Desert Nomads

Jan 18/06 Wednesday
It was an easy drive from Indio to Blythe, California – about an hour and a half. Blythe sits in the middle of the desert on the Colorado River at the Arizona border. The last time I was there was midsummer and the heat was so oppressive we had to stay inside with the air-conditioning. But it’s January and the temperature’s perfect. We stayed at an RV resort on the river, performed al the mundane RV tasks – filled with water; dumped the holding tanks; did laundry. The space ratio assigned to each unit was so small that if we sneezed, someone would say ‘Geshundheit!’ The view however was superb – we were right on the riverbank and there were a multitude of birds, so we sat with our martinis watching the passing parade as the sun went down.

Jan 19 to 23/06 Thursday to Monday Quartzsite

Quartzsite, Arizona is only about 30 miles from Blythe across the Colorado River and through the mountains (hills really) so we were there in no time. Our friends (P&C) gave us careful directions and met us at the Mormon church on the east side of town and guided us to the BLM lands where we boondocked (for the uninitiated – free, dry [no services] camping). There are only two freeway exits to Quartzsite - #17 and #19.and had we got off at #17 by mistake, we would have been caught up in gridlock traffic – unbelievable I know, that this tiny town would be so overrun. It’s an amazing sight – more RV’s than I’d ever thought could be in one small place all at the same time….. and the money the aging owners spent on their moving homes for the ultimate in luxury! Obviously ‘spending the kids inheritance’.

Only five minutes out of town, we pulled into one of several gravel roads into our desert abode for the next five days. RV’s clustered together in circles reminiscent of wagon trains from days gone by. Our road was marked with a metal cactus made out of tin cans and painted a reddish brown, one cactus arm pointing the way to someone’s home. As the road wove in further, a second, third and fourth cactus pointed the way to our own ‘circle of friends’ (actually P&C’s friends). Large cacti, small trees up to about 12 foot high and low shrubs grew here and there, as far as the eye could see across the desert. They delineated the areas where the Rvers could congregate into their clumps, providing some privacy from the next sites. Our motorhome (AKA Maggie II) had so much space around it, we felt alone while together with our group. In the centre of our circle, P&C had built a fire pit with rocks gathered from the surrounding area.

Towing our Honda CRV is the best! We unhooked and were free to explore. “Free WIFI” – a large iridescent yellow sign across the side of an old remodelled bus, made my already high spirits soar. I drove and picked up my laptop, returned and I was immediately connected. “What’s the catch?” I wondered. Well, nothing really. A 45ish woman and her husband sometimes sat out front displaying her “RV Gypsy Journal” and hoped to sell subscriptions, but they never approached us. This is where I published the first episode of my blog.

A sea of grey and blue heads bobbed along the roads and lanes that were lined with tents and other temporary shelters housing retail kiosks. Oh my gawd! I felt young in this mass of wrinkled flesh, some in scooters, others with canes, sun visors on the women and ballcaps on the men. They pushed strollers holding their babies – dogs, as many as three per buggy. And they were shopping………for t-shirts, jewellery, Navajo pots, and everything else you could think of. I overheard many times, spouses snarling at each other loudly (hard of hearing, I guess). I thought that people were supposed to get sweeter temperaments with age – but that’s not so, apparently. It was strange, the absence of children and younger people but that changed a bit on the weekend when families came in for the day.

Quartzsite is a flashback to the Gold Rush days and the instant towns that sprung up. Restaurants, such as “Billy Bob’s” and “Sweet Darlene’s”, reside in trailers, tents and corrugated metal shelters, with picnic tables outside. They offer finger-lickin’ ribs, hamburgers and good down-home cooking. Vendors with high-crowned and battered cowboy hats and long straggly beards – ZZ Top look-alikes - refugees from the Ozarks, I thought - sold everything from wooden armadillos to carved zebras – crystals, exotic animal leather goods (I certainly don’t approve of that), old car parts, tie-dye clothing, candles, ancient knives and ammunition.

Rocks of all kinds, things made out of rocks, jewellery and jewellery making supplies were prevalent in the markets but just a half mile down the road, a group of tents were devoted to lapidary, gems, etc. I was in heaven, delving into pans of rock slabs and searching for the cheap but unusual pieces that I could create my ‘masterpieces’ from J.

The Big RV Show runs for ten days in January and the old folk crammed the tent on opening day – hardly any breathing room, so we escaped and waited a couple of days and it was much better. We spent some money on ‘squeegees and sponges’ – typical country fair stuff – a portable generator, a new straw outdoor mat, and other bits and pieces that we couldn’t resist. We are so obsessed with Maggie II and the freedom she offers us that we don’t want any material possessions that aren’t RV related.

Our early morning walks deep into the desert, we had to put our warm coats on and sometimes gloves. Overnight, it would almost dip to freezing but then would warm to around 20 degrees Celsius (70 deg F) by noon. The desert around Quartzsite is very rocky, hence the name. So, you could drive far in without getting stuck and we would suddenly stumble upon a scruffy tent or decrepit camper tucked in behind the bushes – these people were a different type, probably living fulltime there and scrounging for food. They shared their abodes with multi-breed dogs appearing almost wild so we would try to take a wide berth around them. After a couple of times of foolishly getting lost among the mass of RV’s, we dug out our portable GPS…..it was particularly difficult after dark driving back in and if it wasn’t for the GPS, we’d have never found home.

On the main street, stands a rickety wooden shack that is the town bookstore. Outside, laid neat piles of ‘free’ books and magazines – mostly thirty or forty years old but still, they’re ‘free’. There is a sign out front warning what lies ahead. The proprietor (all ninety pounds of him) only wears a tiny thong – and nothing else. His scrawny brown body has been leathered by the sun and appears almost snake-like. Scraggly long hair and beard and John Lennon glasses at the end of his nose show him to be a sixties dropout but his gentle manner made it a comfortable encounter without embarrassment. An aroma of incense and other pungent scents permeated the air; nooks and crannies filled with well-used books on every imaginable subject, an outdoor retreat with a huge tree lodging thousands of cheeping birds, an alternate-lifestyle clientele of mixed races, some in ethnic dress made it a very satisfying visit.

Jan 24-25/06 Tuesday/Wednesday - El Centro, California
It’s a lovely drive from Blythe, CA to El Centro, firstly agricultural, then hilly desert and bird sanctuary along the Colorado river, then miles of undulating sand dunes – ATV’s climbing them like ants. Fields of cotton and huge white bales of recently harvested crop were ringed by graceful date palms on the final approach to El Centro.

There’s a giant market every Wednesday in Calexico, CA, just south of El Centro and near the Mexican border town of Mexicali. The vendors were all Mexican as were most of the clientele – a few aging white tourists intermingled of course. The license plates of the parked cars were mostly ‘BC’ Baja California, so they must come across the border just to sell at the market. In the centre of the throng, are mostly new items – clothing, shoes, hardware…around the periphery are mounds of used clothing, household goods and toys and the women dug through them in a frenzy. Amazingly cheap prices for the new stuff, so I can imagine how little they ask for the used.
Socks – 15 pair for $3 – new
Jeans - $5 to $10 each – new
Shirts - $3 each – new
Fernie bought a little musical box/rocking horse toy for 50 cents – it just appealed to his sense of whimsy. It now graces our dash when we are parked.

A couple of early morning hours at the market were enough, so we just looked around Calexico and went back to Maggie II, ensconced in the Walmart and picked up Caesar for a journey north to Nyland – about thirty miles up. East of Nyland a few miles lies Slab City, a former military base, now home to hundreds of Rving nomads – many permanent residents in shabby trailers, and families with toys scattered around and some snowbirds.

At the entrance to the Slabs, is an amazing sight – a colourful monument “Salvation Mountain”, the work of one man over a period of twenty-three years – what a marvel! We pulled in at the roadside and from down below we heard a querulous call “Come on down”…..”Come on down”. It sounded like an old woman. A tiny figure was beckoning madly to us “Come on down”. So down we ventured to the panel trucks painted on every surface with religious dogma, to the sofa in the open air, to the bed under a canopy of woven rags, to the mongrel dog who appeared to be smiling; and to the delightful little artist “Leonard Knight” who invited us for a tour of his incredible structure.

According to Leonard, he crash landed in a balloon 23 years ago at that spot and unhurt, then promised his life to God and started to build Salvation Mountain. It is made of adobe – bales of straw and clay softened with water. “The mountain gave me the material I needed” he said “----clay - so I just knew what I had to do”. At 73, Leonard is wizened and stoop-shouldered but so exuberant. He led us inside the many rooms decorated with recycled materials such as old car parts. Tree trunks and branches that he scavenged from the surrounding desert were fashioned into intricate braces glued together with adobe.
“They’re all dead when I take them” he stated
“I don’t cut down live trees”
Every surface was painted in lime green, flamingo pink, lemon yellow, scarlet, bright blue…. He demonstrated how he made the flowers on the trees…..”You just throw a handful of wet clay onto the tree and then you punch it – and you have a flower” he proudly maintained. I was beginning to feel the spirituality of this special person.

He encouraged us to walk up the ‘yellow brick road’ weaving up the ‘mountain’ between the bright blue oceans. ‘The Holy Bible’, ‘GOD’, a cross at the top and other religious rhetoric grace the beautiful shrine. The varied and vivid colours sparkled in the bright afternoon sunshine and dazzled us as we climbed to the top.

He invited us into his outdoor living area after giving the tour and showed us the well-worn calendar that had his monument in – a Barnes and Noble ‘Weird and Wacky America’ calendar. He showed us the book he published with his story and photos; he showed us his albums of magazine and newspaper clippings and he never once mentioned money. He thanked us profusely for coming and asked if we would excuse him as he had to go into town but ‘please be comfortable and stay as long as you like’ he said. He warmed my heart (which some say is awfully hard to do) - I fell in love with this delightful little character.

We gave him a small donation and he in turn gave us a jigsaw and a dozen postcards of Salvation Mountain. Maybe Leonard is a Saint………the closest I’ve ever met anyway.

An old battered bike sprawled against his lean-to; on the back was a little motor. He pulled the cord several times and said “it always starts eventually” but that time it didn’t. He put his old arthritic leg over the seat and rode off slowly, down the gully and up to the road. He looked a pathetic, Charlie Chaplin-like silhouette as he peddled off down the road.

Slab City lies on a bit of a ridge in the shadow of the Chocolate Mountains. The roads wind in and I realized that it is a real community, with a medical centre (in a trailer of course), and a fantastic outdoor theatre. Old car seats lined up in rows for the audience; shiny silver bumpers topped car doors to create barricades; the stage was raised about three feet and was backed by trailers used for dressing rooms I suppose. A large poster of Bob Marley sat in the centre and a sign inviting all musicians to come and ‘jam’.
On the road, another sign begged for participants for their upcoming talent show on Jan 28th. If you can sing or dance’ it said ‘please sign up’. I so wished that we were available on that day. I would love to spend a few days immersed in the culture of the Slabs community. However, our friends (P&C) were showing us ‘newbies’ the ropes and we really wanted to go with them to their spot outside Yuma in the desert near Pilot Knob.

Genesis!

Freedom at last! Our nomadic life begins. The anticipation seemed unending but the time finally arrived. The preparations were onerous; we disconnected our phone and cable services, forwarded our mail, changed all of our bills to electronic receipt and automatic payment by credit card or bank debit, shut off our water and the gas fireplaces. And then we had to prepare the motorhome – we had a tow kit and brake system installed so we could pull our Honda CRV along with us; we serviced the motorhome and had the transmission oil changed on the CRV; and then we packed.

Fernie’s retirement party was on Friday evening and we left the next day, Saturday, Jan 7th, but it took us so long to turn off our water and fireplaces and finish packing that it was pretty late. The weather was mild but pouring rain and when we got south of Bellingham, it got really windy. We didn’t like the sudden gusts, which made the motorhome veer precariously, so we stopped at Tulalip Casino. We enjoyed poking around the outlet shops and found some wonderful ‘duvet slippers’ at Restoration Hardware, but didn’t feel much like gambling, so we had an early night.

Sunday, January 8/06
We travelled to Coburg, just north of Eugene, where Monaco Coach/Holiday Rambler have their headquarters. They gave us a site with power and water and the security checked up on us every so often. We had a good TV signal with our antenna and several unsecured wireless connections. However, I had a problem with two of them. The third, TA – a truck stop – was not free but pretty cheap - $1.49 for the first hour. But that ended up failing too.

Monday/Tuesday, January 9-10, 2006
We lost our gas cap and had to search out a Ford dealer in Eugene and when we finally did leave it was pouring rain and the wind was extremely high. However, the Siskiyou Pass was dry and clear and no problem. We stayed the night at the Walmart in Yreka and then Tuesday morning drove through the Mt. Shasta area and Black Butte Pass – it was raining, windy and really cold but no snow or ice. We were so happy to get down to Redding where the sun started to shine and within a few hours, the warmth enveloped us. We stayed at a campground near Lodi/Stockton because we needed to dewinterize – so needed running water and dumping capabilities. Hate paying for a site (after all, we’re pensioners now) but it was necessary.

Wednesday, January 11, 2006
We intended to stay around Fresno for a couple of nights because we have a friend who lives there who we haven’t seen for years. A series of events spoiled our good intentions. We drove to Table Mountain Casino, quite far east of Hwy 99 but close enough that we could drive south into Fresno in about a half hour. The casino was chaotic – half the parking lots were roped off for construction and the remaining areas were rough sand and gravel and at a very steep incline and there was no specified RV parking area. As cars careened by the dust flew chokingly. We soon realized that we couldn’t possibly stay there and we made a hasty retreat down to North Fresno where we found a Walmart. Imagine our surprise though when we asked if they permitted overnight parking for RV’s and they answered “NO” – a city ordinance apparently. We were now very tired and it was dark so we looked in our Woodall’s catalogue. That is how we found the ‘Crumby’ trailer park. As we drove into the dark, heavily treed lot, the only light was from dim amber lamp standards but we were able to make out the sign on the office door “Closed”. We were so frustrated with Fresno and its inhospitable attitude.

I suggested that we drive around the crumby trailer park and find a vacant spot and just pull in….But then from the rear of the shabby clapboard building, a gate creaked and an aging stoop-shouldered hippy-type shuffled out toward us. His long straggly grey hair, yellowed at the bottom as if tinted by nicotine, was pulled back with a leather thong into a skimpy ponytail. His bald patch was mottled from years of sun abuse and a sparse beard sat below a mouth missing more teeth than were present. A black Harley-Davidson t-shirt topped blue jeans that hadn’t seen a washing machine in months and well-worn Dayton boots – his appearance created a formidable impression.

I was already out of the motorhome or I might have fearfully locked myself in. I gathered my courage and asked him where I might find the manager. His gap-toothed grin softened his grim appearance as he slurred “that’d be the wife” and when I asked about the closed sign, he answered “We’re always closed….”, but he beckoned me to follow him in across the garbage-strewn yard through a battered door with its glass broken and mended with duct tape in a haphazard pattern. We entered a kitchen with an old cast iron stove crusted with grease, a sink full of dirty dishes and at the table in the centre of the room sat “she” – the manager. A large ashtray brimming with butts and ashes overflowing onto the table took the place of honour, right in front of her. She croaked in a voice that was 2 octaves lower than normal “that’ll be $29….cash”, her cigarette, stuck to the corner of her mouth, waggled as she spoke and deposited embers down the front of her filthy blouse. I hesitatingly (which is out of character for me) mentioned that the directory where I found their listing quoted $15. She reiterated “$29 – cash – take it or leave it”. I thought of Fernie who was so tired and I didn’t have the heart to tell him we’d have to move on and so I muttered “We’ll take it”.

I felt a snuffling around my legs and looked down to see the most pathetic almost hairless, buggy-eyed, scurvied-looking little dog that I’d ever seen. So I tickled its ears and asked what kind of dog it was. “Well that’s my lil’ lady” she crooned “a pure-bred Yorkshire terrier”. I smiled and lied “she’s awfully cute”, while thinking she wouldn’t win any best-of-breed prizes.

Her dim-witted hubby, whose opaque blue eyes in the bright light of the naked bulb, looked buried beneath murky layers of cataracts, murmured “follow me” and shuffled out. Obviously the years of puffing on too many joints had left him burnt-out, vague and slow. I hopped into the motorhome and told Fernie “Follow him” as he plodded along in front of us and gestured to pull through a space between 2 broken-down trailers. Oh for a Walmart, a casino or even a KOA!

Oh well, we had power and water so we settled in for the night. We found a TV station with good reception, poured a couple of glasses of wine and just started to watch the news when the TV went black. We checked the other outlets and found that half of the motorhome was without electricity. This had not been a good day!

Thursday, Jan 12, 2006
Next morning, we made multiple phone calls to Holiday Rambler and after putting the motorhome through all the routines that the techie guy specified, it was decided we should take it into a shop for repair. Fresno not surprisingly obviously didn’t want us to hang around because the only Holiday Rambler service centre wouldn’t look at our problem for at least a week, even though we told them we were just passing through. This left us no other option than to leave, sad we hadn’t seen our friend. So, I thought, I’d better phone her and I found that we’d forgotten to enter her phone number into our PDA and on checking the local phone directory discovered that she was unlisted. It was such a disappointment.

So down to Bakersfield we hastened, crossing our fingers that the HR facility would take us in. We had a much different reception in Bakersfield. They took us right in and did the repair immediately (thankfully under warranty). They recommended Kelley’s Café and Scales (a truck stop next door) for lunch, so while we waited, we dined at Kelley’s. A tall middle-aged waitress of fairly wide girth welcomed us “Come on in” she drawled. The café hadn’t been remodelled since the 50’s by the look of it but it appeared quite clean. We chose a couple of round stools at the Formica counter where we could see Caesar (our westie) through the open door.

A tough blonde, hair pulled back into a chignon, with a deep, gravelly voice, who looked to have spent much of her life lifting her arm in her local tavern, talked loudly about her schnauzer in the car and how smart he was. Her unassuming bespectacled husband nodded at her every word. The schnauzer yapped continuously – dog and owner had much in common.

I had to fight to keep from grinning when a truck driver and his wife sauntered in. She was as tubby as she was tall, wore a baseball cap pulled low on her brow, a rumply baby-pink kangaroo jacket and great big pink and grey elephant slippers with long floppy ears and a protuberant trunk. She had just stepped out of a sleeper unit and didn’t see fit to change for dinner.

Charlie, a truck driver who had been frequenting Kelley’s for 23 years sat a couple of seats down and bantered with the loquacious waitress. She kidded him that he wouldn’t get any change unless he brought “Izzy” his basset/Australian terrier out of the sleeper unit.
“And you won’t get no tip” he jived back
“Yeah, but look who’s holdin’ your money” she bragged, wildly waving his $20 bill.

They loudly continued arguing until the cook repeatedly dinged his bell at the kitchen pass-through – our order was ready. All I could see of the cook at this point was a big ruddy round face with many days of unshaven grey whiskers and hair about the same length. When he waddled into the café a while later, I took a good look ----- at his stained black apron, at the sweat beaded on his brow, at his nicotine stained fingers and all this on a fat, five foot tall body. He reminded me of the cartoon I’d often noticed on the rear windows of young men’s autos, of a tough butchy-type boy. I had just finished all that I could of my absolutely delicious Cajun chicken sandwich (the rest wrapped neatly to take with me) and the cook’s appearance made me wonder “food poisoning??” But my tummy accepted it well and I ate the rest for dinner that evening.

Bakersfield was a most welcoming city. We pulled into Walmart and we were told “of course you can stay – enjoy our city”.

Friday, January 13/14/15, 2006
The morning was damp and heavy with fog, as we pulled out en route to Palm Springs via Barstow. The thick mist created a depressing scene but about 15 miles east of Bakersfield on Highway 58, we suddenly emerged from the smothering fog of the agricultural valley. Painfully bright sunshine made us grapple for our sunglasses but as our eyes accustomed, we were greeted with a glorious sight.

Velvety emerald-green hills humped into thick folds like unkempt draperies with deep dark crevices. Lush orchards lined the highway, the trees chock full of shiny oranges. Tumbleweeds blowing down the highway, caused me to break into song “Drifting along with the tumblin’ tumbleweeds……” to the consternation of the driver. We gently climbed to an elevation of over 4,000 feet where the hills were scattered with trees. Some seemingly deciduous were covered with leaves while others were bare, their stark, curly branches forming intricate free-form designs. A bright orange Union Pacific freight train snaked its way slowly up and down in the gully below, in and out of tunnels. Long horse trailers pulled by hefty diesel pickup trucks weaved through side roads to join the highway and we’d see whispy brown tails whipping out of the rear of the trailers as they merged ahead of us.

At the summit was a vast plateau ringed by hills topped with luxurious homes taking advantage of their 360-degree view and the town of Tehachapi below. In the distance on the brown and barren hills, hundreds, perhaps thousands of windmills lined the long eastern ridge like a moving picket fence. A closer look showed the windmills were tall ‘Eiffel Tower’ like pylons topped with airplane propeller blades. Just the other side, the land changed drastically – brown desert, scattered with Joshua trees, a type of cactus. This was the Mojave Desert. The air was warm and dry. It was so lovely to get away from the dampness of the foggy valley.

We made the Morongo Casino home for the next three days. It’s only a 15-minute drive to the centre of Palm Springs. The RV parking at the back of the casino skirted open range, the cattle munching happily undisturbed by our intrusion. Winds were constantly high along the I10 corridor from Los Angeles but turn the corner to Palm Springs and the wind abated and the temperature soared. Shorts pre-dominated and sidewalk cafes teemed with happy patrons, probably escapees from the north – just like us.

We noticed that no one in Palm Springs drove a dirty car but ours had been towed through rain and mud and dust, so feeling ashamed, we treated it to a PS special hand-wash. Only $14.95 and it gleamed like a jewel after. Wandering through an outdoor art festival, in that glorious warmth, Fernie munching on a ‘home-made’ ice cream cone, meeting dogs of various unusual breeds and chatting with their owners, I realized that this was why we left home in the middle of the dark days of January. This is life! This is retirement!

No little problems with the motorhome could spoil this euphorious mood. But more problems did occur; the light controls pulled away from the dash, dangling loosely; the air filter holder on the generator fell off. We were able to fix these things temporarily with the Rvers friend – duct tape. Our chassis battery was showing ‘red-eye’ and didn’t hold a charge; our automatic hydraulic jacks didn’t retract fully; our backup monitor started smoking and smelling; several of our cupboard doors were cracking. We were beginning to think we had a lemon and we spent much time on phone calls and visits to try to remedy the problems. Some won’t get fixed until we get home. But we kept smiling – nothing could spoil our happiness. “After all”, we told each other “we’re retired!”

January 16-17, 2006
A couple of nights at the Spotlight 29 Casino in Indio wrapped up our stay in the Coachella Valley. A little Texas Shoot-Out Poker in the evening paid Fernie $100 profit and he came back to the motorhome with a big smile and a promise to take me out to dinner.

About twenty miles west of Indio, a windy road leads to Joshua Tree National Park. The park road meanders north for 47 miles from the Colorado Desert in the south to the Mojave Desert in the north. I had never seen desert so beautiful and alive; flowers in bloom – yellow, red, purple – shrubs were green instead of the usual brown. Occasionally, a roadrunner would dart across our path. What was particularly wonderful though was the absence of any plastic debris. A sad comment on our society. The road exits on the north side at the town and Indian reservation of 29 Palms, a very sleepy little burg with hardly a person to be seen in the middle of the day.

The lack of a good internet signal is the bane of my existence on the road. I’ve given up on TA (Travel America truck stops) even though they’re really cheap ($1.49/hour). Starbucks using Tmobile at $6.95/hour is way too expensive, Flying J is pricey too $4/95/hr; but MacDonald’s has good fast connection speeds and $2.95 for 2 hours. The best of all is when I find a free hotspot. Palm Springs was great for that – right in the centre of town behind Palm Canyon Drive; just east of the centre outside a Ralph’s strip mall and various other spots. I really do miss not having the internet available at night in the motorhome. TV I can do without but not the web.

We went shopping for a couple of good Cabernets and found a Glen Ellen cab for $2.98……It must be rot gut but I couldn’t resist so will report later on its quality.

I found strong free wifi connections at several locations in Palm Springs, one right in the centre of town, just down from Starbucks where Tmobile charges $6.95/hour.