Movin’ On
We perched for a few days at Harrah’s Ak-Chin Casino just 30 miles south of Phoenix in the town of Maricopa. As we hadn’t done any Geocaching for a couple of weeks, I was feeling a need to get out on the hunt again and we devoted a whole day to caching in the Maricopa / Casa Grande locale. It was fun as always but most of the finds were ‘micro caches’ two of them in little 1 ½ inch long vials, so there were no fun trade items. The last one of the day was going to be the most exciting one – way out in the desert with petroglyphs and caves. We got a mile down the back road to find it had been totally closed off and we were still 3 ½ miles away from the cache and we were in the middle of what appeared to be the Ozarks backwoods, so weren’t even tempted to leave our car and hike in.
In the 14th century, a tribe called the HoHokam lived in the desert 
near the Gila River and the present day town of Casa Grande. An ancient village was excavated in a farmer’s field and they discovered a four story clay and limestone building – the Casa Grande – in the middle of a vast chain of villages with canals linking them to the main river – evidently it was a very advanced culture. However, the Hohokam disappeared within the next century – and whether they moved on and became assimilated by other tribes or whether a drought decimated the population remains a mystery. The National Parks has resurrected the site, constructed a huge roof to protect the Casa Grande and built a visitor center – an interesting and worthwhile stop.
We drove into the town of Casa Grande to do some shopping and drove by the Sundance RV Resort. Fernie remembered that neighbours (D&D) from our Coquitlam home were staying there in their motorhome so we figured we’d come back the next day and see if we could find them. It’s a massive village of RV’s and mobile homes, row upon row with the streets named after old cowboy movie stars – Ritter, Hayes, even Redford and Newman but the gate guard looked them up and gave us directions. We were lucky – they had just returned from golfing so we visited for an hour or so. They told us a bit about the lifestyle – lots of social activities, exercise classes, pools etc. and they love it. We could hear a churning, mechanical sound in the background as we chatted and were so amazed to see a breadmaker doing its incongruous duty on the kitchen counter – and I think I’m cooking when I put a prepared frozen dinner in the microwave.
Our love affair with the desert drew us to drive down to the Organ Pipe National Monument, which sits at the Mexican border. 
There are vast BLM lands (Bureau of Land Management – free desert camping) four miles north of the park just south of the little town of Why. Why we asked ourselves is this three building town called Why? I guess that answers the question. 
This part of the Sonoran desert is full of plant life and with the bit of rain that’s fallen recently, it’s so green. We drove back into the BLM lands about a mile and found a wonderful fairly isolated spot beneath a Palo Verde tree and a large Saguaro (pronounced sawarro) cactus. What luxury, the beautiful desert – all ours for as far as our eyes could see, the dark night skies full of brilliant stars, yipping and howling coyotes circling in closer and closer after dark, hot daytime sunshine, cool desert nights and all the comforts of home in our comfortable motorhome.
This national park has corralled one of the most unusual ecosystems 
in the USA – an area full of many species of cacti and in particular the huge organ pipe cactus, which only grows in this part of the USA. Saguaro (pr. Sawarro), cholla (pr. choya), prickly pear, fish hook barrel cacti, ocotillo, mesquite, palo verde, creosote bushes and so many more all in profusion. We took the 21-mile loop drive up into the Ajo (pr. Aah-ho) Mountains on a one-way gravel road. As we climbed, the cacti grew thicker and larger and denser and I couldn’t stop taking photos with the majestic craggy mountains and canyons in the background. We took a couple of shortish hikes (2 miles roundtrip) but found the heat fairly oppressive and battling the cold that I brought home from Toronto didn’t make it any easier.
It was a pleasure to return to our desert home and veg out in our chairs until sunset.
Calamity! Our laptop was on the fritz. The on / off button had sunk back into the innards of the beast and it was inoperable. “What to do? What to do?” Irrationally, I was feeling waves of panic but managed to fend them off. With a bit of sleuthing, we found a laptop repair depot “Simply Laptops” in North Phoenix. The entire faceplate had to be replaced and the part had to be couriered in. Fernie had been counting on lots of online Texas Holdem to keep him occupied in my absence (to be explained), so was pleased that there was only a two-day turnaround. Fernie was able to pick it up the day after I left for the frozen north. So all was well!
Shuffle off to Buffalo!
The temperature in Phoenix crested at 89 degrees 
F (30 degrees C approx) the day before I left for my five-day sojourn to Toronto. I found a really cheap air ticket Phoenix to Buffalo via Cleveland return for $179 Cdn funds, taxes included on Continental Airlines. It would have cost me over $500 Cdn to fly from Vancouver to Toronto.
We settled Fernie and Caesar into an RV Park in Mesa, a suburb of Phoenix for the time I’d be away. He looked forward to daily saunas and whirlpools and felt more secure than having the worry at a casino that he’d be told to move on – we’ve seen that happen. He’s a very competent driver but his navigation abilities are sketchy to say the least.
My son David drove down to Buffalo to retrieve me. There 
were a trio of reasons that drew me from the summery south into the frigid north. David had landed the key role of Captain Walker in the Scarborough Musical Theatre’s production of the sixties musical ‘Tommy’. It was his first foray back into performing after a ten-year hiatus with family taking precedence in his life. It was also my granddaughter, Myfanwy’s (Myffy) 9th birthday and I’ve always made an effort to be there for her celebrations. Myfanwy is a popular name in Wales (my birth country) and one that my mother professed was her favourite Welsh name – obviously I was almost a Myfanwy. My other granddaughter, Cairo flew in from Vancouver to join us for the family weekend. Do you notice a trend in this generation to choose unusual names for their children?
I had a tight connection in Cleveland (forty minutes with a terminal change) and I was nervous when the plane left Phoenix 35 minutes late. “We’ll try to make up some of the time in the air” announced the pilot. However, the gate attendant warned me I might miss it and I’d have to wait until the following day to get another flight out, as it was the last one of the day. The unusually kind gate clerk managed to move my seat up from the 26th row to the 5th row so I could sprint out on arrival – and I did. I careened down terminal C, veered left down the long escalator, across the tunnel power walking on the moving sidewalk, up the escalator into Terminal D arriving at my gate out of breath with only minutes to spare. I heaved a huge sigh of relief with my remaining gasps. The little 34-passenger commuter plane arrived in Buffalo right on time and David was waiting. It was ‘oh so cold’ in Toronto – with the wind exacerbating the effects but there was little snow and a fairly good forecast for the weekend.
It was just like a camping trip – Myffy, Cairo and I shared Myffy’s bedroom and one evening when no-one else was home we watched ‘chick flicks’ together. It was so much fun with no parents around. I’ve never received so many hugs and such adulation before. We shared whispered secrets such as how irritating mothers are – Grandmas don’t count – we’ve graduated from motherhood. I would lie in my bed late at night and watch the two little angels stretched out beside me, their legs and arms intertwined. I felt I was in my version of heaven. Sunday afternoon, David was doing a matinee performance and Janet was working so we three ‘girls’ went out for lunch and a movie. The only one that neither of the girls had seen was ‘Happy Feet’, an animated musical with a cast of tens of thousands – all penguins, with Robin Williams taking on three of the roles. It was a delightful, heart-warming, toe-tapping, sing-along sort of film. We giggled, laughed out loud and sang along to the popular songs.
My granddaughter, Myfanwy has Cystic Fibrosis, a serious genetic disease that attacks the lungs and the digestive system. She has regular CF checkups every three months at the ‘Sick Children’s Hospital’, which is a world leader in CF research. There’s something about that hospital’s name that troubles me. Myffy was going in sooner this time as she’d had a bit of a cloud in the bottom of her left lung and hopefully it would be cleared. She was feeling well and full of energy so we were optimistic. Her appointment was on her birthday, Friday, February 9th and I jumped at the opportunity of accompanying her father and her to learn a bit more of the disease and what sort of treatment was available.
Myffy marched up to the desk in the pulmonary wing specializing in cystic fibrosis and was immediately recognized. “I see it’s someone’s special day today – Happy birthday Myfanwy” said the friendly clerk. Myffy broke into a wide grin and hopped from one leg to the other with a happy impatience. She’s a very high energy and mature little girl and answered all the questions herself, never looking to her father to respond. The clerk laid out all the tests she’d be having today – blood tests, xrays, bone density, and doctor’s checkup and said “You know where to go?” and Myffy was off and running with us trying to keep up – down three floors, then up two floors, the over to the old building and finally back to the original CF wing. All along the way, people stopped her and said “Hi Myfanwy” or ‘Happy Birthday Myfanwy”. There’s a family atmosphere there that I’ve never experienced before. I was permitted into the examining room for the final checkup and the doctor immediately wished her a Happy Birthday and started questioning her – once again, she answered everything herself. I think they are pleased when a CF child takes on the responsibility of her own disease by understanding it as Myffy does. We were disappointed to hear that the cloud on the lung was still there, but the doctor said that with increased and aggressive physiotherapy it would possibly disappear and they’d give it another two months before they’d intervene. So that was it – 3 or 4 hours had passed and we were just leaving when “Just a minute Myfanwy” a young woman chased down the hall. Come on back – the other doctors want to see you. Back she went into a room full of staff happily greeting her with a giant bag of birthday presents and questions such as ‘Are you having a party?’. The bag was bursting with lovely gifts. What a way to treat a patient.
The Party!
Seventeen chattering nine-year-old girls arrived at the school party room with their Webkinz under their arms. The invitation read “Come and join us for Myffy’s 9th Webkinz birthday party. Bring your Webkinz.”
What are Webkinz? Little stuffed animals, most with a kind of sparse scruffy fur. The owners 
name each pet, denote its sex and register each one online at the Webkinz website. They receive virtual housing, paraphernalia and food for their WK pets. Sometimes they share access with a friend – often they find out that’s a mistake.
“Lola used up all the food” complained Myffy after giving her friend access. 
After a dance in the gym under flashing strobe lights, the girls scurried back to crowd around the table where we’d laid out little individual plain cakes, a big bowl of icing, and little bowls of miscellaneous candies. This cake decorating frenzy was an absolute hit – they loved the gummy worms, the iridescent blue fish and the gruesome pink and white false teeth. Some of them piled on as many candies as they could fit on in a haphazard fashion but a few of them designed around a theme in an organized fashion. I totally related to those children.
5:30pm and the gifts had been opened (more Webkinz); parents were back to claim their progeny and we had to drop David off at the theatre, go home to change and be back at the theatre by 7:15 because tonight was our night to see Tommy.
Tommy, Can You Hear Me?
Click here to view a video of the highlights
The theatre is small and they perform almost in the round – no proscenium, so it’s a very intimate setting. Janet and I sat back a bit but the three children of course chose the front row.
Tommy is an odd and tragic piece and can be hard to follow. The theatre musical is very different from the ken Russell movie. But the way I understood this interpretation, it was all in Tommy’s imagination when he was committed to an insane asylum (is that politically correct?). I personally prefer to take it more literally and have his mental illness cured and have him reunite with his parents.
I was a bit nervous for David (AKA Andrew Mitchell), as he hadn’t sung publicly for ten years, but WOW! The uneasiness passed when in his first number his voice soared with 
resonance and power and he aced the high notes. He was FABULOUS! And so were the other leads. David played Captain Walker, Tommy’s father and his stage wife who was a mirror image of Annette Bening was a seasoned and capable actor with a lovely voice that mixed so well with David’s in their many duets. A bit disconcerting were the clinches, the love scenes and kisses between the two, especially as Janet (David’s real wife) was sitting beside me. She took it in good spirits understanding it was only staged. Both actors who played Tommy were very skilled – the ten-year-old boy playing young Tommy and the experienced professional actor who played grown up Tommy. The next couple of hours went by in a haze of the music, the story and my amazement and pride that my son was such a STAR!
We celebrated after with a late dinner and a wonderful bottle of Pinot Noir. The children loved the play and had so many questions about it. They all decided David should be the next Canadian Idol even though he’s forty years old.
Paging Mr. Kumar…..
Cairo at eleven years old flew out from Vancouver as an ‘unaccompanied minor’ so when it was time to go home on Sunday evening, David drove us to the airport but as the airline staff only allowed one escort to accompany Cairo to the gate and wait with her, David went off to have a coffee somewhere and we arranged he’d pick me up outside after her flight left.
I noticed the desk clerk paging a customer, a Mr. Kumar after the flight was loaded but I only really paid attention about the third call. Mr. Kumar didn’t ever show up and so naturally that meant for security purposes they had to offload his luggage – actually, all the luggage was taken back to the terminal and eventually reloaded when they found Kumar’s. I was hating this phantom Kumar as the time ticked on and I couldn’t leave until the plane backed out.
I approached the desk and asked the clerk how long it would be and she tried to soothe me with ‘anytime now’. A small bespectacled nerdish Asian man nosily approached me and snappily asked ‘Why are you watching that plane?”
I took offence to his questioning but replied just as snappily “I have a child aboard”. My manner took him aback and he then opened his overcoat to show me his photo ID hanging around his neck – he was a security agent. His approach changed and he asked pleasantly to see my permission slip. I, of course couldn’t find it – I did eventually but I got a bit flustered until I did. He then went on to appease me and explained how it’s his job to stay with a flight until it leaves. He lingers unobtrusively in the background, watching and listening. He didn’t have a good answer though when I asked him what could have happened to Mr. Kumar.
“Maybe he got sick”
“Maybe he didn’t understand”
It doesn’t make sense to me that someone would check baggage and not show up if they’re on the ‘up and up’.
He went on to say, “I’ve probably watched at least 300 Westjet departures and we’ve never had to offload baggage before”. That really made me suspicious but I was tremendously relieved that they got the luggage off and the plane finally pulled out an hour late.
Feb 12/07
Home is where the heart is…….
And my heart is in Phoenix - - - - temporarily. Fernie and I have been apart for five days and that’s enough. I’m not happy being away from him any longer.
We awoke to a clear and ‘not-too-cold’ day. David drove me to Buffalo, a couple of hours drive from Toronto. The weather was good; it was after rush hour so the traffic was light; we had lots of time; so I didn’t expect any problems.
There was no line-up at the Niagara Falls border crossing – everything was going so well.
“Where are you going?” the female border officer asked in an officious tone.
“I’m taking my mother to the Buffalo Airport” answered David.
I continued explaining that my husband was in Phoenix in our RV.
“I need to see your return air ticket”
“No, no, I’ll be driving home to Canada in my motorhome.”
“Tsk, Tsk – the rule clearly states that you MUST have a return ticket – see, we Americans have a BIG problem with illegal immigrants. Florida is full of them and I’m not just talking about them Hispanics. It’s the Canadians too – they come and they don’t go home – we can’t allow it. They use our country and put nothing back”
I controlled my anger – that would only get me tossed out of the USA for sure. Another guard had joined her by now and she muttered under her breath to him “Do you think I should send her inside?” She looked at me and said, “If I send you in, they sure won’t let you through”.
“But I think I believe her” she said to the other officer “but if I send her in they won’t let her enter the US”.
I was getting so nervous by then wondering what I’d do. I interjected “What should I do in the future to properly prepare for such a case?” trying to soften the mood and show my serious concern for the security of the country – in other words, ‘I was sucking up’.
“We’ll let you through this time” she finally said, handing me back my tickets and passport and we vamoosed outa’ there. Phew!
I had a couple of hours to while away at the Buffalo airport, so I checked out the shops. I found a couple of bargains at one, a silver evening purse for $10 marked down from $40 and a really nice faux Pashmina for $10 – I couldn’t resist. The shop was dead quiet and the clerks were in a chatty mood. The headlines on all of the ‘gossip rags’ at the check stand blazed with the latest news on Anna Nicole Smith’s demise and when Janie the cashier noticed my interest, she interjected “I stayed at the same hotel as the one she died in – just last month I was there”. I showed interest and she continued “it’s real spooky, isn’t it – do you really think it was an accident?”. The other clerk chimed in “No, it’s murder – out and out – and you mark my words, that lawyer of hers is going to be found guilty of it”. I was a bit befuddled because I obviously hadn’t kept up on all the latest news. As I left their shop, I could still hear them debating who killed her and was her son also murdered and who is the baby’s father………..
Everything else was smooth; just a slight delay out of Cleveland for de-icing and…….
Hello Phoenix!
By the Time We Got to Phoenix…….
We’ve driven through Phoenix before and we’ve 
changed planes at the airport but we’ve never before lingered and explored the city. We settled into one of the many casinos around the city – Gila River band’s “Wild Horse Pass”. The staff welcomed us and we parked over in a far corner – a very pleasant location with quite a number of other RV’s. Security vehicles patrolled the area and we felt very safe. We made it our base for the first week.
Fernie whom I consider an ‘intellectual’ 
gambler, enjoyed the proximity of the casino and joined in the ‘Limit Texas Holdem’ for a couple of hours each evening. The first night he made $45, then $72, $120 and after four days he’d cleared almost $400. By intellectual, I mean he studies the odds; he reads every poker book he can lay his hands on and translates it all into his own system. He’s a moderate gambler and plays at the lowest stake tables and there he encounters the bad, wild gamblers – thus, he makes money. Seems incredible but it’s true.
It was very strange but we drove into Phoenix in rain, which is welcomed by the locals as they get so little but it seemed out of place. The next day, it cleared up and each day became subsequently hotter than the previous.
Phoenix is a booming and modern metropolis. Construction is everywhere – new freeways, housing subdivisions and the resultant commercial complexes and big box stores. Everything is new and clean. It’s all rather Stepford-like. The highways are artistically designed – majestic overpasses soar overhead and curve gracefully, the spans intertwining in perfect symmetry. Desert hued red and sand-coloured brick walls with Indian designs border desert plant landscaped medians. We found it an easy city to navigate and within days could find our way anywhere. If it weren’t for the extreme summer heat, I’d consider if a very liveable city.
We did wonder where the slums were – doesn’t every city have a bad side? The little townsite of Guadalupe embedded into the suburb of Tempe is a little piece of Mexico – only blocks away were affluent homes and here in Guadalupe, we felt as if we’d been transposed into Mexico with all the poverty and colourful street life.
The downtown core is very small and sparkling clean and once again, all the buildings seem new. A large baseball stadium, a hockey arena and an immense convention centre border the business and hotel area. The city centre doesn’t peter out slowly – it finishes suddenly with older residential neighbourhoods beside it. The Sky Harbor International Airport is conveniently wedged just a few miles east of downtown and southwest of Scottsdale.
Scottsdale, 
the affluent community of upscale hotels and resorts and label shops, rivals Palm Springs as a tourist destination. Camelback Mountain, a small hill shaped like a camel’s hump is right in the middle of Scottsdale and is a recognizable landmark from far afield. We took a day to explore it and found a day wasn’t enough. We’ll have to go back. Surprisingly, there’s free parking al over downtown Scottsdale. That suited my stingy attitude. Historic ‘old town’ is full of trendy little shops and inviting restaurants. We had lunch at a Scottsdale institution “Los Olivos”. It opened in the early 1950’s and is run by the same family today. It was named for a group of very old olive trees planted in 1896 and still thriving in the centre of the road today. Fish tacos and enchiladas with all the accoutrements sated our appetites and it was with great difficulty that we resisted the giant margaritas – but we knew we’d be finished for the day if we imbibed.
We took a drive along Lincoln Drive in Paradise Valley, to view the homes of the ultra wealthy – sorta like doing one of those Beverly Hills tours. What is there in us looking at properties we can’t ever possibly obtain? – why do we need to drool and ‘oooh’ and ‘aaah’ over the opulent homes? We drove up to Taliesin West, the house designed and built by Frank Lloyd Wright in the 1930’s, literally out of the desert. It’s nestled in the hills high above Scottsdale. They gathered desert rocks and sand from the surrounding hills to construct the massive sprawling ranch style home. We were too late to take a tour of the property so we’ll have to return another day.
Every Thursday evening, all the art galleries along Marshall Way and Main in Scottsdale are open for public viewing at no charge. What a nice evening could be spent strolling in the warm air from gallery to gallery – but it wasn’t Thursday so we’ll have to come back.
The Apache Trail
The immense, craggy Superstition Mountains loomed over the start 
of the Apache Trail. Cacti of so many species became more and more prolific as we drove on. I never knew the desert could be so beautiful. An old mining town has been rebuilt to attract visitors “The goldfield Ghost Town”. It’s full of antique equipment and many of the buildings are original. Of course, souvenir shops, museums and ice cream shops have sprunt up too, but it’s a charming piece of the ‘Old West’.
In the distance, 
the Four Peaks mountain range was iced with snow – they are either very high or it was unusually cold. I guess the rain below was snow up there. The Apache Trail is about sixty miles across to the Roosevelt Dam and only half of it is paved. The remaining half climbs precariously over steep mountain roads only one lane in many spots – which is pretty freaky when rounding a high and precipitous cliff. Some healthy robust coyotes crossed the road in front of us and on a steep slope above a deep canyon right beside the road, mountain goats grazed contentedly. By the time we reached the dam and returned to paved highway, we’d had enough of the washboard surface and the narrow and twisty roads and were pleased to return on a paved circular route. It was one of those wondrous days where we were left with a glorious feeling of thrilling fulfillment and joy in the glory of the discovery of new and natural sights.
The casino parking lot was humming with activity after an oppressively hot afternoon. It cooled somewhat after the sun went down but it brought folks out of their RV’s to socialize. Laughter and friendly chatter could be heard resonating through the warm night air. An old chap pulled out a chair and started playing his fiddle – a foot stomping sort of tune. Neighbours started to wander over, the womenfolk swaying their hips and tapping their feet to the music. They encircled the musician greeting each other as if they were long lost friends. Along the way, someone brought out an accordion and a band was in the making.
“Hi, where y’all from?” we’d hear as new ones joined the cluster.
They were from Texas, Colorado, Iowa and even Alberta. Before long, the men went back to their movable homes to get chairs and the circle grew and the jollity increased. We watched and listened from our motorhome, not feeling an affinity with the group but amused by their easy association – much like children in a playground. It was a pleasant atmosphere.
But the tempo changed. Red, blue, amber and white flashing lights reflected from the windows – an ambulance and an inhalator pulled up just fifty feet away from us outside an old but clean motorhome that had been parked in the same spot for the past week. The gathering of new friends wandered over to watch the proceedings no doubt thinking “There for the grace of God, go I”. They kept a distance and spoke in hushed tones as the medics scurried about with equipment and stretcher. Eventually they carried out an elderly man and strapped him into the stretcher before lifting him into the ambulance. One of the friendly neighbours went over and offered his services to drive the patient’s wife to the hospital. He assisted her in locking up the motorhome and took her arm guiding her to the car and then followed the ambulance, lights still flashing but sirens mute - the kindness of strangers.
Things were quiet for a while and then the sound of the fiddle once again rippled through the now cool air.
It’s kinda like Woodstock, but everyone’s over 70…..
Quartzsite is an arid pioneer town that comes alive in January each year when 250,000 snowbirds descend in their RV’s. 
They mostly boondock (no hookups and pay no fees) on BLM lands (public lands) in the desert; they erect their satellite dishes for TV and internet; they tilt their solar panels to capture the energy needed by their sophisticated coaches; they put out awnings, mats, sunshades and patio furniture and they settle in for the winter – their nest is ready. They come for the acres of swap meets, the ‘rock and mineral’ shows, the monster tent shows like the RV and Travel extravaganza but most of all, they come for the warm sunshine. There’s a feeling of freedom away from the RV parks out in the desert. They don’t need their umbilical cords attached to electricity, water and sewer – their RV’s are fully self-contained.
We settled our motorhome out in the desert on the BLM lands amongst hundreds of others. We were part of a group with four other motorhomes – reminiscent of the pioneer wagon trains circled to provide protection. Large hummingbirds flit around like giant insects and we had hummingbird feeders suctioned to our windows so we could watch the colourful little birds with their shiny crimson heads and iridescent blue necks.
We elected to spend little time at the shows and sales and each morning we’d head out deep into the desert and mountains Geocaching. As well as providing us with a lot of extreme exercise, the cache destinations introduced us to a lot of history and pre-history of the area as well as the ecology.
Prehistoric Times
Our little Honda CRV 4x4 is terrific on sandy and rocky desert trails and proved itself on a jaunt into the Chocolate Mountains. On nothing more than 
an ATV track, we manoeuvred ourselves through some extremely rugged desert terrain up to a long abandoned mine. We clambered carefully around the isolated mineshaft, aware that collapsing tunnels could be below us and we could fall through. Eventually, we found the treasure but the best find of all was a human footprint and finger holds embedded into a large expanse of exposed bedrock. Apparently, six million or so years ago, someone had left the prints in the then-soft clay, which spread out (by the size of the print – either that or Bigfoot had been there) and hardened under a protected cover of sand. Mining exposed it all these years later.. 
While we were studying the footprint down in a shallow gorge, we heard the buzz of ATV’s approaching. The buzz turned to a roar and we looked up to see four faces peering down at us. I waved a greeting to some of the toughest looking dudes you could imagine – clad in leathers and bandanas and sporting wild facial hair. Quick thoughts of the old Burt Reynolds film ‘Deliverance’ flashed through my mind. But they were harmless and friendly locals. The oldest of the four was a real chatterbox. He told me how he had a house on the Colorado River and he’d boat down the river from Lake Havasu all the way to Yuma.
“It’s a real kick – you and your hubby would love it” His tough exterior was just a cover for a simple and friendly personality.
“I’m a Grandpa,” he announced proudly. He didn’t even look more than forty years old.
As I was measuring my foot against the ancient footprint, he grinned 
and said, “Ain’t that really something?” and then went on to tell me how he met an archaeologist at the site and that’s how he knew it was six million years old. The other three much younger guys were scrabbling around with Fernie.
“Are you looking for the cache?” said one.
“I can show you where it is” and he scrambled up the steep bank.
“Here it is – under the tree. We always look in it but we don’t touch nothin’.”
It was a large ammo can full of bits and pieces. In Geocaching language, they (non-cachers) are called “Muggles” and we cachers try to behave stealthily and not give away what we’re doing or where the cache is hidden but they had watched other geocachers on a previous visit. They left us alone to delve into the contents of the can and shortly we heard their vehicles burst back into life and surge away.
Another long steep climb up a barren mountain provided 
us with a spectacular view across the desert and over Quartzsite in the distance. The ascent was brutal. A cloak of volcanic rocks made it particularly treacherous but the descent was worse, rocks slipping away beneath our feet. We took it very slowly and were so glad we’d worn our hiking boots and especially happy we had our climbing poles – otherwise I think I might still be up there. The cache was on the craggy peak with no level spots to relax on, so I sat astride a pointy ridge to study the meagre contents of the cache.
2,000 years ago – or so
Across the bumpy flatlands scattered with Saguaro 
cacti through dry washes that gouge the desert in the occasional rainstorm, we finally arrived at the rocky foothills and within half a mile of the cache coordinates. As we hiked the remaining distance, we encountered geckos and ground squirrels scurrying across in front of us. Jackrabbits suddenly darted out of the bushes with such rapidity it would make us jump. We kept close watch for rattlers and coral snakes but it probably wasn’t hot enough for them. In the hillsides were caves within an easy climb and we wondered about the early inhabitants, when above and beside the cave entrances faint but legible petroglyphs decorated the walls. We could just make out a wolf’s head and either coyotes or foxes. How wonderful to find such treasures so away from tourist trails as if we were the first to discover them.
19th Century
Hajid Ali, a little Arab born in Syria 
early in the 19th century, was brought over to the USA by the American army along with a large herd of camels. The army figured that camels could be used to transport goods across the southern deserts much as they did in Africa and the Middle East. The soldiers unable to pronounce Hajid Ali, corrupted his name to Hi Jolly. He was a skilled camel herder but the experiment didn’t work out satisfactorily and Hi Jolly’s last camp was in central Quartzsite. A small pyramid was erected at the site as a memorial and the district surrounding it is known to this day as Hi Jolly. The camels were let loose in the desert and legend has it that they’re progeny still roam in the surrounding hills ------- very unlikely, I’d say.
Down the street the ramshackle ruins of the old jailhouse and general store evoked visions of early western life.
There are many abandoned mines in 
the Chocolate Mountains and one particular search took us to an extremely rickety old shaft the aged, creaking timbers precariously perched on the side of a precipitous hill. Quartzsite was once crawling with prospectors and miners.
1930’s – 1940’s
In the centre of town between tented swap meets, lay remnants of 
the sleepy burg that Quartzsite used to be. In disuse today with ‘No Trespassing’ signs nailed haphazardly across them, are an aged service station and motel. Quartzsite was a stop off and refuelling point for those traversing the slow pre-interstate road from Pumpkinville (Phoenix) to Los Angeles. Funny that they haven’t been razed or remodelled.
21st Century
The boondocking life made us quite envious of those with solar panels capturing energy and providing them quiet power on tap. So we splurged and outfitted Maggie with a 130 Watt solar panel, a 250 Watt inverter, two additional batteries, monitors and miscellaneous gizmos. RV Lifestyles in Quartzsite had been highly recommended to us by two people and as we already had check prices, theirs at $1,900 all taxes in was pretty good – and we just love it. Money well spent.
near the Gila River and the present day town of Casa Grande. An ancient village was excavated in a farmer’s field and they discovered a four story clay and limestone building – the Casa Grande – in the middle of a vast chain of villages with canals linking them to the main river – evidently it was a very advanced culture. However, the Hohokam disappeared within the next century – and whether they moved on and became assimilated by other tribes or whether a drought decimated the population remains a mystery. The National Parks has resurrected the site, constructed a huge roof to protect the Casa Grande and built a visitor center – an interesting and worthwhile stop.
There are vast BLM lands (Bureau of Land Management – free desert camping) four miles north of the park just south of the little town of Why. Why we asked ourselves is this three building town called Why? I guess that answers the question. 
This part of the Sonoran desert is full of plant life and with the bit of rain that’s fallen recently, it’s so green. We drove back into the BLM lands about a mile and found a wonderful fairly isolated spot beneath a Palo Verde tree and a large Saguaro (pronounced sawarro) cactus. What luxury, the beautiful desert – all ours for as far as our eyes could see, the dark night skies full of brilliant stars, yipping and howling coyotes circling in closer and closer after dark, hot daytime sunshine, cool desert nights and all the comforts of home in our comfortable motorhome.
in the USA – an area full of many species of cacti and in particular the huge organ pipe cactus, which only grows in this part of the USA. Saguaro (pr. Sawarro), cholla (pr. choya), prickly pear, fish hook barrel cacti, ocotillo, mesquite, palo verde, creosote bushes and so many more all in profusion. We took the 21-mile loop drive up into the Ajo (pr. Aah-ho) Mountains on a one-way gravel road. As we climbed, the cacti grew thicker and larger and denser and I couldn’t stop taking photos with the majestic craggy mountains and canyons in the background. We took a couple of shortish hikes (2 miles roundtrip) but found the heat fairly oppressive and battling the cold that I brought home from Toronto didn’t make it any easier. 
