RV Rambling 2006

The Beachcombers

2006-03-09T18:51:00.000-08:00

Mar 8 & 9, 2006.
We have a favourite place – one that we return to and will continue to as long as we can. It’s Sea Perch RV Park south of Yachats (pronounced Ya-hats) and north of Florence, Oregon. This day and the next are to be spent in our favourite place.

It was overcast when we awoke in North Bend but not raining and we had no rain on the 65-mile drive north to ‘our favourite place’. Our last visit was a year and a half ago in midsummer when we had glorious sunshine and blue skies with an occasional bit of wind. We, along with our daughter and her family spent a week flying kites, building sandcastles and beachcombing.

This visit was different. We said back then that we’d love to come to this spot in the winter storm season and a major storm, the worst in three years according to the TV news, hit us shortly after we arrived. We nudged Maggie into her solitary site only about fifty feet from the ocean and were thrilled to discover, when plugging her in, that we had all the comforts - cable TV and free Wifi. We extended the slides, levelled with the push of a button and Voila! Let the storm begin.

Within the hour, the storm attacked the coast violently. We huddled inside glorying in the spectacle of the wild and churning sea. The wind gusts shook the motorhome and blew under the canopy over our long slide – thump, thwack, thwack, THWACK, THUMP – it sounded like we’d be sucked up into the tempest like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz. So we retracted the slide and then felt safe.

The ominous dark olive ocean, with tide so high it seemed to be approaching our motorhome, was a boiling cauldron of foam. Gulls flying into the wind made no headway and stood still in the sky – then suddenly, the wind would catch under their wings and they were swooped away on a wild ride. They’d do it over and over again. The crows weren’t as happy with the blustery weather. They grouped on the grass, necks hunched low so their heads were scrunched tight into their bodies. It was a thrilling afternoon, watching raw nature from the warm comfort of Maggie.

About 4:30pm, the horizon started to brighten and the wind abated. The light grew and blue patches appeared in the sky. Here was our opportunity to get out and walk on the beach, but do you think we could budge Caesar? “Not a chance!” he seemed to say as we urged him. So we went without him clad in multi layers of clothes – sweat shirts, rain gear, hoods and our lovely ‘duck shoes’ and we fought the bracing wind, clambering across rocks and driftwood onto the cement-hard sand. The sound of the crashing surf was deafening. A gull had caught a large crab and was pecking at it voraciously. He flew off as we approached but watched so he could return. The poor crab, on its back, was still alive- its legs moving weakly, trying to get up I suppose. So we hastened away so the gull could return and put the crab out of its misery.

As I poured a glass of wine and prepared dinner with the most amazing view in the world right in front of me, I pondered if it could get any better than this.

Redwood Country

2006-03-07T18:23:00.000-08:00

March 6, 2006
We were in no hurry to leave the KOA in Willits. Fernie was playing online poker before I got out of bed and made an additional $15. I am beginning to believe that this man could make a career playing poker. He always treats me to a nice meal out with his winnings so I’m a big supporter.

It was drizzling rain and misty as we pulled out but within the hour the landscape got brighter and the sun forced its way through the clouds and dappled the green hillsides. Random patches of blue appeared in the sky and multiplied compressing the clouds to insignificance. Deep in the thick undergrowth, the gnarled and mossy tree trunks dripped with moisture beneath the forest of evergreens as we curled up the smooth and fast highway 101. The trees got larger as we progressed along the Redwood Highway. Eagles, casting immense shadows over the road, soared overhead as if the cessation of the rain had brought out their prey. In the mountain passes, cliffs had given way sliding a murky mess of rocks and trees across the highway. Water was still gushing as we passed. The road crews in their bright yellow rain gear scraped and shovelled and loaded the muddy morass into large dump trucks, which deposited the debris on sidings along the way. Rivers had overflowed their banks; the raging waters capturing and razing anything in the way. In one spot the river had eradicated a long stretch of the old highway below.

The gargantuan redwoods began to appear, sometimes creating a wall of trunks beside the road. Squeezing through the redwoods with Maggie meant occasionally waiting for the oncoming traffic to pass and stealing a bit of their lane. Tourist inspired retailers offered ‘Chain-saw carvings’. They paraded the finished pieces along the roadside; there were gross depictions of Indian chiefs, grizzlies, polecats, totems and the piece de resistance – the jowly hunch-backed and ubiquitous Bigfoot. (I thought of my friend Bob – if he’d been with us, he wouldn’t have been able to resist - Or perhaps the ‘burl tables’ would have been his artistic choice.) Tourists were ensnared by signs starting ‘World-Famous …….’ or ‘The Largest ………’ or ‘Believe it or not ……..’.

We reached our intended destination in the early afternoon. Trinidad is a quaint seaside town just north of Eureka, California. The casino Cher-Ae Heights is located on a high bluff beside the ocean and the welcome mat for Rvers was obvious when the ‘RV’ signs guided us to a beautiful, level, paved spot with a view between the trees of the ocean. There were drinking water outlets provided and within minutes of our arrival, a van arrived to transport us to the casino, which was really within walking distance.

Trinidad is a town with a population of just over 300 and the town hall advertises a ‘crab fest’ on Friday night; I wonder if they would welcome travellers. We stopped in at Katie’s Smokehouse, in the back of a house. The owner rattled on about the history of Katies, which had been there for seventy years even though she and her husband had only owned it for seventeen years. She told us that Trinidad is the most westerly city in California and its population are fishermen, for crabs mostly. The town is high above the rocky coves where waves crashed violently and the fishing boats bobbed crazily off the end of the rocky bluff. We bought some smoked oysters and smoked salmon for our evening’s repast. An atmosphere such as this called for a ‘fish’ lunch and Fernie treated with his poker winnings – it was fabulous with a glass of chardonnay to wash it down in a quaint little harbour side cafe.

The weather became quite blustery again and we quickly got back to the car between walks to the beach and driving down the winding road with breathtaking views at every turn to the fishing dock. Fishermen with weathered faces like the ages-old deeply creviced bark of the redwoods, were clad in oilskins and sou’ westers and tinkered busily with their gear. Sea gulls the size of eagles lined the railings of the long jetty, not budging as we slithered between them. Another large group of gulls, shrieking piercingly while waves tossed them about, fought over the seafood debris tossed overboard from the fishing boats.

An evening of Texas Hold-em for Fernie while I relaxed in Maggie with Caesar was the plan. The rains returned violently, drumming on the roof as I happily tapped away at my laptop while watching a bit of TV, my little electric heater warming my feet under the table. Suddenly the heater stopped and the TV went black but I could hear that our portable generator was still running. I donned my duck shoes and Fernie’s Australian Dryzabone oilskin coat and hat and ventured outside. The water was gushing underneath the motorhome in torrents and had, I figured, splashed the electrical connection and shorted the system out. No knowing what I should do, I just shut the generator down and hustled back inside already dripping wet. I put the onboard generator on for a while and everything worked fine but it’s so noisy that Caesar and I snuggled up in bed with a book and our 12-volt TV – we were quite content. We knew that Fernie might be gone for several hours as he was in a tournament. When he returned, he yelled from the door in an accusatory tone “What the heck happened?” It only took him a couple of seconds to fire the generator back up and restore the power – quite magically!

March 7, 2006
The rain had run its course and we awoke to a beautiful day. It got us going early – well, early for us anyway. Through the trees, I spied a broad and bright rainbow arcing across the rocky promontory. I ran for my camera – it was so spectacular. Then we ventured on.

The highway exuded a steaming mist as the sun sucked up the vapour from the soaking wet pavement. Patches of mist clung to the trees and high above, as the clouds rose, the mountaintops appeared cloaked with glistening white snow. We’d round a corner to a long expanse of beach with surfing-size waves smacking the shore, emitting a salty spray that blurred the seascape into a scene from an oil painting. Suddenly, a squall hit and hail bombarded Maggie; the road ahead was slick white and we slowed to compensate but it stopped as quickly as it started.

Travelling in Maggie is a delight for the passenger – me! Our high position gives a birds-eye view rivalling that of the front seat of a tour bus. We see over roadside hedges and walls glimpsing sights we’d never view from a car. A perfect example – behind a high barrier, an expanse of meadow was visible, a large herd of elk relaxing comfortably in the long grass. We would never have known they were there from a car.

The sun barely penetrated the redwood forests but would sporadically highlight the soft spring green of the sparse but newly leaved undergrowth beneath the regal giants. I’d spy surreal clearings deep in the forest, which would take me back to my childhood belief in fairies and say “Oh, I wish we could pull Maggie deep into the forest and stay for a while”. Fernie would just ignore my dreamlike mind-set in his pragmatic way.

The sun continued to shine into Oregon. Bright yellow gorse covered the banks and hillsides reflecting the sunshine with a golden glow. The redwoods behind us, the trees were scrubbier and windswept and the occasional smooth copper-trunked arbutus (Americans have another word for arbutus but it escapes me) was interspersed. Numerous portions of the highway had been washed out and road crews were hurriedly repairing and repaving. We were really fortunate not to have been driving through in the storms only days ago because the highway must have been closed.

As we rambled, we chose so many houses as places we’d like to live; they were always perched high on the cliffs in sheltered nooks overlooking sandy coves with crashing surf bordered by rocky headlands. But we decided life was better in our rolling home with different outlooks every day.

The retail outlets differed from California – galleries, bookshops and when they did sell Myrtlewood and giftware, it was displayed much more tastefully. Further along, sand dunes materialized – I wonder why only certain spots have dunes. Isn’t it windy all along the Pacific coast? I guess I need to do a little research on the internet.

We reached our home for the night early in the afternoon – Fernie thought he’d driven a long day – we clocked 194 miles. It was in North Bend, Oregon – the Mill Casino - a great spot on Coos Bay with designated RV parking. Sadly, they’re building an RV park with hook-ups due to complete in the summer, which probably means ‘no more dry camping’. We had a wonderful feast of seafood chowder with smoked oysters and salmon from Katie’s in Trinidad, sourdough bread and chilled chardonnay. A free wifi connection was the coup de grace especially since Fernie found that the poker limits were way too high at The Mill so online poker beckoned.

And the Winner is……!

2006-03-05T22:52:00.000-08:00

March 5, 2006
The storm that came in the middle of the night had been forecast so we weren’t surprised but in the morning, when we heard on the news that the roads we’d travelled yesterday had got lots of snow, we were so thankful that we’d been forced to plough on through.

Leaving Hopland, north through Ukiah to Willits, the rain poured down and the wind blew in huge gusts. It reminded us of home. We agreed that we had left Arizona too soon and yearned to be back in the desert. However, today is an important one for me – The Academy Awards! I love them and have never missed them, so I opened up our wallet, pushing aside the moths and actually paid for a KOA campsite, which had all hook-ups including cable TV – Yeah! And free Wifi for Fernie to play online poker. The rain continued hard and the wind blew and our little home in the trees was so cozy. While I watched the awards, Fernie made a cool $52 – that more than pays for this campsite.

No Room at the Inn!

2006-03-05T22:49:00.000-08:00

March 4, 2006
I had it all planned. We’d drive north of Sacramento and leave the interstate to go west on a side road to Brooks, California where the Cache Creek Casino is located. It’s one of the largest and most modern casinos and looks very new. However, security told us to pull out of the spot we chose and to go back up the hill to the area assigned for RV’s. We wound through several levels of parking lots and a security guy on a bike pointed further up saying “don’t worry, the bus will pick you up and bring you down to the casino”. So up and up we went, leaving the blacktop behind and onto gravel. Still no RV’s, so we drove further up onto a rough dirt track where a sign proclaimed “Overflow Parking” and there we spied a couple of parked RV’s on the side of a muddy hill. One of them had tried to level his unit and its front wheels were in the air. A construction site behind the lot meant trucks were travelling through constantly and huge industrial garbage containers sat in the middle of the pothole filled RV area. We didn’t feel the usual casino welcome, so we ventured on.

We were heading for the coast eventually so carried on through Highway 16 and 20 to the next casino – Konecti in Lakeport, which sounded so lovely in the book description. What a dump! And they CHARGED for their campsites - $30. So we ventured on.

I had promised Fernie a short drive but his temper was getting short now. I told him there was one more casino only 18 miles further near Hopland. As we entered Highway 175, we noticed a warning sign “No vehicles over 39 feet long”. Fernie said “we’re only 30 feet, so we’re ok”. I reminded him that the car and hitch would add about 15 feet and insisted we unhook and I drive the car through ahead. Thank goodness I did – the road was the most precarious I’d ever seen and there had been many washouts and slides in the days previous and the edge of the road was crumbling away in many places with precipitous drops beside it. Then it climbed over 3,000 feet and there was snow – luckily not any left on the road. The thirteen miles we travelled seemed to take forever. I would pull over every so often and wait to see Maggie appear in my rear view mirror scared that it might not. When we arrived at the casino, Fernie greeted me with “I need a drink – a strong one”. He related how the stress-filled drive had left him weak and how he almost hit a deer on descent and the deer ran up the steep slope beside the road, lost its grip and slid back down onto the road narrowly missing the motorhome again.

I ran over to the casino and asked if we could stay overnight and they said to stay as long as we wanted. We found a beautiful spot, set up and I made Fernie a very strong Margarita.

It’s Cherry Pink and Apple Blossom White

2006-03-05T22:45:00.000-08:00

March 3, 2006
The storm came in the middle of the night – 5 am to be precise. The rain pounded the roof and the wind howled and then the hail came down. We snuggled under the covers and hoped Maggie would survive it unscathed and she did. By the time we got up at 8 am, it was all over and we could see blue sky creeping towards us.

It was only a short drive – about 40 miles – into Fresno on a secondary highway, which greeted us with orchards encroaching onto the road from both sides. The apple blossoms were spectacular and the ground was covered with fallen petals like a light dusting of snow. The bright pink cherry blossoms were just beginning to open and the pale pink of the almond trees were well on their way. It was a patchwork of colour.

Having missed seeing our friend who lives in Fresno when we drove south, we decided to try again. We didn’t have her phone number so about 10:30 am, with trepidation, I knocked on her front door. We left Maggie and Caesar in a Walmart parking lot and unhooked our tow car. The door opened and I recognized ‘B’ right away even though I hadn’t seen her for ten years of so. It took her a couple of minutes after I introduced myself to figure out who I was though. I immediately explained that we were just passing through and didn’t have her phone number and asked her to come out to lunch with us. It was so last minute but she said she could be ready within the hour. While she was getting ready, we drove to a nearby commercial area and hunted WIFI with quick success. When we picked her up, ‘B’ came out with a little vase and a gorgeous fuchsia-coloured camellia for us. We had a happy get-together for a few hours, swapping travel tales and reminiscing, and we were on our way. We drove a couple of hours and let Walmart in Turlock provide a haven for the night.

The Navigator – part 2

2006-03-03T10:57:00.000-08:00

March 1 (the day we got Fred and Max in 1980)
A storm was forecast for March 2 and 3, so we decided we’d better get out of the LA area before it started. We especially wanted to clear the area called the Grapevine, a 4,000 foot pass between San Fernando and Bakersfield, that expected snow.

I poured over the maps trying to devise the perfect route to avoid the chaos of Los Angeles in our more than 40 feet of transportation. I ruled out the picturesque but treacherous highway 74 over to 215 after the torturous day we spent transiting the Anza-Borrega desert. So I asked D&D for their advice and we decided on I5 to 605 to 210 and back to I5. This route circled the worst of LA’s freeways but didn’t add too many miles.

However, it was so stressful – sometimes 16 lanes of speeding traffic and huge wildly handled trucks each side of our wide-berthed Maggie, leaving only inches of space each side. If Fernie had sneezed, we’d be toast. And the highway was so rough; Maggie rattled and groaned, our teeth hurt from clenching them and Fernie’s shoulders were numb from clinging on to the steering wheel in a death grip. It took two hours to clear Los Angeles and reach the northern mountains.

The Walmart in Bakersfield was our home for the night and we settled in comfortably and went to bed early.

March 2, 2006
A ninety mile drive through magnificent orchards of blooming apple and cherry trees took us to the Palace Indian Gaming Centre and Casino in Lemoore, CA, south of Fresno. It’s a monstrous sprawling structure in the middle of flat farmlands and they are in the process of enlarging it by building a huge hotel. It can be seen from miles away. There’s obviously money to be made by running a casino. So how do all those people I know ‘always come out ahead’ when playing the slots, which are the largest income generator for the house.

We parked Maggie in a beautifully landscaped corner of the parking lot, with not another soul around us, double-checked with security that it was ok and were told “stay as long as you like”. A battered silver catering truck pulled up at the side of the road with the insignia ‘El Toro Tacos’. A pretty young Mexican woman jumped out and leaned up to the window to kiss her husband goodbye. She was in uniform and ready to put in a shift at the casino as a waitress or cleaner. He pulled around the corner into a widening of the road and opened up the side of the truck forming a countertop, set up a couple of tables surrounded by chairs and within a few minutes cars were pulling in to dine on his tacos. I think he stayed open as long as his wife was working. It was a very touching to witness that hard-working young couple making their way in their new country. I commend them.

It was laundry day and the casino had to wait for Fernie’s money. We found a Laundromat after trying to understand the directions received from a little Mexican woman who didn’t really speak English even though she obviously understood it. While Fernie washed and dried, I drove around the corner until I found WIFI – and got a connection almost right away, did our banking, cleaned up email and did a little surfing.

It started to rain later on – not much and not long. I was happy to snuggle in with my books, some TV and a bit of blogging while Fernie braved the casino. They had a great poker room segregated from the rest of the casino and non-smoking, so he played a few hours of Texas Hold-Em. A cheerful face appeared at the door about three hours later – he was up $80 and was ‘ecstatic’ - in his words.

Back to Humidity

2006-03-03T10:56:00.000-08:00

Feb 27-28, 2006
After the trying day yesterday with those perilous mountain roads, we elected to take the most major highway to the coast through Oceanside, then north on I5 to Dana Point and Doheny State Beach, near San Juan Capistrano. We had reserved a couple of nights right on the beach with the surf crashing on the sand right in front of our motorhome – what a view! Mind you, they made us pay for it - $30 a night and no services but it was worth it. We chose Doheny because of its proximity to our friends (D&D) who live in Laguna Niguel.

We barely got settled when the rains came. We hadn’t seen rain since January 9th (50 days) so you’d think we might have welcomed it but we cursed it expecting it would last for days – Vancouver style. But – California style, it stopped by the following morning and we awoke to a glorious day.

Waking to the smell of the ocean and the crashing of the waves was a thrill – it always is. I stumbled out of bed and threw back the curtains. Our huge front window framed the fabulous sight – hundreds of gulls, soared and squawked and massed on the wave-beaten beach, the tide was in, the sky was azure with nary a cloud and Catalina Island could be seen silhouetted on the horizon. WOW!

Couldn’t wait to get out and walk on the beach – but a big sign with a picture of a dog and a slash through it “No dogs on beach” ruined that. We would feel so guilty going without Caesar, so we walked through the tropically vegetated park and along the strand beside the beach. The rain from the previous night had extracted the most amazing aromas from the tropical plants and flowers; the intensity of the perfumed air made me giddy. I felt all my senses were heightened.

As usual, we drove around searching for unsecured wifi signals and as usual, found several almost right away. It boggles the mind to try to estimate exponentially how many wifi spots are in the country – billions? It never takes me long to find one in any built-up area, particularly in an area of small business or commerce. I wonder why anyone would go to Starbucks or other pay Wifi spots.

Early afternoon, D&D picked us up. It had been twelve years since we’d seen them but we started chattering as if it were yesterday. They took us for a tour of the area – Dana Point, Laguna Beach, etc. The properties along the coast are superb, but many of the homes are humble abodes while being worth millions. At one small park on a high bluff overlooking a sandy cove that sheltered about a dozen homes, they told us Diane Keaton lived in one – quite fitting that quirky woman would not be in a mansion in Malibu. California (like Mexico) does not allow the beach areas to be owned – they must remain public lands. I find it amazing that in a city full of billionaires they can’t own the beach in front of their houses – but because I’m not a billionaire, I approve. Next time I’m in Southern California, I’ll tuck my folding chair and beach umbrella under my arm, pack a picnic lunch and maybe dinner complete with wine and beer and hike down Malibu Beach until I figure I’m in front of someone famous’ house and plonk down and get comfy. Oh – and I won’t forget my binoculars. It must drive them crazy if that’s what people do.

There are some great little shops and galleries in Laguna Beach that beg us for more time – next time, I guess. We went back to D&D’s for drinks, high up in an aerie of a perch in the mountains above Laguna Beach. As we entered their front door, the eagle’s eye view of endless sky and sun-kissed ocean arrested our attention – it was other-worldly (some would say ‘heavenly’). I don’t think we’d ever visited Southern California at this time of year before because I’d never seen it so green – the hills were a velvety emerald. We finished the lovely day with dinner at a little Austrian restaurant called Mozart – crab cakes (are they Austrian? I don’t think so) for me that were better than Emeril’s – a perfect day.

I think I could easily live in this oceanside area just far enough away from LA that has no smog.

The Navigator

2006-03-03T10:54:00.000-08:00

Feb 25-26
Our destination was Dana Point just south of Laguna Beach. I, as navigator always try to choose routes we haven’t traversed before. Hence, I zeroed in on highway 78 connecting to highway 76 west across southern California. They are two lane highways, which we usually prefer to freeways but we weren’t prepared for what was to come.

As we left the four-lane highway on the west side of the Salton Sea, we immediately started to climb at a gentle grade on a fairly straight road. The desert changed every mile or so at the different altitudes. No cacti at the bottom but sequentially – first a few Joshua Trees, then some blooming Ocatillos and yuccas, and what looked like huge aloe plants with about eight-foot stalks protruding topped with bright yellow blossoms. They were lovely.

Before we entered the Anza-Borrega Desert State Park, we passed through Ocatillo Wells vehicular recreation area. What a beehive of activity – RV’s of all kinds parked here and there all over – most of them those ‘toy-carriers’ that are so popular with young men. They are 5th-wheels with a small living area in front and large vehicle storage in the rear, carrying their ATV’s, dune buggies, moto-cross bikes and every conceivable ‘sand-manoeuvrable’ vehicle. They roared over and through the dunes, along the water-gouged gullies, kicking up dust storms and they raced, revving their vehicles loudly on the sandy flats. It was Sunday and they were getting ready to leave for home so they would swerve dangerously onto the highway in front of us, their youthful testosterone at its highest level after a weekend of fun and beer. They drove their huge 5th wheels as fast as if they were still in their ATV’s and I’m sure thought that we (ol’ grandpa and granny) were a real nuisance, so we pulled over periodically to let them roar by. Some would lean out their windows and yell “thanks Pops”, others would honk their approval and some would just speed on by.

It got more difficult to pull over as we got to the mountains and entered the Anza-Borrega Desert Park. The road narrowed and curved with no shoulders and we travelled with steep cliffs down to deep valleys on one side with sheer rock face right to the edge of the road on the other, allowing no room for driving error. The road wound precariously mile after mile and I’m sure Fernie cursed the navigator but he handled it with great skill while I white-knuckled it through. In spite of the terror, I did enjoy the absolutely beautiful scenery. Around about the summit, the desert was filled with a virtual forest of red-blooming ocotillos, a glorious sight. As we came across the mountains, we left desert behind and trees started to appear, getting thicker as we descended. We suddenly emerged into the tiny hamlet of Julian but it was twisty and turny and we couldn’t find a place to pull over our 40+ feet of motorhome and tow-car. Such a shame because it looked to be an artsy community full of coffee houses, quaint shops and restaurants.

The highway continued to snake until we reached the Pala Casino about five miles east of freeway #15. We had travelled almost one hundred miles through those narrow, twisting roads and the driver was exhausted. However not too tired to go and play a little poker in the casino ----- or so he thought. It’s a massive and upscale resort casino attracting such stars in concert as Toni Braxton, Johnny Mathis and Michael Macdonald and the table limits reflected this. There was no Texas Hold-Em poker room and the Pai-gow tables lowest limit was $25. There were 75 varied tables and it would have been almost impossible to snare a seat. The patrons were mostly Chinese and they were obviously not turned off by the high limits. Oh well, we had a nice Asian dinner and toddled back to Maggie and Caesar and spent the night playing cards.

A Beach of a Life

2006-02-25T12:09:00.000-08:00

Feb 24-25, 2006
We veered off Highway 15 onto Box Canyon Road, which runs south to the Salton Sea. What a lovely surprise this fifteen mile stretch of road was. At first, the desert was vivid with blooms, yellow and red. The tall ocatillos had no leaves but flame-red plumes at the top of each stalk. I expected by the curves and switchbacks shown on the map that we would be climbing through a mountain pass but the road followed the bottom of a canyon, which would be impassable in the rain. It was very scenic in a lunar landscape sort of way. The high cliffs had eroded into brick red ‘Hoo-Doos’. Luckily there wasn’t much traffic and we meandered through it very slowly.

We pulled into a California State campground on the banks of the Salton Sea. It was called a ‘primitive’ site because it had no services, just a couple of Johnny-on-the-Spots and a few garbage cans. Well we don’t need any service; we’re totally self-contained and we had this Corvina Beach site to ourselves. We pulled in right beside the beach – only about 20 feet from the water and it was beautiful and only $5 a night (for seniors – that’s us). It was only about noon when we arrived and it was hot – so what else could we do, but get out our lounge chairs, pull out our awning, and pour a couple of mohitos. The water glistened and a myriad of birds flew and walked by. I love the desert but being by water is so soothing for the spirit.

The Salton Sea is over 200 feet below sea level and has a very high salinity – more salt than the ocean (even I should be able to swim in it). Millions of years ago, the Gulf of California extended right up this valley – hence the salt in the soil. It dried out and only a hundred years ago, after major flooding from the Colorado River was the Salton Sea formed. It’s a fairly big lake – 35 miles long by 15 miles wide but we didn’t see any motorboats on it just canoes gliding by. I suppose that’s because there are wildlife refuges and bird nesting grounds around the lake.

More later……………………

A Touch of Nostalgia

2006-02-25T12:07:00.000-08:00

Feb 20, 2006
About twenty miles south east of Laughlin, Nevada, in the crook of a mountain pass, lies Oatman, Arizona where the glitz of Nevada seems hundreds of miles and years away. A gold mining colony from a hundred years ago, Oatman doesn’t seem to have progressed. The miners used burros to haul their gear and the progeny of those original donkeys still live in the hills surrounding Oatman, coming down every day into the town. They are given free rein and cars driving through the main street are expected to give way to the burros.

When we arrived in Oatman, we parked behind some rickety old clapboard buildings and strolled back in a bit having noticed a couple of ancient rusting fire engines beside a weathered fire bell. That was a mistake; some sort of ‘pit bull-like’ dog charged down at us as fast as a gazelle, growling and snapping frenziedly. (To B&B who own and love a part pit bull - please don’t accuse me of breedism). We made a hasty retreat while Caesar wanted to linger and socialize. Luckily, the monster dog stopped – I guess we’d invaded his territory.

So we stuck to the main street busy with tourists on this Presidents’ Day holiday. The road was lined with souvenir shops, cafes and saloons in the original buildings – very quaint, very touristy. The burros strolled everywhere looking for handouts. Someone was selling carrots and everyone was feeding them. “Do not feed the baby burros,” the signs said, “they only need their mother’s milk and might choke”. I do hope it was paid attention to.

The burros were varied in colour, some white, some grey, some brown, some dappled and the babies (colts?) with spiky hair up their necks to the top of their heads would nuzzle their noses into my leg not wanting to be ignored. They loved to be petted and tickled and clouds of dust would erupt if you gave a good pat on the back.

As we approached a small ‘herd’ (?), Caesar was enthralled and dragged at his leash hard to get closer. One burro seemed just as interested in Caesar and the little white dog and the dusty brown burro snuffled noses together, Caesar’s tail wagging frantically. This went on for quite a while – a love story in the making.

I wandered into a shop that sold rocks among its unruly display of Oatman t-shirts, gaudy suspenders, and wind chimes made from beer cans. I picked up a few random rocks from a box on the floor but they were not priced. An elderly gentleman was alone at the desk. He was wearing his pants held high by a pair of those giant suspenders and his glasses were perched at the end of his bulbous nose.
“How much?” I asked
“Dunno” he answered
“Who does know?” I fired back
“She ain’t here” he said mildly
“When’ll she be back?”
“Wednesday”
“That’s two days from now”
“Yup”
“How do I know how much then” I pursued
“Oh heck!” he twinkled at me “three for a dollar”
I had six pieces that I figured would be about a dollar or more each.
“That’s a deal” I replied – kindly now.
“That’ll teach her to put prices on in future” he said as he entered the prices into an old cash register with a handle at the side that he’d crank after each item.
“That’ll be $2.14” he said
I handed him a $5 bill, a dime and a nickel.
“Damn thing won’t open” he said exasperatedly, as he banged on the side of the register.
“Did you push the total key?” I offered. I could see the machine quite clearly as I was at the side counter.
“Damnation” he spit “everything’s going wrong today” but he hit ‘Total’ and out popped the drawer.
He started counting out change and pulled some bills and handed me a total of $6.75 – now terribly flustered and confused. I gave it back and patiently explained that he just owed me three $1 bills and one penny and I had to point to the slot in the drawer where the $1 bills lay.

As we drove out of town, a sign proclaimed “Old Highway – Route 66” and we decided to follow it. It’s obviously not well used as the plants and mosses grew across the shoulder edging on to the road. It was very picturesque curling through the mountains and weaving through the foothills and roller-coastering through the plains. I flashed back mentally to my teenage years (this is happening more and more often – is it a sign of old age?) when I had a crush on the blonde Martin Milner and the dark George Maharis, the stars of the TV series ‘Route 66’. Of course, they didn’t travel this remote 23-mile stretch from Oatman to Needles but it still made me reminisce.

Feb 22 –24, 2006
Back to Quartzsite and what a change. The rock and gem shows over, the big RV show finished, the streets were empty, shops in tents closed down for the season and our desert camping spot wasn’t deserted but mighty quiet. We wanted to see ‘the Satellite Guys’ about installing a TV dish on Maggie’s roof as we’d heard that the prices here were the best. However we found that they only supply ‘high-end’ equipment – not in our price bracket. I guess we’ll go with Camping World.

The temperature (one month later) is much warmer – middle 70’s I’d guess but it still got really cold overnight – I’m still wearing my red flannel pyjamas with the little white polar bears frolicking across.

We did a three day ‘veg-out’ again – we need one every so often. Relaxing in the sun, reading, writing, snoozing, cocktails, marvelling at the bright warm sun and blue sky and that this is our 47th day without rain. I don’t think I ever want to be in Vancouver in January and February again – not if I can help it anyway. The large desert hummingbirds hover near, the absence of insects puzzles us (must be the cold nights) and as the sun sinks in the sky, two ultra lights put-putt by just over our heads. They are like large U-shaped parachutes in yellow and orange, the lines holding the pilots as if in easy chairs. I would love to try one - what a thrill to soar over the desert and spy on all below. They fly very slowly and at such a low altitude – not at all frightening. I wonder why they fly at sunset each day.

The Forgotten!

2006-02-25T12:06:00.000-08:00

Feb 13, 2006
We’ve been to Las Vegas so many times in recent years that the strip has lost its lustre. We kept feeling ‘been there – done that’ and so the off the beaten track casinos provided more entertainment. I think the opulence of Caesars, Wynn, Bellagio, etc. gets a bit ‘ho-hum’.

We did get a kick out of the Chinese New Year’s exhibit in the conservatory of the Bellagio. A wonderful but ailing banyan tree was removed from Florida in pieces and reassembled at the Bellagio. It provided the background for the colourful display. Beautiful red lanterns hung profusely from the branches. Large smiling Chinese characters including a huge dog (must be the year of the dog) were located here and there in the exhibit and walkways wound through and around the magnificent tree and they created archways from fountains of shooting water. I, obviously still a child or approaching second childhood, stuck my finger into the shooting stream and soaked the man behind me. He took it in good spirits but I was a bit embarrassed.

I never tire of the dancing waters at the Bellagio. The music is different every time we’ve stopped to watch. But there’s another ‘laser and dancing water show’ that doesn’t get much press but is worth a visit. I guess the best words I could use to describe it are ‘cute’ and ‘hokey’. It’s the water show at Sam’s Town. The hotel surrounds a large glass-enclosed quadrangle – about 10 or 12 stories high. This conservatory is filled with trees, replicas of mountains and a gushing waterfall. Birds (not real ones) chirp from above. It’s very dense and green and so relaxing. We viewed a nighttime show - 10 pm. The lights dimmed and we could hear wolves howling in the distance; a spotlight picked out an amber-eyed wolf who threw back his head and howled menacingly above the waterfall. An eagle high on a rocky outcropping spread his wings and cocked his head as if reacting to the cry. A massive grizzly bear rose on his haunches and answered with a guttural roar. I swear that the wolf and the grizzly made eye contact with me (guess I am still a child). With that, the waters started to a hillbilly tune; lasers drew ancient characters on the rock walls in turquoise, pink and yellow. The waters glowed with the colours and the laser beams glistened as if millions of diamonds floated in the air. The music morphed into a classical piece and as it reached a crescendo, the waters shot high in the air. Wolf, bear, eagle, and owl watched intently.

The music changed to a country song – Clint Black maybe (I really don’t know country singers) and the lasers drew more modern images on the stones. The colours changed to red, white and blue and the lasers depicted the US flag and the music changed to a haunting rendition of ‘America the Beautiful’. A bit over the top for us ‘less patriotic’ Canadians but we respect the American way even if it does make us smile.

I Digress!

2006-02-20T13:37:00.000-08:00

Feb 20, 2006
The sad thing about all this is that I had myself convinced that we’d be partaking of healthy eating and lots of exercise – and just maybe I’d lose a few pounds. Yeah sure! We do get lots of exercise but if you’ve been reading my journals you’ll know that we’ve done our share of unhealthy eating – casino buffets are a curse and I don’t even like buffets really but can’t say no to a bargain. And then we discovered Jose Cuervo ready-made margaritas and Smirnoff ready-made appletinis and Martis Autentico mohitos – sure to be loaded with calories. I guess I should just be happy I’m not an alcoholic.

Casinos have evolved into one-stop entertainment destinations. You are likely to find a bowling alley, multiple movie theatres, even an ice arena (the Orleans, LV) or an equestrian centre (South Coast in LV (see photo above)). The old are making way for the new in Las Vegas. While we were there, the Bourbon Street Casino was reduced to rubble; the Boardwalk is closed and fenced off waiting for the wrecking ball while construction has already started between the Bellagio and the Monte Carlo; the South Coast Casino at the far south end of the ‘strip’ with a Moroccan ‘come to the Casbah’ design just opened up in January; Donald Trump is in partnership with the Frontier and will be building a Trump Tower.

At the California border with Nevada, the Primm Resorts are more than an evolution, perhaps a ‘devolution’. It’s an example of where Disney meets Nevada. Three casino/hotels make up the group. Buffalo Bill’s unattractive hotel is a monstrous ‘prairie grain elevator’ surrounded by rocky mountains through and around which snakes a gigantic roller coaster. Families roll out of their cars to spend the President’s Day long weekend in this alternate reality funhouse. While kiddies go on the rides and play the arcade games, Mom and Dad throw money in the slots.

The movie theatre addition works well for a couple when one is a gambler and the other is not. In Laughlin at the Riverside, I went to a couple of matinees ($5) while Fernie joined the Texas Holdem poker tables. With the Academy Awards approaching, I was happy to catch a couple of nominated films.

Brokeback Mountain has been highly touted but I thought it over-rated. However, it was a gay breakout movie. It started in the 1960’s and depicted a couple of masculine young men who met when they took jobs in a stereotypical testosterone-filled environment, as sheepherders (shepherds?) in the Wyoming mountains. Supposedly heterosexual, they gradually engaged in a relationship over the summer and fell in love – though the word ‘love’ was never mentioned (is it a woman’s word?). They insisted that they weren’t “queer” and carried on with their lives, getting married, having children but met up for a fishing trip every year. We followed their lives and the resultant tragedies for the next twenty years. It showed us how our not-too-long-ago society forced gays into the closet, into heterosexual marriages causing such pain and heartbreak for all involved. It is therefore an important message film but not ‘best’ film.

‘Walk the Line’ is a biopic of Johnny Cash’s early life and his developing relationship and eventual marriage to June Carter. I knew very little about their lives other than I loved Johnny when I was a teenager and remembered his Folsom Prison concert and his problem with booze and drugs. Not a country music fan, I knew nothing at all about June Carter. Joaquin Phoenix played Cash and at first I was uncomfortable with his portrayal. He sang the songs himself which I thought strange but he performed so well that I forgot it wasn’t Cash’s voice. I hadn’t realized before that Phoenix had a cleft palate but the scar was so obvious in the many close-ups that it distracted me. Reese Witherspoon as June Carter was a dynamo and she also sang all her own songs and wonderfully. The Cash/Carter duets were spellbinding, almost making a fan out of me. Good acting by both but Reese is the standout – perhaps an Academy Award for her?

And as far as best actor goes, neither Heath Ledger for Brokeback Mountain nor Joaquin Phoenix for Walk the Line come anywhere near Philip Seymour Hoffman’s portrayal of Truman Capote in Capote. Of course, that’s just my humble opinion.

Vegging Out!

2006-02-16T16:10:00.000-08:00

Lake Mead – Government Wash
February 14–15, 2006
We’d had enough of the city life so we headed out of Las Vegas towards Lake Mead. About an hour later, we entered the Lake Mead Federal Recreation Area and drove down to the lake on Government Wash road. They say that on weekends it’s really hectic because it has a boat ramp but it was Tuesday and only the occasional RV was to be seen dotted around the vast desert area. There is no charge to pull in to one of the many campsites but you can only stay for fifteen days – two days is fine for us. Some of the roads are a bit steep and narrow for our big Maggie, but we found a perfect spot overlooking the lake and surrounding mountains. We set up quickly and put out our awning, mats and lounge chairs and the rest of the day, I vegged out in the sun, reading my book and writing this blog. Fernie, in the meantime, partook in his favourite hobby – polishing the motorhome (Different strokes………..). This rustic campsite made me think of our camping weekends back home and our camping buddies (J&C) and I wished they would have pulled in beside us – the martinis would have been flowing………oh, they were anyway!

The desert was hilly and rocky with low-lying shrubs, some green, some flowering and some dormant. The stark mountains were grey, orange and clay red as the sun dropped in the West and ringed the blue-green lake below while the deeply etched crevices made them jump out as in a 3D movie.
Hares – or were they jackrabbits – hopped through the sage brush, their long legs and ears making them very tall; we also spied marmots and plenty of birds, even seagulls and at sunset the howls of the coyotes echoed spine-chillingly through the valleys.

A seaplane glided in for a landing on the calm waters but soon took off again leaving the lake very quiet, as only an occasional boat would speed by. As I lay in my lounge chair in the warm sun a light breeze wafted across my face cooling me. There was no unnatural noise – I listened to the birds and the rustle of the wind. My spirits soared - there is no better feeling in life.

A full moon rose in the eastern sky and its bright white light over the lake and mountains made for the most wondrous sight spread out below us. We sat out in our lounges to take it all in. The forecast had mentioned wind and we figured we’d better retract our awning before we went to bed but the wind caught us unaware coming up suddenly in huge gusts. We wrestled with the awning as the blasts of air would get under the canvas and flap it violently but we finally managed to secure it, thank goodness. The wind really blew hard all night long and through most of the next day. Maggie creaked and groaned and swayed as the huge gusts hit her broadside – it made for a fitful night’s sleep.

The Red Piano

2006-02-16T16:09:00.000-08:00

$115 buys you a ticket for a cheap seat to the Elton John concert at the Caesars Colosseum. Three long escalator rides up to the top of the theatre and I was happy to find my seat was in the centre and not right at the back. It’s amazing though that the view is spectacular from this high perch. Being alone, I watched the other patrons more intently. The other cheapos! Hmmm – lots of blue jeans, a couple of Stetsons (they’d better take them off before the show starts) but no baseball caps. Varied ages – lots in their twenties and thirties – not too many over 60. Are all the older ones in the ‘good’ seats? An aging usher, half glasses perched on the end of his roman nose, performed his job officiously, feeling his power as he barked ‘wait just a minute’ to a clumsy-footed woman, obviously fearful of the precipitous height and eager to sit down.

There’s obviously no dress code – a trio (1 man/2 women) of neon tshirt clad, extremely overweight, unsophisticates, their tshirts sporting ‘Margaritaville’ with huge pictures of parrots (I guess we know where they’ve been) across the fronts and backs clumped down the stairs and plopped heavily into their seats overflowing to the next seats – I was so glad that they weren’t beside me. They carried huge glasses of what looked like beer.

A man sat down beside me and struck up a conversation (or was it me that started it?). His wife elected to miss the show as she wasn’t a huge Elton fan (didn’t know such people existed) and she’d rather see a Cirque de Soleil show. We chatted about shows we’d seen. He’d seen EJ three times, Neil Diamond twice, & Cher’s everlasting retirement show. He was an agreeable nerdish looking guy – 45ish I’d guess but he knew his stuff about the stars and LV. Having him to talk to, the wait for the show to start seemed to pass quickly.

The house lights dimmed, an army of white-overalled attendants stripped the huge cover from the Red Piano to a rumble of ‘awwwwwws’ emanating from the audience. The piano stood atop a huge red-rimmed star and gigantic (about 30 foot high, I’d estimate) illuminated and flashing multi-coloured letters drifted down from the ceiling E L T O N. Almost anti-climactic, a roly-poly little figure sauntered out from the wings, waving double peace signs to the entire audience even those in the rafters. He was clad in his usual long-jacketed black suit embroidered with huge yellow and lime green aspidistras (I don’t really know what an aspidistra looks like) and twining pink petunias down the legs of the trousers as well as the jacket. A red ruffly shirt beneath topped with his signature cross around his neck. How can this portly little man command the attention of such a huge audience – pure talent, that’s how.

He started with Benny and the Jets and I waited for the big screen to show an up-close view of him but the screen showed a wild video of the sixties and seventies, full of female nudity…..lots of bare breasts, which I found strange. I guess it was just portraying the lifestyle of the times and the freeing of women…….I dunno!

His voice was rich and resonating but I found myself wishing that it were just him and his red piano in a smaller venue and none of the folderol to take attention away from his incredible talent.
His stubby fingers flew across the keyboard and his gap-toothed smile was totally captivating. He only performed 15 songs and was on stage only a little over an hour and a half. I guess there’s no such thing as encores anymore.

He quipped about Celine Dion and her rail thin figure. “For someone who’s always had a struggle with weight……I ‘fucking’ hate her” – “put her behind a piano for 30 years and see how big her ass gets” he spit out emphatically.

As the show went on, the background video got raunchier with a dancing couple in a seedy bedroom portraying a sexual incident coupled with violence – what’s love got to do with that? Another song was backed up by a video of a row of five Pamela Andersons doing a pole dance. Then they pulled out all the plugs and started blowing up massive apples and bananas with strange erotic protuberances that were overt sexual symbols and a gigantic pair of breasts from one side of the stage and a pair of nylon stockinged legs complete with garters and high heels at the back of the stage. They couldn’t stop with the giant blowups – a cigarette, a lipstick, an ice cream cone, a hot dog. Then large balloons started falling from the ceiling landing on the ground floor audience who batted them about. Confetti was the next thing to fall as about 30 audience members were invited onstage to bop along to the music. They were obviously told to keep back about 8 feet from the star as they swayed and clicked their fingers in a stiff and embarrassed manner. When Elton sang ‘Candle in the Wind’, the video showed an actress playing Marilyn Monroe – if they couldn’t use real Monroe film, I wish they’d not bothered. He sang a couple of love songs beautifully “How Wonderful Life is now You’re in the World” and “I Believe in Love”.

“The red piano is a symbol for love and my show is dedicated to love” he explained. I wanted to ask him what all the bare breasts, erotic blow-ups and dirty dancing had to do with love. I particularly don’t understand the fascination with the female body when he’s gay – you’d think that he would have some input into the production.

So I guess you’re wondering “did she enjoy the show?” – “did she feel it was worth $115?” Well I am really glad that I went and I really enjoyed his singing when I could ignore all the elaboration. Hmmm the $115 – no, I don’t think it was worth that much. And was I offended by the content? No, of course not – just puzzled. And when I compare it to the Celine Dion show in the same theatre – it doesn’t fare well. But I love Elton and always will in spite of his bitchy side.

Movin' on

2006-02-13T12:59:00.000-08:00

Feb 6 to 13, 2006
It’s Monday and it’s time for our generator repair. Sean and Missy seem to run “The Service Depot” and a strange couple they are. Missy’s smile is painted on and she simpers “Like, I got you mixed up with another dude” when we complained that she phoned us to bring the broken part in when they already had it – Duhhhhh!

When it was finally time to pull Maggie up to the door, just after Sean finished his lunch, out slides his big red tool chest and on goes his boom box – the music very loud but rhythmic and appealing. It reminded me of the scene in the film, Apocalypse Now, when the music was cranked up in the helicopter in preparation to soar over the beaches and villages. We really were unsure what was coming next. The music was something by the B52’s. Sean looked tough but simple; a single hoop earring in his left ear, beard, overalls and cap but strangely, beautiful straight glistening white teeth. I really hoped he knew his stuff.

It was surreal as I watched out the motorhome window – ear-splitting B52’s and Fernie engaged in conversation with Sean who, once he started, talked on and on interminably, his arms waving, the music drowning him out. It seems he collects and sells pieces of meteorites. He showed us a small (2 inches) piece and said he’ll get $40 for it on Ebay. Guess he’s not so dumb.

Well, I guess I was right the first time, Sean was not really ‘switched on’. He had ordered the part without the necessary glue and so he found some ‘shoe glue’ that another customer had left behind and used that. While waiting for it to dry, he suddenly realized he’d glued it together backwards. So, he took it apart and glued it again, this time the right way – we were not feeling good about his ability at this point. Another long wait ensued for the glue to dry; a visit to the shop from the vague Missy “How you guys doin’?”; finally, the part was installed and we were on our way, hoping that the glue would hold when we started the generator. (It did!)

It was late in the afternoon by then, so we pulled into the Paradise Casino in Yuma. It was easy to find the RV area, as there were plenty of units clustered together to the side. We found a place right at the end with nobody near us with a clear view over the fields adjoining and settled in for the night. Well, we did venture out for a while…….

The following day, we travelled north on Highway 95 through Quartzsite, Parker and Lake Havasu City ending up at the AVI native Indian casino, 12 miles south of Laughlin, Nevada. Several people had warned us that a ‘City Ordinance’ had stopped the casinos right in Laughlin from allowing free dry camping in their parking lots. Funny thing though – while the Ramada Express told us emphatically “definitely no overnight parking – you’ll be moved along in the middle of the night”, the Riverside had dozens of rigs in their parking lot right beside the river. We spoke to a couple of women who told us they’d been there for three days and no one seemed to mind.

The Avi is a great casino with three dry camping areas at no charge and a full service RV park. There’s a hotel, a sandy beach on the Colorado River, a spa and plenty of low-stakes tables and it’s only a 15-minute drive to ‘Casino Row’ in Laughlin. We stayed two nights and discovered what ‘folk’ love about this gambling Mecca. It’s a flash back to Nevada’s early days – cheap meals and shows and low stakes tables – i.e. at the Flamingo, we had a wonderful buffet lunch for a total of $5 using a 2 for 1 coupon and our player’s cards and it included unlimited wine (which was pretty good) and beer.

Thursday – Onwards to Las Vegas – 90 miles north of Laughlin. There is no dry camping to be found in LV, so we booked in at Sam’s Town RV Park for five days. They advertise prices from $12 to $15 but when we phoned, we were told they weren’t available and it would be $27, with no explanation. I’ll have to read the small print next time I see an ad. However, it comes with all the perks – all hook-ups, with cable and phone outlets at every site, cheap laundry, pool and hot tub and a fun book with 2 for 1’s.

We have friends (L&J) living in LV, who we always look forward to seeing when we’re visiting. They invited us to park Maggie outside their house, but we felt it would be an imposition to pull the big hunk of metal in, put out the slides and plug in to their electricity and we don’t want to be remembered as nuisances. However, we spent many nights with them – they’re teaching us how to be ‘locals’. We all had dinner together at the Palace Station, in their Mexican restaurant. ‘L’ said to ‘J’ and me to go ahead to our table while he and Fernie got the drinks. The casino prices for cocktails are $2 while they’re $5 or more in the restaurant. Then we emulated L&J and ordered one entrée – Gigantic Chimichangas – between the two of us. Even then, we were hard-pressed to finish. The next night, we all had dinner at the Gold Coast Cortez Room. Same routine with the cocktails; wonderful meal and very reasonable for a high-end restaurant with an aura of ‘old Las Vegas’.

We didn’t feel like we were on vacation in LV this visit – we felt as if we temporarily lived there and so had none of the usual panic to go everywhere and do everything. We decided to visit one of the lesser sites in LV – the Liberace Museum, something I’d always thought would be fun to see. Many years ago with my mother (and for my mother) I saw Liberace in concert at the Orpheum Theatre in Vancouver. He was an amazing showman and made a convert out of me that night. Well….his museum is a bit pathetic and run down. It’s a strip mall a couple of miles off the strip. It used to be filled with restaurants and shops - ‘everything Liberace and his love of pianos’. Now vacant storefronts with dirty windows prevail.

At one end a big neon (not working) sign commands “Enter Here”. Elderly gentlemen, snoozing in his chair behind the counter, startled awake as we slid through the door. I gave him my 2 for 1 coupon (I know by now you’re all thinking – ‘Is there no end to her thrifty [cheap] ways?’ but we’re new to this fixed income pension thing and we don’t want to run out of money). “Well then” he said with a wink “that’ll be $12.50 for you sir and nothing for the lady” He gestured to a large stamp and stamp pad “Make sure you stamp your hands now” and take a brochure. The brochure was requesting donations to the Liberace Foundation. I guess they’re not making enough with the museum. Only a handful of people were inside.

Liberace’s life story with pictures and awards lined the walls. Six or seven of his cars were on display; one rhinestone encrusted, another like the US flag – red, white and blue - all of them extremely gaudy and kitschy. And that’s all there was……until we noticed a sign “More displays at the other end of the mall” so we had to go out across the parking lot, past the empty storefronts, past the tacky wedding chapel and into the ‘costume and piano’ display. That’s why the hand stamp!

An elderly lady with a raucous New York accent (maybe the wife of the doorman?) craned her head to see my hand but finally had to ask “May I see your stamp?” She then welcomed me in and gave me a non-stop commentary on the life and loves of Liberace. “Of course, he didn’t want anyone to find out he was ‘homosexual’ right ‘til the end” she said, emphasizing the ‘homosexual’ as if I didn’t know he was gay. “He wouldn’t even go into hospital when he was dying because he saw what happened to Rock Hudson’s privacy – only a year before”

“He didn’t have Aids” she continued “he had HIV, but that doesn’t kill you – it was the emphysema that got him from smoking three packs a day”. “But he didn’t do drugs, he didn’t drink, he had no vices – he was a real straight-shooter” – that brought a real smile to my face and I had to fight the urge to remark on the pun. She trotted around behind me telling anecdotes about the miniature pianos in his collection, many made by fans.
One was made out of 20,000 toothpicks; another from nickels “and he prized them” she carried on. She was a delightful little lady and loved that I was interested in her stories. I wonder what will happen to the museum when all those who remember him are dead.

At the opposite end of the spectrum was our visit to the Hard Rock Hotel. I don’t usually feel my age, but I felt absolutely ancient there, mingling with the ultra-cool-looking swaggering twenty year olds. But I really enjoyed the huge array of rock memorabilia and photos.

Of course, we made the obligatory visit to the Wynn as we hadn’t seen it yet. It’s a beautifully designed, opulently draped venue with a sumptuous poker room and lots of appealing bars especially the one overlooking the waterfall but it seemed to be missing something – it had no real signature beyond luxury. The $15 martinis put me off.

Between our home at Sam’s and L&J’s home near Summerlin, travelling along Hwy 95, is the ‘Spaghetti Bowl’ a twisted chaos of freeway interchanges where traffic comes to a total stop. We encountered it on our way to L&J’s for dinner but lucked out and whizzed through it at 70mph. L&J cooked us a mouth-watering fried shrimp dinner finishing with key lime pie and we spent the day sipping wine and swapping travel tales. We were fortunate on the way home to sail through the Spaghetti bowl again getting back home to Sam’s in twenty minutes.

There aren’t too many celebrities left that I’d want to see live, but Elton John was at the top my list, so I picked up a single ticket for his Sunday night performance at Caesars Colosseum. Fernie said that $115 was too much for his blood and it wasn’t worth it for him (who’s the cheapie now?) but he’d go for me. I said not to bother – I was quite happy to go alone. You can’t talk during the performance anyway.

More on Elton later……………..

Observations

2006-02-13T12:58:00.000-08:00

For those that can’t imagine the pleasure of Rving, let me describe the gratification. When I awake in the morning, I have that pleasant disorientation of not knowing where I am but I savour the plush comfort of the feather bed below, the warm duvet on top and the cool breeze from the open window. The desert gets quite cold overnight. As reality clarifies, I realize that the day is to be spent purely on pleasure with none of the responsibilities and worries that creep in at home. Housework is minimal; cooking is simple. We’ve found ourselves fairly tired of restaurant meals and delight that we can easily prepare our favourites in the tiny but efficient galley. A fresh fruit bowl is always brimming with our favourites. On a travelling day, we stop for lunch at a scenic spot, put the kettle on, make a deli sandwich or salad and glory in our freedom. Each day, we discuss whether we should stay put another day or so, or move along. We pull out the maps and decide where to head. Nothing is mundane; every day is unique. And all this is experienced from our home with our little dog beside us. We still dream of travel to exotic destinations but that will be our holidays; this is our life.

When the wind blows in the desert, it whips up sheets of sand that suddenly bombard you. You end up with grit in your eyes, ears, hair, and teeth and inside your clothes. At night, it howls mysteriously and the sand creeps in the vents and any open windows, leaving a coat of grit over every surface. It is like walking on sandpaper. Luckily, the days we were there were mostly calm.

The Mexican Connection!

2006-02-06T15:14:00.000-08:00

Feb 1 -5, 2006
Only a five minutes drive from our site at Pilot Knob is the Mexican border and the border town of Algodones. There was lots of free parking along the road but the majority of people pay $3 to park in the Indian tribe’s parking lot. There were no immigration officials checking the walk-in crowd – only the car lanes.

Algodones starts right at the ‘line’, as the Mexicans referred to the border.
As the hordes of Americans / Canadians flocked through, the first sight was of hundreds of ‘dentist’ signs, up in the air, up on the walls, all along the street – everywhere you looked. You can get dental work done there for one quarter the cost in the US or Canada. We’ve had personal recommendations for a specific dentist. Apparently the conditions are sterile – all needles are still in plastic vacuum-sealed bags and are opened in front of you. I wonder where they train. Every few feet, we were bombarded with “wanna get some dental work? – come here.”

Almost as prevalent are the pharmacies selling prescription and non-prescription drugs and the optical stores with prices on prescription glasses one quarter of those at home. I had two pairs of computer/reading glasses done in designer frames for $120 total. There are glasses as cheap as $20 including an eye exam. I brought my own prescription with me so didn’t need the exam. And they’ll have them ready in three hours – how miraculous.

The usual array of goods were displayed in stalls lining the streets – jewellery, ceramics, glass ware, ornamental iron, blankets, hats, leather goods, clothing, etc. The vendors were well dressed and didn’t look at all hungry. I sensed they do a good business with the walk-in tourists.

We strolled the spotlessly clean streets of Algodones, dodging the aggressive merchants and noticed many sidewalk cafes selling ‘fish & shrimp tacos’. As we passed through the Café Pareira, I asked a couple of diners “so, are they good?” I guess I was a bit presumptuous because they mumbled hostilely what I think was a ‘yeah’, but at the next table “Betty and Howard” from northern California cheerfully voiced “They’re wonderful – why don’t you pull up a couple of chairs and join us” ----- So, we did! And we had a memorably pleasant lunch getting to know these two friendly strangers. The fish tacos are 75 cents each and the shrimp $1 each, so we had one of each and with a diet Pepsi each, out total bill was $5.
The tacos were ‘to die for’ to use a clichéd expression – a piece of deep fried white fish or three crispy fried shrimp on a soft taco shell with a covered Tupperware tray of condiments – chopped cabbage, red onion, tomato and jalapenos, cucumber, key limes quartered, a spicy salsa and a liquidy mayo in a squeeze bottle. Served with a bowl of crispy taco chips – Mmmmmmmmmm………..We decided to pick up my glasses the next day instead of hanging around, so returned for another feast of fish tacos.

Next year, I’m gonna’ get my teeth cleaned, my progressive and transitional lenses done and feast on the fish tacos.

It was the middle of the night when a sudden frightening roar shocked us awake. I stuck my head out of the little window beside the headboard of our bed to see a spotlight swiping over us – back and forth eerily with it’s intense white light casting a ghostly glow. A large helicopter hovered very low over our campsite ‘Thwack, Thwack, Thwack” the blades violently sliced through the still night air and the otherworldly light swung away, the copter shifted sideways and the elongated shadows of our chairs and tables appeared to move like cartoon silhouettes across the desert. Border Patrol! I felt so sorry for the poor little Mexicans who perpetually brave the heavily guarded and fortified frontier only looking for a better life and work in the US. The border is only about one mile from us at Pilot Knob and we were warned that we might see some wayward Mexicans sneaking past our motorhome in the middle of the night.

A ritual among the new Yuma-ites, is the ‘potluck’ meal. We participated two days in a row and it was thoroughly enjoyable. Social life is the essential part of a snowbirds retirement life and the, potluck’ means get-togethers are spontaneous, non-stressful, shared responsibility events. The first dinner was with a couple of other ex-CF employees, so it seemed a bit of a reunion with lots of reminiscences shared. The second was with our Pilot Knob compatriots – 12 of us altogether on a Sunday afternoon before Superbowl. One couple (K&J) originally from Denmark, made Frygedella a traditional Danish meat ball made with ground pork and onion. Fabuloso! We two relatively anti-social folk must be changing.

So, it’s been 10 days now in one spot and I think that’s as long as we can stay put in one place. We need to move along – back to the nomadic lifestyle. I don’t know that we will ever be content to just stay for a long period. It’s just not us. Maybe that will change with age. Who knows? So it’s off to Las Vegas tomorrow.

Transformation

2006-02-01T19:13:00.000-08:00

Jan 26 to Feb 1/06
We stopped for the usual practice – dump station and watering hole – in Holtville, California enroute to Yuma. It was manned by a volunteer, a Canadian from Quebec (or is that an oxymoron?). He made sure we paid our $5 fee and told us about the Holtville Hot Springs which are on BLM (Bureau of Land Mgmt) lands. According to him, we can park Maggie for 2 weeks for $30 or the whole season for $140. Fernie, who absolutely loves hot springs, perked up and told me to “note that down for the future”. I of course saluted and obliged him.

Our desert spot just outside Yuma is near “Pilot Knob” a lone craggy mountain. The land is very sandy and we had to be sure not to go off the beaten path as one could quickly get stuck. You can see the deep ruts where others have faltered. No cacti around us but an occasional ocotillo, which I guess is classified as a cactus. Some low growing shrubs (I don’t know if they’re sage brush, but they look a lot like them) dot the landscape and south about a half mile away, there are low-lying sand dunes. When we walked Caesar there each morning, he delighted in the soft sinking and moving sand, after the more gritty sand of the flats. One morning, we’re going to pack a thermos of coffee and one of tea, some fresh fruit and cinnamon buns and have a picnic breakfast in the dunes, just after the sun rises.

I haven’t been lucky finding free WIFI, so had to use MacDonald’s but it’s not the best sitting in the car, laptop on my knees.

Another couple of friends (L&I) stay in Yuma for two to three months in the Foothills area, east of the city. They rent space, sharing a lot in a fairly built-up area and have all services. It’s ideal if you plan on staying put for a while. We visited them and just down the street, Fernie found an ‘RV Wash’. He was so excited and plans to get his Maggie done ASAP. I personally think that it will just get dirty again – as long as the inside is clean, I’m happy.

Yuma is booming, new shopping centres, restaurants, golf courses and everything that seniors want. Of course, there are RV’s and mobile homes everywhere, from posh resorts to desert dwellers. There is an apparent lack of rush hour here – almost everyone’s retired and it’s rare to see children. The area is surprisingly green. It’s amazing how a little irrigation can turn arid desert into lush farmland. Busloads of Mexicans in grimy old school buses, towing porta-potties, pull into the fields and get to work. They wear long pants and sleeves and cover their heads against the sun. Lettuce is cut, vacuum packed and boxed right out in the fields. According to our friends (L&I), the Imperial Valley produces more vegetables than anywhere else in the USA.

We spent a day with L&I touring the area surrounding Yuma. I, as driver, relegated the men to the back seat to reverse the trend of the traditional snowbirdin’ seniors. Surprisingly, they were quite content back there. We started with breakfast at the Happy Chef’s diner in the historical core of the city. Cushy booths enveloped our derrieres in an antique tramcar, while we feasted on the 2/2/2 special for $2.95. A choice of two x three from eggs, pancakes, French toast, bacon, sausages, hash browns, toast. The bill came to just over $8. Our server was a carbon copy of every diner waitress I’ve ever seen – long stringy hair pulled back at the neck, big smile in spite of her bad teeth, wearing a nylon acetate uniform in a turquoise hue, not too brainy but mighty friendly.

Date palm groves proliferate and we stopped at a kiosk for some ‘date ice cream’ – not for me, but for my ice cream addicted partner. He gave it a big ‘Thumbs up’. Only about twenty miles north of Yuma, the US Army has based the Yuma Proving Grounds where paratroopers display their skills in thrilling aerial manoeuvres. A couple of enlisted men checked our photo ID and vehicle registration and issued us a pass to enter the base. They quipped with the usual jokes about the men in the back seat and a blond driving – I wisecracked back while hiding my grimace of “I’ve heard all this before”.

We toted our blankets and a couple of cushions out onto the lush green fields. “I” (not me but my friend "I") brought an extra visor for me to wear and I didn’t immediately understand why. In order to see the jumpers, we lied flat on our backs looking into the bright sunshine and so I slipped the visor on transforming myself into an Arizona golden-ager. But it worked marvelously. Too bad that I didn’t get a photo – I know a couple of family members would guffaw relentlessly.

Tuesday was our RV maintenance day. We took Maggie to a Ford-recommended service centre to have our battery checked – they said it’s ok, which contradicts what another mechanic told us but we can’t argue – it’s a warranty item. While waiting, I lucked into free WIFI and was able to email some of my photos to my enlisted blog assistant. Fernie had been wailing non-stop about his dirty motorhome, so this was the day Maggie was treated to the ultra supreme RV wash, wax and detail. At $2.50 a foot and thirty foot long, it came to $75.
I argued for the $1 a foot basic but F won because he paid out of his gambling winnings. Our final stop was at an Onan generator service centre, for a repair to our on-board generator – the air filter cover had broken away. But they had to order the part, so now we have to wait and take her back again.

It’s apparent to me now that seniors on a fixed income can live down here quite cheaply. Some park their RV for 14 days in the desert then move along to a casino for a few days and return to the desert for another 14 days – all free. Or they pay $140 for a six-month pass to stay on BLM lands. Clothing is very reasonable, particularly casual clothes, which is what everyone lives in. Flea markets prevail – new items as well as used and they open Thursday to Sunday every week.

Today – Wednesday, we were introduced to a ‘routine’ that gets you a ‘free lunch’. Only a couple of weeks ago, I would have scorned such behaviour, now I’m part of this grey mafia. The Cocopah Casino, just on the outskirts of Yuma, has ‘Over 55’ day every Wednesday.

This is the routine:
- Line up for a player’s card and coupon book
- Go to the cashier with your coupon book and buy $10 of coins (I chose quarters) They give you five $1 tokens
- Put the tokens into a slot machine and immediately push the ‘cash out’ button (of course, this only works for those that can resist the lure of slot machines). A ticket for $5 pops out the top of the machine.
- Take the ticket to the cashier and convert to cash and the roll of quarters too if you don’t need them for laundry.
- You are now $5 ahead but if you’re hungry, there’s a $3 coupon in the booklet for the buffet, which is normally $7.50 – now $4.50 so you come out 50 cents ahead unless you use the coupon for a 50-cent beer and then you break even.

Who said “There’s no such thing as a free lunch?”

Desert Nomads

2006-01-27T13:29:00.000-08:00

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!

2006-01-19T15:43:00.000-08:00

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.