaked it would have. Things looked good and I put everything back in order taking inventory as I went along. Gear was now better organized up there and I would be ready to make further adjustments when I returned home. So far I had a pretty short list of things to do which was good.

By noon the rain was done and I could see blue skies off to the west. I debated on going out for a short walk and maybe get some water pictures but the wind was whipping and I just didn't feel like putting up with it. I'd sooner stay inside somewhat warm and read, draw or whatever. Tomorrow would be Christmas day.

Day 59

Well Christmas in the desert was just like any other day in the desert. It was quite nice and I sat out in the sun for awhile after completing a project inside.

One of my dreams I had planned on doing was some backpacking. I had bought myself a nice Osprey backpack last year for my birthday. This was after viewing a lot of YouTube videos on backpacking on trails around the country. I was all wired and fired to do this. Throughout the year I had been accumulating the gear needed through eBay, Amazon and other great deals as they came up. The only thing holding me back was Sinbad as I hated the thought of leaving him alone all night. Well he died just before this trip so that was no longer a concern−his gift to me. Then once I arrived at the desert the desire and enthusiasm for backpacking all of a sudden wasn't there. I chewed on this for weeks, looking at my new backpack sitting up there in the overhead just waiting. I would think about having to get up a half a dozen times throughout the night to go outside the tent to pee. Did I really want to do that? Then there was lying on the cold hard ground thinking about my comfortable bed back in the RV. Or cooking outside when the few times I have done so already was really dependent on the weather. Cooking in the wind is a challenge to say the least. Now, two months on I resigned myself to the fact that I would never do it. I simply had waited to late in life and now just felt too old to pack forty pounds of gear even if some minimal distance as I do for day hikes. I was so disappointed in myself. I would lie in bed at night thinking about this failure of mine and eventually came up with a plan. I took out my four week supply of survival food from the Alice pack and put all my backpacking gear in it, tent, sleeping bag and all which in the end fit with some room left over. I decided I would sell the birthday backpack on eBay when I returned home. "Like new, never used" just like from the guy in Texas I bought it from. I think this backpack is cursed, being bought by people who never used it. Hopefully owner number three would use it.

Day 60.

All day long sunlight on the solar panel was not enough to replace the lost voltage, even without my using the laptop any. The meter was at 11.9 volts in the morning. So that pretty much settled the solar panel dilemma. I would buy a fold-out solar panel to act as a booster on those days when Wimpy up top needed some help. [I eventually learned more about solar panels and installed two-one hundred watt panels on the roof. Problem solved.]

I cleaned the mud splats off the Motoped and went out after lunch trying to run the tank into the reserve. Ten bone-chilling miles later and still not there working off the main tank. I had covered eighty-seven miles on what I suspected was around just under of a gallon of gas.

Day 61

I finally worked the bike into reserve mode but realized I had the mileage, the amount of gas, the distance I went figures all screwed up. I was not even sure what I wrote down yesterday was accurate. Someday I may get it right. My best guesstimate is the bike earned a ninety-five mpg rating. I loaded the bike up and began to get ready for my drive to Parker, Arizona Walmart then return back to Quartzite. I didn't really need to go to Walmart but I did have this urge to drive that had to be met.

Day 62

I had a nice drive up to Parker, Arizona and was able to get everything on my list in Walmart thus avoiding going across the street to Safeway. Well everything but the Ben Gay. I had almost gone through the entire tube that my ex sent me which was in the form of a gel and with a vanishing scent, all a mistake purchase on her part but I had come to like it better than the original formula.

I arrived back at Quartzite to the Dome Rock fourteen-day area. I had a little bit better cell service there; the RV was more centered and off in the distance much like Pilot Rock I had the Interstate to watch. Some dislike the highway noise but I could only barely hear it. At night the moving lights of traffic were nice to see so I didn't mind.

Day 63

It was warmer and my aches were not as bad. Yesterday was pretty bad with my neck and shoulders and it was still with me in the morning so I started with Ben Gay on these new spots in addition to my elbow. I thought I should have bought two tubes the way these aches and pains continued to manifest themselves.

I went for a two-mile plus walk and then stayed in camp all day. I did get the bow and arrows out setting the bag up forty-feet away and had the idea to hang my empty Dr. Pepper can on it. Out of twenty shots I hit the can twice, with the second shot dead center. Now if I only knew what I did to accomplish that.

Day 64

A nice day although there was a lot of cloud cover so this confused me on how to dress for the Motoped ride. I ended up taking off my sweatshirt halfway through the ride. The nearby hills are spider-webbed with dirt roads and trails to explore in the canyons so I would be entertained during my stay at Dome Rock. I dreaded this time next week when the temperatures were to drop into the thirties again. There was no escaping it though for the entire continent would be in a deep freeze. I appreciated the fact that where I was would be the least of the nationwide misery. Meanwhile I had lots of new terrain to explore.

I came back for lunch then took off again only to be turned back by raindrops. The rain never mattered too much but it was enough for me to stop for the day. Plus I wrenched my back somehow, probably from pushing the bike up a particularly steep hill. At the top I was winded and my heart was pounding. Just another sign of my losing the fitness I once had and most likely will never have again. And to think one day I could run a marathon under three hours. Getting old is scary for me.

Day 65

It was a good day to end the year with. I went for a walk, came back, and started up the Motoped tooling around slowly where I came across some mining claims, one large open pit mine in the ground and a herd of deer. There was a big buck and his harem with two young ones, eight deer in total. You would not think deer to live in the desert. That explained the antler I found yesterday.

After lunch the sun came out and it was nice just to sit and soak in the warmth. This is why I am here. I felt so good I shaved and gave myself a hair trim.

It was New Years Eve and I was happy not having to go to any social function, drink booze and stumble around a dance floor. I am doing what I want to do...finally.

Day 66

The first day of New Year 2017. It rained fairly well over night and was all done for by morning. I over slept the morning−too much celebrating last night perhaps (yeah, right). I planned on staying in camp and do some reorganizing of food storage and the medicine cabinet. Yet after awhile I had to get out for a walk. I strolled a mile up the road to the distant low hills and explored a stone cabin I could see from camp. It was very well made with attention given to selecting different colored rock and then outlining the doors and corners with white quartz. Other than that short excursion I just relaxed around camp fiddling with the Motoped front brake cable some more as it would rub against the tire. I realized that I needed get a new air cleaner soon as the desert dirt had quickly fouled up the original paper element air cleaner. I hoped to be able to find the correct oil as I would need to do an oil change soon. There were a couple of places in town but if I had to I would drive the twenty-five miles west to Blythe, CA. and try my luck there.

Day 67

Clouds all day and I longed for sunshine. At least it wasn't cold and nor there any wind. After a walk along the road to see what treasures I might find (nothing worth keeping) I came back and got on the bike bundling up for the worst. It wasn't bad and I found a very scenic canyon filled with wonderful geology. Since there was no sunshine I planned to go back to the colorful rock formations and take some video and pictures. Best of all though for the day, I woke up pain-free...finally! This was a nice way to start off the New Year for sure.

Day 68

Another overcast day and the solar panel needed sun! I needed sun! Still like yesterday it wasn't as cold as a day like this would be at home. I rode the Motoped into town in search for oil for it. Nothing was to be had and the one and only car parts store in town was a joke with the owner being absolutely worthless. I wondered if he could care any less about customer service. Coming home I was hot-dogging the bike through the sand and dirt. When I returned to camp I saw that I finally had lost my homemade wood kickstand. I knew this would happen at some time and you'd think I would have taken precautions against that happening? Nope. I back-tracked my route feeling fairly certain it had to be in the hotdog section and if it was I would find it. If I had lost it somewhere else between here and town I was out of luck. But I did find it a couple miles back lying in a wash. _Whew!_ Well I now had a project for the day. After a hotdog lunch I made a tether from Paracord and screwed it onto the kickstand along with a clip from a lost dog leash I found some days ago. Now it can be clipped to the basket and won't fall out to the ground.

Day 69

Great day in the morning! I woke up pain free everywhere. It was a clear sunshine day for the first half then thin wispy clouds covered the sky later on. I rode the Motoped back out in search for _Geology Canyon_ as I called it and did find it although the second time through it didn't seem all that big as I remembered. I took some movie footage for later editing hopefully for a YouTube video when I returned home. Someday when I have the power on board I could do that sort of thing while on the road. Soon my camera battery died but I was prepared having brought the spare. I plugged it in and it was dead also. How could I let that happen? I came back to camp and by then my back was sore. So I knew that back soreness was from the bike because I have to hunch forward some. There were just no other adjustments to make so I would be able sit more upright and still reach the bars. What to do?

Day 70

I stayed off the bike this day and hiked the canyons within the mountains on the other side of the road taking pictures of cacti. It was nice day where I could lounge around barefoot (inside) for a change.

Day 71

Another clear sky day but with a brisk breeze. I stayed inside most of the time except for a brief gully walk where I found a bandana.

Who needs TV out here when you can people watch? These are my neighbors and they provide hours of entertainment: One guy in a white van is from New York. Another guy and his HUGE dog in the car to the right are from Wyoming. On the side of the car in faded letters it reads MEDICAL TAXI with a phone number to call. Then the car to the left is a man and woman from where I couldn't determine. There are no license plates and the car looked like they drove it out in from a junk yard. Pieces and parts were hanging off of it everywhere with the rocker panel on the passenger side nearly dragging the ground. They come and go constantly. I figured it was to buy some fast food to eat (I never saw them cook), go to the bathroom (or maybe not) or go to buy more cigarettes and booze. Most everyone had a cigarette going especially Mr. Wyoming who had one after another continually. As with the cigarettes most always there was can of Budweiser in their hands. One day sitting around the campfire (that's all they did when not going into town) a big gallon bottle of Smirnoff Vodka was uncorked. One of those heavy glass jugs with a handle. They nearly polished that off by the end of the day. Mr. New York was staggering around so much I just knew he'd wind up falling into the fire. He didn't. But he did walk away, not far enough in my opinion, to puke. He came back and washed it down with more vodka and passed the bottle around. There were two tents up. Mr. New York slept in his van. This morning after a cold wind blew all night they were up and about to start their daily routine once again. Cigarettes were going, a couple Budweisers were opened and there was about two inches of Vodka left to go in the large glass jug. It was empty before I had poured milk on my Shredded Wheat.

I write this in not making fun of them. I felt bad for them and their quality of life. Yet they were enjoying themselves in their own way. They talk, laugh and got along with each other. At one point the couple was on the phone and evidently the guy received some bad news. I watched him walk away to by alone with his tears. I felt bad for him but whatever it was the bottle of vodka was waiting for him when he returned to the fire.

Day 72

Being a cold day even with no wind I stayed inside mostly working on a drawing and just being thankful I was here and not home where torrential downpours were occurring and possible flooding was an issue.

Day 73

I had planned on riding the bike but it started out cold, then my back was still bothering and by the time the afternoon rolled around I just wasn't into it knowing my back would be worse. I loaded the bike and did some cleaning preparing to leave on Tuesday when my "lease" (the fourteen-day stay limit) expired.

Day 74

It was so nice to wake to glorious sunrise. After my morning routine I went into town. First off was a stop at Rose's RV Park to dump the tanks and fill the freshwater tank. They have a nice facility to do this by with multiple filtered fresh water hook-ups and four clean dump stations. With that done I went to the hardware store to have a house key made for the ex since she doesn't know what she did with hers. I mailed it to her hoping it works for the Chinaman at True Value did not instill much confidence with me. Then off to fill the propane tank, buy a gallon of gas for the Motoped, buy a quart of milk, and find some lunch at Carls Jr. just as it began to rain. After the rain ended I browsed around the vendors fair again picking up a pair of deerskin gloves for my archery.

Back at camp my spot was there waiting for me. I noticed the drinker's camp was in shambles as if a wind storm had blown things apart. I went over to help the guy with his tent and soon his crew showed up from a trip to Blythe while we were at it. I left them to their miseries.

Day 75

The day had arrived to check in with the Rubber Tramp Rendezvous. The Rubber Tramp Rendezvous is a yearly gathering of "nomads"; for the most part people who live full time on the road traveling. I had worked myself up about going to this event with visions of Burning Man in my head. Once there I realized _I can handle this_. There weren't that many people as I feared although there were easily over a several hundred vehicles. I was able to get a nice spot on the outer limits and thought I would be okay. Before lunch I walked around and there were some interesting set-ups. I hoped there would be some good stories to be found.

Day 76

I went to the ten o'clock orientation which lasted into lunch time. After that I walked around the camp some then just spent the rest of a nice day enjoying the sun. I did some online research for solar panels as I had pretty much decided to go for a whole panel and attach it on top rather than a portable foldout which I would be concerned about getting ripped off. I would do it right and then appreciate having done so in the long run−less fuss in the future.

Day 77

I went for a hike towards the mountains which was cut short when I realized I left with my water bottle only one quarter full. Back to camp I went, regrouped then set out to find South Dakota license plate people to learn about if that would be something I might do for the RV. In the end it seemed the complications of changing state residency just to avoid having to deal with the every two year smog check required in California for the RV wasn't worth the hassle. Oh well. [When the registration came up for renewal the first of 2017, California had doubled the fees! This kicked me in the butt to get the South Dakota license plate and registration for the motor home and I didn't have to change state residency to do it.]

Day 78

This day was a show and tell of gadgets people have or made. I didn't stay for it all. The rain for that afternoon was canceled and postponed to the early morning hours tomorrow revised for few showers, possibly. After a walk around camp I ate some lunch then cleaned out the bathroom sink drain and made a sign to sell my backpack at the "Garage Sale", where everyone lays out stuff they want to get rid of on Sunday afternoon. It was a pleasant day with off and on sunshine−almost t-shirt weather.

Day 79

The day arrived for the long awaited solar seminar at ten A.M. It wasn't until eleven A.M. Bob finally started into the solar portion of the program. Each seminar begins with updates, reviews of do's and don'ts and people telling what goods or services they have to offer. I finally learned to arrive at these seminars an hour late so my sore butt or having to go pee doesn't cut my attendance short.

After lunch I moseyed on around always stopping by the _Give-Away Pile_ to see what's new. In the morning I picked up a new Brad Taylor book to compliment the series I just finished. Yesterday was a Louie L'amour book which I should be able to knock out in a few days and return to the pile. But the big find this afternoon was a fold-up canvas table. One hinge was busted but repairable. Cool beans. I brought my cube of levelers to sit on this morning which worked out okay but the canvas table will be much better to sit on and didn't take up that much room. The table would be a keeper.

Day 80

This was "Garage Sale" day and I was under the impression people would bring their junk and lay it all out like a flea market. I eventually learned that it was in conjunction with "Open House" and you put out what you wanted to sell in your front yard. Well that wouldn't work for me and my selling the backpack as I was camped way out from where few people would wander. So I took my sign I made and posted it on the bulletin board.

As I was walking around I came across a guy selling two of the circular bolt cutter proof locks I wanted to get. Of course I had no money with me and we were both at the most extreme corners of the encampment probably nearly a half a mile apart. I got my hike in this day going back for the locks, two for five dollars.

Day 81

Choosing a state for residency seminar day. By now though I pretty much had learned all I needed to know that doing a change of residency wasn't going to work for me as long as I still have property in California and pay taxes there. I stayed for as long as I could eventually growing weary of people asking questions that Bob would eventually cover if they would just shut up and let him get with the program. I left after a short while.

Although the sun was shining all day there was a brisk wind coming from the north and I was pretty uncomfortable for most of the day. Friday is forecasted for rain and wind. Oh joy!

Day 82

The day broke with clear skies and cold temperatures. It gradually warmed up where by the end of the day I could be in my long sleeve t-shirt comfortably.

I finally took the Motoped down and rode about in one direction that took me out to the campground host camp. I stopped by camp on my way back to pick up my phone for the GPS service then continued on in the other direction eventually following a BLM road up into a canyon where I came across an abandoned stone cabin with a nearby deep shaft mine.

It seemed half of the people have moved on out from the RTR event. I still plan to stay my fourteen days.

Day 83

The scheduled talk was about traveling to Baja or so it said. But Bob talked about going to Algadones (just a walk across the border from Yuma) for dental work and prescriptions and I had heard enough about that already so I left. I did ride the Motoped, unable to find the route I wanted to another stone cabin. I loaded the bike back on the rack and prepared for tomorrow's rain.

The young lady camped in front of me (I learned later she is forty-five. I thought late twenties or early thirties) was living out of her Pontiac Aztek SUV. She showed me her Stanley jumpstart device and said how she uses it to power her laptop. This was revolutionary to me. Christa just saved me nine hundred dollars by not buying a generator. I studied up on them in the evening. That was the ticket now for running the laptop on days when there was no solar power for the batteries. [I never bought one eventually coming to the conclusion I wouldn't need it if I just had a proper solar panel set-up to fully charge the batteries.]

Day 84

The rain came but didn't amount to much and only spitted occasionally throughout the day. It was still cold and blustery. I screwed up on today's talk thinking it would be about Boondocking but that was for the next day. Today was "work-camping". _WORK?!_ I don't want to work.

Back at the RV I started in on todays inside project. It came to me last night that if I move the latch on the spice drawer I could then put my spice bottles in there and be able to shut the drawer. Things went well and now I have more room in the cabinet above the sink and would be able to access the spice bottles easier too.

Day 85

A day of cold, wind with rain later to top it all off. At least things were tolerable for the talk on Boondocking which I did pick up some good new information plus a couple of apps where I could see BLM and Forest Service lands overlaid on a Google Earth image. Back at the RV I stayed inside for shelter as did most everyone at the RTR. It was Friday and the event would end on Sunday.

Day 86

I didn't want to know about first aid so I went over to Carolyn's RV a YouTuber I follow for she was to have a Q & A session. There were only around ten people there so that was nice. Back at camp I had a Pop Tart and cup of coffee then set off for a walk through of camp to see what was going on. I visited with several people and learned from a Canadian woman about a couple of good places to go on the way to Why, Arizona. I checked them out on Freecampsites.com and don't know how I had overlooked them before.

I learned from my neighbor Christa that she's been living out of her car since June. She was telling me about her job gigs she gets online. She beat me on the one bath thing since leaving for life on the road she's had just one bath but her time goes back to June. "Bath" means full-on shower. We otherwise do sponge baths and wipe-downs with baby wipes.

Day 87

A cold wind which kept me inside most of the day. I did manage to clean house and prepare to move out tomorrow.

Day 88

I said goodbye to Christa this morning as we both will be moving on our ways today. I went into town and was shocked as to how much things have changed in two weeks. There was a whole lot more people and traffic was at a crawl through Tyson Wells. I went to the old camp at Dome Rock and it had been invaded with big coaches. My tent people were gone and someone was in my old site not that I had planned on staying. I dropped off my trash at my secret dumpster then went to the RV store and bought an LED light for the stove and over the bed. Next was to the last vendor area I hadn't visited. It turned out to be all rocks and gems, nothing more. It was only after I left did I see where I really had wanted to go, a big yard sale of junk. I had stopped at the wrong place! I made contact with a fellow co-worker who too is now retired but he was at the gun show. With John, I can't compete with a gun show going on.

Day 89

I went back to the yard sale junk place in the morning then over to my ex co-worker's camp who had to leave for Blythe at noon. I had a nice visit and they fed me a great barbeque chicken dinner with potatoes and Caesar salad. I used his Long Term sticker to get a free dump and water fill-up down at La Posa South LTVA.

Day 90

I left early in the morning to go over and see friends from home in their RV Park setting in town. By the time I left at ten I had had it with all the socializing tagged onto the twelve days of the RTR. I just needed to drive and have some alone time. Once in Phoenix I tried to get some oil for the bike, a chain and lock at Harbor Freight and arrow tips at Cabellas all of these errands ending in failure. I was toast by then end and fortunately the one and only Walmart in Phoenix that permitted overnight stays was close by. But my Dollar Tree experience in Buckeye was fruitful and was greatly appreciative of Christa telling me about the benefits of shopping at Dollar Tree.

Day 91

Up early to shop in Walmart, then over to the Dollar Tree for a spray bottle so I can start the wipe and clean with white vinegar routine for dishes and hopefully make the water last longer. Then I pushed myself to go back to Harbor Freight for the motorcycle lock and chain that the guy said they would have in morning. It came in and I bought a small moving blanket for the drafts around the entry steps. Now I had to get out of Phoenix and move on south to Ajo, Arizona.

I arrived at Darby Wells (recommended by the Canadian woman) which was closer to the town of Ajo than I thought by what I had read on Freecampsites.com. A short distance on a washboard road I found a suitable camp site. One of the first things I did once settled was shave off most of my beard. If it gets up into the seventies next week as predicted I may go all the way to skin level. Hopefully I could get back to a regular program I had going at Anza Borrego including my exercises and archery practice.

Day 92

It was so nice at Darby Wells with clear skies and uninterrupted sunshine. Unfortunately the air was cold and filled with gusts of wind. I tried to sit on the leeward side of the RV in the sunshine but just couldn't manage it. I did after awhile get restless and went out for a short walk around camp bumping into my Canadian neighbors who seemed overly excited that someone was walking by their camp. They ran out of their little trailer and talked up a storm with me. These poor people are limited to a ninety-day stay then must return back across their border just to maintain their health coverage program or at least that is how I understood it. Back to the RV for some shelter from the wind which eventually grew into an hour-long nap that evidently I must have needed. Maybe I ought to do that more often.

That night I made a pizza from Dollar Tree food and a flour tortilla recipe from Christa. Both were very good. Just like real pizza complete with heartburn. Only the crust was a bit floppy. Also the generator shuts off ruining my timing using the convection oven so I needed to try to find out why this happens.

Day 93

A much nicer day and I went out for a hike that later proved I had overdressed for. The windbreaker came off and I regretted having long underwear on. Still I enjoyed the two plus mile hike up over the ridge line behind me discovering all sorts of castoffs from illegal migrants coming over from Mexico. On top of the mountain I could see off in the distance other campers miles away so I was looking forward to riding my bike back over there to see just what was so good about that area that they would drag a trailer over miles of rough washboard road to get there. Full on sun, some wind but turning warmer.

Day 94

The days are getting better with the temperatures. I went out twice on the Motoped and this place I found was spider webbed with roads to explore. I wished I had a BLM map of the area so I could venture off and still find my way back home. Darby Wells Road made a six mile loop around ending up in the little town of Ajo. Continuing on through town it was only a few miles more to camp and could be done on an ATV road that ran alongside Highway 85. I switched into the reserve tank at sixty miles.

I changed out all used clothing and pillow cases and would be starting fresh tomorrow. I ended the day in a short sleeve shirt and no shoes or socks. Yippee!

Day 95

I started the day with a hike out to a rock formation two miles distant. On the way back listening to my opera and being all alone in the middle of the desert walking along I felt so happy doing what I love that I began to get watery eyes, not from the wind but emotions.

Back at camp I had a little lunch and fueled up the Motoped. It took barely over a half a can−a half a gallon−on sixty miles; I found it hard to believe this bike got a hundred miles per gallon. Off I went forgetting sunscreen for my face and forced my return. I was glad I did as I knew now the burn I received at Anza Borrego was from riding the bike and the little shade thrown by the mountain bike helmet visor wasn't cutting it. I ended up riding twelve miles squirreling around riding the tar out of that little bike. I love it.

I shaved off half my beard as the weather was warm now, no shirt and flip flops. Finally!

Day 96

I wanted to get a cap for a black water jug I found yesterday that was in real good shape. I assumed the migrants were carrying water in these black jugs. Some I found had rope tied to the handles, most likely hanging from a stick. I thought the jug would come in handy to solar heat water in for washing. I knew one or two jugs from my first hike had caps on them so I went out into my "backyard" hoping to locate one. I headed for the cliffs to explore the base and found these alcoves there that would provide good shelter if you were trying to come into the U.S. illegally. Sure enough, migrants had camped there and one jug still had a cap on it, in addition to its label. Now I knew these jugs I found littering the desert were originally sold with water in them.

After lunch I was all ready to ride the bike and she wouldn't start. I thought it might be flooded, but the plug was dry. Maybe no fuel, but some did seep out when I removed the air cleaner. There appeared to be spark too. I eventually quit cranking before running the battery down and gave up on a ride for the day. Later I recalled the last time I tried to start it at a mining hole the previous day it was reluctant to start. Maybe there was some dirt in the bowl or a plugged jet. I would look into it in the morning.

I almost had this place all to myself but I did have three other campers within sight. At least they were quiet. In spite of that and the Motoped not starting, today was still a great day with seventy-five degree full sun. Tonight was a barbecued chicken.

Day 96

I worked on the bike all morning and it still would not start. I didn't even want to write about it. I loaded the bike up and would move on in the morning...bummed.

Day 98

It was the second of February as I moved out from Darby Wells to camp ten miles south just outside of the flyspeck town of Why where there was BLM free camping at Wild Woman Wash. It wasn't as scenic as Darby Wells for all about the flat land grew only creosote bush. Yet it was new territory to explore and I would see if I could log in a week-long stay there.

It was wearing on my mind about the Motoped not starting and I was really thinking (hoping) that it was the sparkplug and perhaps a new plug would breathe life into the machine once again. I was looking forward to getting into civilization again in order to buy a spark plug. I hoped finding the correct plug would not be as difficult as finding the correct oil had been.

It was a nice day with a thin cloud cover keeping the temperature just right. And it was very peaceful there also. Other campers were scattered about, a dozen or so, hard to say as they were well hidden among the creosote brush.

Day 99

I went out on a three and a quarter mile walk. The terrain was flat hard-packed sand with no rocks so it was good for a brisk walk but that was about all it had going for it. There wasn't much variety in plant life and no signs of illegal migrant activity.

The remainder of the day was overcast which made for a very pleasant day just sittin' and readin'. I did pack away my military mummy sleeping bag. I didn't think I'd have a need for the added warmth anymore. It wasn't necessary to even turn on the heater in the morning.

Day 100

After a hundred days on the road I felt confident that life on the road as a nomad was the life for me.

I walked down Wild Woman Wash with high expectations of something interesting to see or find and became bored with it after a half of a mile. I climbed the other bank and came across a barbed wire fence which I followed back for a mile. There was just nothing much to see or find. I did find two old style coffee cans with their lids still in place. Back at camp I took the lids off with no damage to the cans. Unfortunately there was no hidden money, no treasure maps, no vintage coffee.

Day 101

What started out as a walk across the highway to the roadside rest area turned into a three and a quarter mile walk down the highway and back where I found a woman's Arizona driver's license. It expired 2/22/2015–two weeks shy of a year ago. She was two years younger than I. I Googled her name when I returned to camp and found no foul play. Now why would it be lying along the highway? The rest of the day was spent eating and reading.

Day 102

I wanted to go back across the highway and hike along the base of the mountains thinking the illegals may choose that avenue for travel (less exposed) but decided to put that off until tomorrow. I stayed in camp trying not to eat so much thus ruining my dinner, like I did the evening before. I gave my Antarctic book− _The Worst Journey in the World by Apsley Cherry-Garrard_ −to a camper down the road whose wife told me he would enjoy it. I returned a crime paperback to the free book bin near the camp host and started on another crime book. More people were showing up but it remained peaceful and quiet.

Day 103

The hike along the base of the mountains revealed nothing. I was perplexed as to how the illegal migrants passed through the area toward Ajo ten miles distant in a straight line, within sight from where I was camped, and not leave any evidence behind.

Day 104

People came and left each day. I walked around home base looking at people's set-ups finding a real nice campsite at the far west end of the permitted camp area. Someone put a lot of effort into the rock art, creating narrow walking paths and even built a free-standing fire place.

Back at camp I frustrated myself more with the archery. Tomorrow I would move on towards Yuma, possibly staying at a BLM place thirty miles east of town.

Day 105 – 108

The overnight stay at Whelton, Arizona was good for just that, one night. It was a small area, nothing to go hiking around and explore. A couple of abandoned trailers sat there so that said something. The morning was greeted with gunshots in the distance and bullets whizzing overhead. I pulled out and stopped at Jack in the Box where I ate my breakfast, my food, not Jack in the Box food. I did try their teriyaki chicken salad for dinner the afternoon before which was quite tasty.

The task was to hit the four motorcycle/ATV shops in Yuma hoping to find a new sparkplug for the Motoped. The first place I stopped was a small shop that appeared to just sell parts and service. I showed the guy at the counter my slip of paper with the NGK plug written down. He acted familiar with the plug and felt they should have one and sure enough they did. I explained my problem and that this was my last resort. He asked how many hours were on the motor when I had mentioned it was near new. He felt it was just in need of a valve adjustment which was "common for these little motors when brand new". Better still he said they could do it if not today then tomorrow. Wow, I never expected such an easy solution to the problem and the fact a shop could do it so soon. I tried the plug and still no start so I began to unload the bike. Soon all four guys in the shop were out checking out the bike. They were familiar with Motoped and had seen them online but never seen one in the flesh. They were a great bunch of guys and I left the bike saying to them "Now no hot-dogging around". The shop guy said he could have it done easily by today. I said "Cool, I have some shopping to do so no pressure." Walmart was right across the street which was handy. I then had lunch at a Subway, searched out a Dollar Tree then stopped at a Big Five sporting goods store. The shop hadn't called yet so I thought worst case scenario would be my having to overnight at Walmart if they hadn't got to the bike yet. I stopped by the shop and the bike was sitting out front leaning up against the wall. I walked in and he said "Hey there, all done. Runs fine." I was stunned. I never expected everything to work out as it did. It was in fact the valves which the guy said he couldn't believe how tight they were.

I left Yuma crossing back over into California for the Quechan Indian Casino. I thought there was some BLM land there or a larger area of Indian land but it wasn't like I had figured. It was tight, uneven ground, congested and more than I wanted to deal with. I wound up staying below the casino parking lot along with some other RVers. It was a very nice evening in the mid-seventies all night long. I kind of thought about walking across the border the next day into Algadones but just as in the past when I came through here, my heart just wasn't into it. I figured once over there I'd be asking myself _What am I doing here? What was I thinking?_ Also, the fact I was back in California did not agree with me for it was like a sign that this trip was coming to an end. I decided to go back in Arizona.

I had two places lined up along the Colorado River where I had stayed in the past. The first at Mittry Lakes had individual spots hidden among the reeds and bulrushes. Most were taken and being it was a Saturday things didn't look too promising when all of a sudden I came upon the primo spot. It was situated on a bluff looking out over the lake with another smaller lake behind. I had camp all set up only then to discover _No Service_ on the phone. I knew this would be uncomfortable in time. The day was still young so I broke camp and continued on north along a washboard gravel road at a slow pace for Senator Wash. I could see scads of RVs in the distance all the time and finally crossed over the Colorado River towards Senator Wash entrance. Once there I saw it was now a LTVA (long term visitor area) designated area which required a fee. And too it was way too much hustle and bustle all packed in not to my liking. Now I was quite a ways north of Yuma and didn't cherish the idea of the slow crawl back down that gravel road. I drove east, hit Highway 95 and turned left for Quartzite. An hour later I was back at my first stop way back in December, Roadrunner. There were about as many campers as there was when I had left, a good sign. Soon I settled in and had a bite to eat.

The next morning Sunday, I did my usual routine having woken up almost an hour before sunrise. In no hurry I eventually went for a ride on my newly tuned bike. It now started up so much easier and ran like a top. After making a wrong turn into La Posa South LTVA I back-tracked to La Posa North LTVA pulled in to meet up with my ex-coworker who was preparing to leave for home. I hung around watching him packing up all the crap they bring. I must have been there a couple of hours and they were still not done. Boy, I like my simple RV life. I said good bye, rode back to camp and enjoyed the rest of the day with the sun peaking in and out of the clouds beings pushed by a brisk wind out of the north. I hope the wind would go away for the remainder of the week.

Day 109

My friend had showed me his solar powered motion detector light he bought at K & B Tools on vendor row. I had been thinking about this especially after learning that campground host Al had one of his generators stolen last week while I was away. I compared what the vendor had to others online and the prices were comparable. I rode the bike into town and bought the light. I clamped it onto the ladder at the rear of the RV, laid the mini solar charging panel on top and let it charge all day. Most of the rest of the day was just enjoying being here living this life and not having to drive back to northern California as were my friends.

Day 110

The first night at Roadrunner I reloaded the bike onto the rack so it would be safer. The previous night I had triple-locked it and covered it while out on the ground. The new security system wasn't in operation due to my not understanding how the thing worked. It went on when I switched to _auto._ That morning it did the same but I waited and it finally went off! Great. Now I knew you have to let it run a cycle once switched on.

I rode the bike west towards some mine workings at the base of the mountains. I never rode out that way when I was here back in December. John told me there were some good mines to explore there, and there were. The kind of mine shafts you can walk into, where it gets very dark and your mind begins to conjure a bunch of _what ifs._

I returned to camp for lunch and while sitting outside eating and looking at the bike it dawned on me– _can I turn the seat post around to make the seat closer?_ I did and this gained me two extra inches. I couldn't recall if the seat post was like that when I received the bike or I had turned it back early on in trying to fit myself to it. I also dug out the little tire compressor to put some air in the tires. I didn't know if I had ever used the compressor since it was purchased in 1994. It took several attempts to get it to work and I figured it was just my error in not connecting it correctly for when it was correct it pumped good.

The day began overcast and cooled but cleared up to be real pleasant. I planned to go explore the mine area and the canyons more the next day

Day 111

My butt was sore. I put in nineteen miles scouting out new dirt roads of which one eventually became too steep for the little Motoped and I walked the final hundred yards to the top expecting to see a grand vista, but it was just a view into another canyon. The seat adjustment worked well though. I found a pet cemetery for the locals living nearby. It was sad to think about and of course I thought of my Sinbad. I'm glad I didn't have to bury him in the desert far away from his home. Oh how I miss him.

Day 112

What a wonderful clear sky morning. I could run out of bread before I moved from Roadrunner so that was a good excuse to ride the bike into town. I secured the fuel can in back and bought a gallon of premium gas for when the bike ran into reserve, this time I would know for sure what my miles per gallon would be. While in town I thought about checking out the other hardware store in town. It was a nice little shop, Herb's Hardware, and I vowed to go there from now on instead of the Chinese Ace Hardware. I bought some rubber conduit line clamps to secure my tool box back onto the bike. Back at camp I discovered I had no nut and bolt assortment with me. Just another item to add to the growing list of things I need to have with me while full-timing. I scavenged two fittings from my _Traveler_ license plate and mounted the small life raft tool box on top of the rear rack instead off the side. I liked this arrangement better. On the ride back I had the idea to mount that license plate I found at Anza Borrego behind the saddle bag to give it something to lean against. But when I reattached the bag I must have done so differently for now it rides on the gas can mount nicely. So I zip-tied the license plate to the top of the rear rack as it was a perfect fit. This would act as a mudguard and something to set things on if I bungee them to the rack. With all this done I felt good about all my improvements and decided to do some archery. I finally lost an arrow for good.

Day 113

I found the arrow. It was in plain sight off to the left. That morning, in the wind, I burned up the plastic stuffing from burlap target bag and planned to use an old pillow instead, as it would take up less room in the motor home. Maybe when I returned home I would buy a proper archery target.

Today's ride was just to see how the new placement of the tool box worked and try to burn off some gas down into reserve and get a reading on the miles per gallon.

I headed for some low hills nearby only to find I had already been there before at some point in time. Yet I did discover a new mineshaft which I had missed before. It was a small hole and had a carpeting of rodent poop in it. I thought it best not to go in and stir up dust laden with mouse crap. I toured the two lower LTVA camps eventually logging in seventeen miles but still was not into reserve, but close.

The winds picked up and the next day would be rain. I loaded the bike on the rack, covered the seat and saddlebags and would let the rain give the bike a good washing.

Day 114

I tore apart the RV. I removed everything from the overhead bunk area and I watched if any moisture came in. Unfortunately it didn't rain all that hard for a good test. Radar showed later in the afternoon maybe. I put some of my emergency food rations up in the plastic tray that had been sitting there empty for years. Just the lightweight freeze-dried foods. I also pushed the slide-out all the way to have more room which seemed like not a bad idea to do on rainy days when I am confined. That would keep the potential for cabin fever in check. One thing I did online today was looking at the cats out there available for adoption. There was a young Sinbad clone in San Jose. I wasn't ready just yet.

Day 115

I began the day with a three-mile walk followed by another ride to burn off gas in the bike. Finally out at Dome Rock camp I switched to _reserve_ and kind of grew nervous for the ride back not knowing how far I could go on _reserve_. I made it back the five miles and figured I would carry the fuel can with me and run the tank dry. This way I would know my range for _reserve_ and will know just how much the fuel tank held. At any rate when I switched I had traveled 186 miles on one gallon of gasoline. That is very hard to believe but I am ninety-nine-percent sure I hadn't botched it up in some way as before. [I had]

Day 116

Again a morning walk and back onto the bike. I took off towards the LTVA camp and dumped all my trash off then came back and I still hadn't run out of gas so I kept riding. And I rode and rode and rode eventually getting tired and hungry I called it quits after twenty-seven miles. Add the five miles yesterday and that was a long way on _reserve_ and it still had more miles to go. The sun was out pretty much all the time today and that was nice. I repaired the sole on one of my riding boots which was flopping off before I left on yesterday's ride. These are old original Banana Republic desert boots, still serving me well.

Day 117

Today just had to be the day to run the tank dry. I took off for the dumpsters five miles up the road, came back and was still going. So I continued on and finally, it ran out of gas. Whew! I knew now I could go thirty-nine miles on _reserve._ I filled up the tank and learned the tank wasn't quite a one gallon tank. I never made a note of that when I first filled it up after delivery thinking I would remember I guess. Back at camp I measured what I couldn't get in which was about two cups worth, or a pint. In the end I logged 186 miles per gallon, 167 miles on a full tank. Hard to believe that little bike can do that. [Yep, don't believe it! I had the figures all fouled up.]

The rest of the day was enjoying the seventy-five degree weather wearing my sandals.

Day 118

I walked along the highway just to see what there was to find. I did bring back a floor mat as I had just been looking online for some sort of mat to set the kitty litter box on under the table making it easy to clean up the litter storms if the new cat is anything like Sinbad was. But once back at camp after cleaning up the mat it just wasn't that nice looking to have inside the RV.

There was a wispy cloud cover with a healthy breeze, not quite as nice as yesterday but still beats being at the house.

Day 119

The day started out with a lot of prospect for a nice day but then a breeze came up early from out of the north, a cold mass of air. I rode the bike for a run to the dumpsters and that was about all I could endure with the wind chill. I was disappointed as I had a ride along the highway planned. So it was just hanging around camp and prepare to pull out the next day.

Day 120

No hurry to go but was still on my way by nine-thirty, California time. A stop at the two hardware stores provided me with no proper screws for the tool box on the bike so I would finish out the trip using the plastic fittings from the travel cat license plate. I discovered another ding and dent grocery outlet but it and my go-to scratch and dent stores didn't have the lemon pepper spice or any pastries I wanted. I stopped at the Subway in Loves Truck Stop for a sandwich and drove on out from Quartzite for Ehrenburg, just inside the California/Arizona border along the Colorado River.

The little town of Ehrenburg was nothing. I ate half my sandwich there then went to look for camp four miles south of the Flying J where Christa said she was. I drove three something miles and found myself dropping down into a steep wash on a rough one lane road. This was not what or where I wanted to be. If someone was coming from the other direction there would be a situation. A half mile in I decided I needed to get out of there. I found a turnaround just then and headed back up and out relieved that no one was coming down. I continued on the flat road a bit further and there off in the distance to the right sat a lone little red car–Christa. This was a nice spot. I met some other people here including a YouTuber I follow, Caravan Carolyn who I follow as she too travels with a cat.

Day 121

I was prepared for a cold morning but it wasn't too bad. I could have got by without putting up the Reflectix window panels. It was a morning for a stack of flapjacks. With that in my belly I took off for a hike that ended up being only two and a half miles long but if I could iron flat all the gullies I went up and down in I bet it was three miles. Christa left for Phoenix, a three-hour drive, as she thought she had found a solar panel that would fit on top of her car. I wished her good luck in that.

Neighbor Tom came by, we got to talking about solar among other things. Solar is always a main topic with nomads. When meeting a fellow nomad for the first time the conversation usually follows the line of _where are you from? are you full time? and how much solar do you have?_ Most times it is well into the conversation or just before you say good-bye you get around to exchanging names. I went over to his van as he had one panel of what I wanted get two of. When I went around the back of his trailer I recognized it from the RTR. It was a homemade job he bought. I had passed it several times but never went up to it as it appeared no one ever was home. Now I was given the tour. It turned out he didn't care for the Dollar Tree milk (long shelf-life milk) and gave me his last quart. Score! This would get me through my time here without resorting to using dry instant milk.

Day 122

I began the day with a little walk through the camp then took the bike down from the rack when I returned. I had a bite to eat then took off to explore for future rides and hikes.

I went out that narrow road I should not have taken the RV on and it was just as rough on the bike. I rode on a ways then turned back to check out a walk-thru along the fence line. It turned out to be an archeological site. I had to check this out. Midway through the walk the top of my head itched so I took off my helmet to scratch while I continued walking. I went to put my helmet back on and realized the key to my bike was no longer in my hand. I had dropped it! Panic set in. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ Here I was miles away from camp and I had lost the key to the bike. I back-tracked to where I thought I began to unbuckle my helmet, eyes glued to the rocky ground all the way...nothing. I was just about to turn around and start all over thinking maybe seeing it from a different angle would help and there it was! I caught the bright sun reflecting off the metal carabineer clip that SHOULD HAVE BEEN CLIPPED TO MY BELT LOOP! The only thing that really saved me was that I was walking a well-worn path in the carpeting of small rocks. Had I been meandering around among all those rocks I would have never found the key. Seriously, I need twenty-four hour supervision.

And guess what? There was nothing to see. No remains of dwellings, no pottery shards, not a single sign of anything of archaeological importance. _What the...?_

The bike came with two keys and I never knew what to do with the second key so it had been stashed away inside the RV. I knew NOW what to do with that spare key! It would be stashed on the bike for when stupidity strikes me again. [As I review and edited this for an eBook two years later I read I had hid the spare key on the bike...somewhere. _I did?! Just where in the hell did I hide it?!_ ]

I came back to camp and stayed put trying not to do anything stupid for the rest of the day.

Day 123

Light showers this day that started at noon. I verified the distance on a two-mile loop for my morning walks then did some reorganizing till the rain began and I had to close the door. A scrambled egg sandwich, some YouTube watching, work on my current drawing then some reading. That pretty much summed up the day.

Day 124

The rain ended and the sun returned. I let the ground dry out some before taking the bike out again. It was my morning two-mile walk around the same loop, some visiting, a piece of toast then back out for a three and a half mile hike mostly in the wash to the south of camp. I found nothing except some beavertail cactus about ready to blossom and a bowling ball. I left the bowling ball there.

Day 125

It was a wonderfully clear sky morning with bright sunlight hampered by a light cold wind from the north. Some people pulled out today for BLM land at Lake Havasu but I didn't want to go there for my time was drawing to a close in a week and moving wasn't really worth the effort.

I finally braved the elements and rode the bike for a thirteen-mile round trip up into a canyon to the east. Unfortunately no mines or anything else of interest was found but I enjoyed riding my little bike which continues to perform very well given the demands I put upon it.

Day 126

I rode west towards the Colorado River then down the levee until I could go no further. The bike turned over seven hundred miles on the odometer just before arriving back at camp. It was another one of those days when I ruined my dinner by eating too much during the day. Cheap RV Living.com Bob Wells (the RTR founder) came by as I was out talking with neighbor Tom just as the sun was setting. Bob asked to see inside the RV and then asked if I would want to do one of his tour interviews for his YouTube channel. I was honored that he asked but politely declined which he said was quite all right as many people do.

Day 127

I hiked out to the archeological site to look around and see if I missed anything from the other day. Nope. Nothing there. On the way back I walked the wash and came across a beautiful Western Diamondback rattlesnake. I saw him before he saw me. I like it that way. On the return I passed by where Bob had told me they were doing a solar panel install on a woman's mini-fifth wheel RV. The woman was Brenda who I later realized I was camped close to me at the RTR. I met Doria and her husband who were helping the installer. They had a new Winnebago Travato, a class B van and planned to go check out their rig another day. They had an electric bike so we would compare bikes. Another nice warm day but the wind never ceased although it could be worse. No complaints.

Day 130

I had made no entries to my journal since I hadn't added to the blog. I wanted to leave the rattlesnake photos on the front page of the blog so people I meet here can see the snake without searching back into the blog. Day 128 was a bike ride on the back trails to the Flying J but I was stopped a half mile from getting there by soft sand. Day 129 was windy and not that nice to go out to do much of anything. This day was a bike ride further out Cibola Road where I soon found myself in the Yuma Proving Grounds for a few miles. It was well posted about not going off the road in the YPG due to the unexploded ordinance. Back at camp the wind knocked over the bike and bent the pedal crank arm! The pedals would not turn without hitting the motor casing. The only thing I had with any leverage to bend the arm back was my long handled axe and fortunately it did the job. Lesson learned: be aware of parking it in the wind and bring along a long pipe or metal bar for such a need.

Day 131

The day began with a slow three-mile hike then a ride to the Flying J to fill up the bike and spare gas can. It took three quarters of a gallon on eighty-nine miles which equates to hundred eighteen miles per gallon. That seemed more accurate than the outrageous hundred eighty-six. Whatever I did wrong the last time I didn't know. After lunch I rode on out to see if I could find my way to the Chevron station off in the distance. I did and found no frontage road back to Ehrenburg so I had to back-track the power line road. I only missed one turn towards the end. I really should start taking the GPS with me on these longer rides that include several turns or risk getting lost.

Day 132

This morning's walk I took a different route which brought me to an abandoned camper. I looked through the window and spied a wall clock lying on the cushions still ticking. I could use that in place of the hard to read little digital clocks I had. Back at camp I got involved removing excess wire coming from the solar panel. In doing so I may have helped the incoming amperage a little. Meanwhile the clock, a quartz movement, ticked and ticked and ticked, annoyingly loud. I didn't think I could deal with that ticking sound. After awhile I was able to deaden the noise some with memory foam rubber. I jury-rigged the clock up on the wall without having to drill any holes. It was now easier to see and the lack of noise was better. I decided to keep the clock and would do a better mounting once back at the house.

Day 133

I met more people today on my morning walk which made me wonder the next time I come across individuals, would I remember their names. I had to keep in mind it was just as difficult for them as for me and in the long run I may be better at it.

Today's ride I went back on one of my earlier rides to take the turn-off towards the word YUMA that was spray painted on a rock. This was a rougher route than the dead-end canyon branch and eventually I turned around as the ground became soft and I was getting beat up. On the return trip I went on a different track as I neared camp and came across a Desert Tortoise in the gravel road. This was just as exciting for me as was the rattlesnake find.

It was eight-four degrees and the next day would be in the nineties through the weekend when unfortunately I would have to begin my journey home.

Epilogue

I left the desert and my friends two days later and began the long journey for home, not looking forward to it in the least. But once I pulled onto the highway I slowly got into traveling and gradually began to feel better. It was good to be on the move. I will always have the nomad spirit in me. I had a lot of time to think the following two days while driving, planning out all that needed to be done for my transition into a fulltime life on the road nomad. It became an exciting prospect I looked forward getting started on.

I arrived at the house on Monday after doing some grocery shopping first. Pulling into our little senior adult living community and it was like nothing had changed at all in the past five months. And it was nice. I felt I could be easily seduced in resuming my old way of life living there. But I knew different now. Walking into the house I immediately became overwhelmed with all that needed to be done before I could leave once again...for good.

Ten days later I had accomplished a lot. A whole hell of a lot! What I had envisioned taking weeks or a month or more to do was now all behind me. It was difficult to sort through, donate and throw away one's life but in retrospect it was liberating, for after all it was just _stuff_. Stuff I hadn't used or stuff I completely forgot I even had over years of hanging onto it all for no apparent reason other than sentimental attachment. The reality is that you do not own stuff, stuff owns you.

A few nights I'd wake up at one of so in the morning thinking about things, unable to get back to sleep so I would just give up, get up and resume work once again. I cleaned out the garage of everything nonessential to house upkeep meaning tools. My closet full of clothes, much I hadn't worn in years was donated–eight large plastic bags full. I left behind a lesser amount for my ex to dispose of for I didn't have the courage to do so myself. My study I completely cleared out except for my library of books which she said I could keep in there. Now I felt less pressed and could now look at the little decisions I needed to make all the while eager to be on the move once again.

Two weeks on all my online orders were in and I was just waiting for one more delivery–a composting toilet. No more going to dump stations! During this period when dry weather arrived I removed the air conditioner from the roof of the RV installed a three-speed Fantastic vent fan in its place, a perfect fit. I rarely used the air conditioner and would have to be plugged in to shore power or run the generator to operate it anyway. My days of being plugged in at RV parks were behind me now. I also installed two one hundred watt Renogy solar panels which went well having the air conditioner out of the way on the roof. All that agonizing over the charging of batteries and how much solar I needed was now behind me. I learned what I needed to know at the RTR and talking with people with solar panels. I made the right decision in the end. Lastly I took The Little House on the Highway in for its 100,000 mile service. In the meantime a lot of little projects and upgrades got accomplished in the RV. One improvement was removing the passenger seat and installing a litter box cabinet, an end table cabinet designed for the home, for my new travel companion Beans a two year old tortoise shell cat whom I adopted April 9th. She's such a sweetie and she's going to have a great life exploring America.

Author's Note

If you are reading this, thank you for coming this far.

The eBooks following _Sinbad and I on the Loose_ are the series of _Beans and I on the Loose_ books chronicling the adventures on the road with my new travel cat Beans. At the time of this writing there are three books published.

Book One (2017) - _Getting to Know You_

Book Two (2018) - _A Hot Mess_

Book Three (2019) - _Seven Months of Summer_

Each book covers a one year period of travels.

I welcome you to download all my eBooks for free and follow along on our adventures in exploring America.

Thank you and happy trails.
