NEW MEXICO

The first thing I noticed as I entered New Mexico on Highway 10 is the astonishing amount of freight rail traffic.  I saw five fully loaded freight trains in my first twelve minutes in the state, all pulling east or west with two or more diesel engines in front and (usually) a pusher in the rear; the terrain was getting  mountainous.     As I climbed higher, I saw hayfields, huge fields of nut trees, cows, fireworks stands, and the ubiquitous trains, trucks, and trading posts.  The land became more rolling and greener than Arizona, but still dry.

Plenty of fireworks, though.  For six hundred bucks (less 30% because you're spending more than one fifty) you could blow up the neighborhood.

I didn't detour to Truth or Consequences, NM (I'm one of the few who remembers when the town changed its name), but I did pass through Deming, "Home of Pure Water and Fast Ducks."  Didn't see any ducks--I expect they were too fast, like the cartoon Road Runner and the famous three legged chickens.

Like everyone else in the desert, Deming had its tank.

                         

Passing through Arizona and New Mexico lands roamed by Cochise, Mangas Coloradas and the Chiricahua Apaches was spine tingling.  The Apache had a good run, and were done in largely by US Army treachery.

Although New Mexico was prettier and more diverse than Arizona, I felt rushed because of the solar delay and missed a great deal.  I bypassed Carlsbad Caverns, White Sands Missle Range, Taos, and fortunately, the 40 inches of snow southern New Mexico got in December and the 105 inches northern New Mexico got.  Passed by the biggest dairy farm I've ever seen, though. 


NEXT: TEXAS.  FREEZING COLD TEXAS.

PHOENIX and TUCSON

Finally got the solar completed.  Seems to work fine but I haven't had a chance to try it out because I've been visiting, first for three nights in Phoenix at the home of one of my two best fifth grade friends, Jim ("Max") McBride.  Max's dad Jim was my dad's best friend and we moved next door to the McBrides when I was eleven.  Our neighborhood in Pittsburgh, Mt. Washington, was a little rough.  All dads were blue collar (if they had jobs) and all carried...issues.  Max's home life was, shall we say, not statistically predictive of success, but he was always surprisingly centered and connected to people then and is still. One of those guys you feel optimistic around.

We had a great time.  I caught up on the news from Mt. Washington and we filled in the forty year blanks, and watched the 1960 World Series 7th game on DVD.  (We saw it on TV in 1960, but not together.)  Did some hiking, too.  Beautiful uphill climb to Squaw Peak in particular.

I probably shouldn't say that Max was shamed into climbing the last little bit by a 69 year old lady on her way down, but it is the sordid truth.

The coolest thing in Phoenix was the Musical Instrument Museum, a collection of over 15,000 musical instruments.  It includes instruments from nearly 200 countries, with audio and visual displays corresponding to the instruments.  You can hear the different instruments played as you stand in front of the displays with headphones on.  Staggeringly beautiful.  Has an interactive section where you can try unique instruments as well. 

We also took a trip to a Steeler bar; Max has deep and constant connections with Pittsburgh and its sports teams.

I didn't get a chance to spend much time with Max's wife Kathy, but she thoughtfully baked some cookies and banana bread for me to take along.
Metropolitan Phoenix, more than 4 million people, is essentially flat, but has small mountains abruptly rising like pimples in random spots.  It was founded about 1865 by a Confederate Civil War veteran who engineered irrigation canals based on ancient Indian canals.  Much of its growth has been led by developers, often in cahoots with corrupt officials and sometimes organized crime.  Don Bolles, a writer for the Arizona Republic, was murdered by a car bomb in the city in 1976.  It was believed that his investigative reporting on organized crime and politics, particularly the relationships in Phoenix between real-estate developers, organized crime, and out-of-state corporations, especially in regards to land and housing fraud, made him a target.  Phoenix real estate took a major hit in 2008, similar to Las Vegas.

Phoenix is incredibly profligate with water.  There are many golf courses and lots of greenery in this desert spot, and there is apparently no tiered water metering.  Water is cheaper here than it is in Marin County, and it's wasted.  The volume of water coming out of the shower at Max's was staggering to me.  And, of course, everyone has a pool if they can afford it.

With the exception of two modest downtown areas, everything seems to be one or two stories, resulting in sprawl.  The summer heat can be overpowering; the large stadiums are domed.

Tucson once was larger than Phoenix, but no more.  Water is not brought to Tucson by the same system as Phoenix and it is noticeably scarcer and more appreciated.  In Arizona I crossed over numerous rivers and creeks and, without exception, they were bone dry.  All had names, though.

I visited my cousins Kathy and Patti in Tucson and spent a night in their home.  They plan to take a road trip around the country in a year or two.  K & P live in a surprisingly large and well built manufactured home in a community of perhaps 550 manufactured homes.  Very common in the southwest.

I did see some new homes being built and, surprisingly, some commercial building, including a new tilt-up.  Don't see much of that in California any more.  To the east is Apache country, where Cochise led his people in their struggle against the white settlers.

NEXT: NEW MEXICO

SOLAR!

At long last, the solar panels and related equipment have arrived and have been installed by Bob, an expert in the specialty field of RV solar installation.  His work is generated by word of mouth--his past clients are passionate advocates.  I will be too.  Bob does not like to install solar on homes because it costs too much and because he doesn't like goverment subsidies (he has a Sarah Palin bumpersticker on his truck).  He's the fastest electrical worker I've ever seen, moving from place to place as he works with a motion that would be a run if distance allowed.  Doesn't waste a SECOND from the time he arrives till the moment he leaves.  Yesterday we got the panels installed and connected on the roof and got the control panel set in the RV.

I've been helping Bob because I desperately want to get this done.  He's had me drilling holes in all the mounting brackets, screwing the brackets onto the panels, and other tasks that don't require too much thinking.  I spent about four hours on the work and easily saved him thirty minutes, no matter what he says.  I also did a great job cleaning up and putting things away after he left yesterday, and I know I was very helpful when he was fishing wire through and needed someone to say, "I see it!  It's through!"  No way a guy can do that without climbing up and down from the roof.

Bob maintains a strict focus and keeps things right by talking to himself, saying out loud what he's doing and what he's going to do next and so on.  While I was helping him I found myself saying, "What? What? Say again?"  I quickly got the idea that he'd get my attention if he needed it.  I did recognize that if I wanted to understand what he was doing and why all I would have to do is stand and watch; I could get an audio visual tutorial of the whole process.  If I had any aptitude at all for this suff it would have been incredibly useful, but alas...

He's from Roundup, Montana, and has a place overlooking Musselshell River.  Looks like Tommy Lee Jones, less fifteen years, fifty pounds, and five inches.  Got his first break working as a draftsman for an engineer named Stark (first name), one of those rare but memorable businessmen-mentors who give responsibility to people if they show the ability to handle it.  Stark wasn't hung up on formal titles or degrees and, given the opportunity, Bob flourished.  After eight years he moved on so he could get out of the office more.  He seems to have found his niche.

Like a lot of problem solvers, Bob sees most clearly what doesn't work and gets extremely frustrated about it.  His scorn for most RV solar installers is relentless.  Observing that most (he might say all) installers oversell, overprice, and underdeliver, he spends a lot of his time correcting installations done by big outfits who ought to know better.  He likes to pretend he's gruff and hard--he has an entry on his website titled "The History, or how did I end up so angry?"--but he's extremely sensitive to what people need and even more so to what they can afford.  A lot of talk and a lot of thought go into his designs, and when he's done you have what you need--no more, no less--plus the flexibility of adding more if you want and of taking your package to your next rig if you move up.  His estimate of the hours my installation required was exactly correct.  His estimate of material was off by twelve cents on what I ordered and twenty dollars on what he supplied.

His wife, Noreen, bakes her own bread and cookies.  I got a cookie but he wouldn't share the bread, just let me look atit.

Today he finished installing the inverter and doing all the wiring.  He was also going to run a propane line to hook up a new heater for me but some of the parts haven't come in yet.  My way of helping is by staying out of the way and by not rocking the RV too much when I'm inside.  I'm very sensitive to the little things.

I'm anxious to get out of town.  I've been here nineteen days now, far more than I expected to spend in one place. Looks like I'll have to wait until Monday to get the parts for the propane heater and have it connected.

Today is my son Owen's 27th birthday.  Happy birthday, Owen.  I love you.

NEXT: PHOENIX and TUCSON

RANDOM PEOPLE

As I wait for the solar guy and the UPS driver with the parts, I note that pretty near everyone I meet fascinates me.  Here are a few.

Raylee started up a conversation with me at the cafe.  She has to get rid of thirteen horses in two weeks because that's when the hay runs out and Brian, her mean uncle who won't let her go to Phoenix to see her grandmother who had a stroke and who has Alzheimer's and dementia and who might die any day says she has to move them horses out so she will, but she's going to get them back when her dad gets out of prison in three weeks cause he'll straighten things out and it's a shame about the timing because of the horses and because he won't get to see his mother before she dies but what can you do and do I know anyone who wants some chihuaha-Jack Russell terrier mix puppies because she has four more and maybe they'll have to have dad come home on the bus because the car probably won't make it to the prison...

Raylee's eighteen, homeschooled, and has three brothers and two sisters.  She gets by selling horses and by winning money as a barrel rider; she's the Arizona state junior champion!  Some of the horses have pedigrees and go for quite a bit but it's hard to feed them and summer is rough on them.  She misses her dad, who's been away for two years, and her grandmother, who was the only one who would barrel race with her and who took her as far as Utah to race.  Raylee is trying her best to stand upright but she doesn't have a plan for the future and you can tell the accumulating sadness is starting to weigh on her.

My neighbor at the RV campsite is Phil.  Phil has been camp host for two years--he gets a free site and free utilities, but no pay.  He has a 38 foot Monaco, a car, and a Harley Softail.  Phil invented the automobile dashboard cover; he had 185 employees and a controller who embezzled, in cahoots with the banker.  When they went to prison it seemed like things would get better, but his brother (his partner) was using too much meth so Phil got out.  He invented the quick connect hose connection, patented brake light/turnsignals for bicycles and he doesn't work any more, but since he's 63 and on disability for Agent Orange and PTSD he doesn't have to.  He put all the money in trust for his kids and grandkids ("when they become mature they git it") and takes pride on living within his means.  He's been divorced twice and now; "ain't gonna let myself git tied down no more."

Phil grew up in Whittier, California, and had the same 8th grade teacher as Richard Nixon (Mrs.  Kilborne).  He's been bitten by a sidewinder and knocked over by a coyote fleeing a puma in the last couple months, both times when stepping outside to have a stogy in the evening.  That smoking'll kill ya.

I met Bob because I parked in the wrong spot at the Laundromat in Big Pine.  He came tippety-tap out of the back room with fire in his eyes; nobody gonna park THERE by God!  After I moved the RV we got to talking.  Bob is a WWII vet whose dad was the top Marine marksman in WWI.  "At a thousand yards, over open sights, didn't miss a bulls-eye for three hours."  Neither did his opponent, so they tied.  Still...good shooting.  Bob was wounded twice in the Pacific and now, at 88 years old, lives in one room at the Laundromat and keeps people from parking in the wrong spot.  He proudly showed me his room, with a laptop and a flat screen TV purchased by friends so he can download and watch movies.  Nothing else in the room but a bed and a dresser.  Bob gave me a blow by blow rundown of the landing and fighting at Okinawa, where he was wounded by a Japanese 155 mortar.  "Shells as big as trash barrels!"  I love talking to WWII vets.  Aren't many left, now.



NEXT: SOLAR! (I SWEAR!)

Bouse...and More Bouse

I'm in Bouse, Arizona, for the twelfth night.  Bouse is like an ant colony.  You don't see much going on, just a few individuals randomly scurrying across a granular landscape, heading nowhere as far as you can tell.  They all look alike.  Start to look more closely, though, and you see purpose--if you start to follow one particular ant you see that he (or she) has something to do.

Bouse lost its way after WWII.  General Patton trained his tank armies out here in the desert, and that was the whiz-bang time, you betcha.  The ghosts are everywhere--rusted tanks and trucks, tracks wandering into the distance, monuments silently watching traffic speed by without stopping, and empty buildings with forlorn "For Sale" and "For Lease" signs pretending that someday an entrepeneur will come up with an idea no one else has thought of.  When the war ended, the town blew along with its own momentum, like a car whose engine had died, until it...stopped.  And the car sits.

There's no reason to stop here.  The highway has no signal or stop sign, just 55 MPH right on by; bike riders wobble in the draft of the trucks as they blow through.  The houses and nondescript businesses are on both sides of the highway, scattering up about three blocks or so, but there's no trouble crossing.  Plenty of time to meander over to go to the post office.  Don't worry too much about looking both ways.  Tonight I walked up a connecting road to the saloon to watch the Steelers game--37 minutes to, 37 minutes fro. The moon was down, but there was enough starlight to walk down the center of the road.  I got an eerie feeling of walking in place.  The horizon wasn't changing, the stars didn't move, and the double yellow line was faint enough to have no detail. I imagined myself walking on a sphere that moved beneath me; I myself was not going anywhere.

 Good thing I carried a flashlight, though, because a car passed by.

There used to be a second saloon, but someone torched it a few months ago.  No one knows why. 

Maybe it's just a microcosm of America now, but there's no productivity in Bouse.  Nothing is made, or built, or grown here.  No cattle, no mining, no construction.  There are some service business, like the cafe, grocery store, and saloon, but money doesn't originate here.  It either comes from the government, private pensions, or snowbirds.  The whole town--this whole part of the state--gasps through the summer heat, waiting for the snowbirds like the Serengeti waiting for lifegiving rain. 

Bouse is a place you pass through or over.  I counted 14 airplanes in the night sky just by looking up once, and I'm pretty sure I missed a few in the gazillion stars.  

And yet--in Bouse, everyone has something to do.  I'm not talking about work, I'm talking about what they do because they want to do it.  Don and Phyllis have a trained miniature Brahma bull (Rowdy) and a trained miniature donkey (Bandit) that they take all over the state to do shows for schools, hospitals, Vet organizations, and anyone else who needs a smile.  They travel in a beat up van with a plexiglass divider between the people in the front and the animals in the back.  Rowdy and Bandit like going in the van and ride with their heads out the windows, like dogs.  Don intends to get an old limousine so he can put the divider up and down.  He likes the looks on people's faces when they see his ride.  With the animals in back and Don chewing and spitting in the front, it will be...interesting.

Rowdy and Bandit do tricks just like dogs.  And they play.  Bandit likes to take a hose and wrap in around Rowdy's neck and run away.  Rowdy likes to stick his horns under Bandit and flip him over.  They wrestle like lion cubs.  When one pins the other he gets up and gallops around in a victory dance.

Don and Phyllis dropped what they were doing when I stopped by because they just had to show me what their friend Dick does for entertainment.  Dick built a whole western town, sort of half scale, just for fun.  He has a school, a jail, a livery stable, a saloon, a mercantile store, and a whole bunch of other period buildings.  Even a train, built of 55 gallon drums, fire extinguishers, and other admirably suited pieces.  Most buildings are false fronts, constructed and painted very realistically, but some go deeper.  The jail has a couple of painted plywood prisoners.  The saloon has a real bar inside.  Don and Phyllis and other friends stop by for drinks and parties.  BYOB.

                                        

                                              

                                            

This is Dick's yard, behind his house--a couple miles up a dirt road.  He does all the work himself, even has a mine shaft off behind the town.  Looks real.  I don't think it matters much to him how many people stop by.

Lots of people four wheel through the desert, and judging from the astronomical amount of broken glass about, lots of people shoot as well.  The Community Center is busy all the time.  Monday and Friday are Square Dance Nights, Tuesday is Game Night, Thursday is Bingo Night, and so on.  People put out the energy to keep their friends and neighbors involved.  There's always a crowd at the small library; free internet access.  The Volunteer Fire Department keeps everyone in touch and on their toes.

Summer is a bitch here.  The weather now is about 70-75 during the day but in summer it gets to 125 regularly.  "Cools down to a hundred or so at night, though."  All the water you want, piped to your home for $20/month. Nothing grows in this soil and this climate except cactus; cactus and weathered wood are the standard decorations around the mobile homes that predominate.  

Everybody waves when they pass by.  

The cafe owner is Greek, from somewhere high up on Mt. Olympus.  "I'm a Greek Hillbilly!"  His name is Nick but he told me to call him Tex.  He's a lot like Hanna Anki--outgoing, boisterous, in your face--but more accent and not quite as witty.  He was in the French Foreign Legion smuggling guns into Africa, got involved in the Yom Kippur War in Israel in '73, and somehow (he's evasive here) ended up in the U.S.  "I would die for this country!  Greatest country in the world!  You Americans don't appreciate what you have!"  He speaks Greek, English, Italian, Hebrew, and one other language.  Spanish?  Russian?  I forget.

 Nick closes the cafe from April through October.  Too hot; no RVs.

I'll be here another week.  I'm going to do the solar installation, starting on Wednesday.

Next:  SOLAR!



THE BUDGET

I've discovered the secrets to living inexpensively in an RV.  They are:
1)  Find a cheap or free place to stay.
2)  Stay there.

But--is it possible to travel the USA on forty dollars a day? And where did that number come from?

Second question first--I made it up.  That's how much I wanted to spend.

Is it possible?  Yes.

What's not included: health insurance, RV insurance, RV purchase and fit-out, cell phone and wireless.

What's included: everything I spend on the road.

The first month that I kept track of spending was October 16-November 15.  Belatedly, I realized that not writing down the purchases kept me from knowing where the money went, but at least I kept track of how much I put in my wallet--$2,070.

Okay, that's more than $40/day.  I subtracted $600 for purchase of solar equipment, heating equipment, and other items that properly should be allocated to fitting out the RV.  I just didn't know about them when I got ready to go.  When YOU are getting ready to go, call me.

Still--$1,470 is more than $1,200.  I overspent.  Most of the overage should be attributed to staying in motels and RV parks as I learned the ropes.  I also spent $150 to fill up the tank on the last day, which will help this month.

Main categories of expenses: fuel is # 1, of course.  I get about nine miles per gallon and I've driven about 1,450 miles so far.  That figures to around $600 at $3.75/gallon so far (gas is much less expensive outside California).  Many RVs get better mileage than I get; some get as much as 22 MPG.  Depends on the size, class, year, and manufacturer.  Price of vehicle goes up with better mileage and this needs to be considered when you make your purchase.

Next category is lodging.  From the most expensive to the least, putting myself and my RV up for the night:
     Motel:  $50-$90 per night
     Full hookup RV Park:  $25-$40 per night
     No hookup RV Park ("dry camping"):  $5-$10 per night
     Truck stops: $3-$8 per night
     Boondocking (free, no hookups):  Government land
                                                         Indian Casinos
                                                         Walmart
Also available, but not appropriate for me, is LTVA (Long Term Vehicle Area), government land where you can boondock for six months for $180.  Often has a dump station but not much else.  Lots of people go to LTVAs year after year and camp in the same spot.  Usually other campers in the area, generally far apart.

I haven't had to spend money on repairs or maintenance since I left Markleeville, but there may well be some down the road.  Other than that, all spending is discretionary; I'm including food in this category because there are different ways of spending on food.

Food can be purchased in quantity at sale prices very readily.  I could eat for a month for $200, but it would  all be prepared and eaten "at home."  I can eat breakfast or lunch out at most of the places I've been (most, not all), for somewhere between eight and fifteen dollars, including 20% tip.  There's also coffee out, snacks, newspapers, museums and other attractions, postage, haircuts, and impulse purchases.  I've got a National Park Senior Pass which allows me free admission and half off camping at all National Parks.  Lots of exhibits and monuments are free.
                                            
Some RV travelers, especially year round travelers, get by on less than $40/day ($1,200/month).  Those who stay at the LTVA spend $30/month on lodging and virtually nothing on fuel, maybe $50/month.  Even including wireless telephone and internet service at about $100/month and cable TV (don't know this cost--never use it), that leaves a lot for discretionary spending.  There will be some small amounts for propane, water, and dump fees--generously, another $70/month.  That's $250/month + TV.  Not a bad base.

Obviously, the least expensive way to get by is to stay in one place. 

But I, on the road more traveled, have about 8,000 miles to go; 9,000 covering side trips.  At 9 miles/gallon, that's 1,000 gallons.  At $3.60/gallon, that's $3,600 over the next nine months, or $400/month.  If I budget $400/month for food and drink of all kinds, that leaves $400 to be spent on lodging and everything else.  Food costs could clearly be reduced, but logic dictates that lodging costs be kept to an absolute minimum.

Motels are generally out.  I expect to keep lodging costs under $200 in order to meet the budget, which means very few RV parks.  Some nights will be spent with friends and family, but it looks like dry camping and boondocking is the way to make the budget work.

Fortunately, boondocking is a very pleasureable way to see the country.  RV people are wonderful about sharing information and resources.  When you plan to stop somewhere, you need to look to see where other RVs are boondocking.  When you talk with different people and let them know where you're going they'll tell you the best places to stay.  And--they can be very entertaining. 

Indian Casinos are better for boondocking than Walmart.  They let you park in the lot, same as Walmart, but they're more fun to hang out in.  Cheap eats, too.  Just don't gamble.

Hookups can wreck your budget.  You can get around them, however.  Power can be generated either through solar, running the engine while driving, or the gas generator.  Water is easy to find, and I have a book that locates inexpensive dump stations. (Of course, anything can be located on line now.)  Dump fees are generally $5-$10 unless you're staying at the site.  It's nice, though, to relax with full hookups once in a while.

This month (starting November 16th) I'm keeping track of expenses by category.  I already have a full tank of fuel, since I've been sitting here in Bouse Arizona for nine days waiting for the solar guy.  I can go more than five hundred miles before I need to refuel.  I've spent $132 for lodging, which covers me for 20 more days (if I wanted to stay that long) at the excellent full service Bouse Community Park; the park even has a basketball court.  I've also spent $4 on laundry, $10 on aspirin, $69 at Safeway and $96 at the local cafes, including Thanksgiving dinner at the Bouse Booster Club.  Total for 9 days: $310 ($34.44/day). 

The $96 is probably more than I should have spent, but I get bored waiting and I figure I have a cushion (dangerous thinking).  It's easy to enjoy the country for free, really. A couple I met today at the Thanksgiving dinner want to take me to a ghost town they discovered up the way and to the VFW, which has karaoke,darts, and other things to do.  Tomorrow I'm going over  to see their miniature Brahma bull/miniature donkey show.  They travel from Idaho and get pleasure showing their animals' tricks to others on the road.  For me, the most satisfaction is walking or riding my bike around the areas I pass through or stay in.  I can't get enough of people--how they live, what they do, and what this country is like in so many different areas.

With two people the budget should go up if you plan to stay on the move, and of course you can always spend more.  For $2,000/month two can live very well on the road.

Next:  BOUSE

The Road East

Having had enough City life for a while, I headed east from L.A. on Tuesday, November 8th.  My plan was to drive to the Arizona border, about 220 miles.  My GPS said it would take about 4 hours with traffic and I left after lunch so I could get there before dark.  Unfortunately, my bike rack was loose so I stopped to repair it.  After two hours I gave up.  It's still loose.  It rattles around, but there is a sturdy pin holding it on so I said the hell with it.

When I got back on the road it was bumper to bumper--Friday rush hour fleeing L.A.  In two hours I went MAYBE ten miles.  I said to myself, "What would my brother Michael do?"

I got off the road and checked into a motel. $59 included all the standard amenities plus cookies, coffee and fruit all night, and breakfast.  I took five bananas for the trip.

The next day I ended up in an LTVA in Blythe, California, just before the border.  LTVA stands for Long Term Vehicle Area.  It's a huge patch of desert owned by the federal government where people can spend six months boondocking for $180.  There are a fair number of these places in the area and I'm sure there are plenty elsewhere.  People tend to flock back to the same LTVA year after year and even to the same spot, and though they are very widely separated from other RVs (hundreds of yards, usually) they form communities and look out for one another.  At our LTVA there is a host who collects the money, a garbage receptacle, and a dump for your tanks.  You get water in town and most people have sophisticated solar systems set up to provide power.  Many of them live happily for six months at a cost of a few hundred dollars a month.  The scenery is special in its way but six months is a long time here.

The night sky was awesome; before the moon came up the stars were almost bright enough to see by.  When the moon rose I was able to go hiking without any lights over rocky terrain.  Dirt roads led through the LTVA into the mountains beyond and I could see where the ATVs had climbed the hills and left tracks. The severe beauty of it drew me.

I went running towards the mountains the next day, but distance in the desert is deceptive and I was not able to reach them in an hour so I turned back.  Running on the broken soil was not bad since I wore my hiking boots but I did fall again because of not lifting my trailing foot high enough.  On the way back I ran along a dry riverbed and at one point sank three consecutive steps through the soil into a honeycomb of underground burrows, but no one was home.  It was a weird feeling, having my foot repeatedly break through seemingly solid ground into nothingness.

I went to town to do laundry and ran into a fellow camper, who invited me to visit her and her husband at the LTVA.  Jack and Joanne have been spending the season at this LTVA for years and they spend the rest of the year traveling.  I had never seen a rig like theirs up close and they were kind enough to show me their setup.  They had purchased a 38 foot long fifth wheel, which is a kind of trailer that typically sets its front end in the bed of a pickup truck.  It's more stable than a trailer and has great headroom. Instead of a pickup, however, Jack and Joanne had a Peterbilt with front and back seats and internal storage where Jack kept a Harley.  He installed a lift that placed the Harley inside and it was completely enclosed, still on the tractor frame (not behind).  The rig was registered as an RV so they didn't have to stop at weigh stations.  Jack said he was tired of pulling a 20,000 pound fifth wheel with a pickup so he paid $143,000 in 2005 and bought the Peterbilt brand new.  His only problems were keeping it aligned and changing the oil (twelve gallons!)  It's a twelve speed automatic transmission with air adjusted seats, and sitting in the driver's seat was very cool.  When Jack goes to town for water nobody gets in his way.  With a big rig and a Harley you would think Jack is a rough customer, but he is actually a retired French horn teacher from a small college in Colorado and a nice guy.  He and Joanne plan to have Thanksgiving dinner at their place for all their friends in the LTVA and invited me, but I didn't intend to stay that long.

After a few days I'd had enough of the LTVA and went on across the border to the town of Quartzsite.
I was surprised to see thousands of acres of cotton growing in the desert along the way.  Cotton requires a lot of water; apparently there is quite a bit here under the desert.  Cotton bolls are delightful--soft; cotton swabs without the sticks.  I picked a souvenir and kept it.

  Quartzsite has about 3,100 residents and more than 71 RV parks.  In the winter (The Season) the population climbs to twenty or thirty thousand.  The snowbirds were not due until after Thanksgiving,  so everyone was expectantly waiting for the revenue to start flowing.  Big tents with carpets laid right over the desert rocks were filled with flea market goods, off market foods at discount prices, and used RV gear.  No customers anywhere in sight--I felt uncomfortably watched when I went inside, as if they were counting on me to pay the overhead. The big brag in their 2011-2012 tourist guide is the new Super 8 Motel--built in 2003.

There isn't much in Quartzsite except for two things.  One is sidewalks.  There are miles and miles of brand new sidewalks, complete with curb and gutter, all professionally done recently and in great condition.  It's as if the town ran out of money before the houses got built, and now the walks run up and down the side streets waiting for the town to catch up.
The other is punctuation marks.  Rarely do you see an "s" that is not preceded by an apostrophe--RV Part's.
Refrigerator's. Tire's and Brake's. And worse, the extreme use of quotation marks:  Ask for "Ray". Bingo "Tonight".  My favorite is below (in all fairness, this one came before Quartzsite, but still...)

Sidewalks are expensive but punctuation marks are free so they use them wherever they can.  Or maybe they do it so screw with the snowbirds, like the street signs.

                                     

It's cheap, though.  $3.39 gas, $5.00 dry camping, $6.00 sandwiches.  With the great winter weather it's no wonder snowbirds flock here.

RV people are an interesting subculture.  They're invariably friendly and helpful, like sailors you meet at sea.  Anything they can do for you, they will.  They figure they might already know you and if they don't they'll likely run into you again somewhere.  Information about places to stay, places to buy, things to see flow freely.  If you need help, it's available just for the asking.  I learned about a solar installer nicknamed Handy Bob and I'm planning to have him install solar panels on my RV next week.

Next: How To Keep on Budget In an RV

The Zakarins and the L.A. Experience

In 1973 I had the opportunity to work in a Jewish summer camp named Camp Colang in Lackawaxen, PA. I was perhaps the only goy in camp and one of a very few not from New York City; a fabulous experience for a hick from Pittsburgh.  It was my third year in the camp and I was the Group Leader of the youngest division, boys from 5-10.  Campers came up from the city for eight weeks and saw their parents only once, on August 1st.  Some of them appeared not to recognize their parents, but that's another story.

One of my favorite campers from that year, Scott Zakarin, looked me up on Facebook a few years ago and we reconnected, becoming friends again.  We had spent a lot of time hanging out because he was the only ten year old and he was capable of having real conversations. Plus, it's nice to find someone who agrees when you think you know everything.

I'm the guy with arms folded in the center of the photo.  Scott is the long haired kid in front of me.

Sometimes you're in the right place at the right time through no fault of your own. Scott was incredibly open and receptive--tabula rasa--and he says he soaked up a lot that he used to become successful in business and, more particularly, as a family man.

Which brings me to L.A.  I planned to make the Zakarins home my first stop on the trip, but scheduling complications delayed my visit until November 4th.  I had mixed feelings about visiting L.A. anyway.  As Franklyn Ajaye was quoted, "When I saw a sign on the freeway that said, 'Los Angeles 445 miles,' I said to myself, 'I've got to get out of this lane.' "

I planned on arriving mid-day but was delayed by Peter the rim-rider (see November 9th entry) and arrived on a rainy Friday night in Pacific Palisades.  After receiving fuzzy directions from Scott's absolutely wonderful wife Debra I pulled into the neighborhood, and Scott, Debra and I spent a few minutes wandering around in the rain looking for each other.  I was looking for their place, Scott was looking for me, and Debra was looking for Scott.  Eventually, we found one another.

I'd met the family the year previous in San Francisco, and not only Scott, but Debra, Caleb and Maci welcomed me with open arms, literally.  I was embraced by each of them when I walked in the door and it seems like they never let go.  I swear I feel it even now.

They would not let me pay for anything.  Caleb insisted on sleeping in the living room on the couch so I could have his bedroom.

Pacific Palisades is a large community, near Malibu, Brentwood, etc.  Obviously, as an L.A. experience, it is as the blind man felt the elephant--only one distinctly different part of the whole.  Although their neighborhood consisted of condos and rentals, Steven Speilberg, Sugar Ray Leonard, Bill Cosby, and others live nearby.  Interestingly, the Zakarins don't appear to care about who has what.  We visited some obviously wealthy homes where Caleb and Maci were hanging out with friends, and we went grocery shopping and out to breakfast in different neighborhoods.  It did not matter whether Debra and Scott were speaking with the wealthy, the maid, the retarded bagger at Raley's, or anyone else we met--they were kindly treated.

The two overriding things I observed that connected the Zakarin family to one another and to their community: respect and love.  All their friends seem to share these fundamental characteristics, as do the people from their synagogue (Reformed).  We spent an evening at Jeff and Wendy's, close friends of the Zakarins, extremely enjoyable in every respect--particularly due to the delightful conversation--but one instance stood out to me.  Julia, the 13 year old daughter and close friend of Caleb's since birth, looked up to see her 10 year old brother Reid come in late from visiting.  The two walked straight to one another and hugged.  I liked that.

Whenever Debra or Scott spoke of any of their friends, it was always the same: "They are the nicest people you could ever hope to meet" or "They are some of our closest friends and we absolutely love them."  

This is not what you expect to hear from people in the film industry.  Scott makes video productions like Upstairs Girls and Downstairs Guys with millions of viewers, but you wouldn't know it.  He doesn't have the stereotypical L.A. vibe and neither do their friends.  What they all have in common is an apparent belief in the fundamental goodness of others and a ferocious love for their children.

And dogs.  A lot of them have dogs.  Lots of dogs, all indoor dogs.  Four dogs, five dogs, seven dogs...I've never seen so many dogs in my life.  BIG dogs.  Scott and Debra only have one dog, an arthritic, old, delicate dog with astonishingly bad breath.  A great little dog nonetheless..

Scott and Debra asked if I wanted to see museums, theme parks, etc., but I'm not keen on tourist venues and I can see museums when I'm alone. Scott and I did go down to the boardwalk at Santa Monica, which is apparently unchanged since the sixties.  Very quaint in its way, on an amazingly large and empty beach.  The day was not especially warm, but man, these people are spoiled.  That's only one of many spectacular beaches down here, all with plenty of room.  I would have liked the chance to ride my bike down the beach bike path; you can go for miles.  It's really nice that the beaches are located so close to where the city was built.  Very convenient.

I felt very welcome at the Zakarins and can't wait to go back again.

Next: The Road East

An Unfortunate Event

Before I left Joshua Tree, I ran into a different kind of guy.  More precisely, he ran into me.  I was stopped at a traffic signal when someone hit me from behind.  I had just enough time to think, "Hell, he must not have seen how far out my motorcycle rack extends since the motorcycle isn't on it," when he hit me again.  Hard.  Before I could get to the ground, he hit me a third time.  HARD.

I walked back to see what was going on and the other driver jumped out of his car, an old beat-up van. He was a grizzled prospector type, missing only the burro (and a number of teeth.)  He marched up to me, stuck out his hand, and brayed, "Hi!  My name's Peter!  I'm glad to meet you!"

I said, "Peter, you just hit my vehicle three times.  What's up with that?"

He glanced down at his grille, splayed across my steel rack, and said, "Hell, it was like that before!  Don't worry about it!"  Very cheerful.

While thinking about my response, I looked down and realized--he has no front tire!  He is driving on the rim!  But before I could say anything, two guys rushed up and said, "Don't let him get away again! He hit both of our cars! We've been trying to stop him for miles!"  Then a guy describing himself as an off duty cop started asking Peter questions, like, "How long have you been driving on the rim of your van?"  "Since Twenty-Nine Palms," said Peter.  Everyone is impressed; that's 21 miles away.  Now another guy comes up--"He hit my car six miles back!"  Then a guy in a jeep--"He hit me too!"

The cops start arriving, sirens wailing.  Highway Patrol.  Another Highway Patrol.  ANOTHER Highway Patrol.  Two County Sheriff cars.  A fire engine.  And another guy who said he got hit.

Now it's getting busy.  Nobody's in charge.   "Who's driving the motor home?" shouts one of the Sheriffs.  "I am."  A Highway Patrol guy says to the Jeep driver: "Are you driving the motor home?"  "No, I'm driving the Jeep."  "Which vehicle is yours?"  "I'm driving the motor home."  The firemen keep asking everyone, "Are you hurt?  Anybody here hurt?" And everybody's shouting, "He hit my car (three miles back, six miles back, eight miles back)!"  All the damaged cars, the five police cars with their lights flashing, the fire engine, and the motor home, are sitting out in the highway with all their occupants shouting and gesticulating, and Peter's   there with his scrunched up face trying to pretend everything is alright.  The off duty cop tries to explain to everyone that he's on top of it.  I expect Jerry Lewis to drive by and run over a cop's hat.

                                                 



Finally one of the Highway Patrol guys starts herding everyone off the highway into a Reilly Auto Parts store parking lot.  Now things are calming down.  A lady pulls up in a black Buick and says to a Sheriff, "Hey, this guy hit my car!"  He looks at her in exasperation and says, "Get in line, lady."

They divide things up.  There are three Sheriffs now, so they start taking license and registration info and photographing the damage.  They promise to call us to tell us how to get the report.  Meanwhile, all the victims are becoming friends.  I'm thinking we're all going to end up going out to dinner together so we can keep talking about it, but it doesn't go that far.  The lady in the black Buick keeps hunting for me in the crowd.  "Are you from around here?"  "No."  "I live here.  It's really a nice town."  "I'm sure it is."  "We're not all like him!"  "No, I'm sure you're not."

Judging from the spectators, half the town is on disability.  I haven't seen so many people on crutches and walking with obvious difficulty anywhere except for the disaster preparedness event back home.  I'm afraid there ARE more people like Peter and this is the result.  Meanwhile, Peter is getting a going over by the Highway Patrol off in a secluded corner.  We don't get the results but we are suspicious.

Now that things are winding down I see that my rack actually was damaged. The bolts keeping it stable have been bent and the lighting system wrecked.  I can't get the rack off but I'm afraid it will fall off while I'm driving; I don't know what to do.  I borrow a hammer from the Reilly Auto Parts guy.  He doesn't even look up; this is old hat to him.  The hammer doesn't do any good.

The helpful lady in the black Buick is still following me around and says, "You can take that to the tire store.  They can fix it.  It's right down this street.  Wait--I have a receipt from them!"  She rummages through her glove compartment and pulls out one receipt after another: "No, that's not it.  That's not it.  THAT'S not it."  Finally she finds it.  The address is...next door.  "Yes, I knew it was right around here."

The kid at the tire store is great.  He pulls off the rack, cuts off the bent bolts; I give the boss twenty bucks.  She hands it to the kid.  "Good man, there," I say.  "You should keep him."  She says, with a straight face, "He's an indentured servant.  He's not going anywhere."  The kid puts his head down and shuffles back to work.  They're all kidding.  I think.

I stop at Country Cook'n at the corner, because I'm famished.  It's got cowboy boots outside, saddles, etc.  The lady sitting in a chair reading the paper behind the counter is a middle aged Chinese woman with a heavy accent; the cook, a Chinese man peering out at me, is apparently her husband.  No one else is inside. 

  

They make me a perfect breakfast.  I'm back on the road.

NEXT--THE ZAKARINS AND THE L.A. EXPERIENCE



                                                                                  

The RV

Sorry, I forgot I promised to post photos of the RV interior.  Here you go.

Looks bigger than it is, but plenty of room for me.

Joshua Tree National Park

Four days in Joshua Tree coming to an end.  Joshua tree is an interesting juxtaposition of desert scrub and vast collections of boulders, some small and some massive, seemingly dumped in random piles across the landscape.  People come from all over to climb the faces of the piles, which jut from the flat scrub in formations from pyramids to vertical walls; something for everyone. I enjoyed climbing the less vertical rocks and jumping from boulder to boulder. Noted I don't have the spring I used to have and that I'm more careful on the rocks when I'm alone, especially after reading about the guy who cut off his arm when he was trapped hiking by himself.  I seldom see anyone on my rambles, and have learned to carry basics like a loud whistle, a flashlight, a sweatshirt, protein bars, and water.  Just in case.

Tuesday I went on a four mile run up and down desert trails, an exercise made more interesting by virtue of the fact all the trails are made of decomposed granite.  Like running uphill and downhill at the beach.  Wednesday was an 8 mile hike almost to the top of Eureka Peak.  Same granite paths.  Today, a seventeen
 mile bike ride; the way back was uphill and into a stiff cold wind.  I get absorbed into the fierceness of the outdoors--it concentrates the mind.

                            

I ran into a young photographer with an interesting solar setup.  It's three panels mounted on what is essentially a lightweight sawhorse, attached to an inverter and then to the posts on the coach batteries.  He said it generates enough power that he almost never uses his generator.  I'm picking one up on the way to LA tomorrow.  The whole system is under $300, which is spectacular if it does what he promises.  His rig is much smaller than mine but his batteries are the same.  We'll see next week.

Next: staying with the Zakarins in LA.  Demanding a cameo role in the Upstairs Girls videos Scott produces.

San Diego

First visit to friends, Tammy and Jason Marden in San Diego.  We've had a wonderful time.  Jason and I have been prepping a condo for rental, and he just landed a job as a maintenance worker for the school district. A good job in itself, it appears to be a foot in the door for something better.  All Mardens are thrilled, of course. 

                                                    Jason, Tammy and Emily 10-27-11 

Today we went to the beach at La Jolla; tomorrow, the world famous San Diego Zoo.  San Diego is an eminently liveable city, with a temperate climate, clean streets and beaches, and a tremendous bike infrastructure.  Still, it is a city with an immense footprint and I am itching to get back to nature.  Planning to head east on Saturday, with next stop in the Arizona desert unless a California site along the way calls.  Since I'm flying home for Christmas on December 13 I have just over seven weeks to get to Sebring, Florida.  Not any too much time to travel about 2,400 miles.

Sunset at the beach, La Jolla CA 10-27-11

Beginning to LOVE the RV.  Cleaned the carpets today and took the table out of the living room.  Jason repaired the toilet and now everything is working the way it should.  This is a well thought out and reliable rig, and I am comfortable living in about 225 square feet.  I have everything I need and as long as I can go outside whenever I want I don't feel constrained.  It's quiet, comfortable, and utilitarian, and I'm enjoying being alone.  Interior pictures next time.

Love,

John

                                                 

                                                       

Blog One October 23, 2011

So...I am figuring out how to blog and find I do not know the address.  I will find it.

I've been on the road officially for eight days now, not counting the three week shakedown cruise with my neighbor Kelly, which is a story in itself.  I started in Markleeville CA and headed down 395 on the eastern side of the Sierra on October 16th.  Spent six days camping at ten dollars a night (thanks to the Golden Eagle pass, best deal in the country).  Then, last night--an RV park.  All the power and water I could want!  Was doing ok on the budget thanks to a food stockpile, but the $200 fillup of the gas tank and the $40 nightly RV park fees creates a big hole.  So far, counting tonight's RV park as well, I've spent $470.00 in eight days, or $58.75/day.  I see some desert camping coming up.

First, stopping at Scooter Depot in Chino.  I already bought a 1982 Yamaha Seka which proved to be too heavy for me to load onto the back of the RV by myself, and a Suzuki Burgman 400 scooter, which also proved too heavy for me to load onto the back of the RV by myself.  Third time is a charm.  After that I'm driving down to San Diego to visit Jason and Tammy.

395 was beautiful.  The aspen are turning, especially near June Lake, and the weather in the high country is threatening winter.  Got a chance to climb some; I am driven to reach the top wherever I am, even though the top is almost never really the top.  Meeting the most interesting people--a group called School of Lost Borders, which does Rite of Passage work with young people; they were kind and generous to me when we met in the sage.  Also met Bob, an ex marine wounded on Okinawa by a Japanese 155 mortar shell.  Bob was born on the boardwalk at Coney Island ("never had to pay for a ride in my life.")

I am drinking in the scenery and the people I meet like a camel at the oasis.  Every turn of the bend brings something new, and it's all so different. And the people!  Just talking with the lady running the collectibles store in a one horse town or the owner of Rick's Cafe on the highway is fascinating to me. The stories they tell are so unique and fundamentally the fabric of America, much more so than the news on television and in the paper.  I wish I could take pictures of them all.

Love and miss all of you.

Sitting by the fire at night is a grand privilege.