Chapter 14

Into California for Real

February 13; packed up to leave Yuma and looking forward to getting a good nights’ sleep at our next destination, Catalina Spa and RV Resort in Desert Hot Springs, California, away from the noisy traffic outside our bedroom. This was a short drive of 171 miles that got us to the resort around noon. Desert Hot Springs is about 20-some miles from Palm Springs, which is interesting for walking on sidewalks where Frank Sinatra and the Rat Pack groupies walked.

It occurred to me that there must be some sort of ordinance in the area that mandates that everything that’s located in the region must have the words “desert”, “palm” and/or “springs” in its name. Or “date”!

Driving from Yuma to Desert Hot Springs not only brought us back to California, but we were also able to reclaim the hour we had left behind when we left California in September. Time zones!

We had planned to stay at Catalina for five days because we had heard good things about the resort, it looked good on their web site, and we wanted to check it out for a longer stay in the future. They put us in a tight space that took awhile to back into, but I made it and we settled in. As we always do when checking out a new RV park, we walked around to compare the sites, looking for what was important to us. If we’re spending only a few nights, it’s not really crucial to have all or most of our criteria met, but for extended stays – several weeks to a month or two – we want certain things that would make the stay enjoyable:

First of all, the spot needs to be wide enough to provide space for a patio area, where we can set up our chairs and sit without being jammed up to the RV next door. RV parks are always tight, and even in the best places, we are still within ten or fifteen feet of our neighbors, although tighter spots have given us less. I also need room on the other side of the trailer so I can access the storage cabinets and have room to drain the holding tanks every few days. In some places, the slide outs on the service side have been against a fence or hedge, so whenever I had to do something on that side, I need to bring one of the slide outs in to give me room to work. Not life-ending, but a definite inconvenience. When the slide outs are all deployed, the trailer is about fifteen feet wide, so a space that’s 30 to 35 feet wide is usually sufficient. Another way to provide the needed space is if the spots are at an angle to each other. This has the effect of staggering the RVs so we have some open space in front of us when we sit outside.

Other criteria include having some nice scenery to look at, decent facilities such as a nice laundry room, pool, and maybe an exercise room. Also, we have discovered that we prefer resorts that are geared for 55+, rather then for families with kids. Don’t misunderstand; we have grandchildren and we love them, even when they were young kids, but at our advanced age, we don’t need to be constantly . . . . . exposed to them!

So checking through our list of requirements, we discovered that Catalina Spa and RV Resort didn’t check off most of our wants, so we decided to check out some other nearby places as well. We found a few other RV parks on-line that appeared worthy of a closer look, and drove over for a look-see. We did find a really nice place, then another really nicer place, called Caliente Springs Resort. This one had some nice RV spots that were big enough and provided a very nice view of the surrounding desert and mountains. But the deal closer was the pool and spas; instead of one large pool, they used a little design imagination and created a series of smaller pools that are connected by channels and covered by pergolas that provided shade, with a lot of lounge chairs around the pool. I’m not a pool guy, but I could see myself spending time just hanging out at the pool. Brenda was drawn to the mineral spring hot tub/spas, that soothe her aching joints. Before leaving, Brenda booked us for a tentative month in late 2020, as a place-holder. Later, we expanded that to three months – December, January and February – to spend most of next winter there.

Other than that, we hung around the pool at Catalina for a couple of days and later, drove over to another local date farm for a refill of fresh dates!

On February 18, we proceeded deeper into California, taking another short drive for a three day stay in Bakersfield.

Last September, we stayed at River Run RV Park in Bakersfield, and as I reported then, it was a beautiful RV park and spot that we were assigned. This time, for whatever reason, Brenda picked another RV park that was not next to a railroad switching yard like we had in New Orleans, but instead next to a high speed main railroad line. So instead of hearing rail cars being switched all night long, we got to hear railroad commerce at its best. Long freight trains roaring past us, all night long.

But it was an educational experience! I never realized that freight trains had different sounds; some were noisy as they rolled by, and some ran quieter. But they each had a unique sound. Especially at 3 am! If we would have stayed longer, I intended to catalog the different sounds in order to identify the make up of the freight train. Sort of like identifying individual whales by their calls or markings. Maybe I could get a grant for an in-depth study, which I’m certain would have important ramifications for the future. Hmmm! Something to think about!

Anyway, we were only there for a few days, and we would, and did, survive this. We didn’t go anywhere during that stay; just sat in the sun and vegged out.

On February 21, we packed up and drove to Morro Bay, on the Central Coast of California, located about fifteen miles north of San Luis Obispo. As you may recall, we spent one week in Morro Bay in December of 2018, and liked it so much we decided we would return for a longer stay – one month this time.

Our RV park – Morro Dunes – is right across a small street from the beach, and about a half mile easy beach walk from Morro Rock. A very nice location with a very nice camp site. We’re here for a month, so we will be mostly chilling out, instead of traveling and visiting lots of places. Our friends Shelly and Phil drove in from the Bay Area to spend a week here, and for a week, we did visit some places:

One day, we drove about 20 miles north to visit the elephant seal beach. We were there when we last visited Morro Bay, and enjoyed it again this time. After, we drove north again to have lunch at the inn at Ragged Point.

Another day we strolled into town along the waterfront, and had lunch at the fish restaurant on the pier. After lunch we walked around the waterfront and came across the maritime museum that had an interesting vessel on display in the parking lot.

It’s called a DSRV – Deep Submergence Rescue Vehicle. Sometime in the 1970’s a new nuclear submarine – USS Thresher – was on sea trials prior to being turned over to the Navy. During a routine deep dive, something happened and the sub got stuck on the ocean floor. At the time, there were no rescue vessels capable of going that deep to rescue crewmen from a stricken submarine. The only thing that existed were diving bells; open bottomed, bell shaped devices that were lowered by cable from a rescue ship on the surface. The diving bell would be lowered into the water, settling on the deck of the submarine, directly over a hatch. A tight seal would be made, the hatch on the sub would be opened, and the crew would then climb into the diving bell and be pulled to the surface. The bell could only hold a few crew at a time, so multiple trips were required to safely remove the entire crew.

Sounds easy, but try to imagine how difficult it was to lower the diving bell hundreds of feet into the ocean, with currents running at different depths and in different directions. The diving bell could not be steered from the surface ship, it could only be lowered and by maneuvering the ship, moved to eventually/hopefully mate with the deck of the submarine, directly over the hatch. If you want an idea of the problems involved, try this: tie a string around a rock, or other heavy object. Find a flowing stream about five feet deep, and place an open jar on the stream bed. Stand over the jar, or sit in a boat and try to put the rock into the jar by moving the string around.

There was no way that the crew could be rescued with existing equipment, so the Navy decided that, with the new, deeper diving submarines, a better way needed to be developed to rescue submariners in deep water. The DSRV was the result of that effort. It is self propelled and steered, just like a regular submarine, and it’s small enough to be flown anywhere in the world where it is needed. Two of these were built, and the reason I’m spending so much time on this is because I worked on one of the two DSRVs that were built.

In the 1970’s I was working at Sun Shipbuilding in Chester, Pennsylvania, just south of Philadelphia where we were living. I was one of the Project Managers working on the construction of the pressure hull and the test chamber to test the ability of the pressure hull to withstand the enormous pressure in the deep ocean. The pressure hull is inside the outer shell in the photos, consisting of three balls that are welded together, and where the crew sits. I could go into a lot of detail about the pressure hull and the test chamber, but you might not be interested in hearing it all, but if you are, email me at ronorving@gmail.com, and I’ll tell you the story. If you’re interested in heavy construction, I believe it’s a fascinating story of assembling and handling really big and really heavy pieces of steel.

Another day, we visited El Moro Elfin Forest Natural Area, 90 acres that has been stabilized and restored with native plants. Owned jointly by San Luis Obispo County Parks and California State Parks, much of the restoration and maintenance is done by the Small Wilderness Area Preservation (SWAP), Los Osos/Morro Bay Chapter. A one mile boardwalk loops around the property, allowing visitors to see everything without damaging the plants or the ground. The area has sand dunes that have been stabilized by the native vegetation that includes California Lilac, Mock Heather, Lupine, California Sagebrush, Gooseberry, Manzanita, and Pygmy Oak, to name a few. The boardwalk reaches an elevation of 125 feet, and several view points provide views of Morro Bay, the estuary and, of course, Morro Rock.

On Saturday, we got up at the ungodly hour of 7 am to drive to the Piedras Blancas (White Rock) Light Station. The light station was built in 1874 and first lit up in February, 1875. The tower was originally 100 feet tall, but an earthquake in 1948 resulted in structural damage that forced the removal of the top of the tower, reducing the height to 70 feet. Today, the tower and some of the buildings are listed in the National Register of Historic Places, and is managed by the non-profit Piedras Blancas Light Station Association. By the way, Piedras Blancas – White Rock – got its name because the rock that sits just off-shore, is white from the layer of bird, um, poop that covers it.

There were some pretty heavy rainy days – a welcome for this area of California that was in a drought condition, so we spent much of the time inside, reading and listening to our CD’s. The rain usually stopped by the afternoon, so we were able to walk to the beach for a nice hike, make that: stroll. We also spent time planning the next legs of our journey which would take us back to Willits for two weeks, to visit our doctors and dentists, and to catch up with our friends. After that, we’re going north into Oregon where we will spend a few months, and maybe into Montana to visit Glacier National Park. Or maybe next year. We’ll see!

During our stay in Morro Bay, the Coronavirus raised its ugly head, restricting our activities to some degree. I guess we could have still visited some nearby sites, but with the bad weather, we were content to practice Social Separation by staying home.

During the months we have been on the road, I’ve observed a – to me – strange behavior by some of our fellow RVers:

Admittedly, we are still relatively new to this RV life, and may not be fully into the Camping Culture; most people camp to be near nature, meaning living outdoors. Almost as soon as they arrive at the camp site and after setting up their RV, they move their furniture outside and set up a homey looking patio. They lay out a large rug to define their “living room” along with patio chairs and tables, and, of course, a fire pit. Some folks even set up some plants and lights to complete the setting. All of this is fine; in fact, Brenda and I also set up an outdoor living space. We have a few reclining camp chairs, a rug and a fire pit. And we even sit outside when the weather is nice. But when the weather is cold and rainy, as it has been for several weeks, we prefer to sit inside where we have comfortable lounge chairs, a fireplace that makes heat, and a very nice music system and TV. In other words, the inside of our trailer is simply a smaller, cozy version of our last house. But many of our neighbors spend nearly all of their time sitting outside, bundled up against the chill, sitting around, talking. It could be that their RVs are too small inside to seat four or more adults in comfort, and that’s why they’re sitting outside. One of our neighbors has two adults and two kids, and every morning the dad comes outside, opens the outdoor kitchen, and makes breakfast, and the family eats outside. I guess the inside kitchen is too small.

Another possibility is that our neighbors are camping for a few days or weeks on vacation, while Brenda and I are living full-time in our trailer, so we have a different approach to how we spend our time in and around the RV. As full-timers, we don’t feel compelled to go places all the time, or spend time outside just because it’s there. Our approach is to do what we would ordinarily do if we were still living in a house; sometimes doing something, sometimes doing nothing. I guess that’s the liberating thing about cutting all ties with “normal”. We don’t need to do “meaningful things” all the time.

And we certainly don’t need to sit outside, bundled against the chill, just because it’s there!

Nearing the end of our stay, the coronavirus pandemic forced local governments to declare emergencies that imposed “shelter in place” requirements. We had pretty much done that since the beginning of the epidemic, staying in our trailer but going out for walks on the beach, away from everyone else. And everyone else was also staying away from other people as well, so there was a lot of Social Distancing going on. Our friends in Willits kept us updated on developments that included specific shelter-in-place pronouncements in Sonoma and Mendocino Counties – the entire Bay Area in fact. There was some concern about where we would be able to go with our trailer, but closer study revealed that we would be able to go wherever we needed to in order to carry out our essential business, that included almost all normal activity like food shopping, filling up the truck’s gas tank, doctors’ appointments, walking for exercise, and parking our RV at a campground.

March 22, time to move on, back to Mendocino County. We got the trailer ready for travel, hooked up and drove out of what had become a fairly empty campground. For some reason, the RV park is closing on March 23, raising the question of where full time RVers would be able to live if all RV parks closed. Fortunately, most parks remained open, with check in being done by phone.

Because it was 374 miles from Morro Bay to the Golden Rule RV Park near Willits, we decided to divide the trip into two manageable days, by spending one night at the Sonoma County Fair Grounds RV Park, as we had done last September before starting our trip. The other reason we were returning at this time was to visit our doctors. But that plan was scuttled by the pandemic.

More on that in the next chapter.

Chapter 13

On to California – For a While

January 20, up early and on the road from Fort Stockton, Texas to Las Cruces, New Mexico, for another quick two-night stay. The RV Park was located in back of a hotel, that seemed to be empty and being remodeled. We pretty much hung around the campground and didn’t explore the area, and we left on January 22 to drive to Eloy, Arizona, about 60 miles south of Phoenix. This was a one week stop, giving us the opportunity to slow down a bit as well as to explore the area and visit friends.

Nearby were the Casa Grande ruins, the remains of one of the many settlements that were built and inhabited by the Ancestral People. They were hunter-gatherers who lived in Arizona for several thousand years, and were originally referred to as Hohokam, but archaeologists now use this term to define a cultural period. As we toured through the site, I was initially struck with why anyone would want to settle in such an inhospitable place. The terrain is desert, and hot in the summer, with very little arid land. Rainfall is only several inches a year, and the ground is sandy and rocky, certainly not the rich soil found elsewhere. The Salt and Gila Rivers flow nearby, presenting irrigation opportunities that required a lot of hard work with very crude tools, to dig miles of irrigation canals to the settlements.

At this time in history, iron tools didn’t exist, forcing them to dig using what they had at hand – sticks. A Digging Stick was a stout length of wood with a pointed end that was used to break up the ground, like a pick ax, but without the mechanical advantage. After the ground was broken into manageable chunks, another tool was used to scoop out the chunks. This tool was also a stout length of wood, but with a large end that was used like a crude shovel. Using these tools, the workers dug miles of irrigation canals, from the river to the fields where they were growing their crops. Looking at a map of the area, I saw a complex network of canals that intertwined throughout the area, bringing water to every part of it. They grew corn, beans and squash, fish were caught in the river, and, of course, they had the water to drink. Other food found growing in the area included mesquite pods, prickly pear fruit, and fruit from the saguaro cactus, providing a variety in their diet. It was thought to be a good life for them, and as I thought about my original question of why they would settle in such a harsh environment, I realized that they had to settle somewhere, and as living sites went, this wasn’t too bad. I don’t believe they came to this spot intentionally, but rather came upon it after traveling through the desert for some time, and I suppose the presence of a reliable water supply from the river decided it for them. Water was everything!

At some point during their stay, they built a large structure, that took many years and man-hours of labor to build, with no discernible purpose. The structure was built with caliche (cuh-Lee-chee), a concrete-like mix of sand, clay, and limestone that was found everywhere, under their feet, and it took 3,000 tons to built the Great House (Casa Grande). The caliche mud was layered to form walls four feet thick at the base, tapering toward the top. Hundreds of juniper, pine and fir trees were carried or floated 60 miles down the Gila River to the village, anchored into the walls to form ceiling or floor joists. In recent years, a structure was built to try to protect the building from the elements. There are some clues about the purpose of the structure, such as holes in the walls that line up with the sun at certain times of the year, that could be alerts to notify them when to plant the crops. What struck me was; living near the edge, as they must have been, given the harsh environment, yet using precious resources of time and labor to construct something for a purpose that could have been achieved with a more simple device, must mean that they were, intellectually a superior civilization. But for no reason that archaeologists could determine, they abandoned the settlement and moved on to another destination. The tribe isn’t lost to posterity, because many present day tribes can trace their ancestry back to these people. But it still raises the question of why they left, after the investment of labor they made to develop the irrigation system and building the Casa Grande. One explanation that the docent gave was the soil got worn out from constant use, and was no longer fertile. Another explanation offered was that the river flow diminished, and couldn’t provide enough water for irrigation, but that begs the question of why these obviously brilliant engineers and thinkers chose to abandon years of hard work instead of investing some brain power in solving the problems they faced.

We drove through the Saguaro National Park, located near Tuscon, about 60 miles east of Eloy. The saguaro is the nation’s largest cacti, growing up to 15 feet high in just about 100 years. As we drove around, we were treated to the sight of hundreds of these majestic plants.

We spent the rest of the week visiting nearby RV parks to determine if we wanted to return to the area for longer periods of time, and, of course, re-stocking at Walmart, Sam’s Club and Costco.

The Life of the Nomad!

We left Eloy on January 29 for a relatively short drive to Yuma, Arizona (169 miles), where we stayed at Windhaven RV Park, located right on the main drag – 32^nd Street/Business Route 8. This was a four lane road that seemed to handle all of the traffic in and out of Yuma. But the park was nice enough, though not fancy. They put us in a spot that was right next to the road, giving us a clear view of the mountains that surrounded us in the distance.

But once again, I’m getting ahead of myself!

Brenda and I have a long-standing policy when taking long road trips. Well, to be precise, I have the policy and Brenda doesn’t complain, too much, about it! Whenever we start to drive from Point A to Point B, I like to keep driving until I need gas or we need a restroom. Otherwise, we keep on driving. Along the way to Yuma, on I-8, Brenda spotted a sign that announced we were approaching the Painted Rock Petroglyph Site, and casually announced that fact, expecting no sort of response or action from me. So imagine her surprise when I slowed down and actually turned off the road toward the place! “What are you doing?” she exclaimed, having never experienced anything like this in the past. “I thought you wanted to see the petroglyphs”, I replied, and she was so shocked, she didn’t speak for another hour. Or so it seemed like!

The site was about eleven miles from the Interstate, but the 22 mile round-trip didn’t bother me because we were only driving a sort distance that day, and it was still early enough that we would arrive in Yuma at a decent hour, allowing us to set up and relax after the drive. On the way to the petroglyphs, we passed an interesting installation that looked like a huge solar array, but slightly different. But we were on a mission, and I decided we would stop to look at it on the way back.

We arrived at the Site after following a two-lane blacktop road that turned into a dirt road. We parked in the parking lot and got out to walk around the site. It was rather small, with all of the rocks located around a small hill, so it was easy to take a quick tour of the place. The petroglyphs have been etched onto many rocks that are strewn around the base of the hill, and the designs consist of either geometric shapes or designs that represent things that are found in the area such as snakes, saguaro, and people. The top layer of the rock is scraped away, creating the design by revealing the lighter surface underneath.

We wandered around there for about an hour, then got back in the truck for the trip back to the Interstate. On the way, we again passed by the solar installation, and I pulled over to check it out.

Two pull-overs in the same day! Most be some kind of record.

There was no visitor center, so I walked to the small office located next to the single entry gate. There were four people there, and I declared that this probably wasn’t a facility that was open to the public for tours, and they agreed. But they did answer my questions and pointed me to a website that explains the operation and the technology: https://www.powermag.com/solana-generating-station-maricopa-county-arizona/

The 1,920 acre site is the largest parabolic trough technology project with molten salt thermal energy storage in the world. The plant is rated at 280 megawatt gross output, with about 30 megawatts from this output used for power required to operate the fluid and steam systems. Arizona Public Service purchases 100% of the power output under a 30 year power purchase agreement at 14 cents per kwh. The project cost $2 billion and began producing electricity in October, 2013.

What caught my eye about the site was the absence of conventional photo-voltaic solar panels that we are all familiar with. Instead, there are 3,200 mirrored parabolic-trough collectors (concave), each consisting of 28 curved mirrors (that’s 89,600 mirrors) that reflect and focus solar energy on a pipe that runs the length of the trough, a few feet above the mirrors, at the focal point of the parabolic trough. The entire assembly moves to track the sun, heating a proprietary heat-transfer fluid that runs through the pipe, to about 735 degrees F. A series of pipes brings the heated fluid to a heat exchanger that transfers heat to a second water loop that flashes into vapor and is directed to the plant’s two steam turbines. From there, it works like a conventional electric generating plant that uses other sources of energy, using free, renewable sunshine as the driving force. When the plant was in the process of acquiring state permits, there was concern about the amount of water that would be used and the Sierra club reviewed the project, stating that it was on agricultural land, and would use 75 to 87 percent less water than the current agricultural use. “It’s still a lot of water, but much less than it takes to grow alfalfa.”

Check out the website above to learn more.

Now, back to the original mission!

As I said earlier, we were given a site at the RV park that was right next to the highway, next to one of the park exits. The spot was tight to get into because of the surrounding campers and houses, and I actually had to drive into the traffic lane in order to maneuver into my spot, but I got ‘er done, and we settled in for a two week stay.

Despite being next to the road, the site was big, providing plenty of room to set up our lounge chairs on the patio. That night, however, we discovered the ugly truth about being next to the road: apparently, at night, on the weekends, the strip of road is used as a drag/racing venue, with cars racing back and forth until about 2 am. Even when they weren’t racing, I had the impression that Arizona had a law that dictated that all motor vehicles needed to have their mufflers removed before they could operate after dark! I had never heard so many loud vehicles outside of a race track. But like in New Orleans with the railroad switch yard next to us, we survived this as well.

There were a lot of things to see and visit in the area, and we tried to do as much as we could in the two weeks we would be there:

The Colorado River State Historic Park is located across the river from California. In fact, in order to get there, we crossed over into California for about five minutes, which is a different time zone from Arizona. So whenever we crossed into California and back, the clock on the truck’s instrument panel kept changing back and forth.

The park is the original home of the Yuma Quartermaster Depot, an Army supply depot that operated from 1865 to 1883, serving as the main supply depot for all Army forts in Arizona Territory during the Indian Wars. In 1904, the abandoned depot became the headquarters for the Bureau of Reclamation’s Yuma Irrigation Project, bringing Colorado River water to the thirsty Yuma Valley with the construction of the Laguna Dam, the Yuma Main Canal, and the Colorado River siphon. The museum had many interesting displays that were focused on the river and its impact on the area. One of the exhibits was entitled: “Where does all the water go?”, and it showed how the water from the Colorado River is distributed – the nearly 3 trillion gallons of water released from Hoover Dam:

97.7 billion gallons is used in Nevada with just over 60% for residential use, 14% for golf courses and resorts, 13% for commercial/industrial and 13% for schools, parks and others.

912.3 billion gallons is used in Arizona; more than half of the water (521 billion gallons) goes to Phoenix and Tucson the rest (391 billion gallons) irrigates 230,000 acres of farmland in the Yuma area.

California uses 1.4 trillion gallons, with Los Angeles and San Diego using 179 billion gallons, and 1.25 trillion gallons used to irrigate more than 630,000 acres of farmland in the Imperial and Coachella Valleys.

Mexico gets the entire remaining flow to irrigate the Mexicali Valley.

292 billion gallons are lost to evaporation each year, enough to sustain 1.8 million homes for one year!

A few days later, we returned to the complex to tour the Yuma Territorial Prison that was operated for a short time, from 1876 to 1909 when all of the prisoners were transferred to Florence, Arizona. When the State Assembly was considering where to locate the new prison, it was intended to be built in Phoenix, and a resolution was prepared for the body to vote on. During a break in the session, two legislators from Yuma stayed behind, and wanting to bring the prison to Yuma for the economic benefit it would provide, changed the document by crossing out Phoenix and writing Yuma above it. When the session reconvened, no one noticed the change and the resolution was voted on and approved with Yuma as the designated site.

The prison housed some of the roughest and toughest characters in the west, and was known as a desert Alcatraz. But it was also known as a country club, because, unlike the town of Yuma, the prison had electricity, a well-stocked library and good food. But the summers were brutal, with temperatures reaching 120 degrees, and the cells had small openings that prevented air circulation.

The site sits atop a hill that overlooks the Colorado river, and we were able to see how the land around the river had changed over the years, and the land is being reclaimed as wetlands. We had been at the Colorado River at several stops on our trip: a big, swiftly moving blue river in Needles, California, a small-looking brown river as seen from the rim of the Grand Canyon, and the “tamed” river downstream from Hoover Dam, in Yuma. We also saw a greatly diminished version at the Mexican border, a few days later.

One morning, before getting out of bed, we heard a loud crash nearby. And being the curious types, we turned over and went back to sleep! Later, Brenda opened the shades in the trailer and told me that there was an accident on the street, just outside the RV park. When I went outside to look, I saw a flatbed tractor-trailer lying on its side in the road, with a load of steel laying next to it. I guess that was the sound we heard. After breakfast, I went outside to watch the proceedings – things weren’t exactly moving with any sort of urgency, even though the traffic was backed up for quite a distance. The Yuma police were there, but didn’t appear to be overly interested in getting the traffic moving. There were two traffic lanes going past the wreck, but one of them was blocked, and traffic on the other lane was soon stopped to leave room for the salvage equipment to work. The right turn lane was also blocked by the wreck, but traffic could use it for a distance to turn into the gas station on the corner, in order to continue on the adjoining road. But there were also two left turn lanes near the center of the roadway, and for most of the time, these lanes were empty, because few vehicles were making left turns. And while all this was going on, the traffic cops were standing around, observing. Finally, one of them walked over to the left turn lanes and began to direct traffic onto those lanes to get them around the wreck and onward in a straight line. Surprisingly (!?) that cleared out the traffic jam.

Who would have thunk?!

Finally, two empty flat bed trucks arrived along with a large fork lift, the trailer was righted and driven away, and the steel was loaded onto the two flat beds, and the drama was done.

Ta Da!

The next day, I drove over to the local Ford dealer to get the oil changed in my truck as well as having the 23 or maybe 24 point check done; everything is working well. By this time, I had driven about 13,000 miles since leaving Willits in August.

The day after servicing the truck, we decided that we would complete our aborted trip into Mexico. If you recall, and if you don’t, read or re-read Chapter 1 to re-live the exciting “dipping our toes into Mexico” as described in the chapter.

Anyway, the Mexican border is located about ten miles from Yuma, with a small city called Los Algodones right next to the border crossing. We were advised that it would be easier to park on the U.S. side and walk across, instead of driving. A local Indian tribe operated a parking lot right next to the crossing, and for $6, I didn’t have to worry about where to park safely. So we drove to the parking lot, paid the fee, and strolled into Mexico.

Los Algodones is a town that was specifically created to provide medical care to the Yankee tourists. Literally steps from the border crossing were streets full of storefronts and offices offering dental work, eyeglasses and prescription drugs, and tourists were walking around with bags full of prescription and OTC drugs. We spoke to several people who were getting their teeth fixed or eyes examined, and many of them were returning for on-going treatments. Every few steps, we were greeted by sidewalk hustlers who tried to entice us to get our teeth fixed, buy drugs or purchase glasses. But unlike the same scene that we had encountered in cities in the north, this was kind of fun, and part of the schtick that one should expect. These guys weren’t pushy or intrusive, but they each had their own dialog that they used in a friendly, fun manner. I was inclined to engage with them, trading one-liners, and everyone enjoyed the encounter because there wasn’t the pressure to buy their stuff. There was so much competition for attention, it would have been off-putting if they were too aggressive, and because this is such a revenue generator for the town, I’m sure there were rules that discouraged aggressive behavior. One example: one guy was trying to convince Brenda to step inside his pharmacy to get something, and she politely declined, so then he turned to me and told me they had some great bargains on Viagra. I thanked him and told him that it would just be overkill. We both laughed and we continued on our way.

Fun stuff! You had to be there!

So I bought a pair of sunglasses from a street vendor for $20 – I probably could have paid less, but that was a fair price (what a bargain hunter I am), and we had lunch at a small restaurant – very good tacos for about $1.50 each, and two Mexican beers. Probably what we would have paid at a taco truck in the States. There was a street vendor selling fresh churros; fried right before our eyes. They were sold in bags for $1, $2, and $3, and I went big, for the $3 bag. There were probably 10 or 12 in the bag, and they were hot and delicious and high in fat and calories, but what the heck. Go big or go home! And we stopped at a liquor store to get a bottle of Kahlua and Bailey’s Irish Cream.

Then we changed our minds and visited some of the medical offices and got ourselves slight do-overs:

What do you think? Like our new look?!

For us, this Mexican experience was a one-time thing. We weren’t shopping for drugs, dental work or eyeglasses. In fact, we weren’t really shopping for anything; we just wanted to visit Mexico. We did, at least the shopping mall version, and that item on the bucket list has been checked off.

Because we were staying in date country, the fruit, not the activity, we visited a working date farm – Martha’s Gardens Medjool Date Farm. We had a reservation for the 1:30 farm tour, so we got there early and shared a delicious date shake. There were about 20 people on the tram, that was towed by a farm tractor, driven by a grandson of the farm’s owner. And he was charismatic and full of good information: the bayoud disease had devastated the medjool population in its native Morocco for several decades beginning around 1870. In early 1927, Dr. Walter Swingle from the U.S. Department of Agriculture went to Morocco to evaluate the disease, and he purchased and brought back to the U.S. eleven offshoots from a single female palm. In the U.S., the offshoots were planted in Nevada, under quarantine, for evaluation. In 1936, the nine remaining palms and their offshoots were released from quarantine and re-planted at the USDA date station in Indio, California. Several years later, the offshoots from these palms were removed and distributed to a few growers. A little over five years later, quality medjools began to be harvested. From what I learned, all of the medjool dates grown in the U.S. descend from the nine original palms that were released in 1936.

The above is an enhanced version of our guide’s explanation. I filled in the rest from my research, because I want my readers to be fully informed!

I was curious about the single source affect, given that I believe that any species that comes from a single source, without the introduction of new genetic stock, could develop negative traits due to the in-breeding. To verify this theory, I ran this past Helene, my own personal doctor of biology and daughter-in-law who agreed with my premise, using some scientific terms, and concluded that they were lucky that it worked.

Obviously, it did work, because the farm that we toured had thousands of beautiful, healthy date palms, that produced delicious dates.

Offshoots: as they grow, the palm produces branches that grow from the root ball, reaching a height of about six feet, and producing about a dozen shoots. They are allowed to grow for several years until it is safe to remove them from the tree. At that time, they are carefully separated from the parent tree and transplanted in a nursery where they continue to grow. At the proper time, they are then re-planted in a new date orchard.

While in Yuma, we toured several RV parks in the area to determine if there were some that we wanted to spend more time at, because we really loved the area in the winter, and the RV park we were staying at was too noisy, being right next to the highway. We did find a few parks that we will seriously consider for an extended stay next year.

On February 13, we left Yuma and drove into California, to stay at Desert Hot Springs, near Palm Springs. I’ll pick up the story in the next chapter.

Chapter 12

Leaving Florida – Back to Texas for a spell

We left Ruskin, Florida on January 8, heading back to California. We expect to be back in California on February 13 – staying in Desert Hot Springs – eventually ending up at Morro Bay in late February, for a month.

Our first stop after Ruskin was Ingram’s Marina in Quincy, in the Florida panhandle, west of Tallahassee. As the name implies, it was a fishing camp next to a big lake. In fact, the day after we were scheduled to leave, there was a fishing tournament on the lake. This was a nice campground, with all of the RV sites scattered around the large property. No rows of RVs, and plenty of room between sites. We discovered that Florida is synonymous with alligators; one just goes with the other. I was having a conversation with a local, who may have been trying to impress me with local wildlife lore, but he told me that there were ‘gators in the lake, no problem, because they don’t like being near people. He even swims in the lake, but not in the areas where the ‘gators like to hang out.

Whatever; I don’t intend to test that claim!

We were there for two nights, to avoid having long drives every day, and while we were there, I was continually monitoring the weather where we were heading. I learned that a winter storm – Isaiah – was heading our way, coming from the west, where we were heading in the next few days. We were driving to Mobile, Alabama on January 10, about the time that the storm would arrive in Mobile. The weather channel reported that there was the possibility of heavy wind and rain as well as the chance for tornadoes, and after our near miss in Arkansas in October, we weren’t eager to repeat the tornado experience. The forecast also predicted that the storm looked like it would weaken considerably by the time it reached the Florida panhandle, and it occurred to me that it might be better if we stayed put for a few extra days, until the storm weakened, and we could safely travel. But after discussing it for a while, my fearless wife convinced me that it would be okay if we moved on as scheduled, into the teeth of the storm.

Ah the life of adventure with a fearless wife!

So on January 10, we got up at the usual ungodly hour of 6 am to pack up and leave. As always, I emptied the tanks and disconnected and stowed all of the hoses, saving the electric connection for the last. Electricity is provided to the trailer by connecting a heavy 30 amp cable between the campground’s electric supply and a three pronged connection on the trailer. As always, I twisted the electric plug to unlock and remove it from the trailer socket, and I came away with one of the electric prongs sticking out of the plug, having been ripped out of the socket. For those who aren’t professional electricians, the simplest way to describe the situation is to say: “This isn’t something you want to see!” Without a usable connection – and this definitely wasn’t – it meant that we wouldn’t have 110 volt electricity until it was repaired – we would still have lights inside, but this would draw power from the battery, and I had no way to recharge the battery without 110 volt electricity. We would still be able to use the stove, because it uses propane from our two propane tanks, and the fridge would use propane as well. But without electricity, we would be able to last one or two days before we needed to get some real electricity. But like everything in life, that wasn’t as easy to fix as it sounded because we were hitting the road, not knowing where I could get the repair done, and, there was a major storm heading to our next destination which only complicated things.

But, as always, life do go on, so we hooked up the trailer and began driving west, into the unknown. As we were driving, Brenda applied her phone/search skills to locate a repair shop that happened to be in the town we were traveling to; a place called Theodore, Alabama, just west of Mobile. I described the situation to the guy on the phone, and asked him if he had the parts, and would they be able to install it for us when we arrived. He said he did and would, and I thanked him and told him we expected to be there in about an hour and a half. An hour and a half later, we pulled into the shop’s parking lot and saw that it was of an impressive size. About one hour after parking in front of the shop and shutting off the engine, the part was replaced, I purchased a new cable, and we were whole again. We drove about a mile to get to our campground, set up and hunkered down to watch the approaching storm on the weather channel.

It was scheduled to reach us early the next day, and, it did. We watched reports of tornadoes just north of us, and there was some destruction and a few deaths, but once again, we missed the worst of it. There was heavy wind and rain, but nothing serious where we were.

I have to admit, that growing up in the northeast – Pennsylvania – I had a rather dim view of any place in the deep south. I guess watching the civil rights events in those states left me with an impression of the people and the general atmosphere in that part of the country. But our experiences in Louisiana, Alabama, Texas and the Florida panhandle showed how wrong stereotypes can be. The people we met were nothing but friendly, cordial and helpful, and the fact that this repair shop took the time to take care of me, as an unexpected drop-in, was something that I never expected to experience, anywhere! And considering the circumstances, I would have expected them to charge us more than they did.

We left Theodore on January 12, having used the 11^th as a rest day, and we continued on to Lafayette, Louisiana, to a town called Duson, staying at Frog City RV Park. By this time the storm was to the east of us, and no longer a threat. Once again, we had two days scheduled in Duson, and while we were there, before leaving Louisiana cuisine, we had lunch at a small restaurant nearby. Brenda ordered crab cakes on a bed of etoufee, and not knowing, I asked the waitress what etoufee was. She explained that it was a thick tomato/cream sauce with a protein such as crayfish, shrimp or chicken – maybe alligator. This one had crayfish, and it sounded good, so she ordered it. Turned out it was actually delicious, and we took home an order of etoufee that I used with our Saturday breakfast of mashed potatoes in a bowl, covered with the etoufee and topped with two eggs over easy. Yummy!

On January 14, we left Louisiana to drive to Brookshire, Texas, just west of Houston.

Another off-the-subject note: Several of the RV campgrounds that we have stayed at were not the “resorts” that we had also visited. The smaller campgrounds had residents that were full-time, most of them working people who were able to live inexpensively in their RVs, and the campgrounds didn’t have any amenities, other than a place to park a trailer and laundry facilities. In fact, in Florida, Louisiana and Alabama we saw many small, no-frills RV Parks that were inexpensive alternatives to conventional housing. These parks had RVs and Park Models – single wide manufactured homes. In places where we have lived, these parks were often not nice properties, and they carried the stigma of trailer trash. But for some reason, maybe because these properties were so prevalent and acceptable, and well maintained, I didn’t have the same reaction as I would have. I also learned that many of the residents were transient workers; skilled craftsmen who move from place to place to work on projects – usually construction – while living in their RVs. And it got me to thinking about the homeless problem that exists almost everywhere in the country. There have been many proposals to establish small communities of “tiny houses” or trailers that would house these folks, but most of these ideas were rejected because of the fear that such places would destroy the community. NIMBY! Having stayed at several of these campgrounds, and interacted with the residents, I can say that these fears are unfounded, and providing places for them to live in their trailers or tiny houses would be an ideal solution to homelessness, without the perceived negative impact on the surrounding communities. Even though some of our new neighbors may have been living on the edge, by some standards, they did take pride in their homes, and were respectful of their neighbors.

This RV park – cleverly called Houston West RV Park – was kind of nice, with a large pond that was home to water birds. Not much more in the way of amenities, but a nice place to spend a few nights.

We left Brookshire on January 16 and drove about 220 miles to Buckhorn RV Park near Kerrville, through a raging thunderstorm with near zero visibility. This was the same place we had stayed for the month of November, and in fact, they put us in the same spot we had before. But we were just staying for three days, so we only had one day to hook up with Jonathan and Helene. On that day, we visited the Lyndon Johnson ranch and homestead, located in – wait for it – Johnson City, about 50 miles between Kerrville and Austin.

The ranch was known as the Texas White House, and before he was elected to Congress. Johnson had a runway built on the ranch so he could accommodate his private plane, and at some point, the runway was extended in order to handle bigger jets. When he was Vice President, Johnson asked President Kennedy if he could have his own airplane, instead of borrowing the larger Boeing 707 that was used at the time. Also, because the 707 was too heavy to land on that runway, Johnson needed a smaller airplane, a Lockheed C-140 JetStar Business jet, that could seat only 13 passengers, giving him the opportunity to hand-pick the passengers, as well as to fly to smaller airports, like the Johnson Ranch. He referred to this airplane as Air Force One-and-a-Half, and it’s on permanent display at the ranch after having been rescued from a scrapyard in the Arizona desert near Tucson, where it had been mothballed and cannibalized for parts. It was refurbished on the outside to look like new, trucked to the ranch and parked next to the Johnson Museum on the ranch, under an open-air hanger, on the same spot where it was parked in the 1960’s.

We left Kerrville and drove to Fort Stockton, Texas for one night before leaving Texas for New Mexico. One of the reasons we stopped in Fort Stockton, aside from being a convenient distance, was the steak house in town, where we had a few really good steaks. The RV Park was called The Hilltop RV Park because it was, well, located on the top of a hill! Duh! While the park itself was nothing special, the elevation, combined with the flat terrain all around, provided a spectacular sunset and sunrise.

The next morning, January 20, we left for Las Cruces, New Mexico, where we picked up the hour that we had left there when we were traveling east in October.

And that brings us to the next Chapter!

Chapter 11

Florida

The campsite at the River Oaks RV Resort was fairly typical of the places we have stayed in the south, with lots of trees to provide shade on hot, sunny days. I guess most people want this type of site, but I have a problem with trees if they block a direct view of the TV satellites in the southern sky. Since we pay a monthly fee for DishTV, I want to have it available when we’re parked. Our spot was facing a pond, and the trees were lined up behind us, and when I checked with the compass on my phone, the trees were just encroaching to the south, but maybe I still had a clear shot. So I spent some time mounting the dish and turning on the TV to let it acquire the satellite, but it didn’t work, no matter where I placed the dish. It wasn’t a problem to watch TV because there was a good cable TV setup at the campground and we were able to watch our programs, but not record any movies. The downside was that we had just paid the DishTV bill for that month, and we wouldn’t be able to use the service. On the Annoyance Scale, this wasn’t exactly the End of the World, but it was wasted money.

The general perception when RVing is that everyone spends most of their time sitting outside. That’s what camping is all about. Right?! And that is true, to some degree. We have stayed at several campgrounds where about half of the campsites had people sitting around a fire. But this part of our trip was during late autumn and early winter, and although we were in the southern part of the country where the weather was generally warmer, it was still cooler after dark, and we had storms that made sitting outside undesirable. In addition, even when the weather was warm enough to sit outside, flying insects were an annoyance, forcing us to retreat inside. Another factor is many of the RV’s that we saw while shopping for ours had furniture that wasn’t lounge-worthy. We have two very comfortable reclining, swivel lounge chairs, just like we had in our house, unlike many RV’s with more utilitarian furniture, so maybe sitting outside is more comfortable for them. Of course, this is a simplistic theory, but for us, it’s sometimes more comfortable to sit inside reading, listening to our music or watching TV, and for that, we need the amenities of a regular home.

For the record, we do enjoy a glass of wine outside on our patio.

But other than this minor inconvenience, we happily settled in for our month long stay.

I had decided to wait until our long stay in Florida to get the truck mirror fixed. I had intended to take the truck to a Ford dealer because I have had good service experience at Ford dealers, and there was one about 25 miles away. But when I spoke to the insurance company, they told me there was an authorized service shop about 6 miles from my location, and if I used them, the bill would be reduced by $100. I wasn’t clear on where the reduction would be applied, because I still had a $250 deductible that I was responsible for, but saving a longer trip worked for me. So I drove over to the repair shop to get the paperwork started and was informed that the guy who does insurance estimates was out until the following week, and I needed to make an appointment to get the estimate. I was beginning to get a funny feeling about the whole thing, but I figured I would work with them. The shop looked professional enough and I wasn’t getting any bad vibes, except about the delay. So I went back the following Monday to get the estimate, and in about half an hour it was done. This was December 18, and because of the upcoming holidays, they wouldn’t be able to make the repair until January 9, the day after we were leaving. He also told me that I might need to rent a car because he wasn’t sure how long the job would take to complete – you never know what problems they could run into. As a side note, the estimate had 1 ½ hours for labor, so how long could it take? But because they wouldn’t be able to take care of me until after we left Florida, I thanked him and told him I would go somewhere else to get the work done.

I got back to the trailer and called the Ford dealer, and arranged to come by the next day. It was now into Christmas week, and people were taking days off, the dealership was closed for several days, and we were running out of time before Brenda & I left Florida. It turned out that the insurance company claim processor was also taking some time off, so there was a lot of scrambling to get the paperwork done and to arrange for the check to be issued to the repair shop. Long story short, I brought the truck back two days later, after they called to tell me the part had arrived and they were ready to go. I parked the truck in the parking lot, walked inside and found the guy who was handling the repair, and gave him the keys to the truck. He invited us to relax in the waiting room and have some fresh brewed coffee, and they should be done shortly. Brenda and I got our coffee and settled in the comfortable chairs to read our Kindles while waiting, and I was just getting into the chapter when the guy stepped into the waiting room and told me it was all done. It was no more than 15 minutes! So we walked to the desk for me to sign the papers and pay my deductible, when I said I would like to see the finished product, you know just to see it!

It was perfect. And the guy at the first shop was telling me I might need to rent a car!

So that was done. Next, I had an appointment to get my eyes injected for the regular three month treatment for macular degeneration. Traveling as we were created a potential problem for regular checkups and treatments, but we found that our doctors in California were able to refer us to other doctors wherever we would be in the country. My doctor in California had recommended a doctor in Sarasota, about twenty five miles from where we were staying, and I made an appointment for December, while we were in New Mexico. I went to my appointment, and the procedure went smoothly.

Here’s an interesting side bar, for me at least, about making appointments while traveling. I use my iPhone calendar to post all of my appointments and future events. Despite my earlier resistance to technology, I now regard this as one of the most useful tools at my disposal. So during the month of October, while we were in New Mexico, I made an appointment, on the phone, for December in Florida. I then entered the information on my phone’s calendar, inputting the date and time for the appointment. The appointment was scheduled for 12:30 on December 17, so I entered that information. Several days before the appointment date, I received a call from the doctor’s office to confirm the appointment for the 17^th at 12:30. While I was on the phone, I switched the screen to access the calendar to verify the time and date, and saw that the time that showed was 2:30, not 12:30. So I mentioned that to the gal on the phone, and she repeated the scheduled time to be 12:30. After the call, I went back to the calendar to try to figure out how I had made the mistake of entering the time incorrectly. I went to the appointment entry and clicked on it to expand it, and saw that there were two times entered: 12:30 Mountain Time (where I was located when I first entered the appointment on my calendar), and 2:30 Eastern Time, where the appointment was to occur, and we were currently located. And, of course, those two times occur simultaneously in different parts of the country! I then checked other appointments that I had recorded, such as doctor’s appointments that we made for March in California while we were located in another time zone. And again, there were two time entries: the correct time but wrong time zone, and the correct time zone for the appointment, but wrong time. I guess I needed to change the time zone designation when I made the entry, but wasn’t able to after the fact. It will be interesting to see how the appointments display when we reach California.

Wasn’t that the most fascinating discussion ever!?

The time we spent in Florida gave us the opportunity to hook up with family and friends during the month we were there:

Brenda’s sister Julie and her husband Henry flew down from New York to spend some time with us, and we had several days of really great restaurants and quality time.

We drove over to the Atlantic coast to stay overnight, visiting with Brenda’s brother Joe and her niece Lysia. It was a brief but nice visit. On the way back, we swung by to see my sister Carole and Nason before they left for Shanghai for their son Arnon’s wedding.

We met up with friends from Pittsburgh – Sam and Hanna and Sol and Lin, and friends from Philadelphia – Pete and Sana. We hadn’t seen Pete and Sana for over 20 years, and our Pittsburgh friends we haven’t seen for two or three years. It was really great seeing them all.

And once again, it was the perfect opportunity to eat at some really good restaurants.

And, of course, we got to spend time with our son Adam and the grandkids. We drove into St Petersburg to spend a night at the Hyatt where Adam works, and to take in some of the local scene. And we enjoyed seeing West Side Story that our grandson Sean was in.

Our campground was located near Sun City. These retirement communities are located around the country, and we were curious about what they were like, so we dropped in for a visit. I was surprised to learn that it wasn’t a structured community like the independent living and assisted living communities that we have visited. There was no staff to provide daily activities. This community was a large neighborhood of privately owned homes, “governed” by a committee, sort of like an HOA. The residents owned or rented their individual houses, and the houses varied in size and cost; just like a regular neighborhood. The developer provided certain amenities such as swimming pools, hobby rooms and fitness centers, and certain other features were added over the years.

The houses range in size from about 1100 square feet to over 2000 square feet, and the prices were commensurate, in the $100,000 to maybe $400,000 range. The houses themselves were typical Florida bungalow; single story and simple design. Nothing wrong with them, for having been built in the 1950’s. They were all located near or next to lakes, with open land around them, providing a nice environment. The amenities were superior, in my opinion. There was a really nice wood working shop, as well as pottery and other crafts. All of the craft shops were equipped with very good equipment, and, for me, the wood working shop would be a really cool place to spend time. But we had just sold our house a few months ago, and were not ready to own another house any time soon.

It was a nice venue, but not for us at this time.

While there, we visited a few other RV parks in the area to get a sense of what’s available. We visited a new place that was due to open on December 1. It was empty and still under construction, but we could see that it would have large sites and amenities, but would cost about $2,000 per month. A little rich for our blood! We visited another RV park that had many permanent structures, called Park Models. They were all nice, but also a little too expensive.

But we did have an alligator sighting at one of the parks. As we were driving through the park, Brenda spotted some water birds that she wanted to photograph. I stopped the truck and she got out and walked towards the birds, near the water’s edge. After taking some shots, she gestured to me to come over. I did, and she pointed out the alligator that was sitting in the water about five feet from where she was standing. The ‘gator didn’t move or even seem to be aware of our presence, so she took a few pictures of him and we left; just in case he finally did notice us.

At another campground we visited, I noticed several signs on the property that said: “Don’t feed the alligators”. I asked the woman behind the desk if those signs were for real, and she told me that because this was Florida, alligators are found everywhere. She also said that some of the residents liked to feed the gators, which creates a dangerous situation.

Oh well, that’s Florida!

On January 8, we were ready to move on to new adventures.

Chapter 10 Texas to Florida

Sunday, December 1, time to move on. Our plan was to drive to Florida, with necessary stops along the way – it’s about 1200 miles from Kerrville to Ruskin, Florida, where we will be staying until January 8 – so the first stop was Baytown, Texas, a trip of 293 miles to the east side of Houston. This was a one night stop, so we didn’t do anything except settle down for the night. It was a nice campground, right next to I-10, but the traffic noise wasn’t too intrusive, and we had a nice night’s sleep.

Got up around 6 am and packed up for the next leg which was 204 miles to Abbeville, Louisiana for another one-nighter. It was interesting to notice the change in scenery as we drove east. Louisiana was flatter and marshier than anything we had seen so far. We drove over causeways that ran through swamps, but try as I might, I didn’t see any alligators.

The Abbeville campground was in the woods, and fairly empty, so we again had another nice site. But as I was backing the trailer into the space, a strange thing happened – something right out of the Wizard of Oz, in fact! Remember when Dorothy and the Tin Man, the Scarecrow and the Lion were walking through the woods and came across an apple orchard? They stopped to pick some apples, and the trees came to life, chastising them for taking their apples. Well, something similar happened to me; as I was backing the trailer into my spot, one of the trees jumped out at me and smashed the passenger side mirror. Just jumped out! The damage was confined to the mirror, and I guess, even with insurance it will cost a couple hundred dollars, but the sound of the crunch as the mirror contacted the tree is a sound I don’t want to hear again too soon.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it!

And everything had been going so well. Since leaving Willits in the beginning of August, we have driven nearly 3100 miles, towing the trailer, with no mishaps. I guess the odds caught up with me. Oh well, we will be spending a month in Florida, and that will give me the chance to get the mirror replaced. Other than that, we spent another restful night in the woods, and the next morning, up again at 6 am to drive 156 miles to New Orleans, where we planned to stay for three nights.

We had planned on visiting New Orleans, mostly because Brenda had always wanted to go there. Of course, NO is known for food, music and wrought iron balconies, as well as a certain vibe, so I was looking forward to experiencing it all in the few days we would be there.

We arrived at the campground around 2 pm, Parc D’Orleans (very French), leaving plenty of time to set up and drive around a little, to scope things out. The campground wasn’t anything special – really small with about 20 or 30 spots, that were very narrow and close together, and located in what was not the nicest part of town, right on a main street. Brenda found out later that this campground had originally been built for VW bus campers, and the sites were sized for them, making them very tight for modern RVs. But because the campground was less than half full, we had our pick of spots, and I was able to park the truck in the camp site next to the trailer.

So after setting up, we hopped in the truck and set the navigation system to take us to Bourbon Street in the French Quarter. It was about a seven mile drive, and the traffic was starting to build up because it was the beginning of rush hour in a big city. We found the French Quarter and drove around through the narrow, crowded streets, looking at things. Because it was still early, the crowds had not yet built, and also maybe because there had just been a shooting in the area the week before after a football game. There was no place to park, and the traffic was getting heavier, so we decided to head back and return the next day. The return traffic wasn’t as bad as it could have been, so it was still early when we got back to the trailer. We decided to try some of the local cuisine, and stopped at a place that the campground owner had suggested. This was a place that we probably wouldn’t have considered stopping at, but we were on a culinary adventure that required that we try new things, to get the flavor of the local scene. Let’s say two things happened as a result: 1) we didn’t die from the experience, and 2) hopefully, this wasn’t an example of typical New Orleans cuisine.

Enough about that!

When we had pulled in to the campground that afternoon, we noticed train tracks next door. We had camped near railroad tracks before, and it wasn’t too bad. This, however, was an actual train switch yard, with about a dozen sets of tracks and literally hundreds of rail cars waiting to be assembled into freight trains that would travel around the country. All night long, the rail cars were shuttled back and forth, just feet from our heads. Diesel engines roaring, and cars coupling and crashing into each other. After a while I had to laugh at the absurdity of the thing; there wasn’t anything we could do about it and as the night wore on it seemed as though they were trying everything they could to come up with new noises, each one louder than the last. It was as if they were saying:”Let’s try this!” Strangely enough, we did manage to get some sleep, so it wasn’t a total loss, and only added to the adventure.

The next morning, we got up and had breakfast, and I went outside to empty the waste tanks. As usual, I had connected the waste hose to the in-ground sewer connection, like they have at every campground we visited. This one was busted, preventing me from making the tight, leak proof connection I usually make. But nevertheless, I checked that the nozzle was firmly stuck into the sewer connection, weighted down with a rock, and opened the valve for the black tank. It emptied as expected, down into the sewer, never to be seen again. Then I flushed the black tank with fresh water to clean it out some more. So far, so good. I closed the valve from the black water tank and opened the valve for the gray water tank – the one that holds the relatively clean, soapy sink and shower water. Everything flowed into the sewer okay, until it didn’t! The water started to back up out of the sewer inlet, until the whole area was flooded. By the time I was able to close the valve, there was gray water everywhere. Fortunately, it wasn’t the black water from the toilet! We notified the owner and he spent the rest of the day cleaning out the clogged pipes, something he told us he had never done in the 25 years he owned the campground.

I’m sorry to report that no pictures were taken for your enjoyment and edification.

After alerting him to the problem, we drove into the French Quarter again. We had considered taking a bus that ran right in front of the campground, but that would have taken about 45 minutes each way and we weren’t familiar with where to get off the bus or on for the return trip, so we decided to take our chances with parking, and drive into town. As it turned out, traffic was not bad at that time of day, and I found a parking spot on the street, right in the middle of the French Quarter on Decatur Street. It was metered parking, so we bought two hours for $6. Not a bad deal.

We walked around taking in the sights; Brenda was particularly drawn to the wrought iron balconies which are the iconic symbols of New Orleans. I found them to be interesting, but how many wrought iron balconies does one city need? I remember when we were living in Pittsburgh, there was a lot of building remodeling going on – mostly commercial buildings, and for some reason, the prevailing style “required” that a mansard roof be part of the design. It got to be a little silly, when just about every renovation had to include a mansard roof, which is a French design that was popularized in the 17^th century. In case you weren’t aware, Pittsburgh isn’t a French themed city! At least not after the French and Indian War in the mid 1700’s.

Anyway, it struck me that the wrought iron balconies were some of the same; nice enough, but how about trying something else?

Editor’s Note: In case you weren’t aware, I can be a judgemental SOB!

The thing that struck me was the French Quarter is a walking area, it sure isn’t made for vehicular traffic, but the sidewalks are uniformly in horrible shape. People in Willits were always complaining about a few spots in the downtown sidewalks where tree roots had lifted portions of the sidewalk, but the sidewalks in the French Quarter were absolutely hazardous! Picturesque, but dangerous.

We stopped at one of the “must visit” places: Cafe Du Monde on Decatur Street for beignets and cafe au lait. Beignets are French donuts that are smothered in powdered sugar – what’s not to like!? For $15, Brenda and I each had a cafe au lait (coffee with hot milk) and three beignets, with powdered sugar spilling over everything. They were delicious, but basically they were warm, crunchy donuts, and not something that I would drive 3,000 miles to have. We did finish every morsel, however!

After, we strolled over to the open air French Market and looked at the many food offerings and, because it was too late for lunch, we decided to buy some pralines (these were more cookie like and less candy – very good) and we also shared a boudin on a stick; a sausage made from pork and rice. An interesting taste, with a crunchy casing.

We walked around the French Quarter taking everything in, and tripping over the paving stones, passing some interesting shops and listening to music coming from everywhere. Most of the music was pretty good; people set up on street corners to entertain the folks. I guess it gets really energized and exciting after dark, when the crowds build up and drunk people wander around making noise.

Am I getting too old for this stuff?

All together, it was in interesting visit, and we were able to check one more thing from the bucket list. When we got back to the trailer, around 4 pm, to miss the traffic again, our guy was still working on the sewer system, and because I wasn’t interested in following him around to monitor his progress, we settled into our cozy little home for the evening. Later, around 6 pm, he knocked on the door to inform us that the sewer lines were clear and working well, and he would like to give us another night for no charge because of the inconvenience. As tempting as it sounded to spend another night next to the rail yards, we did have a reservation at our next stop and couldn’t afford to spend the extra night.

It wouldn’t have killed him to refund one night’s stay! Whatever!

The next day, Brenda decided to expand our culinary experience, and informed me that we were having lunch at Two Sisters Restaurant, a few miles from where we were. It was a Soul Food restaurant, and because we are big fans of Soul Food, eating it at least once a week – yeah, sure – and being in Louisiana, I agreed to try it. It was actually pretty good; we both had stewed rabbit (smothered) with yams and rice and a delicious corn bread. I’m not a big vegetable eater, but whenever I’ve had soul food, the vegetables were always delicious. I guess it’s cooking them in lard that gives the great flavor.

We left on Friday, December 6 to continue on our eastward journey, 263 miles to a town called DeFuniak Springs in the Florida panhandle.

On a side note, we left two days before the San Francisco 49ers played the New Orleans Saints, and driving around town with our California license plates might have made for another unwanted adventure!

We stayed for one night at Bass Haven Campground, a small spot located on the shore of a large lake. It was very nice there, and we drove into town for some takeout ribs. A good night’s sleep.

The next day, was 242 miles to High Springs, Florida, finally turning the corner and heading south through the center of the state, and we were now in the Eastern Time Zone. We stayed for two nights at High Springs because we would have arrived at our final stop in Ruskin, Florida on Sunday if we had stayed only one night in High Springs, and the Ruskin campground was closed on Sunday. Timing is everything.

So we finally arrived at the campground in Ruskin, where we would stay until January 8.

October 25, we packed up to leave Fayetteville for the 309 mile trip to Sanger, Texas, about 60 miles northwest of Dallas. We decided to stop in Sanger for a week on our way to the Austin area where we will stay until December 1.

Dallas is where our oldest friends (oldest in how long we’ve known them, not that they’re old) Anita and Mark live. Brenda and I “adopted” Anita over 40 years ago when I met her at work in Pittsburgh, and brought her home with me, because she was a transplant from New York. And also because she was kinda cute and I didn’t have any daughters of my own! While it hasn’t been a constant relationship – it might be years between when we see each other – it is one of those special relationships that always pick up where we left off, with no gaps in the continuity. But because of their busy schedule, we were only able to spend a few hours with them, but it was well worth it.

We stayed at the Wagon Master RV Park, just outside of Sanger; the RV park is noted for the herd of alpacas that they raise for their wool. The alpacas are fed every day, and the park guests are invited to join in. About 20 campers gathered at the gate to the large fenced in pasture, and after a brief description of what was about to happen, along with the ground rules that must be observed, we all walked into the fenced in area to meet the critters. They were kind of skittish, because they are prey animals and don’t feel comfortable being touched or petted on their head, but if we let them study us on their own terms, I found several of them coming up to me to take a close look.

The campground was very nice, with large sites for each RV. As we drove in, we noticed that the metal roof on a barn had been peeled back. We were told that the same tornado that narrowly missed us in Arkansas, had ripped off the roof when it went through Dallas.

Our site was a pull through, which meant I didn’t need to back into the space, and the center of the space was covered with a thin layer of gravel. But it wasn’t quite wide enough to prevent me from driving into the mud that filled the rest of the site. As a result, I was constantly walking in the sticky mud that covered my shoes, and rubber boots, forcing me to wash them off and find some place for them to dry out until I could wear them again. I’m usually pretty adaptable, and I’m very seldom thrown off by any misadventures, but for some reason, the damned mud really upset me. Silly, I know, but it was one of those things that really annoyed me.

We had dinner with Mark and Anita at a very nice TexMex restaurant near their home. The food was good and the company, brief as it was, was excellent. As we were leaving their home, Anita presented Brenda with a package of pistachio pudding. As you might expect, there’s a story behind this:

Anita freely admits that she isn’t big on cooking, but in the early days, when she was dating Mark, she invited Brenda and me to join her and Mark for dinner at her apartment – she’s making dinner. While I don’t recall what Anita prepared, I do remember that it was pretty good, and I enjoyed every bite. For dessert, Anita make pistachio pudding in individual servings, for each of us. The pudding was good, but the servings were . . . . . robust! Each of us had a soup bowl of pudding. I’m talking a package worth of pudding; about a pound apiece. After a stunned but polite silence, we started to eat the pudding. We were deep in conversation as we ate, but I remember a constant movement of my spoon from the bowl to my mouth, until I became aware that everyone had stopped eating and talking, and were staring at me with collective mouth agape.

What?!

They started laughing and pointed out that while there was still a considerable amount of pudding left in their bowls, mine was empty.

But other than the mud, we enjoyed our time there, exploring the city of Sanger and its charming downtown. The weather was unsettled with some rainy days and cold nights, but it cleared for Halloween night. The RV park had activities that included a hot dog dinner and a hayride for trick or treating. The campers were advised to turn on their outside lights if they wanted to be visited by the trick or treaters, and leave them off if they didn’t. Brenda and I bought some candy to hand out, not knowing how many kids to expect, and I turned on our outside lights. A little after 6:00 pm, a hay wagon, pulled by a farm tractor, stopped next to our trailer and about a dozen kids in costume jumped out and came running to our door. Brenda met them and handed out the M&M’s, they raced back to the hay wagon and were driven away to their next stop. And that was it! No knock on the door by teenagers at 9:30 after we had run out of candy and shut the outside lights. Halloween at Wagon Master RV Park was a very civilized affair.

Because of the weather, we didn’t do much more exploring, and we left on November 1 to drive 300 miles to Kerrville, Texas, about 100 miles west of Austin and 65 miles northwest of San Antonio.

Kerrville is a pretty little town with a population about 23,000, and the county seat of Kerr County located in the Texas Hill Country. The town was founded in the mid 1850’s, centered around shingle making. The Guadalupe River runs through the middle of town, or more accurately, the town was built along both banks of the river, creating a lovely urban forest/park that has been developed by the City. A dam was built at some point, creating a wide, relatively deep river upstream. I don’t know what the river looked like before the dam was built, but the current configuration makes for a waterfront park that any city would be proud of.

As I write this part, we have been here for almost one week, and so far we have just hung around, taking it easy. The weather has been sunny and warm – high 60’s to mid 70’s, but today it’s rainy and cooler, with more rain expected in the next few days. Yesterday, Brenda spotted a guy from an outside company washing and waxing an RV in the park, so she inquired and we discussed it, and decided to get our trailer washed and waxed. I have avoided wanting to pay someone to do something that I would ordinarily do, but it had been several months since I washed the trailer, and I didn’t wax it, so we decided to bite the bullet and spend the $255 to get it done. It is our home, and we have to invest some money to keep it looking good; they did a great job and the trailer is lookin’ fine. Of course, it is raining today, so . . . .

But we are enjoying just sitting around, cozy in our home, with the fireplace warming the space, while we read our Kindles and listen to some of our jazz CD’s. I ventured out for an hour to visit the gym in the campground; I have not worked out in several months, and I really need to get back on it.

We took a drive into Fredericksburg, about 25 miles away, to visit Fort Martin Scott and the Texas Rangers Heritage Center. Twice a year they hold living history re-enactments with costumed volunteers explaining the history and features of the fort. The fort was the first U.S. Army outpost built on the Texas frontier and was in operation from 1848 to 1853. The fort was used briefly during the Civil War by Confederate troops, but was later abandoned and purchased by a local family as a farm. The City of Fredericksburg bought the property in 1949, making it into a local attraction. The enactment was interesting, and we spent a lot of time speaking with the enactors about life at the fort during its day. We were treated to several firings of a field cannon, and I enjoyed questioning some of the soldiers about the characters they were playing as well as a little about their real lives. One of the fellas was portraying a First Sergeant at the fort, and when I mentioned that he looked like he was retired military, he told me he had 30 years in the Army as a First Sergeant, and had served in Iraq.

The Texas Ranger Heritage Center is located next to the fort, occupying a striking stone building and hall. We were greeted by a man in typical Texas attire – boots, vest and ten gallon stetson – and we spent two fascinating hours discussing the history of the Texas Rangers and life on the frontier in the 1850’s. The Rangers were originally formed as a sort of private security group, that was organized by one of the first developers in the region. Sort of like Dell Webb with his own army! He was granted huge tracts of land by the Mexican government, and subdivided it into smaller units that he sold to the settlers. Like much of the land related transactions in the history of the U.S., the developers and settlers neglected to consider the rights of the original inhabitants of the land – the Indian tribes of Texas. Naturally, when hordes of people began to arrive and establish farms, ranches and towns on Indian land, the Native Americans were understandably annoyed, leading to violence from both sides. So because of the danger from attack, a corps of ten men were formed to protect the settlers. They were the original Texas Rangers. Over time, the Rangers grew in number and became part of the Texas law enforcement agency. Today, the Texas Rangers is a division within the Texas Department of Public Safety with 234 full-time employees, and their mission is to serve as the investigative arm of state law enforcement. Our guide was a retired Texas Highway Patrolman, and he told us that membership in the Texas Rangers is subject to a strict vetting process; not everyone who wants to join is accepted.

We finished up a good day by driving into town and treating ourselves to some home made ice cream. As the girl behind the counter put ice cream into my chocolate coated waffle cone – cherry vanilla – she showed me the filled cone and asked if that was enough. It’s never enough, but I had never been asked that question before. Then she told me that they charged for the ice cream by weight and it became perfectly clear to me.

After, we drove home and cleaned up before driving into Kerrville for dinner, at a place that Brenda had found. It was a micro-brewery, called Pint & Plow. The menu was small, which is often a good thing; make a few things well. Brenda ordered a Reuben, which was probably the best Reuben we had ever eaten, ever. It was so good, Brenda asked if we could buy a half pound of corned beef from them. Neither the owner or the manager were there, so we spent another 45 minutes waiting for an answer from their text messages, while we each enjoyed a second beer. Finally, it was getting late and it looked as though they weren’t getting an answer, so we decided to pay the bill and come back another time to see if we could buy the corned beef. Just as we were checking out, we got word that we could buy a pound of corned beef for $10, about half of what we would pay at a deli. All told, it was a great day!

As I write this part, it’s the beginning of our last week here, and next Sunday, December 1, we will be leaving to drive to New Orleans then to Florida, where we will stay until January 8. Over the last few weeks, we have explored this area, and visited several points of interest:

In Fredericksburg, we were joined by Jonathan and Helene to visit the Pacific War Museum re-enactment. The World War II Pacific war is an important part of Fredericksburg history, because Admiral Chester Nimitz was born and raised there. Nimitz was the Commander in Chief, U.S. Pacific Fleet and Commander in Chief Pacific Ocean Areas, meaning that he was in charge of all U.S. Naval operations in the Pacific during the war. Victory in the Pacific was due in a large part to his leadership.

The re-enactment was interesting, from a military/theatrical point of view. The site encompassed several acres, and was set up as a typical Japanese island stronghold, complete with caves, bunkers and gun emplacements. There were enactors in both Japanese and American Army, Marine and Navy uniforms, and they all fired real WWII weapons, loaded with blanks. Even though nothing lethal came from their guns, except the real flames that came from the real flamethrowers, the noise, smoke and fire were real enough. A lot of what I saw was similar to the training I received in the 1960’s when I was in the Army. It wasn’t just a shoot-em-up demonstration, but an historical explanation of the contributions that everyone made to the war effort, both at home and in the military.

Prior to the shooting, we were introduced to several men and women who represented the non-combatants who stayed home and ran the factories, stores and farms that supported the war effort.

Interestingly, the Japanese portrayors had the opportunity to explain their perspective on why they attacked the U.S. fleet at Pearl Harbor, that brought America into the war in 1941. What was explained is information that I had heard before; Japan was aggressive in Asia, fighting with and defeating Russia and China, that alarmed many of the Western powers. Japan has virtually no natural resources of their own and has always been dependent on other countries for oil and other raw materials, and when the other nations cut them off because of their aggression, Japan was forced to become more aggressive in order to survive. That’s not an excuse, but in hind sight, perhaps there was a bit of racial discrimination when dealing with the Japanese, coupled with a seeming unwillingness to try to work something out with them. Unfortunately, the same thing seems to be happening today; negotiate to a point, then start shooting!

Watching the battle in real life, 50 feet in front of me, was an interesting experience. Naturally the Americans won and captured the island, and like all little boys, the fire and fury was kind of exciting to watch. But when the Japanese flag was taken down to be replaced by the Stars and Stripes, and the crowd applauded, I felt like there was something not right for me. I guess at my age, I’m not so thrilled with war and killing as much as I used to be. It was kind of sad that we cheered when we defeated an enemy, especially when we consider that the enemy of the 1940’s is now one of our strongest allies. On another side note, when the Japanese flags were taken down and replaced with the American flag, they were carefully handled and stored without disrespecting them. Not what actually happened during the real events. Japan, after all, is our ally, and it’s not proper to disrespect their flag, even if we are re-enacting a battle against them, from 70 years ago.

Anyway, after the re-enactment, which despite my remarks I found to be well done and interesting, we all went for dinner at a Biergarten where we had good German food and beer – to keep with the theme of getting together with our former enemies!

We took an overnight trip to Corpus Christi, about a three hour drive south on the Gulf coast. Our room had a balcony that looked out on the bay, with the morning sun streaming through the sliding glass door. We slept with the door open, listening to the small waves washing up on the beach below. Anchored across the bay was a WWII veteran, the aircraft carrier Lexington, that I toured the next day.

Are you seeing an underlying military theme to this trip?

But first, after we arrived and checked in to the hotel, we drove around, looking for lunch. Brenda spotted a small restaurant called Yo! Philly Cheese Steaks & Subs. Brenda said we should eat lunch there, knowing how much I love Philly Cheese Steaks, and have one wherever and whenever I have the opportunity. But I wasn’t in the mood for a cheese steak and we started to drive by to look for something else. But as I drove by the parking lot, I noticed a Corpus Christi police car in the lot, and I did a quick u-turn into the parking lot. I figured, if cops eat there, it must be good. And it was!

After lunch, we drove across the causeway to Padre Island, a 113 mile barrier island that stretches from Corpus Christi to the city of South Padre Island, but we only drove about 20 miles to the Padre Island National Seashore and visitor center, There we learned about the program to protect an endangered species of sea turtles; volunteers gather the turtle eggs to save them from predators, and bring them to a protected place until they hatch. When the baby turtles emerge and are ready to be released, they gather by the sea and turn them loose, hopefully making it into the water before being eaten by birds! The other predators. The seashore was different than any we had seen before; many areas that we have visited have some form of grass or other plants that are being propagated and protected, but here, the plants were more abundant then we had ever seen, giving a whole new look, for us, to the beach area. It was very green and lush.

Yesterday, we drove back to Fredericksburg, this time to visit the historical museum, to learn a few more things about Fredericksburg and the local area in general. I have always been fascinated by why people settle in particular areas of the country, and I learned that this part of the country was settled by German immigrants; thus the name Fredericksburg and the plethora of German restaurants and German themed stores. Duh!

In the 1830’s, Texas was beginning to be settled due to land grants that were issued by the Mexican government. There was a need to attract settlers to the area, and German settlers were so impressed with the land, that they reached back to Germany to encourage people to come to Texas. At the same time, Germany was experiencing hard economic times, and many people were looking for other places to settle, much like the English and Dutch who settled in the eastern U.S. in the 17^th and 18^th centuries. Investors in Germany formed a land group that bought tracts of land in the Texas Hill Country, and they advertised for people to come to Texas. Eventually, that led to the settlement that became Fredericksburg. The original site, where the German settlers were supposed to go, was located in poor land that was unsuitable for farming. In addition, the land was also occupied by Comanches who weren’t willing to have anyone settle on their land, so the agent for the land corporation decided to buy another tract of land a little south of the original site, that wasn’t on Comanche land, and was more fertile and suitable for farming. They signed a treaty with the Comanche that was never broken to this day. Just goes to show you!

German was the official language of Fredericksburg, and English was forbidden to be spoken until the First World War, when speaking German was declared to be illegal in the U.S.

Brenda and I have never considered living in Texas, even though Jonathan and Helene have lived in Texas for many years, as have Anita and Mark. Growing up in the Northeast part of the country, Texas has always been a redneck cattle country that wasn’t some place we wanted to be. But the reality has been very different from my previous impressions.

Texas consists of several different regions, each of which has its own geographic and cultural characteristics. We have been in the Texas Hill Country since leaving Arkansas, and so far have found it to be very livable, although we have been told that summers here are brutal. But the scenery is green and hilly and the people are friendly and neighborly.

One night, as we were watching TV, someone banged on the door yelling: “Call 9-11”. I opened the door and saw a guy running around yelling; then he ran away into the RV park. So I put on my shoes, grabbed a flashlight and went outside to see what was happening. A few other people were starting to come outside – he had banged on several doors – and we walked down to the fitness room, where the guy had parked on the lawn. He had the front passenger door open and he was leaning in sobbing and yelling incoherently. When I approached, I saw a dog laying on the front seat and the guy was crying over him. There was another dog that was stuck on the floor, under the steering wheel, not able to get out, and he was barking. I didn’t get the sense that he was going to attack, even if he could get out from under the steering wheel, but he was upset and barking at the commotion. I asked the guy what was wrong, and he said something about 911, my dog is sick, and he thrust a piece of paper at me. I really couldn’t see everything on the paper, because it was pretty wrinkled, but it looked like a receipt from a vet. Through his histrionics, the guy said something about the vet’s bill for $800 and he was only able to pay him $100. Nothing was making any sense, so I backed away, waiting for the sheriff to arrive – someone had called it in. When the sheriff’s deputy arrived and started to talk to the guy, Brenda and I decided there was nothing that we could do, so we went home. The next morning, our neighbor told us that the deputy offered to lead him to town to the local vet, but the guy refused, so the deputy then escorted him to the county line. Our neighbor also told me that when he heard the guy bang on our door, he got his .45 caliber pistol and was fixing to shoot the guy if he did something bad to us. Thinking about it after, Brenda and I realized it was a scam; why would the vet give back a dog that he had treated for $800 and received only $100 in payment? Why would the vet turn a dog in such bad shape back to a guy who was obviously living in his car? What did the guy actually want from us; money? And why did he drive into an RV park instead of driving a few more miles into town? Anyway, a little Texas excitement!

We spent Thanksgiving in Austin with Jonathan and Helene. Jonathan gifted us with two nights at the Habitat Suites, and we had Thanksgiving at the home of their friends. It was a fun evening, with a bunch of nice folks.

We returned to the trailer on Friday afternoon and spent Saturday getting ready to leave on Sunday, driving to New Orleans with two overnight stops along the way.

Next chapter!

When last we met, Brenda and I were preparing to leave the Mendocino/Sonoma county environs (finally) and begin the venture to the hinterlands of our great nation. As I write this, we are camped on the shores of the Colorado River in Needles, California, looking across the river at the land called Arizona. In two days, we will be actually driving across that river on our way to Williams, Arizona and the Grand Canyon.

But first things first!

We left the Sonoma County Fairgrounds RV Park on September 27, and drove 337 miles to Bakersfield, California, where we planned to stay for two nights. Bakersfield has been described in some very unflattering terms, and to be truthful, the section that we drove through to get to the RV park wasn’t promising. But the campground itself was a beautiful oasis, located next to the Kern River. Our spot was long and wide, with a lot of private space (relatively speaking, for an RV park).

We were located about a half mile from a Costco – a vital component of our RV life, due to its inexpensive gasoline. And a good thing for the proximity, because I had about 3 ½ gallons of gas in the tank. As I filled up, I heard a distinct sigh of relief from Big Red, along with the admonition not to do that again.

After filling up, we drove downtown to find a Post Office so Brenda could mail some postcards, and we saw some really beautiful Art Deco buildings in the neighborhood – an unusual and unexpected sight. Other than that, we just hung out at the campsite, enjoying the weather – mid 70’s and sunny. The campground was well maintained and landscaped, with the sites well apart from each other; this is definitely a place we’ll visit again. Unfortunately, there was a huge tree at the rear of our camp site, ordinarily an asset, but this tree was to the south, thus preventing my satellite dish from acquiring a satellite. So, no TV!

As you may recall, I described the episode with the black tank flush water, to illustrate that things happen to present a challenge to the idyllic life we are leading. Well, when we arrived at Bakersfield after the long drive on some bumpy roads, Brenda discovered that a bottle of balsamic vinegar had fallen over and spilled its contents all over one of the cabinets. It took her a while to clean it all up, leaving the trailer smelling, not unpleasantly, like an Italian restaurant, but aside from the mess itself, it’s not something you want to have to deal with after a long drive.

On Sunday, September 29, we packed up and drove 268 miles to Needles, where we will stay for two nights. The trip to Needles was relatively short and easy, and it took us across the Mojave Desert which is a tad bit awe inspiring. We had first driven across the Mojave, in the opposite direction, nearly 22 years ago when we first moved to California; it was spectacular then, and it hasn’t lost any of its magic in the ensuing years. In case you haven’t experienced it, the Mojave is High Desert – kinda sandy, but not like, say, the Sahara. No drifting sand dunes, but a relatively flat terrain that’s covered with a variety of shrubs and Joshua trees. We were driving on Interstate 40, which runs parallel to the iconic Route 66, one of the first transcontinental highways. Today, Route 66 is mostly abandoned, except that periodically you can detour on to a short stretch that has some historical markers or buildings. More on that later!

But back to the desert; the road runs mostly straight and flat with the desert stretching out in all directions. It’s difficult to judge the distances, but usually there is a train track that runs near the base of the mountains, with a freight train at least a mile long. You can then get an idea of the distance by comparing the small size of the train to what you are used to seeing. Looking at all of the empty space gets me to wondering about crowded cities and a homeless population that lives on the streets. I know it may not be a viable solution to move people out to the desert or to other empty spaces around the country, but it seems to me that some sort of solution to homelessness and overcrowded cities can be arrived at by using this resource in an intelligent way, and maybe figuring out a practical method to redistribute excess rainwater from the flooded areas of the country to places that need it the most.

That’s the problem with long drives in the desert while on cruise control: too much time to think about stuff.

Anyway, the drive to Needles was only about 5 hours, so we arrived fairly early in the afternoon, and after setting up – with no mishaps – we were able to set up our chairs in back of the trailer, facing the river. I don’t recall ever seeing the Colorado River, except about 30 years ago from the rim of the Grand Canyon, and being right down on its level – up close – was a trip. My first impression was how clean it looked. The water was a nice shade of blue, and the current was flowing south very quickly.

The only other time I had seen a river flowing so fast was in the winter after a heavy rain storm or in the spring with the snow melt. But this was late September, the end of summer, and the water flowed with astounding force. This stretch of the river had some very nice houses located along the banks, and it seemed like everyone had a loud, powerful motorboat or jet ski, and they were racing up and down the river. We watched as they raced past our vantage point; first down river, then a while later, up river. Watching the passengers as they raced past was interesting, because there was no emotion on their faces. Okay, the drivers had to concentrate to prevent crashing, but facially, nothing. Not even a smile to indicate they were actually enjoying themselves. Then it occurred to me that after a few runs this way then that way, it can get a little boring. I mean, how much thrill can it be to drive on the same plot back and forth? While your hearing is slowly being destroyed by the high decibels screaming in your ears.

We drove about 40 miles into Lake Havasu, and walked on the original London Bridge. This is a pretty, touristy town that was created from empty space in the 1960’s by an entrepreneur named Robert McCulloch. For a focal point and theme, he purchased the London Bridge from the City of London in 1968 for $2.5 million when the City was about to replace the bridge. The bridge was disassembled by an Arizona contractor, all of the pieces were marked and shipped to the new site, and reassembled at a cost of $7 million and three years time. As a bridge, there’s nothing special about it; many people are probably visualizing the more architecturally interesting Tower Bridge in London when they think about the London Bridge, but it did make an interesting centerpiece in the desert, along with the other buildings, statues, walks and fountains.

Back in the 1960’s, when the town was being developed, Brenda and I were living in Philadelphia, and our oldest son, Avi, was just one or two years old. One day we received an invitation in the mail, from the Lake Havasu developers, offering us round trip airfare and accommodations for a couple of days at this new resort being developed in Arizona, at no cost to us. All we had to do was take the tour of the new project and listen to a presentation, with no obligation to buy anything. It sounded enticing, but we weren’t ready to make such a move, and a little suspicious, so we declined the offer. But it was fun to imagine what our life would have been like if we had accepted the offer and moved to Lake Havasu, as we strolled the streets almost 60 years later.

The state line that divides California and Arizona is also the demarcation between the Mountain Time Zone and the Pacific Time Zone, and as you know, there is a one hour time difference between the two zones. As we drove east on I-40 into Arizona, we passed an official road sign that informed us we were entering the Mountain Time Zone, and indeed, the clock on the truck’s instrument panel changed from 10:30 to 11:30. However, the time on our cell phones remained at 10:30. What’s up with that? The truck clock correctly changed from Pacific to Mountain time, but our phones didn’t!

I’ll give you a minute to figure it out.

Okay, time’s up. Spoiler alert: here’s the answer:

The clock in the truck is connected to the navigation/GPS system, which in turn gets its information from satellites. What the satellites tell the navigation system is that the truck just crossed a particular line of longitude, which coincidentally is the line that separates the time zones. But what the satellite doesn’t know is that Arizona doesn’t observe Daylight Savings Time, and during the months of Daylight Savings Time, Arizona and California are on the same time. On the other hand, our cell phones are fed from cell towers that know about these things, so our phones show the correct time for where we are.

On Tuesday, October 1, we prepared to leave Needles to drive to Williams, Arizona, an easy drive of 177 miles. But as I was hooking the trailer to the truck, I hit a glitch; if you review Chapter 3.2, which you will find with the rest of the posts, you will remember the fascinating description of how the trailer is attached to the truck, with particular attention to the anti-sway/load distribution bars. This keeps the truck and trailer fairly level and prevents a lot of the swaying that occurs when driving. A key component to the setup are two L-shaped steel pieces that keep the bars in place.

When I went to install those pieces, I couldn’t find them anywhere. I always put them in the same place every time I remove them, so I was baffled and highly disturbed when I couldn’t find them. I didn’t relish driving without them, because the front wheels of the truck wouldn’t have enough weight on them, and I was concerned that it could be a dangerous trip. But I also realized that after looking everywhere several times, and finding the same thing – that is, no brackets – it became obvious that continuing to look wasn’t going to change the outcome. So I decided to start driving – carefully – until we came across an RV supply store. So we started driving, slowly at first, until I was certain that nothing uncontrollable was going to happen, and then I felt confident enough to increase my speed to my usual 58 mph. It was still a little unsteady, but manageable. All the while, Brenda was searching on her phone for any place along our route that might have the part I needed. And, success! She found a store in Kingman, Arizona, about 70 miles along our route, so we stopped and got what we needed. I jacked the trailer up in the parking lot, and installed the sway bars and my new brackets, and we were on our way. With everything in place, the truck rode more level and didn’t sway; definitely a better ride.

We arrived in Williams before 3 pm, giving us time to set up and relax after the drive. That afternoon, there were wind gusts up to 28 mph, and after walking into town, we came back thoroughly exhausted from fighting the wind. In addition, we were at 6800 feet elevation, so I guess the thin air wore me out even more.

The next day we hung around the camp site, and took another walk into town. It was a little easier this time; I guess I’m getting acclimated to the altitude. Brenda was fine, being the adaptable creature that she is.

On Thursday, we walked over to the train depot at 8:30 am to get ready for our train trip to the Grand Canyon. We had decided to take the train instead of driving to the Canyon, mostly to give me a chance to relax and actually see the scenery as well as not having to deal with traffic or look for parking at the Canyon. Next to the train depot was a small western town set, with bleachers set up for the train passengers and casual spectators to watch the half hour show, before boarding the train. It was a typical “wild west” gunfight episode, with each player equipped with a lapel microphone, so we could hear the snappy dialogue.

Be nice, Ron!

It was fun, and kind of corny, but it set the tone for the rest of the day. Get everyone loosened up and neighborly for the long day ahead. The train was pulled by two diesel/electric engines and about a dozen passenger cars. Some of the cars had a domed roof, so passengers could sit on the upper level and view the scenery through the windows. Other cars were modern rail cars with large, sealed windows, but with air conditioning. And the balance of the cars were refurbished Pullman cars. These had windows that could be opened and seat backs that could be moved to allow the passenger to ride backward – sharing the space with the next seat. It’s handy for families traveling together. Each of these rail car iterations cost more as you moved from the Pullman to the dome cars, and we opted for the less costly Pullman, because it was costing enough to take the train ride anyway, and we didn’t feel that the extra cost was worth it.

The train ride took about two hours, and passed through some interesting high desert country. The rim of the Grand Canyon is around 7,000 feet, so the difference in elevation wasn’t noticeable. We had some choices at the Rim, that included just walking around in the Grand Canyon Village, taking a tour bus around the area, or, the deluxe bus tour that included a buffet lunch. We chose the deluxe option. The bus ride took us to two overlooks that we had not been to the last time we visited the Canyon, about 25 years ago. Frankly, wherever we looked, the view was pretty much the same. Spectacular!

I’m guessing that everyone has either been to the Grand Canyon or seen photos and movies taken from every conceivable angle, so seeing it in person doesn’t present any surprises. Except that seeing it up close and personal is a whole different experience. There is no way for me to successfully describe the scene, and our pictures can’t begin to capture the nuances of the place. For us; find a comfortable place to sit or stand, and just let our eyes roam over everything. There are so many shapes and natural structures to study: there are countless buttes and peaks scattered randomly about, each one with its own peculiar color and shape that was formed by the wind and rain. Each structure has a “ramp” of gravel or sand that flowed down the sides and came to rest on a ledge. The canyon isn’t just one slash in the ground, but several cuts that come from every direction, each one with its own pattern of erosion and interesting shapes. Because we had camped alongside the Colorado River in Needles a few days before, I was looking for the river in the bottom of the canyon. But it was a mile down and the canyon was about ten miles across at our vantage point, and well hidden in one of the many mini-canyons, and I couldn’t find it, until a visitor from Australia pointed out a tiny brown patch peeking out through a narrow defile way at the bottom. I took a picture but it’s still hard to see, and it looked a lot different from what we saw in Needles. We spent about twenty minutes at both bus stops, looking and taking pictures, but that was enough to imprint the sight!

The last part of the bus tour took us to a restaurant where we had a buffet lunch, then back to the train for the two hour ride back to Williams. We met some nice people on the train, who lived in Redwood Valley, about ten miles down the hill from Willits, and we exchanged names of mutual acquaintances. The husband is a retired Mendocino County Sheriff’s detective, and we shared some stories about local personalities and happenings.

Along the way, our Train Host warned us: “If the train stops, it’s likely that we will be robbed by masked bandits!” And sure enough, we saw several masked men riding alongside the train, and THE TRAIN STOPPED!! OMG! Three masked men came stalking through the cars, but despite the bandannas that covered their faces, they looked suspiciously like the cowboys we watched at the train depot, putting on the Wild West show for us. Realizing that this was mostly for the kids and maybe a few impressionable adults, my Deputy Sheriff buddy and I both seemed to acquire the same “I know this is tourist shtick, but don’t stop, keep walking” looks on our faces, so the banditos didn’t stop by our seats, and kept walking. And the peace was kept!

Being an old guy, I was looking forward to my afternoon nap before dinner, but we got back home only in time to wash our faces, change shirts and drive into town for dinner.

On Saturday, October 5, we left Williams for the 272 mile drive to Casa Blanca, New Mexico – about 50 miles west of Albuquerque. Before leaving, I checked the map and discovered that we would be driving right by a town called Winslow, Arizona, which is about one hour from Williams, on Route 40/Route 66. So being a huge fan of Jackson Browne and the Eagles, and the song “Take It Easy”, I told Brenda: “We just gotta stop there!”

A little historical trivia: Route 66, sometimes referred to as the Main Street of America, among other designations, was one of the original highways in the U.S. Highway System. Established in 1926, it ran from Chicago to Santa Monica, California, and served as the primary route for those migrating west, especially during the Dust Bowl of the 1930’s. Towns sprang up along the route, and they prospered from the travelers passing through. With the advent of the Interstate Highway System in the 1950’s, it was just a matter of time until all of Route 66 was bypassed and abandoned. The new I-40, that runs parallel to Route 66, took away just about all of the traffic, and the affected towns simply died. But several cities and towns along Route 66 acted to save their communities, as evidenced by two of the towns that we visited: Williams and Winslow, Arizona. In both of these towns, they have erected signs along the street declaring it to be Historic Route 66, along with murals and large painted signs on the sides of buildings. They have also painted huge Route 66 logos on the street itself. And the tourists flocked to these towns to take pictures and to buy Route 66 memorabilia, as well as eat in the restaurants and stay at the hotels. Supporting the local economy.

Williams used its proximity to the Grand Canyon to keep its local economy alive and well, but Winslow’s fortunes were enhanced, maybe saved, in 1972 by a song that was written by Jackson Browne and performed by the Eagles called “Take It Easy”. The song was reportedly written by Browne when his truck broke down in Winslow, but he was having trouble finishing the song until his friend Glenn Frye, one of the founders of the Eagles, helped by providing the iconic line that gave the song the finishing touch and helped to put Winslow back on the map.

The song isn’t really about Winslow, but one line made the connection that town leaders picked up as the theme song for the town, and the rest, as they say, is history. The line in the song, and I bet you can’t resist singing the words as you read them (that is if you even know the song):

“Well, I’m a standin’ on a corner in Winslow, Arizona,

Such a fine sight to see

It’s a girl, my Lord, in a flat-bed Ford

Slowin’ down to take a look at me . . . “

And that’s it! That was enough to attract about 100,000 visitors a year to Winslow, so they can stand on the corner. The city has created a Standing on the Corner park on donated land, and erected signs and statues to commemorate the fact. The red, flat bed Ford is parked by the curb, to finish the setting. Also, there was a long running TV show called Route 66 that helped to bring attention to the road.

So Brenda and I got off of I-40, at the first of three Winslow exits, not knowing exactly where “The Corner” was located, but figuring “how hard could it be to find a particular corner?” Turns out, not hard at all. We found ourselves on Old Route 66 – 2^nd Avenue – and were about to stop at the Local Information office, when I saw on a street sign right where we stopped “The Corner – 5 blocks” with an arrow pointing the way. On that day, the street was closed and detoured for several blocks because they were holding a car show on the street, so we parked and walked the five blocks until we arrived at The Corner. There were dozens of people milling around, taking pictures with the signs and statues, and of course, we joined the orderly scrum.

Do you have any idea about how long I planned this photo sequence?

Check that off my bucket list!

Back on I-40 and our next destination: Dancing Eagle RV Park in Casa Blanca, New Mexico. We were still fairly high – 5900 feet elevation – and we were really getting acclimated to the thin air.

This was a small RV park tucked into a corner next to the Indian casino. Gravel property with small sites, but not too bad overall; the weather was a little cool for sitting outside anyway. The main reason we stopped here is to attend the Hot Air Balloon Fiesta in Albuquerque. (Editor’s note: I regard this part of the trip with pride because I get to write Albuquerque over and over, without having to check the spelling!)

Tickets to the balloon events were available for the morning and the evening sessions, the morning sessions included the balloon inflation and ascent, which is the primary reason to go to a balloon event. But that session began at 6:00 am, which meant that we would need to get up around 4:00 at the latest, in order to drive the 50 miles to the balloon site, and that was never going to happen! So we decided that we would attend the evening session that began at 6:00 pm, which is a more civilized hour, and which included the balloon inflation as well as something called the Afterglow, where the balloonists run the flame into the balloons and illuminate them from the inside. We were advised to leave our campground by 2:30 in order to miss the traffic.

Even though we had planned this stop in New Mexico specifically to see the balloons, I began to have second thoughts about driving the 100 mile round trip just to see some dumb balloons, and we considered skipping this event. Instead we would visit some of the local Indian reservations. So after breakfast, we were sitting around, me working on the blog and Brenda making phone calls, that I was half listening to. She finished her calls and advised me that we should go to the balloon fiesta. It’ll be fun, and not too much of a drive. And even though we’ll get home a little late, we can sleep late the next day. How could I argue with that?

So we packed a few things in a backpack, including jackets and energy bars, and started driving east on I-40. It was kind of liberating driving on the highway without the trailer, so I quickly accelerated to the posted 75 mph speed limit, and began to eat up the miles to Albuquerque. For about ten miles, when the traffic came to a stop. We crept along for about a mile or two until we reached the reason for the traffic buildup: a double trailer had overturned in the opposite lane. It didn’t directly impact our lanes, but everything slowed down in both directions anyway. After we cleared the area, I was able to resume my speed, and we passed 5 or 10 miles of creeping traffic going in the opposite direction. I was pretty sure that the traffic would be cleared before our return trip, but you never know, and I was hoping we hadn’t made a mistake by taking this drive.

But I put those negative thoughts aside, and focused on the day ahead. We got to the balloon grounds quickly and easily, and because we had arrived well before the crowds, we were able to park right in front of the balloon museum that was within walking distance to the field where the event would take place. Since we had a few hours to kill before the afternoon session began, we paid our admission and visited the balloon museum. It was an interesting facility, being dedicated to the history of lighter-than-air flight from the first hot air balloon ascent in the 18^th century to the latest attempts to cross the Atlantic or the Pacific in gas balloons in the 1990’s. It was interesting to learn that two of the trans-Pacific flights landed in Mendocino county, within 60 miles from Willits, in the Mendocino National Forest and in Covelo.

It was getting close to the 6 pm start, so we started to walk down to the field, which was about a half mile away. The field was over 300 acres and was just a flat, open field. Along one edge, about 100 yards from the field, was a line of tents that housed several dozen vendors of all sorts, selling everything from a variety of food and drinks to every imaginable wearable and balloon themed souvenir. After strolling along and finding nothing that we were interested in buying or eating, we got two iced coffees and a chocolate donut and walked down to the field to get a closer look. It was about a half hour until things were scheduled to start and there wasn’t much going on, except for a bunch of parked pickup trucks and trailers with the parts of the balloons loaded in them. Finally, a pickup truck with a red flag on a long pole began to drive around the perimeter of the field, and I guessed it was the signal for the balloon teams to start setting up, because they all began to unload the trucks, carefully unrolling the envelopes and dragging the wicker gondolas onto the ground. The people who had parked themselves in the area had to move their chairs as the folded envelopes (the gas bags) were laid out to their full size. The teams laid out their envelopes so they wouldn’t interfere with any other teams, but because it was so crowded, some had to wait until their neighbor’s envelope was inflated and off the ground before starting their process.

And the process was: after the envelope was spread on the ground, a large industrial fan was placed at the opening of the envelope, then turned on, letting the air inflate the envelope. When it was mostly inflated, the gondola was laid on its side below the opening with the ropes that connected the envelope to the gondola, and the burners aimed at the opening. The burners were then ignited, while crew members held the bottom of the envelope open to avoid burning the fabric. Another crew member was stationed at the top end of the envelope, holding a guide rope that was attached to the top of the bag. Eventually, the air inside the envelope was heated sufficiently to begin lifting the envelope into the air, and the guy with the rope kept the bag from moving around. As the envelope continued to rise, the crew members tilted the gondola to the upright position so the now inflated envelope was floating above the gondola in the familiar orientation of flight.

Brenda and I were standing in the middle of what, at first, looked like an empty field, but as the balloons all began to inflate and go vertical, we found ourselves surrounded by about 500 balloons in various stages of inflation. We stood there and rotated 360 degrees, amazed at the number of balloons that had seemingly magically appeared; like they had sprung out of the ground! There were balloons everywhere, with little or no space between them, in every size, shape and color imaginable.

It was magical, and we continued to turn and look, while giggling and pointing, like a couple of kids.

When all or most of the balloons were inflated, and driven by the program schedule, the balloonists ran their burners at full blast, lighting up the interiors of the balloons.

After awhile, they began to shut off the burners and vented the air inside the envelopes, allowing them to deflate and re-settle on the ground. We decided that was the end of that show, and we would rather get a head start on the traffic that was sure to build rapidly, after the scheduled fireworks that began at 8 pm. So we started to walk back to the parking lot, but on the way, we stopped to watch the skydivers doing a night time jump, with colored lights and fireworks.

We got back to the truck and found that the Albuquerque police had the streets blocked off with traffic being funneled in a direction that would get everyone out of the area quickly, and we soon found ourselves back on I-40, heading back to the campground.

The next day, we drove around the reservation taking in the sights of the surrounding mountains and buttes. We wound up on a butte that overlooked the extensive valley, and who do you think we met, but Bill Cower, former head coach of the Pittsburgh Steelers. Or a reasonable facsimile.

We decided to treat ourselves to Happy Hour at the casino restaurant, which was right next door to the campground. It ran from 2:00 to 5:00 pm and featured . . . . ice cream. So after a late lunch, Brenda and I indulged in an old fashioned banana split, for $1.99 each. Happy Hour indeed!

We headed off to Amarillo, Texas (325 miles) and arrived there by about 5:00 pm. The weather was nice and it was still light enough to set up, and we had dropped in elevation to about 1100 feet (about 300 feet lower than Willits). Coming back down to earth! We arranged to be driven by limo to the Big Texan Steak House, that was next door to the campground. The limo was provided by the steak house to serve nearby campgrounds and hotels, and was a large Lincoln with longhorn steer horns mounted on the hood. Very Texas; low-key and classy! The Big Texan Steak House is famous for its 72 ounce steak; if you finish it, along with the side dishes, in 60 minutes, it’s free. If not, it costs you $75. When we walked into the main dining room, I noticed six digital countdown clocks on one wall, above a table with six chairs, on a raised platform. Two of the chairs were occupied by two young men who didn’t look too happy. Above them, two of the countdown clocks showed about 17 minutes remaining in their 60 minute challenge, and by the looks on their faces, it didn’t look like they would be successful. And they weren’t. But they did get a really awesome doggie bag to take home.

Brenda and I each ordered a 20 ounce T-Bone steak, that we actually finished, along with a large baked potato and a nice salad. The steak was okay, but not what one would have expected at a world famous steakhouse, for $28. But the meal was enjoyable, and we took home a piece of cheese cake with caramel topping, for dessert the next day.

This was just an over-nighter, and we left the next day for another one night stand in Oklahoma City, an easy 236 mile drive, and back up to 1200 feet elevation. Both the Amarillo and Oklahoma City campgrounds were nice places, with big, pull-thru spaces, and level lots. That night Oklahoma City had heavy winds, and I lay in bed listening to the wind shaking the trailer. I wasn’t too concerned about having the trailer overturn, because we had been in a heavy wind in February when we stayed near Paso Robles and were caught by an epic storm that slammed the entire West Coast, and we didn’t suffer any damage then. But it still kept me awake for a while. The next morning was bright and clear, and as I walked around the trailer, everything was tight and secure – and present.

I was able to keep the trailer hooked up to the truck the night before – that’s how level everything was – so we were able to get an early start the next morning for our final leg of this trip; Fayetteville, Arkansas, a short 242 miles, and nearly sea level.

On a side note, I found it interesting to note the difference of miles per gallon of gasoline that I was getting on various legs of the trip. For most of the time that we towed the trailer, I was getting 8 to 9 miles per gallon. Before we left Santa Rosa, I checked the tire pressure in the trailer tires and found that they were 15 psi too low, so I filled them to the recommended tire pressure of 65 psi, and for the next few legs of the trip I was getting up to 12 miles per gallon. This is a big deal for me, because at 8 to 9 mpg, it was costing over $100 every time I filled up, and I had to fill up more than once on every leg of our trips. But now, with the higher gas mileage, I was able to get to our destination on less than one tank of gas. The added bonus was when we left California, the price of gasoline dropped by up to $1.50 per gallon. This was also important because gasoline is one of the biggest expenses of our travels, and being able to save some money is very important.

We arrived in Fayetteville fairly early in the afternoon and set up on another nice, big, level lot. I guess we were both exhausted by the last three days of driving almost 800 miles, so we slept in the next day – until 10:00 am. That was Saturday morning, so we had a late Saturday breakfast – the usual eggs, potatoes and bacon, and just vegged out for the rest of the day. It felt good, and I guess we both needed the break. On Sunday, we drove over to John and Marianna Smoot’s house for dinner. It was a nice reunion, since it had been several months that we were last together, and as an added bonus, Tom and Sandy Peters were also visiting. Nice evening, and we were pleased to see that John and Marianna had successfully downsized from their 1800 square foot home in Willits to a beautiful 3000 square foot home on a one acre lot in Fayetteville.

On Monday, Brenda and I took a drive to Bentonville, about 25 miles away, to visit the Walton Museum, home of the Walmart company. Bentonville is a lovely little town with a population of over 35,000 people. The city center is dominated by a typical small town park and fountain, very nicely done and clean. We toured the museum and learned about the history of Walmart from its beginning to the present day. Living in Willits for 22 years, I heard a lot of negativity toward any big box stores, especially Walmart, mostly centered on the effect that Walmart has on small Mom and Pop stores, as well as the minimum wage that they pay their employees. The thing that struck me, as we toured the museum and read the story, was the mission of Walmart has always been to provide quality merchandise at low prices, to benefit the consumer. This is something that small stores always have to compete against, and one must consider if the greater good is being served by supporting the small businesses or saving money for the consumer. Somehow, I believe there is a middle ground where both types of businesses can survive and thrive because each offers something unique.

The pay rate is another factor. Walmart has a starting salary of $11 per hour, as do most retail stores, but Walmart also offers a profit sharing plan and other benefits that I need to learn more about.

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Anyway, like always, Brenda and I treated ourselves to large ice creams, sitting at the table outside on a beautiful, warm sunny day in mid-October.

On the way back home, we stopped at the local Walmart and got our shingle shots. The perfect end to a perfect day!

We took a trip to a Civil War battlefield at Prairie Grove. As Civil War battles go, this wasn’t very big or famous – it lasted for only one day, with 2,700 men killed, wounded and missing from both sides. The significance of this battle was twofold; a rare victory for the Union Army early in the war (it was fought on December 7, 1862), and it marked the last time that Confederate forces would attempt to capture territory in Northwest Arkansas. This region was a gateway to Missouri which had not joined the Confederacy, but was of strategic value to the South.

Arkansas did eventually secede from the Union after several votes in the legislature and a lot of arguing. Arkansas was divided about slavery/states rights, with the southeast part of the state for cession and the northwest against. The reason was that the farmers in the northwest didn’t rely on slave labor, but the southeast farmers did, with cotton being the main crop. As it was described in the literature at the Battlefield museum, the northwest Arkansans weren’t so much interested in the question of whether or not to secede from the Union and join the Confederacy, mostly because they weren’t affected either way, not, apparently, because they had strong feelings about slavery.

We joined up with John and Marianna several times to tour the area. One day we drove to Devil’s Den to walk through the woods. I have a thing about walking, casually, in the woods: About 30 some years ago, Brenda and I still lived in Pittsburgh and we would visit our friends Vito and Karen who lived in San Francisco then Oakland, every year or so. Usually, we went with Karen’s mom, our friend Paula. One day, Karen sent us to Muir Woods for a visit and a walk – Karen and Vito are prodigious walkers. Brenda and I were also, just not world-class hikers, and Paula was definitely not any of those things, besides being a smoker. So the three of us drove to Muir Woods, parked the car in the parking lot and looked around for a place to take a nice walk in the woods. We were dressed casually, but not for any type of heavy duty hiking, which we didn’t intend to do anyway. Or so we thought!

So we found a path leading out of the parking lot, and started to walk. Soon the path became a narrow dirt path that began to move, almost imperceptibly, in an upward direction, until we realized that we were climbing an actual mountain. I looked at the trail ahead of us and saw it continue to climb, so I asked the question: “how high does this go?” No one seemed to know, so we wisely decided to turn around and head back down. The other thing that got me thinking that we shouldn’t be doing this was every time Paula stumbled over a tree root or a rock, she would greet it: “Hello rock!” That’s when I knew that this was not our activity.

So that was on my mind when we started to make our way on the Devil’s Den trail, while people were streaming past us like rush hour in downtown Willits. Not a lot of traffic, but a continuous stream of vigorous walkers.

Sunday, the beginning of our second and final week in Fayetteville. As we were watching the evening news, the weather guy came on, with a “weather guy” smile, to inform us that there would be heavy storms entering our area by midnight, and there was a tornado watch in effect from 12:00 to 3:00 am Monday morning. The weather map showed a line of thunderstorms running from southwest to northeast along a front that was several hundred miles long. I looked at the map and listened to the forecast and tried to decide if we should pack up and make a run for it. That’s one of the advantages of being mobile in a trailer; if the weather looks bad, you can leave it. But it looked like we would have to drive a long distance to get around the storm, and it didn’t look like we would be able to do that, so we decided to stay put and hope for the best. But just in case, we did pack a few necessaries such as our prescription meds, a change of clothes, the laptop and charging cords for our phones. You never know what will happen if we would be hit by the storm, and we would need to get by until things got back to normal, whatever that might be.

At our normal bedtime – 11:00 pm – we decided to get some rest, so we went to bed with our clothes on, ready to leave quickly. Around 11:45, I got an emergency signal on my phone warning me that severe weather was approaching us, and a tornado watch was in place until 1:30 am. And, take shelter immediately! That’s what the message said, and I stared at it for a while trying to decide if we should take it seriously. A nano second later I decided that we should, so we got up and put our shoes on, and looked outside. The wind had been blowing heavily for about half an hour, but now it was starting to get serious, with unfriendly clouds racing across the sky and lightning flashes all around us. We looked around for something that looked like shelter and spotted the laundry/bath room about 50 yards away.

It was a solid looking concrete block building that looked like it would do the job, and we saw someone standing by the open door, so we walked over and joined him. As the wind picked up and the lightning flashed, we were joined by a half dozen other campers, and we all crowded into the shelter, checking our phones for weather updates and listening to a weather radio receiver. We had to close the door because it started to get a little wild out there, but after about another half hour, things seemed to die down a little. We waited a little longer to be sure the storm had passed by, and went back to our trailer, that was still in the upright position. I was pleased to see that the TV satellite dish on the roof of the trailer was also still in place. We finally got back to bed at 2:00 am, after a cup of tea and some of Brenda’s homemade brownies.

It was ironic that we had left earthquake country to experience our very first tornado wanna be!

We spent the next few days hanging out and driving around with John and Dianna, capping off a wonderful visit.

One of the places we came across was another Winslow, in Arkansas. This one didn’t have a song written about it, so it wasn’t an event. (I was standin’ on a corner in Winslow Arkansas . . doesn’t work!) Also, Winslow Arkansas didn’t have a corner!

Friday, October 25, we’re off to Sanger Texas, a short distance from Dallas. That’ll be the next chapter.

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0.167 AWE; What’s this mean?

Well, because this is, in some ways, the beginning of a new life for Brenda and me, I decided that it would be appropriate to refer to this period in a more significant manner, thus, the new designations: BWE, WE, and AWE. (Before Willits Era, Willits Era, and After Willits Era) Got it?!

I know this Era stuff sounds a bit – pretentious(?), but Brenda and I had a life changing experience when we moved cross country from Pittsburgh to Willits nearly 22 years ago. Literally! Everything that happened to us, and what we may have accomplished since moving to Willits has been significant, and definitely for the better. So for historical reference – and to aid future historians when they write the History of Ron and Brenda – I have decided to create this new calendar.

BWE, of course, refers to the years prior to our moving to Willits, when we lived on the East Coast, in Pennsylvania. WE, naturally covers the nearly 22 years during which we lived in Willits, and AWE began when we moved from our house to the trailer. For further clarity, the early days of the AWE period – the first year – will be further demarked by that portion of the year that is covered in these blogs. The AWE period officially began on August 6, 2019, when we closed escrow on the house, even though we had moved out of the house and into the trailer on August 4

I realize that this seeming discrepancy will be argued by historical scholars for years to come, but for now, and since I created the whole thing, we’ll regard the start of the AWE as August 6, because that’s when we cut all ties to our former home!

So anyway, using August 6 as Day One, the first year of the AWE period will be further broken down into the appropriate fraction of the year in which the reported activities take place. For example, one month is 1/12 of a year (0.083) so two months (or the second month) will be 0.167 AWE.

Okay? With me so far!?

About now, and if he’s actually reading this, Brenda’s brother Joe will be rolling his eyes and saying: “What the hell is he going on about?!” Our son Avi will also be wondering if we should be allowed to roam loose around the country without adult supervision.

Okay, that’s done! Onward!

0.167 AWE begins on August 30 when we moved from the Cassini Campground in Duncan’s Mill to Santa Rosa and the Sonoma County Fairgrounds RV Park, where we will stay for 28 days before heading east to Arkansas.

The Fairgrounds RV park isn’t fancy. In fact, it can charitably be described as a giant, gravel covered parking lot. One end of the property is shaded by trees, and that’s where we were placed when we first arrived. But our site was also next to the bathrooms and the trash dumpsters, and the flies were horrendous, so we asked to be moved. Our current site is away from the trees, and kind of open, but it’s not too bad. We get enough shade from our awnings, and the openness of the spot means that we have a decent breeze blowing for most of the time, so the general condition is fairly comfortable, even though the temperatures have been in the 90’s. And because the temperature drops dramatically at sundown, the nights are actually cool, and we sleep well. The scenery isn’t exactly inspirational – there are mountains that surround us at a distance – but staring at your neighbor’s RV with the electric cables and waste drain hoses doesn’t lend itself to creating poetry.

There was, however, a small sign of life, proving that nature will prevail under almost any circumstance. Brenda took a photo of this plant clinging to life next to our camp site. It looked pretty robust – until Larry drove up and parked on top of it.

Ah well, the cycle of life!

But that’s the thing about living in an RV park. No matter how nice the neighborhood, there are still dozens of trailers and motor homes that are parked about twenty feet apart, and certainly visible. So you just create your own space and focus on that. We lived in an 1800 square foot house that sat on a lot that was about 10,000 square feet, surrounded by a six foot high fence. We were still aware of our neighbors on the other side of the fence, but because we had created our little private oasis, we were able to live in our own world. And that’s pretty much what it’s like to live in an RV park.

We are located about half an hour from the coast, at Bodega Bay, so we can drive over whenever the mood strikes or we just want to escape the heat. Aside from the seafood restaurants, there are quite a few other things to see.

We drove over to visit the UC Davis Bodega Marine Laboratory, that’s open for public tours every Friday. The lab was established over 50 years ago at this spot, because of the diversity of sea life that’s found offshore, and is the home for faculty, researchers and students. They work on a “diverse array of basic and applied research problems, including the impacts of climate change on marine and atmospheric systems, invasive species, the effect of oil spills and other pollutants on diverse habitats and organisms, the effect of proposed energy gathering systems and marine protected areas on marine habitats and communities, and how changing productivity affects salmon and other species at the top of the food chain”. This is right from their brochure.

The tour was led by a knowledgeable volunteer who walked us through the many exhibits and projects, but the most striking thing, for me, was fairly innocuous, but telling. There were several of the usual photographs of the staff and students, and the photos depicted a genuine joy at their being at that place, doing the work they were doing. Maybe I was projecting, but it struck me as a place that I would like to be, if I was in or beginning a career in any of the areas that they cover. I thought that Helene would like this place. It’s not butterflies, but pretty cool work, nevertheless. One of the things that we saw was a project to reestablish white abalone, after being nearly wiped out by increased acidity in the oceans. They grew millions of white abalone seeds in the lab, under conditions that would help them to survive after being introduced back into the ocean. The abalone were transplanted in the ocean, and now they have to wait to see if it was successful.

RV living is a little more hands-on than living in a house. One of the major differences is the disposal of waste water; not one of the more”fun things” about camping, but really necessary. In a house, the sinks, showers, bathtubs and toilets are all permanently connected to the municipal sewer system by a network of underground drain pipes. When water goes down the drain, it flows directly into the sewer system and away to the treatment facility that can be miles away. We never see it again or even think about it. Naturally, an RV can’t be connected like that, because it keeps moving around, and it would need a really long hose to connect to a sewer system, so the disposal problem is solved by providing holding tanks in the RV. In our case, we have two 45-gallon holding tanks, one for gray water (from the sinks and shower), and one for the black water (from the toilet). For us, this represents about two days use. Periodically, these tanks must be emptied, and this is done in a fairly clean and yukky-free manner. At the bottom of the RV, secure in the trailer frame, are the tanks with a hose connection and valves for the gray and black tanks. Upon arriving at the campground, one of the first things I do is to connect the sewer hose to the drain outlet. This is a solid connection that won’t come loose, and the other end of the hose is connected to the sewer inlet in the ground, that works just like the sewer connection at your house. To empty the tanks, I pull the lever handle for the black tank first and wait until it empties into the in-ground sewer system. After the black tank is emptied, I close that valve and open the gray water valve. This sequence assures that the soapy water in the gray tank will clean the the black tank residue out of the hose. Occasionally, I flush out the black tank with a fresh water hose that’s connected to a valve that feeds into the black tank. It’s all very simple, self contained and clean. What could possibly go wrong?

So one day, as usual, I drained the black tank and closed the valve, and opened the gray tank drain valve. This time, I also opened the valve on the hose that fed the flush water into the black tank. After the gray tank finished draining, I closed that valve and went in to have breakfast. About an hour later, after washing the breakfast dishes, I went into the bathroom and saw that there was water pouring out of the toilet and all over the bathroom floor. About two feet into the air, from the toilet! Seeing this, I knew immediately what had happened. I ran outside and, sure enough, the valve for the flush water hose was still open, and because the black tank drain valve was closed, the water that flowed into the holding tank didn’t have any place to go except up. Fortunately, because the black tank had been drained and flushed, the water that poured out was clear. I quickly shut the flush water valve and opened the black tank drain valve, and the water stopped pouring out of the toilet while the standing water quickly receded. It took awhile for everything to dry out, and there doesn’t seem to be any long term effects.

Except for the strange green glow over everything. And Brenda seems to be growing gills. Or maybe it’s just my imagination. I’m sorry that we didn’t think to take pictures of this; maybe next time.

Lesson learned: always double check everything I do!!

We visited the farm and laboratory that Luther Burbank established in Sebastopol, about 10 miles from where we’re staying. It was a walking tour around the small property – less than 10 acres – and we were able to see many of the plants that he developed and planted more than 60 years ago. One tree that impressed me was an American Chestnut. As you’re probably aware, billions of Chestnut trees in the U.S. were killed by a blight in the early 20^th century. Burbank developed a strain that was resistant to the blight and the proof of his success were several huge trees that were about 50 feet tall with chestnuts the size of baseballs. Well maybe really big golf balls.

One of the docents at the farm told us about a local artist who creates whimsical metal sculptures, and an entire neighborhood a few blocks from the farm had these pieces displayed on their front lawns. So we took a short drive and saw:

Four weekends a year, nearby Sturgeon’s Mill Restoration Project is opened to the public. The mill was started in 1912, at another location, using steam powered equipment from the 1880’s, to saw redwood logs into lumber. The supply of logs ran out in 1923, and the mill was shut down, dismantled and moved to its present location near Sebastopol. The mill was reopened in 1924 and operated until 1963 when it was once again shut down. In 1993, the son of the owners gathered a group of volunteers to restore and operate the mill. All of the equipment is run by steam, and it’s fascinating to watch the big circular saw cutting through redwood logs, cutting off two inch thick planks. It was, however, disconcerting to watch the big saw blade that had no cover or shield, with the men working close to it. However, they are apparently well enough trained to know where they are and where they shouldn’t be, and no one lost any appendages while we were there.

Another piece of equipment is the 4-saw edger. This has four saw blades that can be adjusted to change the spacing between them. The boards that had just been cut from the log on the big saw are fed into the edger, which cuts it into boards of varying widths while trimming the rough outer edge of the plank, in one pass.

We had dinner a few times at a very good Italian restaurant, called Tomatina, and they had an item on the menu called a Piadine, something I had never heard of. The monthly special was a Fig and Proscuitto piadine made with fontina, thyme, baby arugula and a balsamic reduction on a freshly baked Italian flatbread. The flatbread is about nine or ten inches in diameter and can be eaten either flat with a knife and fork, or folded in half and cut into manageable wedges to be eaten like a sandwich. Being the adventurous type that I am, I was interested in ordering it on our first visit, but didn’t want to take the plunge before I had done some serious research on the subject. Also, I had set my taste buds for pasta that night, so I ordered a Baked Penne Bolognese with crumbled beef and sausage, mushrooms, tomatoes and mozzarella. It was delicious, and we took half of it home for another meal.

But the piadine continued to call to me, so I asked Avi about it, because I had been informed that this was his favorite dish when he eats at Tomatina’s in Walnut Creek.

Hey, you can’t be too careful about these things!

Well, Avi verified that it was indeed, a delicious and filling meal, so I spent the next few days preparing myself for the next visit to Tomatina. Finally, the Big Day arrived, and Brenda and I returned to Tomatina with Bonnie Madrigal. Just to be sure, I carefully studied the menu and determined that, yes, I was going to indeed, order the Fig and Proscuitto piadine. When it arrived, it did cover the plate, and the flatbread folded easily and neatly. I cut it into four wedges and proceeded to eat every blessed bit of it – with nary a crumb left as evidence that this particular device had ever existed.

And, it was delicious! Or to express it in a more “Ron” manner; not too bad!

We visited the Lagunitas Brewing Company in Petaluma, about 20 miles south of us. We were treated to an hour and a half tour of the facility, with about an hour of it in the tap room, talking about and sampling several of their brews. There were about ten folks in the group, and each of us was given four glasses of different beers, each glass containing 4 or 5 ounces. Brenda and I each drank our portions, citing the old adage that we were raised on: “Finish everything, because there are starving people in China!” As a kid, we never knew how finishing everything on our plates would help to alleviate hunger half way around the world, but we did learn to finish everything that was served to us, including 16 or 20 ounces of beer.

We had never had Lagunitas beer, I believe, and it was a treat to taste these samples. Each was slightly different, with variations on the ingredients and amount of hops. I have never been a big fan of hoppy beers, because the ones that I had tasted were too bitter, but the beers we sampled had a better balance of hops that eliminated the bitter aftertaste. In fact, we learned that hops come in a variety of flavors and attributes, including a definite citrus/fruity tone that’s added to the beer, eliminating the need to put a lemon or lime wedge in the beer. Even the IPA, which is supposed to be the hoppiest beer tasted pretty good to me. We also learned that beer in cans was better than bottled beer because no sunlight can penetrate, and the beer remains fresher, longer.

A little side story: One of the beers that we sampled was called Little Sumpin’. The back story, as our guide related it was; after the brewer created this particular beer, the advertising guys asked him what to call the beer, and not being an advertising type, he replied: “I don’t know. It was just a little sumpin’ that I put together.” And the name stuck. Brenda and I liked this beer, so a few days later, we bought a 12 pack. Drinking it a few days later, with a delicious leftover pizza from Tomatino, we agreed that the beer just didn’t taste as good as it did at the brewery. Maybe it was because the brewer served it from the tap, and we drank it from bottles that we had bought at Safeway. Maybe that was the critical difference. So I guess we’ll need to have a beer tap installed in the trailer!

At the end of the session, Brenda and I started to walk to the truck to drive home, but even though it was only about 4:00 pm, and too early for dinner, I decided it would be wise for me to get some food in me before hitting the road, so we backtracked to the pub and had an early dinner. Good decision!

After living in the area for almost 22 years, we finally decided to drive to Point Reyes to see what it looked like.

Point Reyes National Seashore is a peninsula located on the south west corner of Marin County. The long finger of Tomales Bay runs northwest to southeast, separating the Point Reyes peninsula from mainland Marin County. At the extreme southwest point of the peninsula is the Point Reyes lighthouse which is a little more than five miles from the gateway to the Preserve, as the crow flies, but because of the topography, it’s a 20 mile drive over a narrow, winding two lane road. About half of the distance is on a fairly good county maintained road, and the rest of it runs through private ranch land that isn’t as well maintained, so as a result, the 20 mile trip took around 45 minutes. But it was a spectacular trip through some really beautiful country. There were numerous signs informing us that the lighthouse was closed for renovations, but we decided to go anyway, and it was worth the trip. We were standing on what felt like the end on the continent, being surrounded by the Pacific as far as we could see. However, looking through my binoculars, in the distance, peeking over a line of hills, we could see the towers of the Golden Gate Bridge. Pretty cool!

Believe it or not, when I looked through my binoculars at the horizon to the right of the rocks, I was able to see the towers of the Golden Gate Bridge. I tried to enlarge the photo as much as possible, but can’t see the towers. But they are definitely there.

As I mentioned earlier, we have been out of the house and living full time in our trailer for about two months, and haven’t traveled more than 100 miles from Willits. Seems sort of anti-climatic, but there were reasons for us sticking around, and in a few days – as I write this – we will be casting off for far ports, entering into the next phase of our Great Adventure.

More to follow!

Chapter 6

It’s been 2 ½ weeks since we moved out of the house and into the trailer full time, and it seems as if we have never lived anywhere else! Sounds weird to say it, but for the first time in 60 years, this is the first time Brenda and I have lived in anything other than a conventional dwelling, and the transition has been seamless. Editor’s note: Actually, by the time I publish this, it will be more than a month!

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

We got back from our trip to Oregon on July 27 and spent the next nine days emptying the house – either selling stuff, giving it away to friends and to Goodwill, and making a bunch of “dump runs” to Willits Solid Waste. On the 28^th, Avi, Zoe and Rylee (son and granddaughters) came up for a few days to help us pack, and Avi hauled stuff to his house to store for us, and use until we ever claimed possession again.

On August 4, I drove the trailer down to Ridgewood Ranch – to stay at the Golden Rule RV park.

As a side note, Ridgewood Ranch is located 7 miles south of Willits and is the home of the famous racehorse Seabiscuit – who is reportedly buried there, but no one is saying exactly where. Several years ago the ranch was bought by the Church of the Golden Rule, and they host many activities there, among them being the Seabiscuit Therapeutic Riding Center that has been operating for many years. The program helps physically challenged riders to gain confidence, balance and strength by riding horses. Each participant is accompanied by one or two counselors who keep them safe, and in the saddle.

We stayed there for two weeks while Brenda weaned herself from her bookkeeping clients, and trained Ananda to take over.

Despite our heroic efforts, we still managed to bring a lot of stuff with us, figuring we would spend the next few weeks further reducing and/or storing our stock. We didn’t want to rent a storage unit because that would have meant paying a monthly fee for an unknown amount of time, with the possibility that at some time in the future we will discover that we really didn’t want or need the stuff that had been stored. Speaking with other full-timers reinforced that decision, so we decided to make the “keep it or not” decisions now. As a result, there were boxes stacked all over the trailer and in the back seat of the truck, with the bed of the truck packed solid with boxes; we really needed to figure out how to deal with everything.

Editor’s note: during week three, we finally got everything somewhat back to normal.

This is our bedroom, and there are also several pictures and wall hangings that have been added to give a homey touch to the space.

The plan was to hang around until the end of September because I had my scheduled eye injection, for macular degeneration, and even though I would need to arrange future treatments elsewhere, I wanted to get this final one from my regular doctor. Also, Brenda and I needed to see our primary care provider to get our prescriptions set up for the next several months.

Ah, the burden of traveling at our advanced age!

So after two weeks living just seven miles from our former home, we finally managed to drive 95 miles further south, to Sonoma county where we spent two weeks at a campground called Cassini Family RV Resort in a small town called Duncan’s Mill, about 15 miles east of Santa Rosa and less than 10 miles from the coast at Jenner. It’s a beautiful campground that’s situated on the banks of the Russian River. We still make occasional trips to Willits, primarily for doctor’s appointments, and whenever we meet someone on the street they inevitably say: “I thought you had left!” I’m not sure if they are surprised or pleased that we’re still around or wondering when we’re finally going to leave. You know: How can I miss you when you won’t go away!

This is our campsite for the first six days – in the woods, and the following week we moved to another site that had full hookups.

At the end of the two weeks at Cassini, we drove the short distance to Santa Rosa where we are staying at the Sonoma County Fairgrounds RV Park for 28 days. While in Santa Rosa, we’re making plans for our next trip which is to Fayetteville, Arkansas where we will spend some time with John and Marianna Smoot. On the way, we’ll spend several days at Albuquerque, in time for the October Hot Air Balloon Festival. Then we’ll spend the following week in Williams, Arizona and take a train ride to the Grand Canyon. After Arkansas, we were planning to go to New Orleans and then Florida to visit several family members, but we were warned not to go to that area before December, due to the hurricanes. So Instead, we will probably drive over to Austin, Texas and spend a few weeks hooking up with Jonathan and Helene.

Life has become a fluid existence!

So here we are, actually doing what we had planned to do for several years. But what do we do all day? How do we spend our time after so many years of working, going to meetings, and fulfilling the many daily obligations that we all have? You know, doing “meaningful” things all the time! Being on a perpetual vacation can get difficult to wrap your mind around.

Well, for us it’s about getting over having to be productive all the time. The past few weeks have been focused on packing and re-packing our stuff to get our home in reasonable order, but now that this has been pretty much accomplished, that goal is gone. We decided that it’s okay to just veg out occasionally, and spend the day just enjoying the scene or reading. Or, we take trips to see something of interest; our favorite being a visit to the coast.

We park right next to the sea and watch as the wild waves crash on the shore. We saw formations of pelicans flying by in numbers that we had never seen before, while a few seals cavort off shore in the waves. And, of course, the occasional whale sighting. These are spectacular scenes that, unfortunately, the photos can’t quite do justice to.

Or we might drive into town – Guerneville or Santa Rosa in this case – to walk around and maybe have a coffee and pastry, or stock up at Safeway or Costco. The Costco lunch of a large all beef hotdog and soda for $1.50, is probably the best lunch deal around! With so much free time, it’s hard to make long term plans.

Getting used to mostly not having to be anywhere at specific times presents all sorts of options, so we often focus on the small things.

One night, Brenda prevailed upon me to make a fire; each camp site has a fire pit, but we also have our very own fire pit – a metal thingy that bolts together and makes a rather neat fire box. She also bought one of those artificial logs – made of sawdust and wax, along with some other fire enhancers. The thing about building a fire, whether with real wood or with one of these artificial logs is that one never knows exactly how long the fire will burn, making you a virtual prisoner to the damn fire. I mean, how long can you stare at the fire while it gets late and you just want to go to bed. But it just keeps burning! And it’s never a good idea to leave a live fire unattended, even though it’s in a designated fire pit. So I casually mentioned to Brenda that we should figure out how to put it out, and Brenda declares: “I’ll figure it out! I was a girl scout, after all!” She disappeared inside for a while and came out with a roll of aluminum foil and a pair of kitchen tongs. Looked promising. She ripped off two sheets of foil and laid them on top of the flames. The problem was, she didn’t exactly smother the flames, just put a little blanket on them. The fire, apparently liked that because it flared up and began to burn with vigor. In fact, the fire roared pretty spectacularly, and burned that way for quite a while. But at least the log was being consumed, and no surrounding structures were ever in danger.

But after another half hour, it was still burning brightly and not being consumed – reminded me of Moses and the burning bush! I was getting bored, and decided to end this, so I went inside and found a container for water. It happened to be an empty bottle of Old Vine Zinfindel, good for drinking and putting out fires – as long as the alcohol has been removed.

Time for bed. I’ll write some more later.

Here’s some shots of the mostly coastal sights nearby:

RVing With Ron & Brenda

Chapter 5

After all the talking and planning, it finally happened. We sold the house in the first week of July, with closing on August 5. Brenda and I have spent the last few weeks selling stuff, making dump runs and donations to Goodwill; generally emptying the house. In addition, we have been setting up the trailer as our full time home. Not surprisingly, Brenda has been planning where to hang pictures and the placement for the objet d’art that we have, such as the cat that has been a fixture in our house for many years, as well as special pictures that we want to hang on to. The trailer is starting to look like a real home.

So of course, with all of the activity that needed to happen in a few weeks, we took a short vacation (9 days), that we had planned for several months. It’s a return trip to the Oregon Coast, this time meeting up with Jonathan and Helene for a few days.

Right now (as I’m writing this) we’re sitting in a very nice campground near Bandon. This is one of the nicest RV parks we’ve stayed at. Most parks try to squeeze as many sites onto the property as they can, but these guys have left a lot of open space around the property, as well as making each RV site larger than usual. Plus, the daily rate is about 2/3 of the rate we normally spend. The only down side is the wind. It’s enough to prevent sitting comfortably outside. But the temperature isn’t cold, so in total, it’s not too bad.

We took a walk around Old Town Bandon, by the waterfront, had lunch, then a latte and shared a large, freshly baked chocolate chip cookie. See, divesting ourselves from home ownership and becoming wandering vagabonds has turned us into a couple of wild and crazy guys! Coffee and cookie in the middle of the day!

We visited an interesting museum in town called Washed Ashore. It’s a project that was started to bring attention to the growing problem of plastic pollution in the world’s oceans. Volunteers collect plastic waste that is then used to create some really fantastic works of art. In Chapter 4, I described our first trip to Oregon, and included photos of a puffin that was made from various plastic parts such as flip flops, bottles, tooth brushes, combs, etc. The Washed Ashore museum in Bandon had several art pieces that really brought home the scope of the pollution problem. Seeing one piece was interesting but the impact was greatly increased when viewing dozens of such pieces. Considering the amount of plastic that went into each piece, the number of pieces on display and the realization that we are seeing just a small part of the total problem helped to wrap my mind around the enormity of the problem.

If you look closely, you’ll be able to recognize some of the plastic bottles and other items that the art pieces are constructed of.

Check out washedashore.org for more information. They do traveling exhibits around the country and you might be interested in visiting one of them or possibly arranging to have a tour come to your town.

A walk on the beach brought us to two unusual rock formations. See if you can recognize the features:

This trip took us further north on the Oregon coast, and we were able to take a day trip to Astoria where we crossed a six mile bridge across the mouth of the Columbia River into Washington state. We had driven along the Columbia River further upstream, and that was beautiful, but the ocean end of the river was truly spectacular. We were treated to an unusual sight; a whale had made it’s way further upstream than normal, and he/she spent a lot of time in the middle of the river swimming around and feeding. Below are photos taken as we crossed the bridge. It was very high and very long!

The vantage point from where we watched the whale was called Clark’s Dismal Nitch, named when the Lewis and Clark expedition was trapped at the spot for six days because of heavy wind and rain. Fortunately, the day we were there was not dismal!

A few days later we drove into Tillamook, visiting the air museum and the Tillamook Dairy. The air museum was small, but ambitious, being housed in a large airship hanger that was built during WWII for the blimps that patrolled the coast looking for enemy submarines, and protecting allied shipping. The hanger was constructed entirely of wood because of the shortage of steel and aluminum that was needed to built planes, tanks and ships. The photo shows the carefully designed structure that provided a stable building for the blimps that were parked inside.

At the Tillamook Dairy I had the strange sensation that we were being “looked at” by someone or something. Must have been my imagination!

After four days in the Tillamook area, we drove south to Newport where we met up with Jonathan and Helene who had just finished several days touring Portland. Brenda and I stayed at the Port of Newport RV Park and Jon and Helene stayed at a B&B on a stern wheeler that was moored at the port.

Located on the Newport harbor and marina gave us a nice vista. We had dinner at the local brewery, which was located in the harbor complex, allowing us to walk everywhere. The next day we drove a few miles north to Depoe Bay State Park where we were again treated to a whale (of a) show (chuckle, chuckle), this time two or three whales were swimming around within 100 yards of our vantage point. They were clearly feeding, and we watched them as they swam in circles underwater, blowing bubbles that formed a wall, trapping the fish and making for easy feeding.

We were in Newport for two days after which Jon and Helene headed back to Portland for the flight back to Austin, and Brenda and I drove to Port Orford for one night before heading back to Willits. We got to Port Orford early enough to drive down to the bluffs overlooking the ocean and sat for awhile on benches that had been set up for visitors.

The Octopus tree at Mears Refuge was an interesting and unusual sight.

We visited a couple of lighthouses – something that Jonathan was interested in seeing.

One of the things that impressed us about the region was the attention that was given to providing vantage points for visitors to enjoy the views. Whether it was a hillside park or built up overlook, there were always nice amenities to enhance the experience, such as artistic benches to sit on or interpretive signs to explain what we were seeing and a bit of the history of the place.

The RV park we stayed at was small but very nice; not fancy, just a comfortable, friendly place that we will be returning too for a longer visit.

The drive back to Willits was uneventful, and we arrived around 5 pm to get ready for the next 7 days when we had to finish packing everything up.

We’ll get into that in the next chapter.