RV Winter Rambling 2006-07

2007-04-09T20:57:00.000-07:00

Homeward Bound……..

North to Reno with one night in Hawthorne enroute – at an old casino, El Capitan whose RV parking area was teeming with other homebound snowbirds. A short drive the next morning took us to Reno, a shabby and rundown city, with more resident homeless than gambling tourists. I remember when the sidewalks were full of people waiting to cram into each casino – there was raucous music and the clang of machines emanating from the open doorways and the blare of car horns from folks impatient to get parked and start playing. Now it’s a ghost of what it used to be and it’s depressing.

So we stayed at The Nugget in Sparks, three miles from downtown Reno; the downside is that the RV lot is right beside the mainline railway tracks and the tooting and the screeching kept us awake most of the night. Fernie had the surprised gratification of playing Texas Holdem at a table with a professional poker player. After three hours of play, he rated the nine players at the table and he appraised Fernie as number two. However, with discussion he discovered that all the other players were locals that played together frequently and that Fernie was the only newbie. With that, he changed his rating of Fernie to number one. He’s a moneymaker!

We were up early the next morning with the help of the trains and were on the road by 7:30am. We didn’t intend to drive such a long day but we ended up driving all the way to Seven Feathers Casino in Canyonville, Oregon – 365 miles. We had planned to phone our new Rogue River friends to see if they could meet us but we were exhausted when we got there so instead we had an early night.

Our favourite place in the world beckoned – the Sea Perch RV Park right on the Pacific Ocean 20 miles north of Florence, Oregon. I phoned and made a reservation for three days. We had been in the desert for so long, we’d forgotten how beautiful the Pacific northwest is especially after a rainy season. The drive from the freeway over to the coast by Highway 138/38 was spectacularly beautiful and the sporadic misty rain didn’t detract from the splendour. A mosaic of colours lined the winding road; icy green moss dripping from the barren tree branches; hanging vines of varied greens clung to tree trunks; emerald green lichens covered the areas missed by the moss and vines; the stately bottle green elegance of the tall dark evergreens towered above while masses of ferns covered the banks and the forest floor. Here and there, a dogwood would appear in full immaculate white blooms. Willows drooped their long wispy fronds over the wide deep, dark Umpqua River. The dark green river of unfathomable depths circled with duelling currents would periodically change to a gurgling, gushing mass of rapids.

Deep gorges forced our road into narrow confines and then we’d turn a corner to a scene of pastoral enchantment; hilly mounds of velvety green grass; sheep grazed serenely, their bodies sleek after shearing; horses frolicked in the cool air behind spotless white fences; dappled clouds spread across green clad hills; white clapboard farmhouses with green or red shutters made me imagine the cosiness inside beside a smouldering fire; lily pads developing after a long winter covered mirror-like ponds After driving beneath a tunnel of filmy tree branches, a bright red azalea would pop a blast of colour, causing me to gasp. I slid the window open and I could smell the pungency of the moist earth and foliage and could feel the dampness of the cool humidity on my skin. The last stretch before we reached the ocean was deep dark rain forest. The ferns and mosses covering every branch and trunk were thick and fur-like. In the last deep canyon, my GPS struggled to catch a satellite signal – we were in a nether land. Elk meadows, vast and green, offered comfortable roofed viewing areas to spy on the graceful giants. Arbutus trees, (known as madrona in the USA) their peeling bark exposing shiny red trunks started to appear – a signal that the ocean was near. I was experiencing rapture – it’s as if we’d never seen such a sight before. After four months in the arid desert, our senses were arrested by the scenery and overwhelmed.

The rain abated and the clouds thinned to display an occasional spot of blue as we arrived at the glory of the seashore. Yellow gorse dazzling like golden sunshine was in full bloom along the shore. The waves crashed relentlessly on the rocks and sand – a cacophony of sound. I had forgotten the smell of salty sea air and how the sea mist shrouded the horizon and crept into the shore in an instant. But the sun kept trying to force its way back through the mist.

We pulled into Sea Perch early by 11am and settled at the front just a short distance to the wild sea. Ecstasy! That first day, we didn’t do much more than watch the scene out of our huge front window, sipped wine and I caught up some blogging. A storm had blown in and our cozy nest was welcomed. The following morning, we awoke to a sparkling clear and warm day and we couldn’t wait to walk the length of the beach. Caesar behaved like a puppy dashing along the sand, through tide pools, being caught by the occasional wave. He too was happy to be back.

We prowled the coast south on a Geocaching afternoon – discovered some wonderful hideaways, learned about the flora and fauna, and drooled over some of the houses overlooking the ocean. It was Easter Sunday, and families were out on the beaches enjoying the warmth. Our last day, we organized some Geocaching in Florence, 18 miles south and ended with an early dinner at the famous ‘Mo’s’ – a seafood restaurant.

We’re ready to head home now – not that our wanderlust has lessened, but there are people we miss and home is the next stop on our rambling lifestyle.

2007-04-09T10:07:00.001-07:00

Sun, Sand and Casinos…..

Laughlin is like Las Vegas was fifty years ago and today it seems to really appeal to the ‘golden-agers’ (hmmm, is that me we’re talking about). There are lots of 2-for-1 buffets and drinks and the River Palms gave us two free tickets to see an illusionist/magician/juggler show, which turned out to be really good – our expectations hadn’t been high but it was free……….We ended up staying there for a week. River Palms had allocated large RV parking spots high upon a bluff overlooking the length of the strip and the Colorado River with Bullhead City and the mountains forming a backdrop. It was a perfect place to settle in for the week. A cool breeze wafted across the high land keeping Maggie’s temperature moderate for Caesar while we fooled around. Some Geocaching, a day visiting friends in Needles, a day each for Fernie and I in bed with a stomach flu/condition (probably related to one of those 2-for-1 buffets), some poker for Fernie, a day to do laundry and RV cleaning, maintenance and dumping and before we knew it, it was time to hop on up to Las Vegas.

Our friends (L&J), who live in the Summerlin area of western Las Vegas, insisted that we park Maggie outside their house. We resisted at first not wanting to impose, but then agreed with gratitude and stayed for four nights. We plugged in to their electricity so that we could leave Caesar in the cool comfort of an air-conditioned home while we traipsed around Las Vegas. The lure of the ‘Strip’ has abated with us having visited LV every year for the last decade and so we spent much of our time in the locals’ casinos. The new Red Rock Casino and resort just a few miles from L&J is situated on the far western end of town, a stone’s throw from the Sierra Nevada Mountains and Red Rock Canyon.

We took L&J out with us one morning to introduce them to Geocaching because describing it doesn’t do it justice. They agreed to join us with amusement at this pursuit that has taken over our lives. We didn’t hunt down any adventurous caches but stuck to some urban hides. I don’t think we convinced them to become Geo-addicts like us though.

One morning, Fernie and I headed out early on our own to geocache. It took us to a long stretch of parkland, Puebla Park which winds through the suburban neighbourhoods for miles, mostly desert but interspersed with cool shady green oasis’s where we would stop to rest under a welcome tree. A geocache labelled ‘Hysterical’ made us clamber up steep rocks and we zeroed in on the coordinates. We lifted stones away to hopefully uncover the cache container. “SHRIEK!” and it wasn’t me that screeched. I jumped two feet off the ground but my reptile-hating partner did a hundred yard dash that was Olympic in its speed. We had uncovered the resting place of a coiled up medium sized snake…..it wasn’t moving so I first of all figured that it was dead, crushed by a rock but then realized it was a rubber snake…..I was totally ‘Hiss-terical” – couldn’t suppress the giggles as Fernie was gesturing from below and yelling “Get outa there!”.

Each day became subsequently hotter and we enjoyed the cool of their grassy palm-fringed yard and the azure pool with its gurgling waterfall - then cocktails, appy’s and dinner at a different restaurant each evening.

Wednesday morning arrived and it was time to leave and as we drove away we felt sad that we wouldn’t see them again until next year.

2007-04-09T09:51:00.000-07:00

"Ta-i ke-mo sah-bee" ("Greetings trusty scout")……….

The Navajo Nation stretches from New Mexico all across the north of Arizona. It’s the largest reservation in the USA. Parts of it reminded me of the South African townsites, with the rows of tumbledown huts but here they all had high-priced pickup trucks and autos parked outside and the children were skidding along on skateboards in their expensive label clothing. There is really no comparison to life in South Africa – it’s insulting to the Africans who have absolutely nothing. I really do think that the ‘reservation system’ in North America has mostly been a failure – it hasn’t promoted education or ambition and the resulting society has degenerated.

Ominous purple-black skies were cut with sharp slashes of lightning as we headed southwest. The storms were all around us but miraculously we always just skirted them. We saw lightning hit just to the east of us and that gave us the willies; I kept my eyes peeled for tornadoes. I’m terribly afraid of them.

We stopped overnight near the Petrified Forest National Park in northern Arizona and visited the park the following morning. There are acres and acres of petrified wood, which is strewn around haphazardly on the arid wasteland. The millions-of-years-old logs still look like wood before they are cut up; then the most brilliant colours are unleashed. Large warning signs notify that it is an offence to remove anything from a National Park….. “But can’t I please have one little bit of petrified wood?” Beside the walkways, cameras were trained across the viewable area to catch those who’d dare to put a rock into their pocket. I’m afraid enough of ‘Big Brother’ to not attempt to snafu even a tiny bit and I was glad when we reached the park exit and another sign warned ‘Be prepared for your vehicle to be searched’.

As we travelled on, we heard weather broadcasts of the areas we’d left behind. Tornadoes had levelled a small town in eastern New Mexico. We had originally planned on going as far as San Antonio, Texas but thought we didn’t have enough time and that area had many tornado warnings, so we made the right decision.

We roared right up, over and through Flagstaff all at a high elevation and then west of Flagstaff, slowly descended way, way down to not that far above sea level. The temperature soared and when we reached Laughlin, it was almost 90 degrees.

2007-04-09T08:53:00.000-07:00

It Takes a Village (Pueblo?)…..

Our visit to Bandolier National Park and the Pueblo Indians cliff dwellings just west of Santa Fe had left a taste for more exploration of the Anasazi civilization. Interestingly, Anasazi – meaning ‘The old ones’ is not the native’s chosen term. They prefer to be referred to as Pueblo Indians. On our quest for more knowledge of the ancient civilizations, we ventured south from Farmington, New Mexico about fifty miles and west for another twenty one miles on a mostly dirt road to Chaco Canyon National Monument. It was well worth the rough drive. The wide canyon had obviously once been heavily populated by an advanced and skilled civilization. It’s a puzzle why they only stayed there for a couple of hundred years after building such sophisticated pueblos, several stories high. The stonework was intricate and artistic and it’s amazing that the original walls still stand a thousand years later – it speaks well of the construction. Pueblo Bonita was the largest of the villages and it was well preserved but for the huge boulders that separated away from the cliffs under which the pueblo had been built. Kivas, round subterranean rooms were used for ceremonies and social gatherings. Weaving circles used these cosy rooms and other crafts were fashioned probably in the cold winters and hot summers. All kivas were constructed in the same fashion though they varied vastly in size. Some pueblos had many kivas. There was a firepit and ventilation shaft at one end; seats circled the room; four huge posts supported the roof and in the centre was a depression which was supposed to indicate an entry to the underworld.

Pockets of ancient ruins surround the Chaco Canyon area up past Four Corners into Colorado. ‘Four Corners’ is the only location in the USA where four states intersect – New Mexico, Arizona, Utah and Colorado. It is on Indian land and we were charged $3 each to enter and view the plaque depicting the conjunction – WHAT A BIG RIPOFF!

We visited a couple of smaller pueblo sites in New Mexico – in the town of Aztec and the Salmon ruins near Bloomfield and then ventured further north into Colorado to Mesa Verde National Park. A paved road curves steeply up from the highway round and round the high butte that marks the entry to the park and winds in for over 20 miles at an extremely high elevation. The views over the vast deep valleys took our breath away. But the ‘piece de resistance’ is at the end of the road. The cliff dwellings were built under massive overhanging rocks and the pueblos remain amazingly intact. The vistas of the many cliff pueblos were superb but just one of them was open for us to explore. Only pictures can really describe these marvellous dwellings. I climbed down a ladder into a dark kiva restored to its original condition and was able to imagine what life was like a thousand years ago.

In my younger years, history made no impact on me, but now I’ve lived well past half a century, I have a framework in which I can comprehend times past and I consider how our lives will impact future generations – at least I hope that global warming will be curtailed and not result in the possible dire circumstances. I would like to think that my ‘pueblo’ will be around to be discovered and explored.

2007-04-09T08:41:00.000-07:00

That’s What Friends are For…….

Several weeks ago, when we were traversing the hills of Bisbee, we stopped for a coffee and tea at a little coffee bar in the centre of town to give us energy to continue our explorations. Fernie was reading a local newspaper and from behind him we heard “does it give the weather around Albuquerque?”. That’s how the conversation began and it was an hour later before it wrapped up. We immediately hit it off with this couple L&A from Rogue River, Oregon – so much that we swapped contact info. We were travelling in much the same direction so we parted with hopes that we’d cross paths again.

Just before leaving Santa Fe, I emailed them with our projected route for the next week and ‘lo and behold’ got an immediate reply. They said they’d return to Farmington, New Mexico for one night after a weekend in Durango, Colorado just 50 miles north. They recommended an RV Park, Mom and Pop’s and that’s where we met up again.

It was like meeting old friends when we pulled up – you’d never have known we’d just met. We sat outside sharing wine and beer and experiences throughout the sunny afternoon. When I checked in ‘Pop’ of Mom & Pop’s RV Park gave me a rundown of what to see and where to go around Farmington. He even suggested that if we went to Red Lobster, we could order the ‘lobster special’ for $27 and it was so huge we could share it.
“For only $13.50 each you and your hubby can have lobster” he exclaimed, peering at me over his half glasses to see if I was paying attention to his soliloquy. It made my mouth water and back at our campsite, I mentioned it to L&A – they thought it a tremendous idea and joined us for dinner at the Red Lobster. With a bottle of Chardonnay, it went down very well. I think Fernie and I were starved for some social interaction as we’d been alone for quite a while by then, so this night was definitely desirable, delectable and delicious. We parted ways the next morning – L&A heading home – but definitely plan to keep in touch.

2007-03-22T21:39:00.000-07:00

Baskets, Turquoise and Silver, Blankets, Rugs, Pots – For Sale………

I can’t believe it, we’ve been in Santa Fe for a week – Guess it’s time to move on!

Albuquerque, 70 miles south is 1,000 feet lower in elevation than Santa Fe and decidedly hotter. It’s still cool in the evening and morning though. A proprietor in a jewellery shop in Old Town Albuquerque told us that the weather is a month ahead of itself – unseasonably hot.

I was really surprised to see a lot of flowering trees around Albuquerque – there must be an abundance of water. The muddy Rio Grande flows right through the middle of town and with the snow melt from the north, there was plenty of water flowing. A small city with not much of a city skyline, it’s nevertheless full of cars and the resultant smog. Hugging the western border of town is Petroglyph National Park. There are so many prehistoric rock engravings on the large volcanic stones. I find it amazing that this 1,000 year old graffiti is still visible but also wonder why their artistic skills were so childlike. I guess there were no DaVinci’s or Michaelangelo’s in the tribes. The area of the park we visited is so accessible bordering suburban tracts that some of today’s youth have added their etchings, and some of them have just taken guns and shot at them, damaging these pieces of history.

We walked miles and miles and miles along the Rio Grande on the quest for geocaches. We started early when it was cool but by noon it was getting exceedingly sweaty. We met some people walking their dogs along the Rio Grande Bosque Park trail and stopped to chat. “This weather is one month ahead of itself” said one, wiping the sweat from his brow. . I thought it was awfully hot – turned out it was in the middle 80’s. They were fascinated when we told them we came from Canada because I don’t think that anyone other than locals ever walks these trails..

2007-03-22T21:03:00.000-07:00

Georgia on my Mind….

Ghost Ranch was the part time home of Georgia when she moved to New Mexico in her later years after her husband, Alfred Steigletz died. Fifteen miles down the road is the tiny town of Abiquiu where she had her other home, an adobe pueblo-style house high on the ridge overlooking the valley.

But Ghost Ranch was where she got most of her inspiration. Today it’s a conference centre and resort. An old log cabin sits near the front of the large property - I wonder who lived in it. Georgia’s house was set further back near the mountains, but perhaps she sometimes stayed in the cabin. I was mesmerized by the sight of Pedernal, the mountain that she painted in several of her pictures. I had a real sense of ‘déjà vu’ when I saw what she had seen all those years ago.

Compare the actual photos taken by me in March, 2007 to the Georgia O'keefe paintings.

Northern New Mexico is still native Indian territory and many of the reservations still have traditional pueblos that they open up to visitors at certain times. The Taos Pueblo was closed to the public while we were there, but the San Idelfonso Pueblo on the road to Abiquiu welcomed us in ------- for a fee of $5. They wanted another $10 if we wanted to take photos – not likely. Many of the pueblo women were selling pots from their homes – another source of tourist income. Things don’t seem to have changed all that much from the old days – if we took away automobiles and booze anyway.

Bandolier National Park has opened up ancient remains of pueblo Indians from 1,000 years ago, adobe brick foundation walls and amazingly intact cliff dwellings. In a beautiful long and narrow verdant valley, water running through it and huge trees creating shade, the Pueblo Indians once resided with a population of 1,000’s. The steep limestone cliffs were full of holes like Swiss cheese and the Indians fashioned rooms by shaping and enlarging the caves to room size. Some of the rooms / caves were accessed by ladder and it was rather like a high-rise condominium building.

We hadn’t forgotten the restaurant recommended to us by Jorden, the art consultant at Shidoni – Rancho Chimayo in the little town of Chimayo and we looked forward to some authentic New Mexican cuisine. It was in a large remodelled ranch house and it was filled with genuine artefacts. Our room looked out onto the patio where more tables were set for lunch. The food was Mexican, as we know it with a twist. I had shrimp in blue tortillas with black beans and Pico de Gallo while Fernie had a tower of tortillas, cheese, chicken, beans, lettuce, tomato, guacamole, sour cream, etc. All was extremely delicious and Fernie discovered Santa Fe pale ale, a beautiful sweetish tasting amber beer.

The pueblo of Chimayo is famous for the sighting of the Virgin Mary by a farmer many years ago. He saw a light in a field and a church was built there, the Santuario Chimayo. People go there from far away to be cured and in a small room beside the church, the wall is lined with cast-off crutches and pictures and stories of those that have been restored to health.

2007-03-22T20:55:00.000-07:00

'Taos' means 'red willow' in the Tiwa language.

Taos, 63 miles north of Santa Fe has a totally different vibe. While it’s still an artist’s colony, it’s also a ski destination and it sits beside the famous 1,000-year-old Taos Pueblo. The residents are younger, rougher and it has a bit of a ‘hippie’ environment. It’s about 1.000 feet higher than Santa Fe at 7,900 feet elevation, so it gets more snow and is much colder in the winter. This day that we visited – March 13/07 – the snow had disappeared from town but the mountains ringing the town were still cloaked in white. As in Santa Fe, all buildings are constructed in adobe, Pueblo-style by city ordinance. So the city hall, convention centre, hotels … don’t stand out – the style remains consistent.

The author of Lady Chatterley’s Lover, DH Lawrence made Taos his home. Dennis Hopper bought a property in Taos after making “Easy Rider” some of which was shot here. He doesn’t live here any more but I can imagine while he was here, it was party central. Julia Roberts also made her home here for a while.

After we rambled through the obligatory “Historic Old Town Walk”, we took the 87 mile ‘Enchanted Circle’ drive, north out of Taos, up and through the high mountains and alpine meadows, past ski resorts where skiers shushed down the slopes in shirt sleeves – it was over 70 degrees F.

2007-03-16T21:41:00.000-07:00

Dreams come true; Yes, they do; In Santa Fe….

Being Vancouverites, it’s not often that we find a place that we would live other than our own beautiful environs but we immediately fell in love with Santa Fe. I can easily envision living in the beautiful capital of New Mexico. Its population is small – only about 65,000 but it’s a sophisticated, educated and artistic community. It has more than three hundred days of sunshine a year and the temperature in summer rarely goes over 90 degrees F. After an overnight where the temperature dipped to freezing, we were delighted to be greeted by clear blue sky and a day that soared to 80 degrees F.

We needed to do that tedious task of laundry and I found mention of a geocache called the ‘Laundromat Cache’. How fortuitous! It turned out to be a neat and clean facility so we tossed in our dirty stuff and headed off on a search for the cache, a quarter mile away. We found it easily and were back to transfer the clothes to the dryer in plenty of time. This cache turned out to be a four-fold find. As we strolled back, we passed a pet food store that sold holistic food – just what we needed for Caesar with his allergy problems.

Now I normally avoid Laundromats as Fernie has elected to take on the laundry duty but this day I didn’t need to hunt for wifi so I went in to help. As I was heading into the Laundromat, a 40ish, tall, light-skinned black man was on his way out with two huge baskets of clean clothes. I held the door open for him – obviously to his surprise, as he thanked me profusely.
“Well, That’s the highlight of my day” he said.
“It can only get better then.” I retorted as the door closed behind him. After he deposited his laundry in the car, he came back in, gave me a squeeze and a leer (good gawd, I’m 64) and said something about ‘never forgetting me’. Sometimes it doesn’t take much to please another human being. But when I think of all the times that I’ve held doors for people who’ve barged through as if it’s their right-of-way with nary a smile or a thank you……………..

A very fat woman sat by the window with tree trunk like legs sprawled widely and a tiny infant spread across her voluminous bosom. She had short-cropped steel grey hair and sitting beside her was a young and pretty (maybe 16 or 17) though plump and headed towards her mother’s shape in future years, dark haired and dark skinned girl. They were Navajo, I found out.
“Now, that baby is not very old” I said, noting his tiny legs and feet sticking out below a thick blue blanket. The Grandma looked at me with hostility ???????? But her daughter beamed with pride “He’s three weeks old and he’s already smiling and he sleeps all night and ……….” She babbled on and on.
“His name is Aquii – it’s a Navajo name and it means ‘boy’ in English”.
Strange connotation, I thought but of course didn’t verbalize it. A young longish-haired, white man with an English accent interjected “Oh that’s a wonderful name” and proceeded to ask more questions about the baby as I slid away. Babies don’t hold my attention like animals do. Funny thing though, Grandma broke into smiles and chattered away to the young man. Go figure.

While Fernie watched the tumbling laundry, he got to know the young man – a disk jockey whose radio station had been sold to a big conglomerate and he was out of work and happily moving to Los Angeles in another week. His roots were Welsh though brought up in England. Aren’t Laundromats amazing places – I’ll have to start frequenting them more often just for the social interaction.

I took a stroll around the shopping centre and right next door to the Laundromat was a computer repair shop. Our laptop had been crashing constantly – more and more often, so I wandered in and asked if they serviced laptops and the answer was ‘Sure’. I explained the problem and said I didn’t think it was software related but probably from overheating. I expected a fan needed maintenance or replacement. He said laptops with heavy use tend to plug up with dirt and grime in the airways. Anywayz! I dropped it off to them the next morning and they said barring the unforeseen they’d have it done in 24 hours. Good service! A beautiful thick-coated dog laid across the doorway as I left and his owner, one of the resident geeks (a bearded clone of the first guy I talked to) got up to rouse him. The pooch was obviously getting on in years (turned out he was 12) but he was good-natured and licked my hand. He looked a bit like a chow but the face was too pointy. “What breed is he?” I asked.
“Chow mixed with keeshond – he’s better natured than a chow but still has the purple tongue” He was obviously proud of his pet. He went on to give us advice on a remedy for stiff joints when we told him our dog was a creaky old senior citizen too and told us where to buy it.

A new vegetarian restaurant had just opened a few doors away from the laundry – the Annapurna – seems most cities have an Annapurna. We had a superb lunch there before we headed downtown to traipse around doing the tourist thing.

Georgia O’Keefe, an artist whose work I’ve admired for many years, spent her later years in northern New Mexico on a ranch surrounded by the colourful mountains and mesas that she translated to canvas. She died here at 98 years old in 1986, painting almost to the very end. I would dearly love to emulate her in my old age but sadly I don’t have the artistic ability or innate talent. I don’t think I’ll let that stop me though – I’ll just try to develop my own style. There’s a superb museum / gallery of Georgia’s works in the old town of Santa Fe and it was scintillating to see her evolving works and learn more about her life. I would like to have known her.

Just outside the city is a small village, Tesuque where strangely the famous Santa Fe Opera House resides, high on a hill overlooking the wonders of nature. Aren’t they usually in the centre of town? The theatre is an open-air structure rather like a semi-covered stadium and the opera season runs from June to August – it must be beautiful up there in the hot summer evenings.

We chanced upon ‘Shidoni’ (a geocache destination), a gallery full of diverse and beautiful artworks with eight outdoor acres of bronze and steel statues and structures, scattered around. At the back of the property seeral artisans were at work on their bronzes and we engaged in conversation with one of the gallery art consultants, a charming, immaculately dressed, well-spoken, handsome, grey-haired Adonis (obviously gay). Sitting across from him on a finely crafted and designed one-of-a-kind mahogany dining chair was Nelson, a rotund tabby cat who purred like a well-tuned engine and rolled over legs in air, when I tickled his tummy.

Jorden had retired from the US government (obviously at a young age) in Washington, DC and moved to Santa Fe. He’d been studying and collecting art all his life and owns hundreds of pieces. He recommended a visit to Chimayo, an artistic village, not too far out of town and a restaurant there “Ranch Chimayo”.
“It’s such good local New Mexico cuisine and it’s ‘cheap’ - well, not cheap but you know….not expensive” We’ll definitely try it. He then regaled us with stories of film stars who’d visited the gallery.
“Just before Xmas, sitting right there in that chair – Nelson’s chair – was an unkempt and unshaven Russell Crowe. He had two tough-looking henchmen with him but he’s a family man now and he was buying miniatures, like these over there…… for his children for Xmas.” He was in town shooting a remake of “310 to Yuma” and rented a ranch for $12,000 a month.

Santa Fe is home to many aging film stars. Gene Hackman owns a ranch just out of town. Jane Fonda and Shirley MacLaine reside here too.
“Shirley routinely goes into my friend’s gallery in town and just talks and talks for hours” said Jorden. Val Kilmer doesn’t belong to the geriatric set but his home is also in Santa Fe.

Adjacent to Shidoni was the Tesuque Glassworks and we were so lucky that the glass blower was just beginning to create a colourful set of tumblers. It’s quite a craft – back and forth into the oven, between blowing and dipping and stretching.
“How long does it take to learn the craft?” I asked him.
“Well, I’ve been at it for 35 years and I’m still an apprentice” he said

We were dead tired after a day of schmoozing with artists and art consultants and traipsing around various galleries around town.

2007-03-16T21:37:00.000-07:00

Billy the Kid territory….

We climbed up from 3,500 feet at Roswell to 6,900 feet at Ruidoso on Highway 70, AKA Billy the Kid Scenic Byway. Remnants of snow still lay in hard sheets on the shaded side of the highway – winter wasn’t over yet in this ski resort area. Some sort of evergreen grew in profusion over the mountains. They are a round and not-too-tall tree and they give the mountains a polka-dotted appearance. At the top, more familiar tall pine trees grew. Billy the Kid’s country is horse territory; the highway is lined with upmarket horse ranches sporting sleek stallions, paddocks, boarding stables and exercise rings. The route culminated in the racetrack at Ruidoso Downs.

Right in the midst of the ski and horse tourist mecca is Casino Apache, a fairly small facility nestled in a green valley. But there was no poker (awwwwww……) and they didn’t allow overnight RV parking. It was only 10:30am so we were ‘outa there’ and forged our way to Santa Fe.

2007-03-16T21:21:00.000-07:00

Is it a Bird? Is it a Plane? ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Roswell, New Mexico’s claim to fame is the supposed crash-landing of an alien spaceship in 1947. The site of the ‘crash’ is actually about 50 miles northwest of the town, but the young man that discovered the strange materials and the crash site reported his discovery back in Roswell.

While we explored the town and the hokey ‘UFO Museum’, we couldn’t help but think of our brother-in-law, Gaby (now deceased) who was a UFO enthusiast and read everything he could get his hands on about the subject. It is such a shame that he never had the chance of visiting Roswell.

Roswell was a surprise to us – it’s a lovely agricultural town with a population of 50,000 and a stately military academy in the core. Several hundred years ago, the Spanish discovered that there was lots of water in the land – surprising because the Chihuahuan Desert is just south. The businesses have taken advantage of the ‘Alien’ encounter and you can see little green men in just about every shop window. Even Walmart has decorated with pictures of spaceships and extraterrestrials.

With an afternoon looming ahead of us, what else would we do but tour the town and its surroundings by Geocaching.

2007-03-16T21:07:00.000-07:00

In a Cavern……

To reach Carlsbad from Las Cruces (both in New Mexico) we had to travel south through the Texas panhandle. We had to drive right through the city centre of El Paso, a border town across from Ciudad Juarez, Mexico. I had visited the area in the 1970’s but it hadn’t left an impression on me so I wasn’t prepared for the dismal industrial zone, which channelled us into the urban centre. We were please to eventually leave the city behind.

After miles of grazing grasslands, we headed back north through the Guadalupe Mountains back into New Mexico and settled for the next two nights in the small town of Carlsbad – in another Walmart. The famous Carlsbad Caverns, a National Park is twenty miles out of town. After already visiting the Colossal Cave and Kartchner Caverns around Tucson, we didn’t expect much more than what we’d seen. We were amazed. We elected to take the two self-guided tours and skipped the guided ones where you needed kneepads and headlights. I just can’t imagine crawling through an eighteen-inch-high hole deep below the earth without having a panic attack.

We entered through the massive ‘natural cave entrance’ with swallows swooping around our heads. The bats won’t be returning from their winter migration until next month but they wouldn’t have been swarming in the daylight anyway. We walked down and down and down and down …….. on the well-constructed pathways into the doom below. The cavern was enormous all the way down and the artificial lighting was discreet and minimalist. The strenuous steep downhill trek made me oh so glad that there was an elevator to take us back up to the top. It was over a mile until we got to the bottom, 800 feet below the surface and words can’t describe the wonder. You have to experience it. We were exultant! The entrance route interconnected with the ‘Big Room’, which is so huge, it’s a mile around and it took almost another hour to navigate it. Colossal stalagmites and stalactites dwarfed us as we strolled it in awe.

I guess the immensity of the caves and the lengthy tours created the necessity of restrooms, which they’ve constructed at the 800-foot below surface level. Apparently, once a day a huge vacuum sucks out the contents to the surface – a big yuck, but isn’t technology wonderful.

We completed our day with a couple of geocache hunts, which gave us an overview of the little town of Carlsbad at the edge of the Chihuahuan Desert.

2007-03-16T20:25:00.000-07:00

All Day We Roamed the Barren Waste……….

Highway 80 out of Douglas, Arizona up to I10 in New Mexico should be the ‘loneliest highway in America. I do believe that this title has been taken by a highway in northern Nevada but we travelled 90 miles along Hwy 80 – an hour and a half trip – and we didn’t have one vehicle behind or in front of us. We only met about a half a dozen vehicles coming the other way. The scenery was kind of nice though…mountains and grasslands, not many cacti other than a whole lot of yuccas. But when we crossed the border to New Mexico and reached Interstate 10, the vista was bleak. Arid flat grasslands for mile after mile – signs warned that we could run into dustbowl conditions and experience zero visibility. Thank goodness it was a hot sunny day with nary a breeze in the air.

We stopped for the night in Las Cruces in a Walmart. We hadn’t done that for a long time and it was kind of nice to stay in a centre of commerce again. As we drove into the Walmart lot, we were met by a security truck with a flashing light on top…”Uh, oh!” But he was there to welcome us “Are you folks planning on staying the night?” he inquired pleasantly. When we assented, he said, “Follow me” and piloted us to the east end of the lot into a specially allocated but unmarked RV section, cut off from the main lot. “Enjoy your evening and we’ll be making sure that everything is safe.”

White Sands National Park is situated about forty miles north east of Las Cruces. It was a beautiful warm and sunny day as we travelled through the San Augustin Pass through the craggy Mountains that form a backdrop to the city of Las Cruces. The extensive view below of the eastern valley and the White Sands Missile Range was extraordinary – flat lands that seemed to stretch to perpetuity. There had obviously once been an inland sea there.

With a speed limit of 75mph, it was no time before we reached the entrance to the park. We could see the beginnings of the dunes from the highway but we weren’t prepared for the sights ahead. The road into the park, normally eight miles long was closed at the six and a half mile point because of the rains last year, which didn’t stop until October. There is no river to drain the waters that pool into an expansive lake. The water has to be absorbed into the sands so it takes time after a wet season for things to return to normal.

We felt as if we’d arrived at the North Pole with sand so white and pristine that it could easily be taken for snow. They use graders on the road because the sand dunes keep moving with the winds and cover it; this creates banks at each side of the road. The result is that it appeared as if we were travelling through a winter highway just after a snowstorm. The incongruous thing was that on the more established dunes, yuccas (which look a bit like palm trees) grew right up threw the sand. We ran up the dunes like children although somewhat clumsily as our feet sunk into the lush powder. Families brought out what looked like plastic garbage can covers and tobogganed down the slopes, though sand inhibits movement unlike snow, which is slick and fast. We took a mile long hike into the dunes on a trail marked with the flora and fauna of the area. Large cottonwood trees would grow through dunes as high as sixty feet, displaying just the top of the branches. The yuccas stretched as high as the dunes, their roots still buried in the soil at the very base of the dune. Insect and reptile tracks could be seen in the sand for a short time until the sands shifted with the winds.

2007-03-09T17:02:00.000-08:00

In a Cavern, In a Canyon, Excavating for a Mine…….

Bisbee is one of the quaintest towns that I’ve ever visited and it’s full of odd characters, from the young guy in dreadlocks to the old fellow in a high and battered top hat. There were whiskery faces that had never seen a razor and women in colourful cottons, black stockings and purple and pink toques pulled down tightly on their heads. Beat up bicycles were often the vehicle of choice and I wondered how they managed the steep hills.

It’s an old copper mining town in the hills wedged along the curving Tombstone Canyon. The old shops are full of pottery, paintings and quaint artefacts. Houses hang off the sides of cliffs precariously and long steep staircases run up between the narrow home lots up to the top of town. The mine is still producing and is the backbone of the community. Multi-coloured slag heaps line the highway out of town and deep pits that look like doorways to hell have ‘scenic viewpoints’ above. We happily found that there were lots of caches around town and used the hunts to climb up and down the steep streets and staircases to discover the nooks and crannies of the hamlet.

About 5 miles northwest of Bisbee, a cache took us to a magnificent rock formation that was in the shape of the head of an ‘Aztec Man’. We’re not sure whether it was sculpted or if it was a natural formation. Near the cache was a dehydrated carcass of a coyote or a fox or some other critter. It was obviously road kill that had been thrown aside but what was strange was it’s vicious expression with fangs bared and claws drawn out and no sign of injury.

The old ‘mule-train’ road still exists – it’s hard to imagine those copper ore carrying mule-trains navigating the steep and rough path through narrow canyons. We walked and climbed along it on a cache hunt while the wind whistled through the narrow chasm making headway difficult.

A long drive up a primitive road took us near the tops of the two highest mountains in the range. The views were spectacular and there were some strange little Hobbitt-like houses built up there – at 7,000 feet. I wondered who lived in them and what they were made of and why they built up there – probably hermits of sorts. We walked the final mile up to the top of the mountain – some good aerobic exercise because the road became almost impassable. There was lots of greenery like scrubby pine trees interspersed with cacti but it was low enough that we could still see of miles and miles across the valleys.

Bisbee’s quirkiness was evident at the Shady Dell RV Park. Ancient trailers rather like the one in the old Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz movie “The Long Long Trailer”, were put in place permanently and rented out by the day. Dot’s Diner was the onsite café and specialized in hamburgers and such.

2007-03-09T16:33:00.000-08:00

Belle Starr’s Silverado

We knew that it was somewhere between Bisbee and Douglas, Arizona on highway 80 – a 23 mile stretch along the Mexican border. I had gleaned the information from my online research. I didn’t expect a big sign out front welcoming boondockers but I thought for sure there’d be some clue. But we drove the whole 23 miles to no avail. We stumbled upon the Douglas tourist bureau and I asked the woman running it if she knew of Belle Starr.
“Oh yes, she’s the elderly lady who has all the animals” she said and when I asked her how to find the ranch, she gave perfect directions. We had driven right on by it.
“Twelve miles back on the south side of the highway, you’ll notice all the horses and burros in the front – that’s it!”
It was easy this time but we hesitated on driving right in and instead pulled up on the shoulder across the road. After all, my info was third hand or more from my online sources. A large sign offered “Stud and Boarding Services” and the adobe pueblo-style ranch house was submerged in greenery - cacti and other shrubs and trees. I ran across the highway and tiptoed over the cattle grate between the gateposts at the front of the property. I felt like ‘Alice in Wonderland’ – I’d stumbled into a netherworld of animal life – what heaven. The most beautiful peacocks whisked across my path displaying their gorgeous blue and gold tails like vast fans. The burros sauntered over to line the fence sticking their ungainly heads through to nuzzle me while looking for food. The huge Arabian and Appaloosa horses were a bit more standoffish but sidled over just in case a snack was apparent. A large colourful rooster walked alongside me as if to show me the way, while a myriad of hens ran around haphazardly while pecking at the ground. A flock of black and white geese showed interest from afar but kept their distance. As I rounded the back corner of the fenced ranch house, I could see movement near the back door and I called out “Hello-o-o-o-o”.
I heard a faint unintelligible answer so carried on and there was Belle, a tiny frail-looking elf with the most beautiful serene smile. On her head was a mauve, felt hat decorated with coloured jewels, here and there. It sat up on top of her head rather than pulled down, which gave her a quirky pixie-ish look. Silver curls crested below and circled the cherubic face with cheeks pink from the desert air. Mustard yellow jersey tights on her little chicken legs were tucked into dusty rubber boots and a bright blue snuggly sweater completed her rainbow hued outfit.

“Are you Belle?” I asked rhetorically. “I understand that you welcome boondockers on your property”
“That’s right dear” I had to strain to hear her gentle whispery voice and she had a slight speech impediment as well. “I’m sorry I don’t move too fast – I’m in the early stages of MS” she continued as she shuffled towards me. (Early stages at her age??)
“I’m so sorry” – I didn’t know what else to say.

She struggled to open the wrought iron gate but refused any help and two large mixed breed dogs with wildly wagging tails wriggled through to greet me as soon as there was room for their bodies to squeeze by.
“Oh, it’s alright – we have to accept these things and staying active is the best medicine – where are you from?” she said without taking a breath.
“Canada – Vancouver……”
“Oh you’re my first Canadian this year – I’ve had Ohio, Oregon and California though”.
Belle will soon be 80. As she put it “I’m cruisin’ 80”. She was married three times – the last one widowed her.
“He was a university professor but I didn’t know he was in the mafia and they killed him”. She shook her head as she remembered. “But I’m not marriage material – I don’t like anyone to take charge of me – so I won’t do it again.”
“His name was Santos and I was Belva Santos – everyone always called me Belle so I legally changed my name to Starr”. She left Kentucky when she was 65 to start a new life in Arizona. She purchased the forty acre property which was once owned by her 5th or so cousin who was the original infamous “Belle Starr”. What a plucky little lady

“I was an only child so animals were my friends and this was my dream” she said wistfully. She clambered into a dilapidated golf cart and patted the seat beside her “Hop on” she said. The rooster jumped in back and a big spotted dog tried to get in front with me but there wasn’t enough room and Belle shooed him away. As she backed the cart out, the rooster scrambled down too. Belle proceeded to proudly show me around her property at all of 2 miles per hour. Several more dogs of various sizes but all with wagging tails and smiling faces ran out to greet us as we crawled by. You can park anywhere you want back here she gestured to the hard packed spots between the desert plants and you can stay as long as you like. “See – over there” she pointed to a pup tent “those two lovely young men are from the University of Ohio”.

A large circular patch, about 100 feet in diameter, was cleared of all foliage. “That’s going to be my exhibition area. In October, there’s going to be a real Indian Pow-wow – dancing and such in all their feathers” she mused for a minute “but it’s nice for a group who want to camp together too”. Down a bit further, we stopped beside a huge galvanized tub of water (about 10 ft w x 4 ft deep). “That’s for the quail and the deer –they come every night”. This little woman has so much love for all animals including humans who are the hardest to love.
“I’m going to put in a large septic tank over there for folks to dump their sewage” I didn’t ask how it would be emptied – I was just taken by her inclination to want to make people comfortable at her expense.

“But I don’t want to get into the campsite business. Oh, no! I want folks to just come and enjoy the desert and the animals” I was now ready to put her name in for sainthood. “And I’ll put in a couple of solar showers too” she continued. I noticed a crooked sign by the outhouses that said ‘Shower’ but maybe there’s no hot water.

In one of the enclosures, there was a mix of burros, mules, Shetland ponies and a petite miniature horse. “There’s some miniature donkeys too – over there – they’re very rare”. They were sharing their enclosure with some long-eared mules. Belle used to have a wolf that followed her wherever she went but I hesitated to ask her what happened to it in case it made her sad. I couldn’t bear to do that.

At the front of the property, just behind the big horse corrals on a large patio, stood some majestic bentwood furniture and an ancient table surrounded by rickety but comfortable looking chairs, some odd wire and metal sculptures, a plaster statue of a sheep or goat – couldn’t be sure because it was missing its head. A battered old sign proclaiming “Route 66” and a large painting leaned against the sculptures. “I got that sign myself right of Route 66, years ago” she said.

“I’m going to have hay rides in them wagons over there” she pointed to two finely crafted but obviously antique wagons. She chattered non-stop as we mosied on. “Too bad you weren’t here last week, we had a lovely potluck supper – it was so much fun”. She drove me right out front across the cattle grate and let me off with “Now, have a wonderful time” and she tootled off.

We settled into a spot quite far back from the road, but we could still hear the wonderful sounds of the braying donkeys and the early morning rooster crowing. We stayed for three days and each day, we’d wander the property picking up debris and litter that had been left by previous campers – we wanted to show Belle that we appreciated her hospitality.

The last morning, I took a stroll around to visit all the animals – I was going to miss waking up to the rooster crowing and the burros braying. I ran into Richard the horse wrangler. He looked the part – a twin of Willy Nelson. Long grey hair under a straw cowboy hat, his face was etched in deep lines from the outdoor life. He was dressed in jeans and a jean jacket with a plaid western shirt under and scuffed cowboy boots. We chatted a while generally about the running of the ranch and I asked him about all the border patrol agents patrolling the desert with their pistols and rifles, some on foot and some on horseback. He lived within ‘spitting distance’ of the Mexican border and he said “It’s a total waste of taxpayer money – there ain’t no terrorists tryin’ to get in, just some poor little wetbacks trying to come over here and make some money to support their families”. I told him we’d be pulling out shortly and he tipped his hat and carried on to the corrals.

While we were preparing Maggie to leave, we heard the whirr of the golf cart and down the trail we could see Belle approaching. Fernie still hadn’t met her so I was happy he’d get the chance. She had her usual beaming smile and she reached her hand into a bag on the seat beside her and said “Look what the hens laid for you” and handed us a half dozen freshly laid eggs. Such a kind lady. Fernie chatted to her for a while. He asked her about her wolf, something I was afraid to ask about.
“I had to have him put down just last year – and I still miss him. He was wonderful and went everywhere with me. He loved all my other animals but you know I had him from when he was five weeks old. I had him cremated and his ashes are in an urn in my house – along with some of my dogs”.
We swapped email addresses and she bid us farewell.
“You be sure to come on back now” and off she puttered back down the trail.

2007-03-09T16:31:00.000-08:00

Why?

The early townsfolk of Why must have had a sense of humour. Can you imagine them sitting around trying to decide on a name for their town.
“What about Jonestown?” from Mr. Jones
“Why?” the rest responded.
“What about New Pumpkinville?” asked another sad that the old Pumpkinville had been renamed Phoenix after if burnt down.
“Why?” they all responded.
Anyway, that’s how I picture it.

One modern day inhabitant has kept the tradition with his sense of humour. Just take a look at his mailbox.

2007-03-09T16:08:00.000-08:00

The Wild, Wild, West….

Tucson …… the name evokes film reminiscences of the Ol’ West, the frontier towns, guns and gangs, violence and death. It still seems to be a bit rough around the edges – the population appears to be predominantly Mexican and native Indian and poverty is apparent. There seems to be some disparity in the population of Tucson. I’ve seen it billed as anywhere from 450,000 to 900,000 – somewhere in the middle, I suppose. The city is nestled in a basin surrounded on three sides by tall barren mountains. It’s quite picturesque except when the smog settles into the basin and doesn’t easily move out. The skyline is quite underwhelming – only three tall buildings. The entire city core is easily navigated on foot and the tourist bureau provided us with a neat ‘walking tour map’ that zigged and zagged us around the old town and the new.

Tucson has its own style residentially - tracts of single level pueblo-styled adobe houses recede into the environment with their camouflage colours and shapes, unlike Phoenix where the homes are massive and Spanish styled with arches and red tile roofs.

The surrounding desert is luxuriant and fertile in spite of its aridity – abundant groves of saguaro, barrel cacti, agave, prickly pear, ocotillo, cholla interspersed with yellow Palo Verde trees, mesquite and creosote and to the east, grasslands appear and the resultant herds of grazing cattle.

We were watching a film in the Saguaro National Park visitor center, which was narrated by a local O’Odham Indian – he cited the high respect that the tribes have for the land. “To foul the land with garbage is like disrespecting our ancestors and so we take great care to keep our land pristine”. Hah! What hypocrisy. We travelled through many reservations and they were all filthy with garbage, plastic bags, broken bottles, cans and other debris that had been left there for years. I find it very hard to be respectful of their cultures when they care so little about cleanliness.

Pit bulls are the dog of choice in this area, as often happens with the downtrodden. These dogs that are bred and further trained to be vicious, give those with little self-assurance a feeling of power. In many areas, we saw pit bulls roaming loose so we were really careful where we took Caesar out for walks. As we drove down the highway, I sadly noticed someone had a bunch of puppies in an enclosure in the baking sun with a big sign ‘Puppies for sale’. I was horrified that these poor little dogs didn’t even have water available. Then I noticed that they were pit bull puppies……YIKES! It’s too upsetting to deal with.

We didn’t intend to stay so long in Tucson, but the delight of our retired status means we can just wheedle away the days, which is exactly what we did. We bought for $15 the Tucson Visitor Passport – 2 for 1 tickets for various events and other amusements. It paid for itself on our first foray to Biosphere II.

Biosphere II was an experiment in constructing a simulated environment with various ecosystems echoing those of Biosphere I (AKA – the earth). The experiment proved a failure when, several months after eight individuals who had committed to two years under glass, they ran short of oxygen and had to have it pumped in. They had to repeat this oxygen input several more times. It made for an interesting exploration but it seemed dated and a bit ‘Disneyish’.

The Sonoran Desert Museum, built on the slopes of the western mountains, is full of every imaginable species of desert plant. There’s a walk-through aviary of native birds, a walk-through hummingbird garden, butterflies, desert mammals, a geology museum, rattlesnake and gila monster exhibitions. I didn’t like to see the snakes handled as they were for the interest and enjoyment of the audience. It seemed so cruel and uneccessary. On the other hand, the hawk, owl and falcon display was fascinating and the fact that the birds flew free allowed me to stop and view the demonstration without culpability.

We rambled out to Old Tucson Studios where the original movie sets used for hundreds of old westerns and TV series have been turned into a tourist amusement. We watched re-enactments of shoot-outs, stunt demonstrations and a theatre presentation with can-can girls sort of like those at Universal Studios but always entertaining. We finished the day with a train ride around the perimeter of the property. I guess it was all pretty hokey.

The mountains around Arizona are apparently full of caves and we had 2 for 1 tickets to visit the Colossal Cave – just 9 miles east of Tucson. They were dry, warm caves that were a pleasure to roam through exploring – privately owned so the rules were lax. I am comparing them to the Kartchner Caverns a bit further east of Tucson, south of Benson. The State of Arizona has taken them over and they are stunning. They were discovered in 1974 but were kept a secret until the 1990’s. It was 1999 before the State opened them up for public exploration. Rules are tight and rightly so. They close the caves in April when the bats return and don’t open them again until October when the bats migrate once more. This is to protect the pregnant females and the consequential babies. There is no touching of the stalactites or stalagmites and the guide has an assistant who walks behind to make sure that all obey. Also, no bags, no cameras, no drinks or food.

Ste. Francis Xavier Mission – the first white men in the Tucson area were the Franciscan missionaries and their mission today sits on an Indian reservation and apparently they are still trying to save souls. We noticed it each time we drove down the highway to our temporary home at the Desert Diamond Casino, so finally I pulled off the highway to have a look. It’s under reconstruction so we didn’t go inside.

We ended up staying a week in the Tucson area and didn’t even find any spare time to geocache. It’s amazing how much there is to see.

There was no boondocking in the Benson area – no BLM lands and even the Walmart had a ‘No Overnight Parking’ sign. It’s proximity to Kartchner Caverns and Tombstone makes it a busy tourist area. This is when our Passport America membership comes into play – campgrounds at 50% the standard price. We found a little park “Red Barn Campground” that had full hookup sites for only $9.75/night – so we stayed for 3 nights. No wifi though at that price. I had to drive up the road and park outside the KOA (where people pay $40/night) and use their signal. It’s not that I’m cheap (please hold the laughter and derision) – I just like to get value for our money.

In between visits to Kartchner Caverns and the historic town of Tombstone, we did some Geocaching. Once again, it showed us parts of the neighbourhood that we’d never have discovered on our own and gave us lots of exercise, especially when we tried to enter a bird sanctuary marshland from the wrong direction. The Bugman (his GC handle) has hidden several caches in and around Benson and one in right in front of his business which is pest control. As I was signing the log, out came the Bugman to introduce himself and we swapped caching stories. The town of Tombstone is terribly commercial and didn’t hold our attention for long. After a visit to the museum in the old court house and an hour wandering around town, we went back to Geocaching.

2007-02-20T11:12:00.000-08:00

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.

2007-02-19T10:56:00.000-08:00

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!

2007-02-19T10:04:00.000-08:00

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!

2007-02-18T14:28:00.000-08:00

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.

2007-02-18T13:50:00.000-08:00

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.

2007-01-26T08:04:00.000-08:00

“Baby, It’s Cold Outside…..”

The weather turned cold and windy for a few days in mid January – the whole country was in a freeze and we were experiencing the whiplash. So we put aside Geocaching for some indoor pursuits like shopping and seeing a couple of movies.

I’m an aficionado of musicals and “Dreamgirls” had just opened in Yuma. I left Fernie at home happily watching the NFL playoffs and trotted off to a matinee. I queued up in a short line for tickets and was next when another window opened up and the cashier called out “May I take the next in line”. I slid over – it was my turn – and a gauche old man body checked me while trying to whip in front of me to cut me off. He had a netted ball cap with about six inches of air space above his heavy-jowled florid face, an old plaid shirt and drooping, baggy blue jeans – not a picture of sartorial splendour. It was obvious what type I was dealing with.
“Are you trying to push in?” I asked acerbically.
“Be my guest,” he answered loudly and snidely while not moving one inch out of my way. He enraged me but I didn’t want to show my anger, which would give him satisfaction, so I smirked and in a clear and resonant tone, retorted condescendingly, “If you understand the meaning of good manners, please use them”. His dumpling shaped wife shrivelled with embarrassment and slunk backwards pretending not to be with him but he didn’t budge and just looked at me with a stupid expression on his face struggling to find words. “I said be my guest” he mumbled, obviously inarticulate, but he edged closer to me forcing me to back up. Feeling revolted at the proximity, I moved over to the front of the line-up and said “I’m not going to lower myself to argue with such ignorance”. By now, the queue was lengthening and several people gave me their verbal support “What a horrible man!” said one “Good for you!” said another. The perpetrator stood speechless not knowing what to do. I went up to an alternate cashier, paid my $5 (what a deal – it pays to be a senior) and that was the end of that. I don’t know whether he and his wife ever came in – the last I saw as I went through the door was him trying to coax her.

The theatre was about half full and mostly older folk – older than me. I settled into the cushy seat and let Dreamgirls unfold. The film was tremendous entertainment; the music captivated me while I settled into a nostalgic reverie. Those were ‘my’ times and the artists sang ‘my’ music. Beyonce’s, Deena was a ‘not-at-all-subtle’ imitation of Diana Ross (and the Supremes) and Eddie Murphy’s portrayal of James Thunder Early was a parallel to James Brown. Eddie did a really commendable job and I knew he’d be winning awards for the role. The songs he sung were great but I’m not sure if it was his singing voice or if it was dubbed. Newcomer, Jennifer Hudson as Effie was surprisingly outstanding and after her ‘show-stopping’ “I’m Not Going” I heard some elderly ladies snarkingly commenting, “Well, that’s enough of that screeching”. When the film was over, I was left with that wonderful warm feeling of having truly enjoyed the experience but I don’t think anyone else in the theatre that afternoon liked it by the comments as they left. But it wasn’t their era.

Fernie joined me for the next movie – probably afraid I’d get into another confrontation and he’d have to protect me. A remarkable film, “The Queen” revealed the ‘behind the scenes’ behaviours of the royals after Princess Diana was killed. Outstanding acting by Helen Mirren as Queen Elizabeth II – she became the queen. If she doesn’t cop best actress this year, I’ll be awfully surprised. The film humanized the royals in a way that no book or documentary could do. Not that I’m a big follower of the royal family, but I was brought up by a parent who was which makes me quite interested. I found it so touching seeing the interaction between the queen and her husband. Prince Philip saying “Are you going to bed now ‘Cabbage’?” really made me laugh. Another fine performance by the actor (……gee, I don’t know his name) who played Prime Minister Tony Blair.

The weather got warmer again after a couple of days and so it was back to the fresh air for some Geocaching.

2007-01-18T10:29:00.000-08:00

Desert Vignettes

It’s quite amazing what happens when water is introduced to the desert. Yuma and the Imperial Valley are great examples – vast fields of broccoli, cauliflower, lettuce – prolific orchards of oranges, grapefruit, tangelos, lemons and avocadoes all exist in what was previously arid wasteland. The produce is hand picked by Mexicans who are transported across the border in decrepit white buses pulling a couple of portable toilets and a hand washing station. They pick, clean, cull, wrap and box the produce right in the fields and the boxes are loaded right on to large semi-trailer trucks and shipped immediately to market. It’s a very efficient operation but wouldn’t you think that machines could do it?

When the wind blows, the sand swirls and rises coating everything in a gritty veil. The sun is obscured as if covered by gauze looking otherworldly. The sand manages to creep in through vents leaving a dusty layer in its wake. It buries itself at the roots of your hair and grazes your skin and lips. Farmers busily water down their fields so they don’t lose their dusty soil in the blustery weather. Just as sudden as the wind starts – it abruptly halts and the sun is once more hot and soothing.

The little Californian town of Felicity sits alongside Interstate 8 not far from Pilot Knob. A French man who named the settlement after his Asian wife, Felicia, founded the bizarre community. He proudly claimed, “Felicity is the only town in the USA named for a Chinese woman”. With a population of no more than 20, it has also been designated “The Center of the World” just because the title had never been used elsewhere and was thus available.

A Geocaching expedition took us into Felicity and we explored its eccentricities. A muscular steel arm protruding from a rock forms the pointer for a large sundial. The finger points to a pyramid, which is in alignment with an unusual chapel built at the top of a man-made sand dune. It all seems very mysterious and supernatural but there was no one around to explain it to us. In between the pyramid and the church, large triangular slabs of brown highly polished granite have been formed into long walls and etched with stories and pictures proclaiming France’s important achievements in aviation history. It’s still under construction and it’s obvious that a lot of money is being spent and I can’t see that this ‘tourist attraction’ can be a moneymaker. At 2:30 in the afternoon, the restaurant was empty and the gift shop, which was full of trendy and artistic wares, had no proprietor present. I called out “Is anyone here?” several times but nobody appeared. It’s an enigma.

2007-01-18T10:02:00.000-08:00

“Ain’t no Mountain High Enough….”

I chuckle every morning when the realization hits that I don’t have to go to work. It hasn’t become second nature yet and it takes a few moments after waking to comprehend that we can lead a life of indolence if we so choose. Retirement is wonderful and I only wish we’d started sooner. It seems we spend our lives accumulating material possessions and then all of a sudden on retirement, we want to unburden ourselves and live like free spirits – well, some of us anyway. I do like the idea that our home is still waiting for us should we choose to return for a while but all the goods and chattels filling it are like an anchor.

This is our second winter of escaping the cold wintry north and I seem to be much more mellow – I don’t have the constant compulsion to move on. We are actually enjoying staying in one place for a while – it gives us a chance to delve into all the nooks and crannies of a town with the lure of ‘Geocaches’ as our tour guide.

Pilot Knob a solitary rocky hummock in eastern California at the juncture of Arizona and Mexico is strangely set apart from the Chocolate Mountain Range. Several caches have been secreted on and around the barren mountain and that’s what drew us. We parked our car in the desert outside the area marked “No trespassing” and we trespassed …… that’s where the coordinates aimed us. “It’s only a little more than half a mile” I said after scrutinizing the GPS. I didn’t take into consideration that it would be five times that distance as the GPS calculates ‘as the crow flies’. But we didn’t contemplate that the cache would be at the highest peak of the mount. We didn’t read all the facts on the info sheet, because if we had, the mention of the cache being ‘within arm’s reach of the solar tower’ would have been a good clue. If anyone had told me that I’d climb to the top of the Knob, I’d have thought they were nuts.

The beginning of the trail was a fairly easy hike. On the lower slopes, we encountered a man at a distance with a holstered gun glinting in the sunshine and a hiking pole, which he used to stab at gullies and under rocks. “There’s been ‘wetbacks’ all over here” he shouted over to us “they’ve left their water bottles and other garbage behind them.” He didn’t look like a border patrol officer – no uniform – but the gun intimidated us and we hastened up to get away from him. “Aren’t you glad you’re with a blonde?” I said to Fernie “otherwise he might have taken you for an illegal Mexican”.

The trail got steeper and narrower and sometimes disappeared and we had to clamber over rocks, which slid away beneath our feet cascading down the bluff. We wound up and around the outcroppings and when I reached a safe and level spot, I checked the GPS – we weren’t making much progress as we were still far away from our target. We looked down to see how far we’d climbed and noticed that a border patrol truck was inspecting our car, a tiny spot in the distance. Not much we could do about that, so we scrambled on up the interminable climb.

It was getting very difficult now with huge sheer rocks to scale and Fernie who was ahead yelled back “You’ll never make it – let me go up and you stay there”. I was disappointed and sat on a slab and scrutinized other possibilities up the remainder of the mountain. I decided to give it a try on an alternate route – it seemed like a nearly vertical climb but the rocks were smaller and I managed to scale them eventually reaching the top where Fernie had already found the cache. I was absolutely elated but my knees shook when I looked down. The fairly level top was only about eight feet across and held a white cross and a small solar panel and tower and we could see 360 degrees – Algodones, Mexico just below on the southern side, Yuma to the east, the Chocolate Mountains to the north and sand dunes and desert stretching to infinity. But how on earth would I get down? Ohmygawd! Members of the Sierra Club had placed the cache – folks who are in much better shape than I. The wind was keen and loose pages of the log blew free – we grabbed them and held on tight as we inspected the contents and proudly signed the log. A small metal plaque attached to a rock was a gruesome reminder that we were in a dangerous place. It was a memorial to a climber who had plummeted off the peak.

Eventually we had to go down and the first 30 feet was terrifying. When I’d dislodge a stone and it would send a stream of rocks hurtling down, I resorted to descending on my backside. It was a very slow descent and when we finally reached the lower trail, we chortled with delight on our accomplishment.

Not all geocaches provide such excitement - they are often in built up areas or urban parks but every one of them is a challenge and we venture out almost every day in hot pursuit.

2006-12-31T09:20:00.000-08:00

South of the Border, Down Mexico Way….

The lure of fish tacos was not the major reason
we returned to Algodones, Mexico which is just a short walk across the border seven miles west of Yuma. Everyone loves a bargain and that’s what draws the hordes to this little border village. It’s teeming with pharmacies offering drugs at amazingly low prices. Signs on the sidewalks advertised outrageously “Prozac - $2.95” amidst a list of all the other popular prescription pharmaceuticals. Swarms of dentists’ offices offered crowns, dentures and implants for amazingly cut-rate prices – you can look through the street side windows and see folks stretched out in the dental chairs getting their work done. After checking what water was used in their machines (purified), I braved it and went in for a teeth cleaning for $30. Much better than the $130 at home but the dentist didn’t do a meticulous job – I think I’ll stick to my dentist at home. But the major enticement for me was to get prescription glasses. Last year, I was a bit suspicious and just bought prescription reading glasses – surprise, they were wonderful. So this time, I went for progressive, transitional lenses and got a second pair for half price – two pairs for $250 – I would have paid $450 for one pair at home. We had 2 ½ hours to wait to pickup my glasses so off we went to have our fish tacos and beer with our friends who accompanied us. They were just as yummy as I remembered but they had doubled the price to $1 each. We still had an hour to kill after lunch and I did want another of those Mexican pouch purses that I bought last year so I did a bit of bargaining.
“$38” the shopkeeper answered when I pointed to one and he pulled it down to show me “Lovely soft lambskin” he continued and when I hesitated “what will you give me?”
“I don’t want lambskin – I want the sturdier leather” I said. He grimaced with disapproval as he pulled down another, which looked exactly the same. “Not as good” he said and asked me to feel how hard it was.
“How much?”
“$28” and he noticed my disgruntled expression “how much will you give me?”
“I wouldn’t pay more than $10.”
“Would you like it for 25 cents?” he asked
“Sure thing”
“Get outta here!” He yelled at me.
I guess I didn’t do well there but last year I bought a lambskin one for $12 so I knew what I was talking about. I haggled with three more merchants and ended up with the one I wanted for $15 so I was happy enough.
Finally, it was 2:30pm and I picked up my glasses and we headed for the border. YIKES! The line to walk back through the US border went right down the street, around the corner and down that street, around another corner and another ¼ mile along a dusty lane to get to the back of the line. The wind was blowing and sand was coating our lips and teeth and settling in to the roots of our hair but we kept our good humour while we waited and waited and waited, inching forward every so often. We made friends with the people in front of us and behind us and we chatted to the motorists also lined up for miles. Mexican Indian street vendors displayed their wares – gaudy ceramics, jewellery, blankets (these became a hot item later on as it started to get cold). But the wait was interminable and I wished I’d bought some of the Prozac for $2.95 – would have kept me calm. 5:40pm we finally got up to the customs office where just two officers (two desks were vacant) were slowly looking through every bag uncaring about the elderly people (I don’t mean us) standing for over three hours.

2006-12-31T09:13:00.000-08:00

Treasure Hunting
Life is simple in our roaming home. Housework is completed in no time and the sunny days beckon us outdoors to our favourite pastime. ‘Geocaching’ is rather like going on a scavenger hunt. Thousands maybe millions of geocachers have hidden caches all over the world and listed their coordinates (longitude and latitude) online at http://www.geocaching.com. With the assistance of a handheld GPS, we search for the containers, which may be a camouflaged Altoids tin, a Tupperware container, a bucket or a huge cabinet. The cache will usually contain miscellaneous little items such as key chains, tiny toys or a myriad of other bits and pieces. The expectation is that if you take something out, you replace it with something else and that you log in to the little book they’ve left. Then when you get home, you log your find or your inability to find on the Geocaching website. Some days, we only have time to look for one or two but there’s nothing better than when we devote the whole day to the pursuit. There are many times that we get strange looks as we scrabble around in drains and road barriers and bushes and sometimes right beside a busy highway. One such cache took us into a patio garden of a lovely restaurant and the coordinates were at a large metal sculpture of a mariachi band. We had our hands up the legs, into the instruments, through the holes in their necks, around their feet and all this with an audience of patio diners and a row of colourful and raucous parrots. A young Latino man in a service uniform sauntered by and commented, “It’s very nice, isn’t it? – My cousin made it you know”. He didn’t ask why we were frisking the metal musicians and didn’t seem to think it strange. So we asked him if he’d seen any others there searching. “No, amigos – is there money here?”. He answered excitedly. I don’t’ know if it was because we were uncomfortably aware of the spectators, but we didn’t find the cache – I think we’ll go back for lunch there and look again – it had a great menu. Another cache location gave us a huge laugh when we found a set of grinning dentures on top of a post – not part of the cache. We giggled over the thought of the gummy person wondering where he’d (can’t imagine they belonged to a woman) lost his teeth. But the most amazing cache we’ve found so far in Yuma is a huge steel cabinet at the side of a busy gas station. It had a combination lock on it but we had the numbers and after a few tries, we got into the treasure chest. It was loaded with items – and also contained about seven ‘Travel Bugs’. They are usually small numbered metal rectangles which have a written proposed destination and if you can further its purpose, you take it and leave it at another cache while logging its movement online.

2006-12-31T09:10:00.000-08:00

Splish, Splash, Maggie’s taking a Bath…..

I have a life partner who’s a fuss-budget about having a clean motorhome. It means I have to remove my shoes at the door and when we arrive south, Maggie must be washed as soon as possible. It’s absolutely painful for him to see the black sooty lines of dirt descending from the roof. Last year, we took her through one of those big static RV washes at a price of (I get weak and dizzy just thinking about it) - $75 YIKES! I pointed out some of those do-it-yourself by inserting coins facilities but he was forewarned that fussy people (and that he is) could easily spend $75 there. But there’s one more way - - - in the White Pages (a free weekly advertising rag) there are several individuals listing “Mobile RV Wash – We Carry Soft Water”. Young men (generally Mexicans - - - who are very hard-working; don’t believe the ‘lazy’ Mexican stereotype) equip their pickup trucks with large water tanks, hoses and compressors and wash and wax your RV wherever it is even way out in the desert. And the best part - $1 a foot for a wash, which equated to $30 for us “YEAH!” So Fernie chose Carlos indiscriminately and made arrangements for him or his partner to arrive at 9am on Friday morning. We readied Maggie – closed the slides and retracted the jacks and moved her to a spot where the spray wouldn’t affect our neighbours. It was now 9:15 and no Carlos. We phoned him
“It’s 9:15 – when will you be here?”
“We’re on the way.” he answered.
Fifteen minutes later “There he is.” I said as a black water-equipped pickup drove in. I waved him down and told him we’d moved our motorhome and sent him over.
“Are you number 48?” he asked
“No - #26.”
“Oh – I’m here for #48.”
“Aren’t you Carlos?”
“No, I’m Adrian – I don’t know Carlos.”
Fernie said, “If Carlos doesn’t show up, will you do ours after?”
“I’ll be 2 ½ hours” he answered, “#48 wants a wash and wax.”
“I’ll let you know” Fernie said.
So we waited for Carlos – 9:30 – 9:45 – 10:00 – 10:15 – and we phoned again.
“Oh, I’ll call my partner” said Carlos “and I’ll call you right back.”
10:30 – 10:45 – that was it – Fernie went down to #48 and asked Adrian to wash our motorhome when he finished and then called Carlos and said “Cancel it”.
“OK Amigo” Carlos responded not at all worried about losing a customer.
I don’t think they’d ever have arrived.
Twelve noon on the dot, Adrian was ready to start. He did a wonderfully thorough job and Maggie shone like a silver dollar. Fernie chatted to him as he worked and Adrian told how he had a ‘Green Card’ that was good for ten years.
“But my wife – she have a baby and he was born here – in the USA – so he’s an American” he said proudly.
“I have to apply to get my citizenship and so does my wife – it should help that our baby is an American” he said hopefully
Adrian’s wife is a schoolteacher. “She only makes $30,000 a year and she’s educated” he told Fernie “I’ve got no education and I make way more than that.”
“But my Dad – he lives in Somerton too – but he still works in the fields – picking - only $8 an hour – it’s really hard work when you get older” we could tell he was sad for his father “I want him to work for me, but he says he knows ‘picking’”.
“But my grandparents – they’re still in Mexico – I don’t see them very much. At Xmas, it took me more than two hours to cross the border”.
We made sure that we got Adrian’s business card before he left – I’m sure we’ll call him first – next year.

2006-12-31T08:50:00.000-08:00

Christmastime in the Desert……..

The Players’ Club booth at the Cocopah Casino was staffed by three African American women of voluminous girth, their ample hips oozing over their comparatively tiny stools. The Xmas spirit was with them in spite of the fact they had to leave their families to work on Xmas Day. Every inch of their domain was covered with gaudy Xmas decorations. The walls were plastered with shiny Xmas wrapping paper and garish red and purple Xmas stockings bulging with gifts hung from nails hastily inserted into the woodwork. In the corner, there was just enough room to hold a tiny scrubby silver Xmas tree sloppily strung with blinking lights and covered with dangling, kitschy ornaments. Every time I passed, the women were in exactly the same positions and I wondered if they ever moved. Hearty chuckles emanated from their lair when no patrons awaited their service but they saved their friendly fun and chatter to share with each other. It was pure business when a customer approached except when I handed one of them my Players’ card to receive their special senior’s booklet brimming with discounts and freebies – she gave me the funniest double take look I’d ever seen and it took me a few moments to figure out why. She slid it back to me and pointed to it as she swung her head side to side and clicked her tongue in a disciplinary manner. Then I noticed why – I had given her a card from another casino. She uttered a throaty laugh as she noticed my discomfiture and loss of composure and I fumbled for the right one with muttered apologies.

A nighttime Xmas Eve drive through the residential areas of Yuma was a glittering sight. Huge water towers were turned into massive Xmas trees by stringing lights in a triangular pattern. Most homes are low-slung ranch style houses and many were almost hidden behind a multitude of lights and decorations. Blow-up characters were all the rage - Santa and his reindeer, The Grinch, Frosty the Snowman, a variety of Disney characters dressed as Santa and his elves, nutcrackers and nativity scenes - Santas on the roofs descended down and reappeared mechanically out of blow-up chimneys. Others made their characters out of wood, some of them extremely detailed. The funniest one was a nativity scene with only two people in it – baby Jesus with Santa Claus kneeling over him as if he were Joseph. We drove by two days later in the daytime and Mary had joined them – Jesus, Mary and Santa! On some streets, every house was decorated in a neighbourly but competitive spirit. What a spectacular sight. A huge sign wished “Happy Birthday Jesus. The neighbourhood folks had picnic tables and chairs in their driveways and large rolling fire pits. Some were dressed in Santa outfits but all dressed warmly, as the desert gets cool at night. They were roasting hot dogs and marshmallows and chugging down beer, whiskey and hot chocolate - it was a convivial gathering. We’d get out of the car and walk down the streets chatting to the homeowners. A chain link fence surrounding one corner property was hung profusely with candy canes and a sign proclaimed ‘Please take only one candy cane per person’. An elderly lady greeted everyone who arrived with a Merry Xmas and a welcome. The yard was full of colourful wooden cartoon characters and another sign advised ‘All yard art is for sale’. Her husband who limped around the other side of the garden had been disabled at work at 51 years of age and took up making this ‘yard art’ while his wife, now in her seventies still held down a full-time job. We were admiring a miniature town with a myriad of lit-up buildings and a model railroad running around it – luckily it was a fenced yard because a dog charged out barking madly at us. A rough looking young man came out to restrain his Fido and when we congratulated him on his Xmas display, he told us proudly while gesturing towards the open front doorway that his Dad had built the village from scratch. We looked into the open door and were shocked to see his father sitting in a wheel chair nude – with what looked to be a small towel on his lap – thank goodness. He had long white hair and beard and a huge tummy and he looked like a naked Santa Claus. If you zoom in close on the photo, you can catch a glimpse of him.

Yuma is a transient community; in winter, it’s full of snowbirds – retirees who drive south in their RV’s to escape the cold winters in the north but come April, they all disappear back home again. There were many restaurants open on Xmas Day and it appeared that most of the snowbirds weren’t cooking turkeys in their RV’s. Most of the restaurants are ‘family-style’ and very reasonable and not exotic high-priced establishments. Long line-ups could be seen outside many of them including the one our friends chose for us – the Golden Corral Buffet. For $9.75 you could have turkey dinner, ham, steak, fried chicken, etc, etc, etc. The patrons were an old bunch and from farming communities, I’d guess – lots of bib overalls and ball caps. I’m not good at buffets – I usually end up with a mish-mash of things on my plate that don’t go together. But Xmas Day, I put together a traditional turkey dinner with potatoes, veg, gravy and stuffing and didn’t put one bit of the things I usually take ‘just a bit of’. Surprisingly, it was absolutely delicious. There were no mince pies and no plum pudding but a little slice of pumpkin pie and whipped cream wasn’t so bad. Our friends, P&C put out little Xmas stockings with chocolate Santas and candy canes on our placemats so it seemed ‘Xmas-sy’ after all.

2006-12-23T14:14:00.000-08:00

We’re Dreaming of a Sunny Christmas….
Christmas season is rife with so many emotions fuelled by nostalgia and unreasonable expectations. For myself, the wistfulness for days gone by waves over me when I hear a carol on the radio or smell turkey cooking in the oven.

I yearn for the childhood magic of being woken at 4am by an older brother who announced, “Father Christmas has been”. Our stockings were our own socks (holes usually darned) and we hung them on the bedpost at the foot (aptly named) of the bed. They bulged mostly with edible goodies. Always a plump tangerine and silver and gold wrapped chocolate coins. There was also a single unwrapped gift, which was always “exactly what I’d always wanted”. One year, I recall a beautiful blonde doll that I immediately named Dinah, with blue eyes that opened and closed depending on her position – things were simple in those days. The overwhelming excitement invariably meant I’d scurry into my parents’ bedroom, jump on their bed, gleefully shrieking, “Look what Father Christmas brought me. Bleary-eyed because they’d just got to bed, they’d try to feign surprise.

The enchantment of Christmas was rekindled when my young children made acquaintance with ‘Santa Claus’ (AKA Father Christmas). Now I was filling stockings – posh red felt ones – and there was always a mandarin orange in the toe. Canadian style meant stockings on the fireplace mantle and gifts under the tree and in the excessive fashion of the times, not just one but an abundance of presents. But the excitement early on Christmas morning echoed my young days. Now our children follow the traditions with our grandchildren – updated of course to 21st century morays.

My exhilaration would start on December 1st and each day I’d count down the interminable wait for the big event. Sometimes, I’d just bubble over with excitement unable to contain my frantic anticipation.

My mother was always at the stove when I got home from school. First, she’d make her Christmas puddings (plum pudding in Canada). I’d be relegated to assist her with the nut and fruit preparation. She’d wrap a couple of shiny coins and bury them deep in each pudding before putting them on to steam for hours and hours. On Christmas day, I was constantly amazed how I always got a piece of pudding with a coin deep inside it

Next would come the Christmas cakes, which when complete would be topped with marzipan and covered with a hard white icing. I was then allowed to decorate it with holly and other Christmas baubles. Lastly, she’d make my favourite – mince pies (known as tarts in Canada). They’d never last until Christmas day and Mum would always whip up a last minute batch on Christmas Eve before we headed out for midnight mass.

My social life as a child in South Wales was as one of a gang comprised of all the kids that lived on our street. They were mostly boys and my brother who was 4 ½ years older than I, kept an eye on me. Keynsham (pronounced ‘kane-sham’) Road was just one short block long and it terminated in T intersections at both ends and no other kids from around the corner dared to venture into our domain. On cold winter nights, we’d huddle around the lamppost and scheme. Sometimes when no special day loomed, we’d just go ‘knocking on doors and running away’. When Guy Fawkes Day approached, we’d discuss collecting old clothes and rags, door to door, to build our ‘Guy’ who’d be tossed on the huge bonfire on November 5th. But in December, we’d plot our Christmas carolling – to decide what carols to sing, whose houses to sing at and who’d knock the door at the end to gather the money. The carols never changed – we’d sing Silent Night, Away in a Manger, Good King Wenceslas and The First Noel. I was too shy to solicit money and generally hid in the back while one of my bolder friends would collect the loot, which we’d split up later – the only charity it went to was our greedy little hands. But we must have seemed cherubic with our squeaky little voices and angelic little faces peeping out under woollen hats, our cheeks ruddy from the frosty air.

These reveries don’t necessarily make me happy because they only live in my psyche and they can’t be repeated – but by sharing memories with this blog, I take pleasure in temporarily reliving them.

Enough maudlin reminiscences – it’s December, 2006 and Fernie and I are off once again searching for adventure in warmer climes than home. Our steed is Maggie, our trusty motorhome and our little canine chum, Caesar accompanies us.

A violent windstorm (one of many this autumn) followed by an overnight snowfall almost made us postpone our planned departure on December 16th, but the temperatures climbed, melted the snow and we were on our way by 1pm. We casino-hopped south with the intended initial destination, Yuma, Arizona.

We spent the first night at Tulalip Casino in Marysville, Washington where the temperature dipped well below freezing overnight. This impelled us to make haste for the south and not waste time. Next day we drove over 400 miles (for us, a long drive) to spend the night at Seven Feathers Casino in Canyonville, Oregon. The casino was ludicrously festooned with an overabundance of childlike Christmas decorations – in a venue not suitable for or catering to children. They gave us $5 of slot machine play and it turned into $15 so I cashed out - $15 richer. The Survivor finale on television took precedence that night and we snuggled cosily in our warm nomadic home and watched all three hours.

The Siskiyou Pass and the subsequent passes around Mount Shasta in California were all clear and we were able to drive right through to spend the third night at the Rolling Hills Casino in Corning, California. . Finally, it was warming up and we dewinterized our pipes – flushed out all that pink anti-freeze and filled up with fresh water. We hadn’t spent a penny in the casinos yet – Fernie not finding a poker room to suit him – but he squandered a bit on Texas Shoot Out and came back to Maggie saying that he prefers to play poker online.

No casino around so we spent the fourth night at a Walmart in Bakersfield – did some shopping and browsing but as we’d driven fairly long miles that day, we had an early night. It was a shorter and a pleasant drive the next morning to the Spotlight 29 Casino in Coachella, California and now the weather was glorious – t-shirt weather. Finally, we reached our target in Yuma, Arizona early on December 21. Our friends had saved a site for us next to theirs in the RV Park at the Cocopah Casino. We each had huge private areas assigned to us overlooking the desert at a cost of $5 for 3 days. I think we’ll stay a while. Fiscally, it was a very good run – almost no cost for campgrounds or meals out – really, the only cost was for gasoline.

After setting up Maggie, I put up my new colourfully lit fibre optic
Christmas tree in the front window and laid some flashing LED lights along the dash. A small deep red poinsettia that thrived through the cold nights all the way from Washington graced our dining table. If I hang a stocking on Christmas Eve, I wonder if it will be filled! Who says we can’t experience the wonder of Christmas in Arizona.